Sitting across you at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, cradling a mug of tea in her hands. Rumi’s gaze constantly darted around the room, looking at the shadows, at the windows, body tensed, ever alert, as if prepared for a threat to jump out at them.
You reached across the table, laid your hand over hers. “Rumi, would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”
She shrunk down in her seat. Guilt and shame flooding her veins to see how gentle you still were with her, how patient and kind, despite how terrible Rumi had been acting towards you as of late. She didn’t deserve that sympathy, that warmth. She wished you’d just yell at her, she wouldn't feel as terrible if you did.
But you wouldn’t.
You’ve never yelled at her, not in anger, not as punishment. The only times you’ve ever raised your voice at her was in moments of excitement, and moments of fear for Rumi. You’ve never once yelled at her, and Rumi knew you weren’t going to start now.
Swallowing hard, Rumi lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry…”
You ran your thumb over her knuckles before squeezing her hand. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Rumi. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Hello! So, about Dragon!Reader? They have the attributes of a Korean dragon like the long tail, claws, and serpent like eyes, but they’re able to hide and blend in with humans. They run into Huntrix when patrolling the city of Seoul and they notice a demon creeping up on one of the girls. With swift movement like wind, they intervene and kill the demon with their weapon that they conjured from water. The girls don’t spare a moment to be stunned and they quickly take care of the rest of the demons. When all settled, they stare at reader with a mix of amazement, suspicion, and curiosity. Before they can ask questions, reader flies away in a fit of water without a single word. The girls are left standing there thinking about what just happened.
Over the span of them, with reader helping the girls defeat demons, they finally get reader to talk to them. Reader explains to them who they are and what they do, and the three quickly become friends.
I hope this is a good starter?
Friend From Above
Tags: Huntr/x & Reader, Dragon!Reader, GN!Reader, Supernatural Friendships, just silly fun times. Not explicitly romantic but could be seen as it.
Your arrival was marked by rain.
They had been overwhelmed in a fight. Too many demons and the girls were slowly losing ground.
And then you arrived out of nowhere, taking out a demon before it could get the jump on Rumi, joining in the fight without a word.
Their immediate thought is that you’re a demon, too.
And can you blame them? Almost every time when something happens, it’s demons. So for them, something clearly not human popping in and then disappearing being a demon makes logical sense.
After all, there’s no way you’re a real dragon. There’s never been any records of them helping hunters before. No record of hunters ever seeing them before. As far as they know, dragons truly are myth.
So a demon disguised as a dragon and…attacking other demons.
That’s the weird part for them. Demons attacking other demons aren’t unheard of, but it’s not super common.
But…if you are a demon, you’re a weird one. Manifesting weapons from water like they do from the Honmoon, weaving between demons, your weapons changing form constantly.
They only give themselves a minute to watch in stunned silence before throwing themselves back into the fray. Cutting down demons, but keeping an eye on you.
It takes a minute, but then they notice the pattern.
One moment you have a bow, firing down on demons from afar. The next a sickle. Rumi notices the familiarity of your movements first when the water shifts to form twin swords in your hands, the way you duck and weave across the battle field, the style of combat familiar.
It’s only when your weapon changes into a series of shinkal’s, a woldo, and even a saingeom that they realize you’re mimicking the fighting style of hunters. Styles that took years for them to perfect, styles that you had to have been watching for just as long to be able to mimic.
Not just their styles though, but hunters from generations before them, too. Copying the fighting you’ve watched before.
You thin down the numbers quickly and soon they’ve wiped out the latest demonic incursion and had sealed the Honmoon once more.
But by then, you’re already gone. Not in a blossom of smoke like demons do, but in a surge of water.
They’ve questions, and the only one who knew the answers had left.
They don’t see you again for a few weeks. Not until they find themselves overwhelmed in a fight against too many demons. You appear with the sudden arrival of rain, turning the tides of the fight, and are gone just as fast.
You never say a word to them. Sometimes they don’t even see you, even if they know you were there. You simply help thin out the demons numbers to give them an edge and leave.
Leaving them confused, returning to the penthouse theorizing just what you are, who you are.
Celine has no answers.
She’s never heard of something like this happening before, certainly not when she was an active hunter. Huntr/x is diving into new territory.
It takes a few more fights before they start to narrow in on a pattern.
If it’s raining, you’ve a higher chance of appearing. If it starts raining during a fight against demons, especially if the weather had seemed clear minutes ago, that almost always guaranteed you’d be joining the fight.
Zoey is a firm believer that you really are a dragon, and since dragons are benevolent beings, that means you’re a friend. The counter evidence she’ll accept is that you don’t have the iconic beard of a dragon. But that’s okay. You might have one in your true form.
She also suspects you live in the Han river.
It made sense, she argued. Dragons lived in bodies of water, and the Han river was the river in Seoul. If there was anywhere for you to live, it’d be there.
Plus, after some sleuthing that involved sleepless nights, blurry photos of rainy skies and random lizards, and a conspiracy board, she pieced together that every time you intervened in a fight they had been near the Han river.
That being said, Mira’s still convinced you’re actually a demon and this is all some long con ploy to get them to drop their guards.
It felt too convenient that only now a dragon, something they didn’t even know was real, has started helping hunters after so many generations of staying out of it.
Plus, you seemed too familiar with how they fought.
Sure, that could be from passive observation for who knew how long as a bystander. Or, Mira reasoned, it’s because you’ve been learning about them, how they fight, how they move, to better fight them.
Plus, every time they’ve seen you, you didn’t look like a dragon. Sure, you had the antlers and a tail, but they’ve seen things like that at cons. You could easily pass for a skilled cosplayer.
She was adamant that you were a demon in disguise, they know demons can change their forms.
The debates she and Zoey get into about you have been heated, to say the least.
Poor Rumi ending up the mediator, insisting that until they are able to pin you down and talk to you, they can’t say for sure what you are or what your plans are.
It takes almost two months before they’re finally able get you.
Zoey was right, you’re the guardian of the Han river. A ‘new’ dragon in that you only recently evolved from an imugi, having acquired your yeouiju.
You’ve been watching them and the other hunters for ages, and you respect what they do, but as an imugi you weren’t strong enough to fight demons. Now that you’re a true dragon, you have the power to protect your home and its inhabitants.
Zoey was the first jump on the friendship bandwagon, but surprisingly Rumi was the most reluctant, not Mira. That wariness that you’d immediately recognize what she was and oust her to Mira and Zoey.
You know what she is. Even excluding the whole divine guardian spirit aspect of things; you’ve been watching the girls long enough to have caught sight of the patterns a few times.
But you know Rumi well enough that you know she’s not like the demons they hunt. That she’s a good person. Benevolent. A protector. A guardian in her own right. Her secret is safe with you.
It actually is pretty easy for the four of you to become friends. Huntr/x wants to keep the world safe from demons. You want to keep your home—Seoul—safe from demons.
Plus, with how long you’ve been playing the observer, there’s a lot you can teach them.
Things about the Hunters and demons that got lost to the cracks of time. Fighting styles of hunters of ages past. History on demons that’s they have no records of.
You’re basically the perfect demon hunting textbook for them.
