SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP.
Thank you once again to the amazing @princington for this commission and continuing the wonder that is the Bean Salad AU!
Two wives means double the belly holds. And a Beanling to help.
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SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP.
Thank you once again to the amazing @princington for this commission and continuing the wonder that is the Bean Salad AU!
Two wives means double the belly holds. And a Beanling to help.
unnie.xlsx
[kpdh, rumira, i screamed at @princington over a vision, and then they made art, and then i crashed out & made words, now here we are, thank you prince full credit to them for the amazing art!]
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Mira, flustered and defeated by the evils of a complicated spreadsheet, chews on her lip and stands by Rumi's cracked doorway.
She'd hardly call herself shy—but Rumi looks busy, wearing a pair of gardening gloves and an old tank top, her hair up in a loose ponytail. She's moving her plants all over the place again: rotating which ones go out to the balcony and which ones stay indoors, and all the while she looks happy and so, so pretty.
But the spreadsheets. Mira awkwardly leans against the doorway, rubbing at her arm before softly calling:
"Unnie?"
Rumi turns mid-step, a houseplant nestled in her arms. "Yes?"
She feels silly but she powers through.
"Can I—" Actually, nevermind. "Sorry, you were in the middle of something—"
But then the plant's already on the floor, and Rumi's gloves have been peeled off, and Rumi honest to god teleports right in front of her—smiling fondly as she insists: "No, no. I'm here, whatever you need."
Mira wants to laugh, but instead she smiles all soft and tender and red in the cheeks because just like that, everything's better already.
'Whatever you need.'
What a feeling. What wonderful ache it is that blooms around her chest—like her flowers out in the balcony—knowing that Rumi means every bit of it and more.
Time will do the talking, years will do the walking I'll just find a comfy spot and I'll wait it out Yes, your time will do the talking, years will do the walking Time will tell you, baby, what you can't hear now
club escapade scene from chapter 3 of love can't make you strong (until love can make you weak) , co-written by @barrhorn and me. If you like the idea of an AU where married singer/songwriter duo zoerumi have their eyes set on supermodel mira (with some plot creeping into the mix), do come by :)
sketch by the inimitable @princington!!!!!! thank you so much for accommodating my requests!!! please check out their incredible art if you don't already know it
also special thanks to @s-aint-elmo for graciously fielding my barrage of questions about fashion and how to make suspenders look good. check out their incredible art too. owe you both my life
“Look at the bar,” Mira whispers in Rumi’s ear. “At the corner closest to us.”
“Y-y-y-yeah?” She turns her head in the direction Mira’s talking about. It’s Zoey. She’s dressed in the same outfit she wore so long ago, when the demons destroyed their plane. It’s a halter top with flowers blooming across the front, shows off her abs, and the almost parachute pants in blue and yellow. She’s got one leg crossed over the other, a cocktail glass in her hand, leaning back against the bar. Rumi’s face flushes red, patterns flashing gold in rapid pace to the beat of her heart, when she realizes Zoey’s staring right at her. Their eyes lock as Mira whispers dirty things into her ear, teasing the shell with her teeth and tongue.
Mira’s lips move to hover over her ear as she leans in like she’s sharing a secret. “She’s been watching you this whole time.” Zoey just smirks at her. That sly smirk that makes her knees week. Zoey's not dating them but the three of them like to have a little fun on tours when they're all high on adrenaline and the rush of a great performance.
Thank you, once again, to @princington for fulfilling another commission. It came out amazing! From my fic Under the Lights.
"What's that look for, Mira? Zoey got this shirt for me."
Celine props her hands on her hips after tucking her sunglasses into the pocket of the tackiest button-up shirt Mira has ever had the misfortune of witnessing.
It is a bright pink shirt decorated with sharks and cats wearing crowns. Underneath the tacky button-up, Celine paired it with a rust-red tank top, dusty green cargo shorts, and — socks with sandals? At the BEACH?! HEINOUS!!!
Mira scoffs as she places her hand over her heart in mock offense. "That's the problem, it's hideous!"
Zoey giggles at them in the distance.
[Got a sketch commission from the wonderful @princington and colored it to coincide with a lil drabble fic I wrote! Thank you so much for the commission Princington! <3]
Based on this post👇by @princington
💬 20 🔁 71 ❤️ 373 · All these folks manifesting baby bean au-au "Zoey in a Celine situation bc rumira dies", I raise you "Zoey in a Celine
My take on the reunion between lost Rumira and their baby girl, now a teen.
@princington x @didouille Collab
echoes of the past (2,004 words | rumira)
a/n: based on this incredible art by @princington. also available on ao3.
Her body feels like it’s full of bees, buzzing through her chest and under her skin. She wants to scream, wants to kick something, wants to run.
So she does.
Out the front door. Down the street. One, two, three blocks away. As far as her legs will take her.
She knows this will only make things worse; that she’ll have to face the fury of her eomeoni when she comes back – they don’t even bother coming to find her anymore, haven’t for a while. But right now she doesn’t care. Being in the house was suffocating, she couldn’t handle it anymore, her body – full of rage and confusion and sadness – couldn’t handle it anymore. She couldn’t walk up to her room for the second time this week and sit there in silence wondering why it’s like this; why she’s like this. Not today. Not again.