While I do love fics where post-canon Rumi starts to let herself relax more and, as a result, lets more of her demonic traits become visible, I also just love the idea that all of her weird behaviors are entirely from her and have nothing to do with her demonic heritage. Like:
Mira and Zoey, post reveal: "Ah, all these weird traits make sense now. It's because she's half demon."
Celine, who spent most of her free time researching demons to better understand Rumi: "No, she's just like that."
Also, I just have this really funny image of Celine just grabbing whichever demon happens to be the last one standing from an attack and interrogating it about something Rumi’s been doing and the demon is just like "dawg that does not sound like demon shit. I think your kid is just like that."
LOL!
Celine talking to demons and all of them confirm that "Nah, your kid's just weird". And Celine gets rid of them with a little more force than usual because who do they think they're calling her kid weird!
And then she gets home from the hunt and Rumi's sitting upside down on the sofa eating apple peels. Just the peels. In the dark.
And Celine hates the thought of slightly agreeing with those stupid jerk-face demons.
[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!]
--
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.
A few days ago a throwaway joke I made in one of my fics ended up breaching containment and came up here on tumblr
The joke was about Zoey and Celine beefing on twitter and Zoey basically going "I'm fucking your daughter" (Rumi) and Celine responding "I fucked her mother, I can fuck yours too" and sending a picture of them at a coffee shop/date.
I just kinda want to elaborate on what I think went down for all of this because the reality of what happened in my mind is so funny to me. This one is for you @ur-daily-disaster
----
Zoey goes for the Rumi angle and thinks she's won, but Celine is a veteran at this. She knows every angle and every weak-point.
So she'll see the tweet and calmly dismiss whatever meeting she was in, casually fishing her phone out of her pocket as she leaves.
"Hello Ms. Park, would you happen to be free this afternoon?----- Yes, I know you're spending time with your daughter this evening, it won't take particularly long."
Because in my mind, Zoey's parents aren't bad at all(they're literally just divorced) Celine will actually be on good terms with both her mom and dad, though it's her mom that lives in Korea.
So this type of little meeting isn't super unusual, in reality. They do it maybe once or twice every month or two. They are fairly good friend, in all honesty (not that the girls actually know this), which is why Zoey's mom immediately knows Celine is up to something, because that is the only time Celine would refer to her as "Ms. Park".
So she comes to the coffee shop expecting something, and Celine certainly delivers.
She shows Zoey's mom the tweet, and then they both start grinning like idiots. Celine very rarely gets to actually indulge herself some mischief, and Zoey's mom? Well. Zoey had to get it from someone, right?
So they take the picture of their "date" and send it off.
They don't stop there, oh no.
We see throughout the movie that Celine has her sense of style, and she likes to keep to it- wear what is familiar to her. I'm gonna go ahead and say that this includes her jewelry, perfume and makeup. Especially lipstick.
She has one particular shade of lipstick and scent of perfume that she always uses, and now these two are going to use that to their advantage.
Zoey's mom will be wearing a nice white blouse, with a modest v neck. Not enough for cleavage or anything, but the collarbones are nice and exposed (*scandalized gasp*).
A single hickey. Just a slight bit under the collarbone, right at the edge of the shirt, so it's partially covered. They wipe away the lipstick so as to not make it too obvious.
Then they'll have Celine press a kiss to the juncture of her neck, partially on the neck of the blouse. They'll wipe away the lipstick from the skin, but leave it on the blouse. It's small enough that it could be seen as accidental, that they just missed the mark.
(Celine is more than willing to get the blouse replaced of course, because the dark colour is unlikely to fully come out, but Zoey's mom just winks at her and goes "Are you kidding? You just made this one worth a million won. I'm keeping it as a souvenir")
Lastly they'll just spray a bit of perfume on a napkin and wipe it on both sides of Zoey's mom's neck. Not enough to make it seem like she's truly wearing it, but enough for the scent to be present. Especially if someone is close enough to smell it. Like if she's being hugged, for example.
Once they're done they'll have matching grins and Celine'll just give her a kiss on each cheek like the stupid part French person I've made her.
"Thank you, you're a doll."
"Thank you! This is going to be the most fun I've had in ages."
Fast forwards a few hours, Zoey's mom (i need to give her a name istg) is at home when the door opens, and in comes the entirety of Huntrix. Mira and Rumi came along to drop Zoey off, and they all freeze right in the doorway as they spot her.
Not that Zoey's mom knows this, but they're all hunters. Celine has trained them all well enough to take in even the tiniest of details. They all spot the marks the moment they lay their eyes on her.
All of the colour drains out of Rumi's face in an instant. Zoey's mom is honestly a bit concerned that she'll faint, she looks so pale.
Mira is trying so hard not laugh she looks like she's about to pop a blood vessel. One hand has covered her mouth and another is holding on to Rumi so that she doesn't break her nose in case she does end up fainting.
Zoey?
Zoey has never known such devastation in her life. It is betrayal and it is horror and it is the bitter taste of defeat. She cannot look her mother in the eye.