That being said, Mira and Zoey are going to tease you relentlessly for being their biggest stalker.
On the flip side! The girls can teach you so much about being and interacting with humans.
Zoey wastes no time dragging you off to all the best spots in the city once she learns that despite being around for centuries, you’ve never really gone to a mall, or an arcade. She sees this as something that needs to be fixed ASAP.
And you have Mira and Rumi coaching you on how to act like a modern human and not the ancient guardian spirit that you are during it.
“You’re going to sound like a grandma talking like that.”
“I don’t think even grandparents talk like that anymore. But hey, if they plan to do historical reenactments, then they’ve got the dialect down.”
Mira was very eager to take you shopping. Sure, you pulled off the Joseon Dynasty clothing pretty well, but she was determined to update your wardrobe and nothing was going to stop her from turning you into her dress up doll.
Which translates to an entire day going to different clothing stores where she becomes a tyrant in finding the best outfits for you to wear or try on.
She would have taken you to more, but you could only go so far from the river. She couldn’t even tour you through the entirety the Myeong-Dong fashion district.
Tragic. But she’s got your measurement memorized, so she’ll make do.
Meanwhile, you were very excited going to the aquarium. There’s something surreal about seeing creatures of water confined in tanks for display that you wanted to experience. You also told them that you can talk to fish while you were all there. Had a full conversation where you were gossiping with a koi fish.
The girls have yet to figure out if you’re being serious or joking.
You and Derpy are basically besties once he’s introduced to you. A tiger spirit and a dragon spirit? A friendship destined in the stars. Rumi is pouting because you stole her baby.
Zoey will, every chance she gets, beg you to make it rain. Doesn’t want to have to do this very boring outdoor promo? Pleads for you to bring in a storm. She made a bet that she could predict with 100% accuracy exactly when it was going to rain? Come on, help a girl out.
It's nice for Rumi, too, to have someone to talk to about the more not-human side of things. She loves Mira and Zoey, but they don't necessarily understand all the little quirks of being half demon.
But you do. You understand that part of her way better than even she does. Can tell her all the things about being half-demon that Celine never could.
She can tell you about all the weird side effects of it and you'll just nod and go "Yeah, that sounds about right. You to take more iron supplements and that should fix things up." And it does, in fact, fix things up.
This friendship, of course, doesn’t mean the demons stop coming. The girls are still fighting and you, if they are near the river, are there to lend a hand.
It makes the fights more fun for them, too, and makes the fights end quicker. They always know you’re going to join when it starts to drizzle. The demons don’t agree, they didn’t sign up to have to fight hunters and a guardian spirit.
They are gonna lose it when they see you in your true form. Because sure they know you’re a dragon, but actually seeing a real dragon? Minds completely blown.
You might be a little flustered by how much they’re fawning over you.
“See! They do have a beard! I was right!”
Celine is going to have a damn heart attack when she meets you.
Sure the girls said they thought there was possibly a dragon in Seoul, but she didn't actually think there was a dragon in Seoul.
Can her girls please stop collecting supernatural spirits??? First the samjok-o and horangi. Now you??
What’s next?? Are they going to add a haetae to their supernatural menagerie?
Zoey-- Stop! Get away from the haetae statues!
At the very least, this all but guarantees they’re going to have a lot of good fortune coming their way.
Idea I wanna push before I conk out for the night:
A mirror of Little Tiger but this time with Rumi and the Celine/MamaBear baby.
It’s been a few years, he’s like four or so, and Rumi is babysitting him for the day while Celine and you are off on a day trip. It’s been great, Rumi and her new baby brother get along wonderful, she’s his favorite person after all. Only she looses sight of him for a bit, gets a little worried—becomes very worried when she hears him trying not to cry in the bathroom.
She goes in, finds him sitting on the floor fighting back tears and surrounded by crayons, arms covered in very rough and broke up crayon marks and red from the irritation. Shes confused because what was going on in here, worried because what happened, and the kid isn’t helping because he look so guilty and disappointed.
Turns out he was trying to draw on patterns to match Rumis, but the crayons didn’t work so well on skin. He’s crying because he was trying so hard but “they don’t look pretty like Rumis” and upset because he really wanted to match his favorite sister, especially because he loves how pretty her patterns are.
Rumi out here just barely holding back tears too now.
Of course she washes the kid clean of crayon and finds some skin-safe markers and helps draw matching patterns on her little brother in all his favorite colors, and the kid is thrilled because now he gets to look like Rumi, he’s now Rumis little tiger cub.
Tags: Celine/Reader, Rumi&Reader, Mama!Bear Reader, Injuries, Protective Behavior, Rumi-Typical Guilt & Shame, This family just loves each other and wants to protect each other so much
WC: 7900, whoops got carried away with this one.
You were used to Celine’s paranoid anxieties. That had been one of the first things you had to accept when you began dating her.
She was overly cautious and highly protective. If she hadn’t heard from you in a while then her mind started filling with worst case scenarios. Maybe you got hurt, maybe you got kidnapped, maybe a demon got you while Celine wasn’t around. She wouldn’t relax until she heard your voice again.
At home she refused to go to bed until she had patrolled the perimeter of her own home, double-checking every room, every window, and every door to make sure they were safe. You teased her exactly once over it, and immediately felt guilty for it. If this is what Celine needed to feel safe at home, you weren’t going to judge her. You’d help her in whatever way you could.
Once the Sunlight Sisters fell apart with Miyeong’s death, her paranoia worsened. Miyeong’s death had been a jarring reminder of how fragile their lives were.
And what’s more? Suddenly it wasn’t only you she needed to protect, but Rumi too. Suddenly she was carrying the weight of protecting the whole world all on her own. She had become Atlas, carrying the Heaven’s on her shoulders. Even as Rumi got older, those worries and fears Celine carried didn’t ease.
Couldn’t rest.
The Honmoon was growing weaker with each passing year, there was only so much Celine could do to protect it, but one hunter was never going to be enough. More demons were slipping through; the cracks were deepening.
Her fears worsening.
You had lost track of how often you woke up to Celine fretting over you, as if she were afraid you had died. You had lost count of how often you would slip out of bed in the wee hours of the night and find your wife asleep on the floor, back to Rumi's crib, and her ssanggeom in each hand.
Sometimes you’d find her awake and standing over Rumis crib—and later bed—as she stood watch. “sojunghan saram,” she would whisper to the girl as she tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear.
There was one night in particular you still remembered clearly. There had been a presence over your body and fingers at your throat.
Jolting awake, you were met with a ragged Celine kneeling over you on the bed, fingers pressed to your pulse point on your throat. She was covered in bruises and still-bleeding cuts from the latest round of demons she had to fight off.
“You… you were so still,” Celine explained in a dreadful whisper as she pulled her shaking hand back. “I had to be sure.”
She’d already lost two of her closest friends, she couldn’t stand the thought of losing either you or Rumi too. She was paranoid, she was anxious, she had to make constant sure that you were okay.
And you couldn’t blame her, couldn’t bring yourself to even pretend to be annoyed.
You took her hand in yours and pressed a kiss to her bruised knuckles to show that this was real, that you were living, not a ghost, “I'm fine, we’re fine, nae sarang,” you murmured. You were here, and Rumi was sleeping soundly in he own room.
