chefs-other-corner

[chefs-other-corner]

Also a plus to shipping Polytrix is that you get so many versions of having a ship with height differences because they’re all noticeably different heights — which I love by the way.

Zoey getting annoyed that she’s gotta keep getting on her tip toes to kiss Mira so she tries wearing thick boots. She’s then the same height as Rumi, which weirds her out and also makes her sad because she likes being shorter— just not THAT short

Rumi realizes it’s always her or Zoey in the middle of the cuddle line and she’s like ‘oh my god we have to snuggle Mira RIGHT NOW’ Mira thinks they’re dorks because they snuggle like that because 1) Rumi really likes to be in the middle and 2) because Zoey is the smallest so they can all touch each other better. Mira also reminds them that she has a fuck ton of hair that she doesn’t put up so it’s going to get into someone’s face but they’re committed to it by then.

(She thinks it’s adorable and totally almost cries about it)

Mira and Zoey get to do that meme where Mira has Zoey pinned to the wall like a foot off the ground

Rumi has two girlfriends that are the perfect size to make her into a happy snuggled sandwich. Frequently hugs Zoey from behind to ‘trap’ her until Mira comes over to join in.

[chefs-other-corner]

IT WAS JUST FINE A MINUTE AGO😭

[chefs-other-corner]

Sick Days |Mira|

☆Paring: Rumi x Zoey x Mira

☆Tags: SIck Fic, fluff, a pinch of angst, a dash of hurt/comfort, and just a shit ton of domestic fluff

☆Sum Sum: Mira gets that dad cold, her girlys pamper her causes shes queen   ☆Word count: 575

☆Note: This was BASED AND FULLY INSPIRDE BY THIS POST, The one behind it is called fishsticks231 uhhh idk how to add it so I'll just (bloop) Here it iss ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Mira’s first sneeze shook the walls.

Rumi flinched from the kitchen. “...Is she okay?”

“She’s not,” Zoey said grimly, poking her head into the living room. “She’s got a cold.”

There Mira lay—curled into the deepest couch nest known to man. Five blankets. Three pillows. One very dramatic ice pack strapped to her forehead with a headband. The tissue box was tucked into her armpit like a stuffed animal. She looked pitiful. She knew she looked pitiful.

“I’m dying,” she groaned, eyes fluttering open.

“You have post-nasal drip,” Rumi said, walking in with tea. “You’re not dying.”

“You can’t prove that.”

Her voice was a full octave lower than normal, gravelly and hoarse like she’d been chain-smoking in the woods for forty years. She coughed so violently it echoed through the apartment like a fire alarm. Then she whined, “My lungs are turning into mush. Everything hurts. My bones are tired.”

Zoey crouched beside her, holding a thermometer. “You know your fever is like… 99.3, right?”

“Near death,” Mira whispered.

“Okay,” Zoey muttered, tucking the blanket higher over her shoulders. “Fine. Die in comfort.”

They took it seriously, though. As much as Mira was over the top, she was sick—shivering on and off, head pounding, throat sore. She kept sneezing like she was trying to blow out windows.

Zoey lit a humidifier. Rumi ran out to get lemon cough drops and eucalyptus chest rub. Mira demanded soft socks. Zoey gave her hers.

At one point, Mira made the slow trek to the bathroom, sneezing loud enough on the way there that Rumi shouted “Bless you!” from two rooms away.

Mira croaked back, “That might’ve been my final act.”

She slept for hours after that. Snoring. Curled up so small you’d think she was running from death itself. They let her rest.

But when she finally stirred, she blinked blearily to find the bedside table had been transformed.

Rumi and Zoey had put together a little sick girl shrine.

A tray of soup and rice (questionably cooked, but heartfelt)

A hot compress for her sinuses

A fresh stack of tissues

Two grape-flavored vitamins

And a sticky note in Zoey’s handwriting: “Yes, you’re still alive. No, you don’t get to milk this for a week.”

Mira smiled like she won a prize.

Later that night, still weak but definitely milking it, she dramatically flopped onto Rumi’s shoulder with a wheezy sigh.

“Everything hurts. Carry me to the bed.”

“You just walked to the bathroom.”

“That was in a different lifetime.”

Zoey rolled her eyes, but she was already tugging Mira up by the hand. “Come on, dying swan. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I can’t stand for that long…”

“I’ll help you shower. You can sit on the bench.”

