lelitachay:
fakelawyerbug:
lelitachay:
secondtolastrow:
fakelawyerbug:
Deadbeat Miyeong AU, the various secrets and reveals (courtesy of asks by @lilopelekai @g0ldthings @chaoticgenderfae and Anon et. al.)
So the three big secrets being kept is 1) Rumi is Celine’s child, 2) Rumi has patterns, and 3) Rumi is Miyeong’s biological child
(All of this is just me riffing, all subject to change, this is what editing is for lmao)
So;
1. Rumi is Celine’s child
This secret starts to unravel during the leadup to debut when everyone is stressed and Gwi-ma is sending demons every chance he gets to weaken these new and untested hunters.
Keep reading
Thinking Mira and Zoey don’t actually immediately put together what’s going on. They’re in the middle of this fight and then there’s someone else on their side ohthankgod but it takes a minute. Who else would be wielding Hunter weapons?
It doesn’t make sense, given everything they’ve been told about Celine. It makes even less sense, given everything they know about Rumi, how easily she relaxes into Celine’s presence, pushing Celine hands off her arms with a vague embarrassment as she promises she’s fine.
It makes a terrible amount of sense, when Rumi says, “My name is Kang Rumi. And this is my eomma.”
(They said Celine left with a demon, and Rumi is… Rumi is their partner, who they’ve already screwed up with badly enough.)
Before Rumi comes clean about the fact they’re family, Celine insists the girls go to her house to get patch up/cleaned. Zoey and Mira hesitate, not trusting Celine since she’s the one who left with a demon so many years ago. They’ve just seen her fight against demons by Rumi’s side, but there’s a lot of mistrust there. If she betrayed her friends/sisters who knows what she could do to total strangers.
Rumi is beyond frustrated with the girls for it and lets them know with a clear, “would you please just once try to hear the other side of things and come with us?”
It doesn’t escapes Mira how Rumi talks in plural, like she isn’t simply trusting and following Celine, she knows exactly where they’re going and she’s making sure they tag along. Being hurt and tired, the girls agree and on the way they noticed how Rumi gravitates towards Celine, walking by her side, a bit closer than she’s ever walked along side them. Celine at some point puts a hand on her shoulder and Rumi once again insists she’s okay. Celine nods, but still caresses her back.
Zoey’s gears are turning fast, the idea slowly starting to take shape in her mind —even though it sounds crazy, but it would certainly explains Rumi’s past behaviour— as soon as they get to Celine’s, she confirms her suspicion. The living room has several pictures of Celine and a little girl that coincidentally has Rumi’s peculiar hair colour. But still Rumi hasn’t addressed it and Zoey’s mortified for all the things she once said about Rumi’s Eomma and she won’t be the one bringing it up.
It’s clear for Mira as well, not only there are pictures everywhere, Celine asks Rumi to go fetch the first aid kit. Rumi goes down a hallway without even asking.
Rumi’s avoiding the girls surprised looks when she returns, and Celine doesn’t stop to chat. She’s starts taking care of Mira and Zoey’s injuries first. It’s only when she’s certain their visit is okay that she turns to Rumi and insists she sits down so she can help her. Rumi’s reluctant, one of the demons struck her right on her left shoulderblade and upper back, there’s no way Celine can dress her wound without the truth about her patterns coming to light.
“I’m sure they put two and two together, dear. And I’m sure they know I chose a demon over my fellow hunters.”
Rumi sighs with a short nod. “Half demon,” she corrects her Eomma before sitting down.
“Of course, of course,” Celine says dryly. The same way she had reacted when Rumi had been very insistent that she was 6 and a half. “And I would love you just as much if you were a full demon, Rumi-ya.”
And Mira and Zoey just watching this love from a woman they had thought the worst of for years. (And Zoey remembering the comments she had made on forums when she was a toxic 14 year old).
And Mira seeing how comfortable Rumi was letting Celine move behind her, how she only flinched away because the alcohol wipes stung. Zoey looking at the small apartment filled with pictures of Rumi and filled with Rumi’s things and thinking about how this woman had kept Rumi first her entire life.
The both of them seeing how comfortable Celine was touching Rumi’s patterns.
(Incidentally, I think the bulk of Rumi’s patterns grew when she was in elementary and middle school. By the time she got to high school, she was too angry at the world to be ashamed of who her mother is.)
They both watch Celine work in silence, only speaking when Rumi moves too much, trying to avoid the sting feeling of the alcohol.
“It’s just a little alcohol, you’re not eight anymore.”
“Allow me to put some in one of your open wounds!” Rumi retorts as she flinches once again.
“That’s the thing. Your Eomma wouldn’t let a few faceless demons attack her on the back like this.” Celine’s tone is serious, but at Rumi’s indignant excuse me she laughs, letting the girls know she’s just messing with her daughter.
“All done,” she says handing Rumi her shirt back and rubbing a comforting hand over the bandages. “Go clean up, the three of you. I’ll make you something to eat and then we can talk about sleeping arrangements.”
Only then Zoey and Mira realise it’s late into the night. The tear took them longer than they imagined and made them move all over town. Being too far from their hotel to go back at this time, especially considering how tired the hunt left them, they guess staying isn’t such a bad idea. But staying means spending time with both Rumi and Celine, and even though they’re both fascinated by getting to see this side of Rumi’s life, there’s this gigantic elephant in the room and the three of them know it.
“Rumi, I… I didn't— We—”
Zoey tries to say but Rumi interrupts her. “Save it. Just don’t reject her invitation. And don’t mention anything about Sunlight Sisters in front of her.”
“At least let us apologise, Rumi,” Mira says, annoyed for some reason she can’t explain.
Rumi pauses, takes a slow, deep breath in through her nose, like Celine taught her to do when she feels her temper slipping out of her grasp. She looks over at Mira, a gauze pad taped to her cheek, and Zoey, butterfly stitched perched above an eyebrow; the light in the hall is dim (her and Celine both chronically forgot to replace that lightbulb), but she can see the guilt written across their faces clear as day. The shame, too.
She used to feel that, shame. Before the heat and pressure of hearing Eomma slandered again and again metamorphosed it into anger.
A part of her sympathizes, but a larger part…is glad. This feels just, their misery. That they should suffer a fraction of what her and her Eomma went through.
“Apologizing won’t change anything.” Her tone is glacial. “It won’t change what you said. Repeatedly.”
“We didn’t know!” Mira jumps in as Zoey whimpers.
“Does that matter?” Rumi just barely keep the growl from her voice. “You still said it. You still kept saying she was wrong to keep me!” Then, straightening, she levels Mira with the look she gave a particular nasty demon before delivering the killing blow. “Just because your parents didn’t want you doesn’t give you a right to wish it on me.”
The result is immediate, a lightning strike. Slapping Mira across her injured cheek, clearly, would have hurt less. Only the dimmest pinprick of guilt needles Rumi.
Zoey makes a choked sort of sound. “We’re so, so-”
Rumi huffs and straightens, cutting off Zoey. “Go ahead and apologize if you need that to make yourselves feel better. Whatever. Just be nice to Eomma.”
Zoey gulps and they both nod before scurrying to their beds.
She’ll forgive them, Rumi supposes as she brushes her teeth. They…are nice, mostly, and she can’t deny she cares for them. Most of the time, they’re like what she imagined having friends would be like.
But for one night…for one night they can live her childhood and lie awake with shame.
A quiet knock on the door of her childhood bedroom pulled Rumi away from doodling in one of her old sketchbooks.
“I know it’s you, eomma,” Rumi said, setting her sketchbook down on her bed.