Crawling out of bed, you carefully led Celine out of your shared room. She didn’t make a fuss, didn’t argue as you made her take a seat at the kitchen island, only letting out a quiet, almost unnoticeable, whine when you let go of her hand and walked away.
The first aid kit was in the bathroom, it was sizable, bigger than you suspected most households needed, and was very well used. Tucking the metal box under your arm, you’d grabbed a wash cloth and then retrieved a bowl of warm water from the kitchen. You’d done this song and dance plenty of times, the steps second nature at this point.
You carefully washed the blood and dirt off of her with the damp cloth, watching the bowl of water slowly turn redder and redder. You poured it out and replaced it with fresh water three times before you were satisfied with the result.
Then began the slow process of finally cleaning out each wound made by demon claws and weapon. She was covered in so many gashes and scrapes, deep cuts and light scratches.
She never used to come home this injured when she had the others to watch her back. A few bruises, a couple of cuts. Nothing some band-aids and concealer couldn't fix. Now she came home each night like she'd dragged herself from war.
You never said anything on it. She was doing all she could, the work of three on the shoulders of one. If she came home more injured than she used to, then you'd kiss her bruises and wrap her cuts. You were just grateful she came home.
Each injury you took your time and care with, being as thorough as you could cleaning and disinfecting it before moving on to the next, staying as gentle as you could with Celine.
It was as you were wetting another cotton ball that Celine stiffened in a familiar way, bringing you to pause. To listen. Quiet footsteps, the gentle creak of floorboards. An even softer gasp.
“You should be in bed, little cub.”
Turning around, you were met with the sight of the small girl loitering around the corner, trying to be sneaky as she watched. Rumi had her teddy bear tucked under one arm, and her eyes were wide with fright as she peered at you two.
“…Is Celine going to be okay?”
Celine pushed past the pain to offer Rumi a strained smile, holding out a hand in a quiet invitation for her to come over. “I’ll be fine, Rumi,” she assured the girl who scampered across the room to latch on to her. “I’m far tougher than I look.”
Rumi nuzzled into her hand, eyes still wet with tears, mind clearly rushing over all the worst what ifs it could imagine after seeing Celine so hurt.
Like mother like daughter, you supposed.
They had done well up until now to keep Rumi away from this side of demon hunting. She could be told stories of hunts and fights, Celine and yourself could paint them as fantastical, heroic battles that one might see in her cartoons or read in a book. The kind of fights where the hero always wins and no one really gets hurt.
But you had both always made sure she never saw the aftermath of those fights, neither wanting to worry or scare her. She was too young to know just how dangerous fighting a demon could be. To see Celine covered in her own blood after each fight.
Well, so much for that now.
“Celine’s right, Rumi,” you hummed, kneeling down beside her. “She’s too stubborn to not be okay.”
She didn’t look too convinced, and you couldn’t blame her, so you switched tactics. “I’ve still got a lot of work with patching her up. Do you think you could lend me a hand?”
Rumi, always so eager to help, agreed immediately while asking what it was you needed her to do and promising to do her task well.
It was simple enough. An extra pair of hands to hand you things or to hold items steady for you. You were still doing all the work, but passing you fresh cotton balls and antiseptic was doing wonders at making Rumi feel useful, and hopefully at distracting her.
And Celine did her part of holding perfectly still as you continued to clean out the injuries, exhaling in slow, steady breaths, smiling over at Rumi, reassuring the girl over and over that she was fine, that she would be okay.
By the time you and Rumi had finished, Celine was cleaned up, stitched up, and wrapped up in fresh white bandages and over a dozen teddy bear band-aids.
Once completed, you’d hoisted Rumi up into your arms—letting out an exaggerated grunt and gasp as you teased her for getting to be so big, how she needed to stop growing—and propped her up on your hip. “I think that’s enough excitement for one night, cub. Let’s get you to bed.”
Of course Rumi argued and fought, still so worried for Celine, there was no way she'd able to just go to sleep.
So a compromise: she spent the night curled up between the two of you so she could make absolutely sure that Celine would be okay.
It was cute.
Of course, Celine continued to come home battered and bruised after each fight, and you continued to mend her wounds and tend to her aches each time.
But now the dynamic had shifted, just a little, as Rumi continued to worry herself into tears until you let her help take in whatever little way you could. That's all she really wanted; to help. To take care of Celine just like she took care of you and her.
There had been another incident, one that you swore up and down wasn’t half as serious as your girls claimed it was. Though your reassurances did little to help ease the paranoia and fear in them.
It had been late at night. Rumi, who was now eleven, had convinced yourself and Celine to take her to see a new animated film at the theaters—not that it took much convincing, that girl had both of you wrapped around her fingers—and by the time the movie was over and you two were walking home, the sun had long since set and the streets had become quiet.
Rumi was between you both, each holding one of her hands as you swung her between you, laughing, talking animatedly about the movie, the songs, the characters. She had stars in her eyes, and was probably running on a rather big sugar high. Neither of you had noticed the way she had faltered, or the odd, brief look flickering her face.
Celine had sensed it a few minutes later, an ominous shift in the Honmoon. She didn’t have to explain herself, she had contingencies for incidents like these.
So as she ran off to hunt, you had tightened your grip on Rumi’s hand and began a brisk walk to the nearest store you could find that was still open. It didn’t erase the danger, but it was safer to wait in a public space than it was to be alone in the streets when demons broke free.
Most of the stores were closed, it was hard to find somewhere that might have been open still. You wouldn’t lie; you were starting to grow worried, not that you would let it show.
You kept a brave face instead, assuring Rumi that everything was fine, that they weren’t in any sort of trouble. While Celine was fighting, it was your job to keep your little girl calm, to chase away the fear.
Rumi had whimpered, clinging to you like her life depended on it.
If she hadn’t let out a scream when she had, you never would have noticed the demon approaching. The creature was red and leathery, with a single bulging eye.
In an instant, it leapt off a dumpster at you.
You’d tackled Rumi, to the ground, shielding her with your own body as you dived away from the razor-sharp claws.
This was bad.
Celine was the hunter, not you. You couldn’t summon weapons from the Honmoon, nor did you have the kind of fighting experience that Celine had when it came to demons. At most you had a few self-defense lessons meant to deal with would-be muggers and a bottle of expired pepper spray in your purse.
Needless to say, you were grossly out of your depth here.
But you had Rumi at your side, and like fucking hell were you going to let anything happen to her.
The demon stayed crouched on the ground, looking up at you and Rumi like a child staring at a dead bug with morbid fascination. It said nothing, tilted it’s head and stared at them. Then the thing slowly smiled at you, full off too many teeth, full of too much malice.
You'd like to think that you threw some witty line at it, some kind of wisecrack as you angled your body to best shield Rumi. When it lashed out to punch and slash, you grabbed Rumi and threw yourselves the opposite way.
Keep your distance. Don’t let it get close enough to touch you. Just hold out until Celine found you. Those were the rules. Meant to keep you safe, meant to protect you.
Simple in theory, a lot harder in practice.
Lucky for you, the demon was as dumb as it was ugly. Making it easy to distract it, easy to evade it.