“You just want to see me sneeze in the nude.”

“…You’re not wrong.”

An hour later, Mira was clean, changed into fresh pajamas, tucked in like royalty. Zoey rubbed vapor balm on her chest. Rumi fed her cold mango slices like she was a sick little sultan.

And when Mira finally started drifting off again—after more whining, three more honking sneezes, and a very dramatic “Can someone please fluff my pillow like you care?”—Zoey sat beside her and combed her hair back with her fingers.

“You’re ridiculous,” Zoey murmured.

“Yeah,” Mira rasped, voice deep and low and halfway to sleep. “But you love it.”

“…Can’t prove that either,” Zoey whispered.

But she didn’t stop brushing.

Part one Part Two

[chefs-other-corner]

Sick Days |Zoey|

☆Paring: Rumi x Zoey x Mira

☆Tags: SIck Fic, fluff, a pinch of angst, a dash of hurt/comfort, and just a shit ton of domestic fluff

☆Sum Sum: Zoey Gets sick this time, her girlys take care of her   ☆Word count: 714

☆Note: This was BASED AND FULLY INSPIRDE BY THIS POST, The one behind it is called fishsticks231 uhhh idk how to add it so I'll just (bloop) Here it isss ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Zoey had a system. Step 1: Pedialyte. Step 2: Saltines. Step 3: Vomit in private. Step 4: Bathtub nest. This wasn’t her first rodeo with bad street dumplings. It wouldn’t be her last.

She hated getting sick. Not in the “ugh, this sucks” way—but in the deep, gnawing, makes-her-feel-like-a-burden kind of way. Mira and Rumi didn’t deserve to deal with her like this. So she did what she always did when her stomach turned against her: she locked herself in the bathroom with a pack of granola bars, her water bottle, and every blanket she could steal from the linen closet.

That was around noon.

It was nearly 6pm when Rumi came home, pushing the door open with her shoulder, arms full of plastic bags from the pharmacy.

“Z?” she called. “Got the stomach meds. And the fancy crackers you like.”

No answer.

The light was on in the bathroom.

She walked in—and froze.

Zoey was curled up in the actual bathtub. Blankets, two pillows, a half-empty bottle of Pedialyte cradled against her chest like a baby. Face pale, lips dry, sweat sticking to her hairline. Fast asleep. She looked… wilted.

“Oh my god,” Rumi muttered.

She dropped the bag and stepped closer. “Zoey?” She reached out, touched her arm.

Zoey stirred weakly. “Mmph… I’m good,” she croaked.

“No, you’re not.” Rumi didn’t waste time arguing. She leaned down, scooped Zoey up bridal-style, and carried her out like a princess in crisis.

“Put me back,” Zoey mumbled, already burrowing into Rumi’s shoulder. “I had a system…”

“Your system sucks.”

By the time Mira got home, Zoey was tucked into bed, face flushed and furrowed in half-sleep. Rumi was perched on the edge with a cold rag in her hand.

“She was in the tub,” Rumi told her. “With pillows.”

Mira sighed like she expected nothing less. “Food poisoning again?”

“Street dumplings.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Zoey stirred, eyes slitting open. “Sorry,” she rasped.

“Don’t be,” Mira said immediately, crossing the room and setting down a tray with soup and toast. “You’re sick. You don’t need to apologize for needing things.”

“But I feel bad…” Zoey mumbled. “You guys are busy, and I—I hate when people have to do stuff for me.”

“You’re not ‘stuff,’ Zoey.” Rumi reached out, brushing sweaty hair from her forehead. “You’re our person. That’s different.”

Zoey didn’t say anything. But she looked away, quiet in that way she always got when her guilt was louder than her stomach.

It took both of them to lure her out again later when the nausea eased. Mira crouched in the doorway with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and said, very seriously, “Zoey. I will slide this under the door like a can of tuna. Don’t make me do it.”

Zoey opened the door five minutes later, still swaying.

“I brushed my teeth,” she announced. “And I gargled. I didn’t want to smell like barf.”

“Great,” Mira said. “Now you’re going to shower.”

“I already wiped down with a wet rag…”

“Shower.”