Even as Zoey's mom comes over acting like nothing is wrong (that woman has a poker face to die for, she gives nothing away even as she cackles on the inside) and hugs her daughter. All Zoey can think of is the fact that the perfume Celine wears still lingers on her mother.
Mira and Rumi leave, the door barely having time to close behind them before Mira's cackles can be heard on the wind, Rumi's agonized weeping accompanying it.
Zoey can't ask, and Zoey's mom doesn't offer any information. She just quietly enjoys her daughters misery.
Later, when they're all back at the tower, Rumi staring off into space, Zoey catatonic on the couch and Mira unable to look at either of them without laughing, they'll get a single notification from the group chat they're in with Celine.
";)" Is all that awaits them as they all open the message.
Rumi almost tears the new honmoon to shreds in her anguish, Zoey helping her.
Mira is on the floor in hysterics, crying from laughter. She can't fucking breathe.
When Rumi was seven, with baby fat laden cheeks and the barest beginnings of gangly limbs growing, she lost both canine teeth at the same time. It was charming and adorable and Celine still keeps a picture of Rumi drinking with a straw through one of the gaps as her phone background.
What was not cute were the six months of midnight trips to the hospital from tooth growing pains.
Rumi remembers one night in particular; sitting in the lobby of a random rural clinic, clutching Celine’s hand as hard as she could. Screaming and coughing hordes of people and their children shuffled around them like packs of cattle, the ringing of phones, the ever-growing annoying beeping of pagers; all at an ungodly hour that pulls at the eyes.
She recalls how her head throbbed with a fever induced headache not at all helped by the swarming fluorescent above. The revolving doors let in waves of frigid air only to be quickly swallowed by the sweaty cluster of packed bodies. How Celine had to cram her into her winter coat she had suddenly outgrown and was now digging up into her armpits.
She even remembered how everything towered over her, the receptionist desk, the water fountain, the crowds of strangers around them, even the chair she sat in had made her feel like she was sitting on the edge of a cliff. All while her gums scorched with tear inducing pain.
It was no wonder she started crying. She tried to be strong, really. Even then, Rumi didn’t want to cause a scene, to keep her head down and go home as fast as possible. But she just couldn’t do it. She was tired, sick, but no matter how hard she wanted to be a “big girl” the tears came anyway.
Despite her memory being tinged with both fever and time, the feeling of it is still there. As tactile as when it happened. Celine’s hands, cut up and calloused, colored a raw raspberry red with winter’s might, gently pulling the rat’s nest of tangled hair out from Rumi’s slept-in braid. Not once hurting. Wiping away the sweat and flyaway’s from her face.
Despite the cramped space, Celine kneeled in front of her and helped Rumi shimmy off her jacket, the pressure release immediately making her shoulders relax.
But most of all Rumi remembered Celine picking her up, despite her already being too big and too old, and pulling Rumi into her lap. Her head tucked up under Celine’s chin, her legs comically hanging out the now too-small hospital chair, and how Celine’s heart pounded in her ear.
It's after that, that things quickly got fuzzy. She was seven, exhausted, and ill. Sleep came with a vengeance that no one could stop. But the last thing she did recall, was a quiet hum reverberating from Celine’s chest and vibrating through her tiny body.
It is that memory alone that keeps Rumi from losing her shit when she sees the fangs in the mirror.
UNPROVOKED???? ohhhhh this is. this is so. i don't have the words. thankfully ☝ i have hands. to counterattack with
“Hey, so, I,” Rumi says haltingly, “I never said thank you.”
“Mm? For what?” Zoey puts down her notebook and straightens up from where she’d been lounging on the bed.
Rumi looks kind of embarrassed. She rolls a lock of Zoey’s hair between forefinger and thumb. This should be good. “Oh, like. You know.” Rumi laughs ruefully. “Deciding to spare me. That day.”
Mira is still trying to connect the dots—spare what? Which day?—when she sees Zoey’s face fall. It’s like looking at a rapidly progressing chemical reaction and trying to figure out what it is before it’s done. And then the momentum catches up with her, too, and her blissful ignorance goes splat.
“Rumi,” Mira says in her most dangerous voice. “Tell me you are not fucking talking about the fucking Idol Awards.”
Rumi doesn’t look cowed. She looks petulant. “You specifically said we could talk about it.”
“Didn’t I also fucking say not to fucking apologize again?”
“I’m not apologizing! I’m saying thank you!” Rumi says indignantly. “I mean it. I know not everybody would have. I think most people wouldn’t. I think… it just feels very special to me, that you did.”
“Special?” Mira feels like she's been stabbed. “It’s special that we didn’t fucking murder you where you stood?”
Rumi flinches, and Mira feels like the biggest fucking asshole, kicking puppies who don’t even think they deserve to live.
But this kicked dog really, really dislikes losing arguments, and she’s never seen a hill she’s unwilling to—to—build a home and live to old age on. “It wouldn’t have been murder,” Rumi says primly. “‘Execution’ would be more accurate.”
Mira can feel the blood rushing to her head. “Oh wow, should we pull out the fucking dictionary?”