You continued to dance around it, dragging Rumi with you each step. At one point you managed to get enough distance to pull out your pepper spray and—with nothing more than a hope and a prayer that the bottle would still work—you managed to spritz it in it's bulging eye.
It may not have been half as potent as it should have been, but it still sent the demon screaming and writhing for a minute or two. Add in another minute of being dazed after you threw in a punch to the eye for free.
It was plenty long enough to give you and Rumi a running start as you fled.
Unfortunately, it was a tragic fact of life that you can never truly outrun a demon. Not when they have a cheat code known as teleportation.
You and Rumi had only made it to the end of the block before being cut off by a sudden cloud of maroon smoke appearing in front of you and a just as fast swipe of claws aimed at Rumi.
Without even thinking, you threw yourself over her.
You heard your sweater tear. Felt your skin tear, followed by the warm trickle of blood that began dribbling down your shoulder.
Thankfully, the demon didn’t have a chance to follow up.
There was the quiet sound of metal hissing through the air, and then the demon was gone like a cloud in the sky, and Celine had taken its place.
She stood before you, face glistening with sweat, her clothes torn, and her skin littered in new bruises and fresh cuts.
Her hands were on your face the moment her twin blades returned to the Honmoon, checking you and Rumi over with frantic worry.
She saw your bleeding shoulder and you saw her face twist from worry to terror and guilt.
Celine was talking to you—you could see her mouth moving, as her hand hovered over the injury, but you couldn’t heard the words over the roar in your ears.
It took a few seconds, you think, before the noise quieted enough for you to hear Celine's rushed and quiet apologies and self-flagellation over the injury.
“Jagiya, I’m fine. We’re fine,” you weren’t sure, but you hope you sounded more convincing than you looked.
Celine looked like she wanted to argue, but that was too bad for her, because you made sure that Rumi took priority.
She was sobbing against you, face pressed into your arm as your blood dripped onto her. Rumi was crying out apologies. If Celine was bad about blaming herself over you getting hurt, your cub was worse.
You got hurt protecting her, so it’s her fault you’re bleeding, Rumi had insisted between hiccups. She’s sorry, she’s sorry.
You ignored the ache in your bones as you pulled yourself free from Celine to drop to your knee, pulling Rumi into your chest. The only one to blame for you being hurt was the demon, and it was gone now. It had tried to hurt Rumi; it was only natural you’d protect her.
You kept whispering reassurances to her, trying to assuage her guilt and assure her that she wasn’t to blame.
The walk back home had been tense. Celine on high alert, carrying Rumi in one arm, her other wrapped carefully around you as if to shield you both. Rumi hiccupping between her sobs.
That was the first night that you found yourself sitting on the stool while Rumi and Celine fretted over you, cleaning out your injury and stitching you shut.
The injury would leave a scar. You didn’t care. To you it was a proud reminder of how far you’d go to keep your family safe.
A week later Rumi stubbornly demanded Celine train her.
And with that your own fears began to materialize: the inevitably that both of your girls will be putting their lives on the line to fight.
Your nights used to be spent patching Celine up. But now your evenings were the same; spent bandaging Rumi's cuts and icing her bruises.
You had hoped, deep down, that she would decide the training was too much for her, that she didn’t want to live this kind of life. Celine wouldn't force her into becoming a hunter if she didn't want to.
But Rumi took to her training like a fish to water. Just like with Celine, Rumi was single-minded in her focus, determined to accomplish whatever task she was given perfectly.
You just wished your cub wasn’t inheriting all Celine’s bad habits.
She continued to refuse to look at your scar with anything but guilt. Refused to stop blaming herself for your injury. As if there had been anything an eleven-year-old kid could have done to prevent any of it.
It was two in the morning when you carefully removed yourself from Celine’s hold and slipped out of the bed. The way she whined, trying to keep you against her even in her sleep, it was honestly adorable.
You kept your movements as quiet as possible so your wife could sleep as you approached the bedroom door, intent to only get a glass of water, nothing more.
Opening the door, you were not expecting to see Rumi.
She was slumped on the floor, back pressed to the wall across from your room. She was in her teddy bear pajamas, cradling her wooden practice sword, her head dipped low in a position that would guarantee neck and back pain come morning.
You quietly closed the door behind you and then knelt beside her, placing a careful hand on her shoulder. “Rumi,” you whispered, giving her just the slightest nudge.
Just like with Celine, the girl jolted awake with wide eyes, drawing her sword to fight.
And just like with Celine whenever she woke up thinking she was in a fight, you gently caught her wrist in a loose, nonconfining grasp before she could lash out, keeping your voice quiet for her, “It’s just me, cub.”
Rumi blinked away the sleep, chest heaving as she stared up at you in slow recognition. A moment passed before her face flushed in shame. “Sorry—I” she pulled her hand free, dropping it, and the sword, to her lap. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize for being startled.”
Rumi still wouldn’t look your way, staring at the closed bedroom door, at the wooden sword in her lap, her own twitching fingers.
Like mother, like daughter, you thought with a sigh.
“Come with me,” was all you said as you stood, slowly pulling Rumi to her feet too. She didn’t argue or fight you, the hall was no place for a conversation, and so you gentle guided her to the kitchen.
Before long you had her sitting beside you at the table, a mug of tea in her hands. Her eyes continued to dart left and right. Just like Celine always did.
“What were you doing outside our door?” you asked her, your tone wasn’t accusatory, just genuine curiosity and concern. Had she had a bad dream? She knew she could always come and wake you if she did—her becoming a teenager didn’t mean she was allowed less comfort.
Rumi kept staring at her tea, at the small ripples in the dark liquid that came with each slight movement. Then, slowly, she gave you a shrug as she continued to avoid your gaze. “Thought I heard something in the house.”
“And so, you decided to stand guard outside our room?”
There wasn’t a shrug this time, rather Rumi shrunk down on herself, as if worried she’d done something wrong. Her eyes flickered to your shoulder; your sleep shirt had left just enough of the skin exposed that she could see the beginnings of the scar she hated so much. A new rush of guilt and shame flashed across her face.
Reaching across the table, you rested your hand over hers. “Rumi, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
You felt like you’ve been telling her that a lot more often as she grew up. That constant fear, walking on eggshells, the worry that she’d disappoint you or Celine. Worried she’d make one wrong step and everyone would hate her for it.
You wished you could know how to help her better.
Rumi still avoided your gaze, “I’m just worried for you,” you told her. “Sleeping on the floor like that isn’t good for you.”
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Rumi defended. As if that made it any better.
Rather than say that; you just gave her hand a comforting squeeze. Rumi was too much like Celine for her own good, but at least that meant you had an idea of what to expect.
That being that you knew telling Rumi to stop it wasn’t going to work. She’ll just try to be craftier about her nightly sentry duties, sneakier about it—and the last thing you want is for Rumi to feel like she has to hide anything from you.
You had learned that the best way to handle the stubbornness of a Hunter was to find a compromise.
“Next time you feel like something’s wrong, like you did tonight, please wake Celine or myself. If there is some kind of threat, I don’t want to worry about you dealing with it on your own,” you told her. “And if you have to stand guard, at least bring a pillow or two so it’s more comfortable.”