Eventually, Zoey was clean, redressed in Mira’s oversized hoodie, hair damp, breath minty. Mira brought her back to bed while Rumi went to reheat her soup. She still looked fragile—like one more wrong move would break her.

“Sit,” Mira said gently, guiding her down. Then she knelt behind her and picked up a brush.

Zoey stiffened. “You don’t have to—”

“Zoey.”

Her mouth shut.

The brush ran through her tangles slow and smooth, no tugging, no rush. Mira had always been careful with her like this—especially when Zoey was too tired to pretend she didn’t need it.

Eventually, Zoey relaxed. Her head tilted back slightly, her shoulders sank.

“You’re not too much,” Mira said quietly, still brushing. “You never are.”

Zoey didn’t respond. She just blinked slow, eyes falling shut, until her breathing evened out. Mira kept brushing long after Zoey was asleep, her fingers light in the hair she once dyed bubblegum pink just for a concert.

Rumi came back in and smiled when she saw them.

“She’s out?”

Mira nodded.

“She didn’t finish the soup.”

“She will in the morning.”

They climbed in beside her, one on each side, tucking Zoey between them like the most precious, pitiful stray cat who forgot how to ask for help—but still deserved it anyway.

Part one Part Three

[chefs-other-corner]

Sick Days |Rumi|

☆Paring: Rumi x Zoey x Mira

☆Tags: SIck Fic, fluff, a pinch of angst, a dash of hurt/comfort, and just a shit ton of domestic fluff

☆Sum Sum: Rumi Gets sick, her girlys take care of her   ☆Word count: 926

☆Note: This was BASED AND FULLY INSPIRDE BY THIS POST, The one behind it is called fishsticks231 uhhh idk how to add it so I'll just (bloop) Here it iss ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Rumi lost her voice two days ago.

At first, it just hurt. Her throat burned after dance practice, and she figured it was the dry air, or maybe yelling counts too many during rehearsal. She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have time to be sick.

The Honmoon comeback was hers to manage—had to be. The new choreography. The interviews. The promotional collabs. Every loose end felt like a thread wrapped around her throat.

But now her voice is gone. Really gone. No sound comes out except these weak, breathy exhales that barely count as words. Her chest feels tight. Her hands won’t stop shaking.

And worst of all—her marks are faintly glowing again.

She sees them in the mirror that morning. Pale violet along her collarbone, the same kind of dull shimmer they’d had before everything went bad. She covers them with makeup immediately. Turtleneck on top of that. She doesn’t tell Mira or Zoey. If they find out, they'll worry, and she doesn't want—

Her knees buckle in the hallway.

She catches herself on the wall and stands there, dizzy and panicked, hands trembling harder now. Her skin feels hot, her breath shallow. She thinks she might pass out.

She hears Mira’s voice from the living room.

“Rumi?”

She freezes. Too late.

“What the hell?” Zoey’s voice is sharper. She rushes to her side and immediately catches her arm. “You’re burning up—babe, what is this? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Rumi shakes her head, mouthing nothing, shrinking back instinctively. She pulls at the collar of her turtleneck, trying to hide more of her skin.

Mira sees it. She sees everything.

“Oh my god,” she says quietly. “You thought the marks were coming back.”

Rumi looks away.

Zoey’s voice drops, like the fight drains out of her. “Rumi…”

Rumi starts typing on her phone—I thought I was okay. I’ve been okay. I didn’t want to mess it up. Not now. The words blur from the tears she won’t let fall.

Zoey reads it, jaw clenched. “You’re not messing anything up.”

Mira steps forward and pulls the phone from her hands gently. “You’re sick. That’s it. Not cursed. Not broken. Not dangerous.” Then, quieter: “And you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Rumi’s face crumples for just a second.

Then she nods. Zoey and Mira practically drag her to bed. Rumi tries to protest—tapping weakly on her phone, something about the group’s livestream tomorrow and how she still hasn’t finalized outfits—but neither of them are listening.

“You need to lie down,” Mira says, pushing the blankets back and guiding Rumi in like she’s tucking in a porcelain doll.

Zoey, pacing near the doorway, mutters, “Maybe we should just call that tonic guy again.”

Mira groans, already rubbing her temples. “Please don’t bring him up.”

“He helped!” Zoey insists.

“He sold you a ‘universal healing elixir’ that turned out to be glorified grape juice.”