“You’d only have been doing your duty. It should’ve been your first instinct, actually.”
“Sorry, are you scolding me right now for not skewering you through the stomach like kkochi?”
“Well, given your extensive training, it would’ve been reasonable to expect—”
“Will you shut up about the fucking training, you’re not—”
“Mira,” Zoey murmurs, and her hand is wrapped loosely around Mira’s wrist; has been, Mira realizes with a guilty jolt, throughout most of this conversation.
Mira purses her mouth and looks away. She feels abruptly on the edge of tears. But Rumi’s still going.
“I am a demon. I am. There is exactly one category of person you are supposed to kill, and I am in it.” Her back is straight, her face clear. It’s so incongruous, hearing her say these awful things, sitting on Zoey’s bed, wearing her trains-and-teddy-bears PJs. “But you didn’t. So I just wanted you to know that I am grateful, that’s all.”
Mira has nothing to say. If she opens her mouth right now, she will either scream or cry.
Zoey comes to her rescue, her knight in baggy sportswear. “Rumi,” she says gently, “have you ever considered that maybe you don’t deserve to die just for looking kind of scary?”
Rumi grimaces. “It’s not just that, Zoey, you know that. My voice can hurt the Honmoon. I could be a danger to the safety of the whole world. I was.”
“No you fucking weren’t,” Mira snaps. “You saved it. You made it better.”
Zoey nods. “You make things better, Rumi.”
But Rumi is shaking her head. “There was no way to tell. When I was a baby—”
“Great! Now we should be killing babies.”
“I didn’t say that,” Rumi hedges. “But I am grateful to Celine, too. She—”
“Will you stop being fucking grateful!” Mira’s heart is racing. She’s going to pick a fight. “You think you’re only alive by the grace of our benevolence, is that it?”
Rumi meets her eyes, and says plainly, “Yes.”
Mira barrels on. It’s nothing she hadn’t expected. “Wanna repay your debts, then?”
Rumi visibly balks at that. Mira wants to strangle her. Wants to wrap her in the world’s most careful hug. Wants to lay on top of her and tuck every limb around her and never let her get back up.
“Gonna be costly,” Mira warns her.
Predictably, Rumi firms. The little shit cannot resist a challenge. She nods resolutely.
“Great. Let’s start with this. Repeat after me: ‘I, Ryu Rumi’,” Mira directs.
Rumi squints suspiciously, but dutifully repeats, “I, Ryu Rumi.”
“‘Am not.’”
“Am not,” Rumi parrots.
“‘Fucking expendable.’”
Rumi stares at her, mouth hanging open. Of course she can’t say it.
“‘The people who love me are not doing me a favor by not hurting me,’” Mira continues pointedly.
Zoey’s hand slides down to interlace with Mira’s. “‘It’s reasonable for me to expect to be treated with the same care and consideration I consistently show others.’”
“‘Carrying the potential for danger, much like every other fucking person on the planet, doesn’t make me a liability.’”
“‘Plus, I’m really fucking hot,’” says Zoey. Mira loves her so fucking much it’s insane.
She plays along. “‘I am slowly expanding my wardrobe beyond three shirts and one sweater.’”
“‘I admit to sneakily eating the last kkwabaegi.’”
“‘I am not as good as Mira at Mario Kart.’”
“‘I have terrible taste in foreign movies.’”
“‘My guitar collection is medium-sized.’” Rumi gasps indignantly at that one.
“‘I am a pleasure to have in the polycule,’” is Zoey’s next contribution, which prompts Mira to go for the jugular.
“‘I am deeply, sincerely, passionately loved.’”
Rumi’s perfect posture crumples. She lets out a noise somewhere between wounded seal and affectionate tiger. And then she’s barreling into the two of them.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she mumbles as she grabs at them, squeezing them firmly in the inescapable vise of her arms. She burrows her face in, rubbing her cheek over Zoey’s hair, Mira’s cheek. “I love you too.”
Mira shifts her position so she can spread out her legs and wrap them loosely around both of her girls, penning them in. Zoey squeezes her hand and reaches out to stroke over Rumi’s face with a thumb, following the stripe bisecting her eyebrow. Rumi makes a shockingly endearing whuffling sound and nuzzles into her palm.
“Stop being grateful for things you should take for granted, okay?” Zoey says, voice low.
“And if you don’t know what you’re supposed to take for granted—which I know you fucking don’t—ask, and we’ll tell you.”
“Here’s a freebie: number one is ‘not being brutally dismembered by the corporeal manifestation of your lovers’ souls’.”
Rumi lets out a soggy laugh. “Okay. Yeah.”
“Yeah? Sure you don’t need to repeat that one a few dozen times?”
Rumi huffs out another soft laugh, then takes a deep breath. She lifts her chin, and says, with her pitch perfect diction, “I am not expendable.”
“Damn straight,” says Zoey.
Mira sighs, lets her forehead drop onto Rumi’s firm, lovely, rounded shoulder. “Okay,” she breathes, affection and relief and sticky, lingering anxiety. “That’s a good start.”
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
2087
dededos