That, at least, Rumi could agree to. Celine would have more experience handling any threat, and—if you insisted then she wouldn’t argue about the pillow.
A compromise, that’s all you asked.
Still smiling softly, you slowly pushed yourself up from the table. “Do you want to go back to bed, or stay up a little longer?”
“A little longer—but you can go back to bed, you don’t have to stay up with me,” Rumi said quickly, finally looking up from her cooling tea. “I don’t want to keep you up.”
“Lucky for you that I happen to want to stay up with you.”
Rumi tried to argue, but the end result was inevitable, with the two of you curled up on the couch watching Culinary Class Wars on the television as the night hours slowly drifted by.
The two of you were still there at dawn when Celine padded out into the room, tired, clearly a little miffed to have woken up without you beside her in bed. But her sour expression had softened immediately when she saw Rumi curled up against you on the couch, sleeping soundly.
You smiled, a finger to your lips as you looked at her, your other hand gently threading through Rumi’s hair.
Nights like this proved to be a reoccurring thing with Rumi. It reminded you of how Celine used to anxiously watch over her when Rumi was little.
There were times where she’d pace aggressively around the house, like she was looking for something, hunting for something, but not even she knew what she was trying to find. If she wasn’t pacing, she looked ready to vibrate out of her skin.
Anxiety, you theorized. Celine’s paranoia rubbing off on her.
You had suggested seeing a doctor, if nothing else then maybe getting Rumi on anxiety medication could help her. But, unsurprisingly, Rumi was just as stubbornly against the idea as Celine had been when you had suggested the same to her years ago.
Like mother. Like daughter.
In all the best and worst ways.
So you handled this in the only way you could.
If you saw Rumi jumping at shadows, like a prey knowing it’s predator was lurking just out of sight, you’d bundle her up and sit her down with a drink, a treat, and let her vent.
Even if it didn’t make sense to you, even if it didn’t make sense to her, you let her get all the words for what she was feeling out.
Something was wrong.
Rumi felt like there were too many eyes watching. The sense that something was waiting. Her patterns would start itching and aching, and she would feel breathing on her neck.
There was a constricting, confining pressure in her chest that wouldn’t go away until she started moving, started searching.
You weren’t sure if anxiety was the right answer—but Celine assured her that the Honmoon didn’t so much as shiver the last time she had that rush of paranoia.
Still, Rumi didn’t settle, didn’t rest. Continued to pace the house in the dark of night when those watching eyes grew too much, continued to stand guard outside yours and Celine’s room when the anxiety got too much.
Continued to watch cooking shows with you on the couch until she finally relaxed and fell asleep.
Rumi was fifteen years old now. She was still training hard to become a Hunter, and had been working just as hard in her music.
You felt like you got to see her less and less as her time was consumed with lessons. It was all but set in stone now that she’d succeed as the leader of the next generation of Hunters.
You had mixed feelings about that.
Pride for all that your daughter has and was going to accomplish, for how strong and brave she had grown to be. But also fear; fear for her safety, her wellbeing. You didn’t want to see her to carry the same scars Celine had.
And you knew that deep down Celine felt the same.
It was shown in how, even after years of training, even when Rumi had long since learned to forge her own weapon from the Honmoon, Celine still chose to fight the demons alone. Telling Rumi that she wasn’t ready to fight—telling you that she wasn’t ready to make Rumi fight.
But you’ve lived long enough to know that fate rarely cares about what a person wants.
It’s been fifteen years. The Honmoon was barely holding itself together without the Hunters song to sustain it. The Sunlight Sisters had faded into obscurity by now, their music barely enough to keep the barrier strong. It was a miracle in itself that the Honmoon hadn’t completely shattered yet.
That didn’t mean it didn’t tear.
The Honmoon had crackled and shuddered so badly that Celine had feared it was going to break. The sign of a tear—one that both her and Rumi knew one Hunter alone couldn’t handle.
Rumi had begged and argued, she was a skilled fighter now, there was no doubt about it. Celine needed the help, regardless of what her pride said. Regardless of how desperately Celine wanted to not put Rumi in that kind of danger.
Ultimately, Celine had agreed. They didn’t have time to keep arguing, and as much as she hated it, she couldn’t fight this on her own.
That left you to wait for them alone at home.
It was an awful feeling.
It wasn’t as if you’d never been alone before while Celine was fighting demons. Back before Rumi was born, when the Sunlight Sisters still stood, you were often alone when the three went to deal with the demon incursions.
But back then you knew that they would be okay. Worried, yes, but you never doubted that they’d come home safe and sound.
Having both Rumi and Celine gone felt different. Filled you with so much more fear that it left you drowning in your thoughts.
What if something happened? Rumi’s never fought a demon before, her experience in combat came from sparring with Celine and nothing more. What if something went wrong and she got hurt? What if there were too many demons for them? What if you lost Celine? You couldn’t lose Celine. You couldn’t lose either of them.
Distraction, that’s what you needed.
It was already late into the night, and you tried to busy yourself with mindless tasks. Pacing was getting you nowhere, the house was already as spotless as it could be, so you did what you did best when you were stressed.
Cook.
They were going to be tired and hungry when they got home, you reasoned as you got to work. You needed to make them dinner. A celebratory meal for Rumi to congratulate her on her first real fight against the demons.
Rumi liked kimbaps. So, you decided you’d make some. But Celine liked bossam and bibimbap—you’d make that too, of course. And obviously there was all the side dishes you needed to make for them. Kimchi, ssamjang, maybe some seau-jeot if you had some shrimp. If not, some miyeok-guk would be good.
Maybe you were going a little overboard. But if you couldn’t stress clean, you sure as hell were going to burn all this nervous energy by stress cooking!
That way you could feel productive, you could keep your mind off the fight that Celine and Rumi were in the middle of, you could make sure there was something good for them to come home to.
Rolling up your sleeves and slipping on your apron, you got to work.
Across the city, where the Honmoon had been torn open, Celine and Rumi were fighting tirelessly, cutting down one demon after the other.
Spilling out from the rupture was a swarm of faceless demons. They crawled and climbed over each other in their mad bid to attack the pair of Hunters, filling the air with animalistic growls and snarls.
They were exactly how Celine had taught her; weak enough that a single blow from Rumi’s saingeom killed them. But the danger wasn’t in the individual, it was in their overwhelming numbers.
They were on a tightrope. One misstep from her or Celine and the hoard could overrun them.
But they were slowly pushing back, the swarm thinning by the minute. They just had to reach the tear, help the Honmoon mend itself, and the demons would be cut off.
Rumi grunted as she kicked one of the demons away, sending it careening into another group before pivoting on her heel and swinging her sword, cutting through three more in a single arc.
Celine had been right about this, too.
This was nothing compared to all her training.
At that thought, Rumi dared to look over to where her mother mentor was fighting further away.
Celine’s ssanggeoms cut through the air, bringing down one demon after the other, her movements as graceful as a stream. Each step she took, each swing of her ssanggeom carefully measured to use the least amount of energy without sacrificing the power behind it. A form of efficiency born only from years of experience.
Had Rumi not been fighting for her own life—and the lives of everyone this swarm would hurt if they failed—she would have deigned to just watch.