“Okay, yeah—but Rumi liked it.”

Rumi, still mute and exhausted, blinks at them. Then shrugs, mouthing, it tasted good.

Mira stares at both of them like she’s living with toddlers. “You are not giving her thirty-dollar juice with glitter in it and calling it medicine.”

“It’s not glitter,” Zoey argues, “It’s crushed quartz infused with chakra resonance. That’s what he said.”

“He also said it cured taxes.”

Rumi lets out a breathy wheeze that might be a laugh, and Zoey grins, triumphant. “See? Healing.”

Rumi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes up, it’s dark out. Her throat still burns, her body aches, but she’s warm.

Pressed between them.

Zoey’s arm is slung around her waist, loose and heavy, her face buried into Rumi’s back like a sleepy koala. Mira’s curled in close at her front, her hand tucked under Rumi’s jaw, thumb gently stroking at her cheek like she’s still soothing her in her sleep.

It’s quiet—too quiet for a house usually filled with music and movement and half-finished arguments about snack hoarding. For once, there’s no expectation. No tension waiting to snap in her chest.

She’s just… here. Held.

Rumi shifts a little, enough that Mira’s eyes flutter open. She doesn't say anything, just blinks at her. Then, like instinct, her fingers go to Rumi’s collar. She pushes it down just slightly and checks the skin where her marks shimmered earlier.

Still there. But faint now. Calm.

She traces over one with the pad of her finger.

Rumi’s breath catches.

“You’re okay,” Mira whispers, voice low and tired and warm with relief. “It’s not coming back. It was never about the marks. You’re just exhausted.”

Rumi nods, slow. It feels like her throat might close again if she tries to cry, so she doesn’t. She just presses her forehead to Mira’s and breathes through the ache.

Behind her, Zoey stirs. “What time is it?” she mumbles into Rumi’s shoulder.

“Late,” Mira says.

Zoey hums. “She awake?”

Mira nods.

“Tell her I knew it was grape juice and I’d still buy it again.”

Rumi lets out the softest laugh—soundless, but Mira feels it in her chest. It’s the first time she hasn’t looked scared all day.

“Go back to sleep,” Mira murmurs.

Zoey tightens her arm around Rumi. “Not unless she does.”

Rumi blinks slow. She’s still sick. Still anxious. Still scared that all of this could slip if she stops holding on so tight. But right now, they’re here. Not just beside her, but with her. Soft, steady. Anchored.

She lets herself close her eyes again.

And this time, when she falls asleep, it’s not from crashing.

It’s from comfort.

Part Two Part Three

[chefs-other-corner]

My thoughts on Rujinu (Negative)

So (Long rant incoming) do not let the title deceive you, I am not here to start any discourse of say anyone's bad or wrong for shipping what they like, especially since this ship is heavily implied, but I think a large problem with Rujinu is how both the fans and seemingly the movie view them.

I've seen a lot of people say things like "Oh Rujinu are soulmates" and "They belong together" and all this other stuff and I keep questioning if we watched the same movie.

The entire movie, Jinu was a selfish, manipulative liar. Starting with his backstory, he left his mother and sister, literally abandoned them, to live a high life. Mind you, a woman alone during that time would have little to no way of funding herself and her child unless through unconventional means. He actively left his mother, who probably did everything she could to feed and care of him and his sister, to basically starve on the streets because he was the one making the money. He was rightfully tormented and punished for this selfish act and lived 400 years paying the price. Moving to acts during the movie, the only reason he even pays attention to Rumi is because she's part demon, which is fine as it is natural to be curious, but the thing is, he is using her the entire time.

During scenes where Jinu is being "vulnerable," he is lying. Yes, there are times he seems genuinely conflicted or even remorseful (When he was looking at the little girl's picture, for example), but ultimately, the only reason he does all this is to erase the memories of his mistakes. When he tells Rumi about his family the first time, he is actively being deceptive. He lies to make her think he's not evil and makes her feel like she can be vulnerable and trust him. Throughout their meetings, he's giving the impression that not all demons are bad (Which may be true), but that's not the case for him as he was punished for committing a selfish act.

When we get to the climax of the movie, he is the one who uses two of Rumi's biggest vulnerabilities (Her friends and her marks) against her and publicly humiliates and exposes her. He quite literally had them torment her on stage, disguised as her best friends. Then, when confronted, he acts as if this was her fate the entire time. Doesn't apologize, and tells her he lied. He throws the fact that she believed him in her face and leaves her there.