There was something enthralling about the way Celine fought. A kind of grace that made it seem less like a battle and more like a dance.
But this was certainly not the time, or the place, for that. Every second counted, and she couldn't afford to be distracted.
Another demon lunged for her, and Rumi turned, beheading it in a clean strike, watching the body dissolved into a maroon mist, as if it had never been there to begin with.
She tried not to think about it, about her own patterns, about whether she would dissolve in a similar cloud if she were killed.
They were nearly done.
Celine pulled the strings of the Honmoon and created a shockwave that took out the bulk of the swarm, Rumi had managed to cut through more demons, providing cover when Celine managed to reach the tear, keeping the faceless demons away from her.
The Honmoon glowed blue as she focused her energy into it, the rupture growing smaller and smaller until the strings reconnected—weaker than they should be, but closed once more.
As Rumi brought her sword down on one more demon, she felt it. Her body stiffening as a familiar sense of wrongness overtook her.
Home, something deep inside her urged.
“Celine,” her voice came out hoarse, strained, watching as Celine took down the last of the demons with a spin of her blades. “Celine, we need to leave. We need to go back. Now.”
Home, home, home, her instincts screamed.
That’s where you were. Home. Alone.
In the back of her mind, she saw the puff of smoke, the flash of claws, crimson blood dripping down your shoulder as you curled yourself over Rumi.
They needed to get back home.
The beef for the bibimbap was marinating, the rice cooker was on. You had all your vegetables chopped up and divided into bowls. Cooking, focusing your attention on something tangible, had proved to help in keeping your mind off your worries.
You were proud of the meal you were making. All the favorite dishes of your favorite girls. Sure, you might have gone a bit excessive for just the three of you, but every little dish had kept your mind away from thoughts such as ‘Is Celine okay?’ ‘I don’t want Rumi to come home as tattered as Celine does’ ‘Please let them come home’ just that little bit longer.
It was while you were sauteing a pan of carrots that you heard the quiet footsteps behind you. There was only one person you knew who could move that quietly.
You allowed yourself to feel relief.
They’d come home sooner than you had thought—maybe the tear hadn’t been as bad as they feared, the demons not as dangerous. It didn’t matter the how, the why, all that mattered was that they were home.
Closing your eyes, you exhaled slowly, feeling the worry begin to ebb away. “Welcome home, aegiya,” you greeted.
But that fading worry turned ice in your veins when you turned around, because the being standing before you were neither Rumi nor Celine. It wasn’t even a human.
A demon.
This one had two eyes, it’s skin tight and red, glistening in a way skin didn’t, like a costume. It’s patterns glowing strongly under the fluorescent light.
It had the teeth of a predator—to long, too sharp, made to sink into muscle and tear—and claws like knives that could cut through flesh with ease. It was blocking off your exit out of the kitchen, cornering you in the room.
No, no, no! This was bad. They've never had a demon so bold as to invade their home before.
You couldn’t—Celine was nowhere near you. Busy fighting the influx of demons elsewhere in the city.
Rumi! Your brain screamed on instinct, you had to keep this from going after Rumi, you had to—no, she’s not here either. She’s with Celine, where she’s, ironically, safer.
You were the only one home.
You and a demon were the only ones here.
The demon seemed to have known that as well with the way it laughed, as if mocking you. You must have seemed like such easy prey when alone.
The demon lunged. You grabbed the pan off the burner and swung.
What followed was a reverberating scream as hot metal connected with its face, sending the demon reeling back. The smell of burned skin filled the kitchen.
You let out a hiss as the hot oil spilled onto your hand, pushing past the sizzling pain as you brandish the pan like a weapon. Sliced carrots and oil poured out of the pan and covered the kitchen floor.
The blow you delt it had only stunned the demon for a moment, unfortunately. It was on you again. You tried to dodge it; you tried to swing the hot pan at it again. But the creature had wised up to your tricks, knocking the attack aside to grab you by the wrist—
Hot pain coursed through you as your arm was sliced open.
You barely bit back the scream—maybe you didn’t hold it back at all—as you were wrenched to the side, the demon bringing you inches from its face, it’s mouth wide to take a bite.
You thrusted the pan upwards, jamming the hot metal into the demon’s mouth.
That proved far more effective than simply hitting the monster with the pan. It went stumbling back, clawing at its own face as it screamed in pain. Even with the pan gone, it still had the oil clinging to it.
This was your chance.
With the demon distracted by it's own pain, you made a break for it, running past the monster.
Keep your distance. Don't let it get close enough to touch you. Just hold out until Celine came home. Those were the rules. You just had to keep it occupied, keep it off you, until Celine came home.
Simple in theory.
So very much not simple in practice.
The floor was wet, slippery with the mix of oils, food, and your own blood dripping from your arm. One wrong step and your foot slid out under you, sending you careening to the floor—
With a harsh tug your fall came to a sudden stop, your face a breath from tile as the demon held you by your injured arm.
You only had a moment to even process what had happened before it was twisting your arm in its grip—you felt something in the limb go pop, blossoming with new pain—as it dragged you back up. Dragging you back to it.
With your free arm, you reached behind you blindly, grabbing one of the bowls and swung your arm back around to strike the demon.
It didn’t work. It caught the bowl with it’s own free hand and threw it across the kitchen. The sound of glass shattering filled your ears.
Moments later you were being thrown across the kitchen after it. Skittering across the tiles and shards of glass, your head connecting with the hard frame of the kitchen island with a resounding crack.
Dazed. You could see stars mixed with the growing dark spots in your visions.
For a moment you think you saw the Honmoon—glittering light threading across the ground. Pretty, you thought numbly. Like the staves of a music sheet. Just needed to put some notes in it and then it'd be a song. Maybe Celine could play its song. She plays such pretty music.
There was a dull throb in the back of your head and when you pulled your hand away there was a thick layer of blood on your fingers, sticky and wet.
Faintly, you knew that wasn’t a good thing, but your brain was playing ping-pong in your skull and for the life of you, you couldn’t think of why.
Claws wrapped around your ankle, cutting into the tender, fragile flesh and tendons, as you were dragged across the floor.
The jolts of pain helped you stay conscious even as the darkness at the edges of your vision began spreading. The demon had your leg in its hand, lifting you up, jaw unhinging as it leaned in to take a bite.
Something crashed in the distance.
Dark shapes surged into the room and onto the demon. There was a loud crunch as twin blades drove into it’s arm, cutting through meat and bone, forcing it to drop you.
No sooner had you hit the ground did another blur of a figure fly past you, knocking the demon back and tackling it to the ground.
“Get away from her!”
Oh. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Celine look so furious.
Something soft wedged itself beneath your head and shoulders, your new position helped ease the nauseating dizziness just a bit, but did little for the way your consciousness was flickering in and out.
“No, no, no!” Oh. That was Rumi above you. You think that was Rumi. She was really, really blurry, but you’d recognize that shade of purple and braid-shaped smudge anywhere. Why did she look so scared? “Celine! Her head’s bleeding really badly—what do I do?”
Bleeding? Silly cub. That wasn’t blood, that’s just the bibimbap sauce.
Rumi was staring at you, confusion mixing with her hysteria. Had you said something odd?