He causes so much strife in her that she asks THE WOMAN WHO RAISED HER to end her life.

People saying the man who almost brought Rumi to death is her "soulmate" is almost offensive, especially because the only reason they say that is for one, his sacrifice, and two, how the movie portrays them.

Jinu's one selfless act during the entire movie is saving Rumi. Everyone acts like it is such a romantic gesture when in reality, it was the least he could do. He damned his family to being poor on the street, fed on people of 400 years, and tormented an innocent woman for his own gain. The very least he could do was sacrifice to stop Gwi-ma. Also, this may have to do with the fact that throughout the whole film, he didn't have his soul. That may be a reason he acts the way he does, but still. Many people think that he and Rumi should've kissed, but no. They shouldn't. Not only does it make the scene more heartfelt, in my opinion, but Rumi has no real reason to. Maybe before he revealed his true nature, and she thought he was a flawed man, I could see it, but in truth, after his reveal, Rumi owed him nothing. He proved that he was like any other demon, maybe conflicted and more intelligent, but still a demon. While she may appreciate his sacrifice and death, she doesn't owe him anything.

I think people think so highly of the two of them together because of how the movie shows them together. They make them out to be the only people who understand each other, and they can change the world if they work together. Firstly, they don't understand each other, and they wouldn't have changed anything because of that. Rumi doesn't understand Jinu because he lied to her. Jinu doesn't understand Rumi because, similar to Celine, he doesn't see her human side, only the demon. The whole movie, he was trying to convince her that this is what they are, what they are destined to be, but they are entirely different. Rumi was born with demon marks. She didn't do anything to gain them; she simply had them. They were and are a part of her. Jinu, on the other hand, did something to get them. He was selfish and was punished for it. He doesn't see Rumi as what she is, a woman who happens to be part demon; he sees her as a demon woman. He can't understand Rumi, because her doesn't know her and he doesn't try to see past something she had no control over. The movie unfortunately makes it seem like they just get each other, with things like Free (Which is truly hilarious as Jinu quite literally lied to her, and that whole song means nothing since he didn't tell her the truth of his own accord).

I think what people should be focusing on instead of Rujinu, is HUNTR/X.

Whether platonic or romantic, the three girls have a way more impactful and caring story and relationship than Rujinu ever could. From the start of the movie, it is clearly shown that the three of them are synced. From the way they move flawlessly together in battle to the way they formulate songs, they are linked. Through the movies, Zoey and Mira both try to include Rumi in things such as couch time or the bathhouse despite her previous refusal. They actively enjoy being around her, and even when she disrupts their brief rest, they don't seem all too upset. When at the doctors, they all agree with what he's saying, understanding each other fundamentally. When Jinu pushed Rumi over and didn't help her, both Zoey and Mira stopped drooling over the Saja Boys and backed her. They are there for her when they think something is wrong, and even when they were arguing, they were still concerned. When they all sat to talk out their feelings, they listened and expressed themselves openly, and were encouraging when Rumi made it clear why she didn't want to sing Takedown.

When they realize Rumi is vulnerable, alone on stage, they immediately try to rush to her aid. When Rumi's marks are revealed, they aren't angry that she's a demon; they're upset that she didn't tell them, that she's actively been lying to them. For two people who have been trained to hate and kill demons, they don't attack, even when they raise their weapons. It seems more like an action done out of instinctual confusion rather than malice. They don't even chase after her when she runs, they just slump in hurt and shock.

Gwi-ma gets hold of them, not because they are angry, but because they are hurt, confused, and separated. Mira thinks she's lost a piece of her family and immediately goes to blame herself. Zoey thinks somehow she wasn't enough to keep them together, and she falls into despair. It's only after she loses everyone she thought was on her side (Specifically Zoey and Mira) is when Rumi goes to Celine.

What I think is really important about Celine's reaction to Rumi is how it contrasts Zoey and Mira's reaction. Where Celine thinks Rumi should hide, her friends want her whole truth. Where Celine can't look, her friends embrace her happily. To show that the very woman who raised Rumi couldn't see past her heritage, to two girls Rumi happened to grow close with, brush past it as if it was nothing, is impactful.

When Rumi comes to the stadium, Zoey and Mira both immediately snap out of their trance after hearing her. By this point, they still had no clue if they could trust her, yet they without hesitation walked through the crowd to her and exposed their souls, to which Rumi did the same (You can tell by the blue lights in their chest, that soon after happens to Rumi right before the World War Z demons attack). Despite having no information about Rumi being a demon, they look past that. Zoey and Mira are the only people to SEE Rumi. They see her as she is: Smart, sweet, energetic, confident, and reliable. They don't just view her as her individual parts. They fully trust her.

After all this, they do normal things. Going to bathhouses, doing nothing on couches, crying about how happy they are that none of them died in a bathhouse. Zoey, who is extremely affectionate, doesn't change her ways. She still touches Rumi even after her marks are shown. They both don't show disgust or plain ignorance to who she is, like Celine and Jinu do, they embrace her to her fullest.

Yeah, this is the end of my very long rant. I just feel like I had to get that out. I don't want to shame anyone for shipping Rujinu, but I just feel like everyone brushes past all the bad he did just to make them a couple. It degrades Rumi, and that's not nice. Be better, be GOLDEN.

Ted talk done :)

[chefs-other-corner]

Date Night

☆Paring: Rumi x Mira x Zoey

☆Tags: Domestic fluff, fluff, date night, sweet stuff, ye

☆Sum Sum: Just a date night with the girlys

☆Word count: 954 ☆Note:  last one I wroted for today ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── The moment the hostess smiled and led them to their table, Zoey exhaled like she’d just outrun a demon. “Operation: Normal Couple Night is a go,” she whispered behind her oversized sunglasses.

Mira snorted, holding onto Rumi’s arm. “You say that like we aren’t dressed like we lost a bet.”

“I’ll have you know,” Rumi said, peeking out from beneath a very obvious, very crooked blonde wig, “this wig was fifty-five thousand won.”

“It was also from a party store,” Mira replied, pulling her own baseball cap lower over her braided hair.

Zoey was the most disguised—bucket hat, fake freckles, glasses that were definitely not prescription—but she still carried herself like a main character. She even insisted on walking slightly behind them “just in case someone recognized her gait.”

No one had. Their waitress called them “a cute group of tourists” and handed them specialty menus.

Their table was on a rooftop patio, tucked into a private corner wrapped in string lights and soft music. Mira leaned her chin on her palm and smiled across at her girls. “Okay, no demon talk. No fan talk. No stress. Just vibes.”

Zoey lifted her lemonade like it was champagne. “To vibes.”

Rumi raised her glass next. “To no one recognizing us and this restaurant not tweeting about us later.”

“And,” Mira added, tapping her glass gently to theirs, “to us. Being normal. For like, two hours.”

Their food came quickly, and so did the laughter.

Zoey dramatically faked a French accent while reading the dessert menu. “Mira, you must try the crème brûlée. I believe it translates to ‘the kiss of caramelized fire.’”

“That’s not even close,” Mira said through a mouthful of pasta, but her eyes sparkled. “That’s not even French.”

Rumi kept sneaking bites off both their plates and pretending she didn’t. When Zoey caught her for the fourth time, she held up her fork like a duel. “You keep stealing my truffle fries, and I will hold a grudge.”

“Are you gonna post about it on your alt?” Rumi teased, and Zoey choked.

Mira blinked. “Wait—what alt?”

Zoey threw a breadstick at Rumi’s head. “We said no fan talk!”

By the time dessert arrived, Mira was curled up on the bench seat between them, head on Rumi’s shoulder, their plates pushed aside.

Zoey had taken off her glasses to rub her eyes and never put them back on. “I forgot what it feels like to just… be. With you two. Not running. Not hiding. Not dying my hair because a demon set it on fire.”

Rumi turned to her, eyes soft. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m right though.”

“You are.”

Mira hummed, wrapping an arm around both their waists. “I want more nights like this. Not fancy. Not perfect. Just… us.”

Zoey leaned in. “Next time, we wear better disguises.”

Rumi grinned. “Next time, you don’t bring a fake ID for ‘Chloe Tofu’.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Zoey said, stealing one last fry.

They left after hours, tucked beneath the glow of the moon and streetlights. No fans. No chaos. Just three girls walking slowly down the street, hands linked, hearts full.