Your eyes flickered back down to where Celine was on top of the demon, you tried to focus on her, on her movements, but your eyelids were getting so heavy.
Faintly, you could still hear Rumi talking to you from above, but her voice had become just as blurry as your vision, muffled, like there were layers of water between her and yourself—
You awoke feeling stiff, confined.
To say that everything hurt would have been an understatement of monumental proportions. You could barely lift your arm without grimacing in pain.
“Don’t move! Please, don’t! You might tear one of your stitches!”
Stitches?
Groggily, you realized that confining feeling was because of all the bandages wrapped around you, and sure enough there were stitches beneath them. You almost felt like a mummy in that moment.
You blinked, slowly turning your head to the best of your ability, and then blinked again, willing your vision to focus.
Rumi was there, standing before you as you laid in your bed.
Her eyes were red and puffy; her cheeks soaked with tears. Her arm was sloppily bandaged up, there was a bruise on her left cheek, and a cut along her temple. She hadn’t come out of that fight unscathed, and your heart ached for it.
Your immediate instinct was to reach out and start fretting over her, to make sure whoever had bandaged her up had done a good and proper job.
But that would require you moving, and right now moving hurt.
“Are you okay, cub?” you settled on, your voice felt hoarse, your throat scratchy.
Rumi let out something between a sob and a laugh. “You’re asking if I’m okay?” she asked in disbelief. “You’re the one who almost—who almost—”
The words caught in her throat as she let out a whine, new tears building up and falling from her eyes as she all but threw herself onto you, burying her face in your chest, letting out a loud cry.
“I was so scared, you stopped moving—you were bleeding so much!” Rumi whimpered, clinging desperately to you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry! I should have listened to you and Celine. I should have stayed here, if I had then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”
Slowly, carefully, biting back the hiss of pain, you raised your arm and rested it on Rumi’s back, gently rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.
“If you had stayed with me, it’d be Celine in this bed instead.”
Between the tears she’d managed to explain to you that Celine had gone back out there—hunting down any straggling demons, fortifying the tear as best she could. She should be back soon, so don’t worry.
Was there anything she could get you in the meantime? Anything Rumi could do to make you more comfortable? Water? Tea? Were you hungry?
Celine had said you couldn’t have anything heavy since you hit your head hard, but she could make you some soup if you were hungry, some broth should be light enough.
Maybe it was the lingering effects of the concussion, but the mention of food had sparked a laugh from you, and an apology. “There might be some side dishes that survived, if you're hungry. Maybe the rice. But sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish cooking for you two.”
That had earned you a light admonish.
Who cared if you didn’t get dinner done? All they cared about was that you were okay! Don’t even worry about cleaning up the mess, she and Celine would take care of that. You just needed to focus on resting, on healing.
There wasn’t any kind of argument you could muster against her at that. So you didn’t. You just nodded your head and watched as the tension bled out of her.
You weren’t sure just how much time had passed after that. Rumi had insisted on staying at your side, and you couldn’t say no to her, not when you were sure that would only have her cry and probably panic. Eventually she had cried herself to sleep curled up against your side.
That was the position you two remained in when Celine eventually stepped into the room, her footsteps quiet, as if to not disturb you. She looked even more haggard than usual.
The moment her eyes met yours, that she saw you were awake, she was at your other side, sitting on the bed and carefully combing her nails through your hair. “Yeobo,” she whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking.
You smiled back up at her, catching her other hand and tilting your head so you could press a kiss to her bruised and bleeding knuckles. “I’m fine, we’re fine,” you murmured. All three of you were here and alive. Maybe a little banged up, but you would all recover.
Celine didn’t cry, not like Rumi had, but she dipped head down to press her forehead to yours, taking in a sharp, shuddering breath. “We’re fine,” she echoed.
It took several weeks before the final bandage had come off.
Any time Rumi and Celine weren’t spending hovering over you, they spent training. Rumi pushing herself harder and harder, both determined to not let something like this happen again.
Celine had told you one time, while Rumi was in the garden, practicing her sword swings, that it was Rumi who had dragged her back to the house that night. That Rumi had felt something was wrong.
If Rumi hadn’t, if she hadn’t gone running back to the house with Celine, you likely wouldn’t be here.
It was an instinct of some kind. Celine wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, but she suspected that Rumi might be able to sense the presence of demons. She wasn’t certain yet, and she didn’t want to bring it up to Rumi.
The girl had enough on her plate; Celine didn’t want to make things harder for her by adding demon powers to the mix of things Rumi would need to worry over.
“Sunlight Studios is going to officially start auditions for a new idol group next month. It's time for a new generation to take the stage,” Celine murmured as she rested her chin on your shoulder, watching Rumi practice through the glass of the sliding door. “I can’t hold off the demons by myself anymore, the Honmoon can't survive much longer on my voice alone."
A new generation.
That meant Rumi.
“She’s so young, I don’t want this kind of life for her,” you murmured.
Sure, Rumi may be fifteen, she may have grown into a skilled swordswoman. But you still saw that little girl carrying a teddy bear, the cub who’d come running to you with tears in her eyes over scrapped knees.
She was growing up too fast.
“She won’t be going into the fray immediately. The other Hunters will need to be trained. That could take a year or two before they’re ready,” Celine assured you, holding you tighter on her lap. “She’ll have people who can watch her back, protect her. Her fights wont end like mine do. They’ll do better than me. They’ll be better.”
You took a deep, steadying breath.
There was nothing you could say, nothing you could do, that would change this. You’ve all known this day would come, sooner or later. You’ve had just hoped it would be later.
“Promise me that whoever you select will take care of her,” you said, your voice firm. “I don’t care how good their voices are, how strong they are with the Honmoon. None of it matters if they won’t care for and be there for her.”
“Of course,” Celine murmured against your skin.
“And train them well, train them right,” you continued, fidgeting your fingers against hers. “Make sure they can keep themselves, and each other, safe.”
“I will.”
“And you have to—” you faltered with a groan, your body sagging. “I’m not ready for this. But, it’s Rumi. She’ll do what she does best and do better than anyone can predict.”
That earned a soft laugh from Celine. “That she will. She’s already leagues better than I was at her age. She’ll be fine.”
Despite your better judgement, you believed her.
Rumi was strong, she was brilliant, she was your brave little tiger cub. But she was no more little, and no less brave. And she was going to do what tigers did.
She was going to keep the world safe.
Yall can thank @weepingwillow-writes for this one <3
Motherhood hadn’t been something you ever planned on, it certainly hadn’t been a topic you and Celine ever discussed. Celine was too busy with her career as an idol, her duty as a demon hunter, to ever consider starting a family. You never had any real interest in it either.
After a while, you had figured becoming parents just wasn’t something the two of you would ever be.
Then Rumi came into your life, and everything changed for the better.
It was laughable how easily that little girl had melted your heart. The moment Celine had placed the baby into your arms was the moment Rumi had you permanently wrapped around her finger. All it took was her staring up at you with those big brown eyes and for her to give you that happy little giggle, and it was over for you.
Celine hadn’t been any better.
It was clear to anyone who looked just how much she loved Rumi. She caved to every request that little girl made.
Did she want to go to the teddy bear museum? Celine was cancelling everything on her schedule and taking her to Seogwipo. Rumi wanted visit a live performance for one of her favorite shows? Celine was getting tickets, no matter how short notice. Anything and everything, Rumi was going to be spoiled rotten by Celine.
But more than that, she wanted to protect Rumi. Protect her in every way she could—
You should have known that would be a problem.
There was plenty that you and Celine argued over. The best flavor of ice cream, whose turn it was to do the dishes, Celine's perpetual habit of working herself to the bone and how when she said “I’m fine” she was lying through her teeth.
The most heated were the arguments around her belief that the ‘faults and flaws of a hunter could never be seen’. A belief ingrained in her by her mentors to protect oneself and protect the Honmoon.
Generations of bullshit is what you liked to call it.
Love and life, joy and wonder, it was found in the imperfections. Flawless was boring, it was hollow. You can’t feel connected with—you can’t relate to—something that has no flaws.
And yet no matter how much you argued with Celine on this, she refused to budge.
It was the belief that sustained the Honmoon for centuries, that had to mean something. It’s what kept them safe for generations.
You should have expected that belief would be the source of the troubles that would come. That when that purple mark curled around Rumi’s arm, that mantra Celine clung to would become a poison.
Suddenly it wasn’t Celine just trying to protect Rumi from the monsters of the world, but trying to protect Rumi from herself. From her own blood. Her need to protect shifting from that of love to that of fear.
Demons were something to be feared. Demons were evil. Demons were unfeeling, they only brought pain and miserly. Demons were something that Rumi couldn’t be associated with no matter what.
You should have seen it coming. Should have known that kind of lecture was going to be harmful when the one being lectured had demon blood in her veins. Eventually the bottle will crack.
It was Saturday when it happened. A mild spring afternoon.
Celine had taken Rumi to the cemetery to visit her mothers grave earlier that day. It was an important tradition between the two; time that Celine could spend to visit one of her closest friends, and time Rumi could spend learning more about her mother.
Though it was strange. Rumi had seemed quieter when they had returned, and you had not had a chance to ask Celine if something had happened before your wife had to leave. A workplace emergency with the record label she had recently started.
At first you had thought you’d give Rumi space. She was still so young, she was still learning how to process all her emotions. But when an hour passed and you had yet to see or hear of the girl, you had started growing concerned.
“Rumi?” you called out, checking her room—not in there. She wasn’t outside, you would have seen her running past.
Strange. Rumi wasn’t the type of kid to run off somewhere without telling anyone, but she wasn’t the type to become so quiet she might as well have been a ghost, either.
You were about to call and double-check that Celine hadn’t taken her with when you heard a soft sob emanating from the bathroom.
That—that wasn’t good.
Approaching the door, you gave it a light knock. “Rumi, are you in there?” you asked softly, listening intently you could hear a choked sound and a quiet whimper. The alarm bells were starting to ring in your head. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
No response.
“Rumi, I need you to talk to me, or I’ll be coming in.”
Waiting a breath, you counted to five and then tested the doorknob. Unlocked. You pushed it open.
You weren’t expecting to see Rumi sitting on the bathroom floor.
She had a scrub pad in one hand, and the skin on her arms was an angry, raw, blistering red where those small patterns curled. Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes wide with guilt and terror when she saw you standing in the doorway.
The bathroom door shut behind you, and in an instant you had dropped to your knees beside the young girl, reaching out to her. Your motions were slow and telegraphed. “Rumi, what happened?” you asked, keeping your voice soft; she was already scared, you didn’t need to add to it.
Rumi flinched from you. “I… I thought I could wash them off,” she confessed with a hiccup, her grip on the pad shaking.
“Wash them off?” you echoed.
She nodded, her shoulders trembling—from the physical pain or the emotional, you didn’t know. “If I—if I can get rid of them, then I won’t be a demon,” her voice came out with a tremor. “I won’t be bad, I won’t be—”
The rest of her words broke into choked sobs. Dropping the scrub pad, Rumi began to scratch and claw at the patterns with desperation.
Your heart shattered for the girl.
Immediately, you pulled her into your arms. “Oh, sweetheart, no,” you murmured into her hair as you held her, feeling her tremble and shake in your grasp.
Tiny hands tentatively gripped at your shirt, scared of the closeness and terrified to let go all the same as she buried her face into your shirt, wetting the fabric with her tears.
You held her like that as time passed on, her cries all that echoed in the small room while you gave her murmured assurances and comfort, rubbing her back in gentle motions and combing your fingers through her hair as you let her cry.
Maybe it had been minutes, maybe it had been hours before Rumi’s sobs began to slow and quiet into soft breaths.
“Rumi,” you murmured after a while, feeling her tighten her hold on you. “Why do you think these patterns will make you bad?”
Moments later came an even quieter voice, “Celine… she says demons have patterns and—and demons are bad. They hurt people,” Rumi explained quietly. “I have patterns, that means I’m one of them.”
“Did Celine say you were?”
There was that waver to her voice again, the warning that she was on the brink of crying again. “She says we need to get rid of them, that we need to seal the Honmoon so they’ll go away—” a hiccup. “—doesn’t that mean she thinks I’m a demon, too?”
Oh…Celine… what have you done?
You were going to have a good long talk with her about this tonight. You should have been sterner with her, voiced your concerns more loudly. Even if Celine never meant to make Rumi feel like she was the same as the demons Celine fought, the demons Celine warned of; what she had said had been just as damaging. Perhaps more so.
That meant it was up to you to undo the damage she had done.
“You want to know what I think of these patterns?” You asked softly, still combing through her hair, letting your nails lightly trace down the back of her neck.
Rumi pulled back to stare up at you, eyes but wide and wordless, still red from the tears, but waiting for your answer.
You could see the sliver of fear in her expression, too, the expectation that you might say something similar to what Celine would have. To double down on how terrible they are, how important it is for Rumi to get rid of them.
Well, lucky for her, you are not your wife.
“I think they make you look like a tiger,” you smiled at her, watched that fear turn into curious confusion.
“A tiger?” Rumi repeated, filled with uncertainty and hesitant hope.
Smiling, you tapped her on her little nose. “A tiger,” you confirmed, your smile growing softer. “You know what tigers do, right? They protect people. I look at your patterns and I see a brave little cub who’ll grow into a powerful tiger.”
Your words may as well have been magic for how Rumi began to relax in your lap, her tears starting to dry up. “I—I want to be a tiger, not a demon.”
“You already are, sweetheart,” you told her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re already my brave, strong tiger cub.”
After that, you carefully cleaned her up; wiping her face clean of the tears and covering her arms in aloe to help with the abrasions she gave herself.
By the time you had hoisted her off the floor, her mood was far better than when you had found her.
And, well…
You had been planning to spend the afternoon baking cookies. You’d certainly appreciate the help of a tiger to scare away any would-be thieves.
Rumi certainly seemed excited at the idea, ready to show the world that she was a tiger.
Even as she grew from child to teen, and then to adult; the nickname stuck.
It didn't matter if the patterns spread, it didn't matter if Celine's worries grew louder and Rumi continued to hide them. They didn't change anything, not for you.