For one night, they weren’t demon hunters. Just lovers in love, in bad wigs, with crumbs on their shirts.

And it was perfect. Until it wasnt They had almost made it out. Almost. One more block and they’d be back in the car, disguised and undetected.

But fate—and a teenage K-pop stan with sharp eyes—had other plans.

“Wait…” the girl said, stepping out of the dessert shop behind them. “Aren’t you—?”

All three froze like mannequins mid-pose.

Zoey was the first to react. Badly.

She threw her arms up like she was about to throw hands. “AYO, WE DON’T KNOW NOBODY,” she said in a forced deep voice, suddenly doing a terrible impression of a gangster from a movie she definitely misremembered. “WE OUT HERE. ON THE STREETS. WE BUILT DIFFERENT.”

The girl blinked.

Rumi, panicked beyond reason, jumped in with the worst broken Spanish anyone had ever heard. “Uh… no hablo… tú? El... we’re—uh… familia? Del tacos???”

Mira, not to be outdone, started flapping her hands like she was signing something. Only she didn’t know sign language. It was just frantic gestures and jazz hands. Occasionally she added a thumbs up. And then a peace sign. And then inexplicably started miming… juggling?

The fan just stood there, mouth slightly open, watching them spiral into chaos like a live-action glitch.

“I—” she started, then stopped. “What is happening right now?”

Zoey stepped in front of the others like a bodyguard. “We ain’t no idols, aight? We just three real ones. Out here. In the wilderness.”

“We are en la biblioteca,” Rumi added, nodding furiously, sweat forming at her temples.

“Bing bong!” Rumi shouted. No one knew why.

The girl slowly backed away, holding her drink like a weapon. “…Y’all are weird.”

Then she turned and walked off, muttering something about “cosplayers with brain fog.”

They didn’t move until she was completely gone.

Then Zoey collapsed against the wall. “We’re never speaking of that again.”

Rumi stared into the sky. “I said del tacos.”

Mira flopped onto a bench. “I threw up a peace sign. Like I was in a boy band. I don’t even know what happened to me.”

“Bing bong,” Zoey whispered.

“Stop,” Rumi said, voice hollow. “Please stop.”

And then they all burst out laughing. The kind of laughter you get from too much sugar, too much panic, and the comfort of being completely unhinged together.

Zoey wiped her eyes. “Next time we go out, I’m writing a script.”

Rumi groaned. “Next time we wear full mascot suits.”

Mira deadpanned, “Next time, I speak first.”

“…Let’s never go outside again.”

[chefs-other-corner]

Where The Lights Find Her

☆Paring: Mira X Rumi X Zoey

☆Tags: Nightmares, hurt/comfort, angst, uhhh, cuddle pileee

☆Sum Sum: Mira has a nightmare about her family leaving her

☆Word count: 568 ☆Notes: I've been writing the entire time the ao3 went out, I needed it backkkk I NEEED ITTTTTTTTTTTT

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── Mira ran.

The world behind her crumbled. Streets she once knew split open like paper. Her childhood home dissolved into ash. Voices chased her—familiar, cruel, hollow.

“You’re too much trouble.”

“You act out so people won’t see how pathetic you are.”

“We tried to love you. We did. But you’re just… too broken.”

Her mother’s voice. Her father’s silence. Her brother's back turned.

And finally—

Zoey and Rumi.

Arms crossed. Eyes cold.

“You think being part of our team makes you family?” Rumi said, voice like frostbite. “We were just being nice.”

“Yeah, like… it was cute at first,” Zoey added, smiling like a knife. “But come on. You always make things harder for everyone.”

Mira opened her mouth, but her voice cracked before she could speak. Her throat collapsed in on itself. Her heart kept beating and beating and beating and hurting—

Then silence.

She was small again, knees pressed to a floor that smelled like bleach and bad decisions. Alone. Not angry. Not even sad. Just… empty. Like they were right.

Why would anyone love her? She tried so hard. So goddamn hard to be fun, to be useful, to not fall apart. But maybe there was no fixing a girl like her.

Just troubled. Just too much.

Always too much.

Mira jerked awake, gasping so hard her ribs hurt. Her heart slammed in her chest like it was trying to break out. Sweat clung to her hairline, her shirt sticking to her back. Her fingers clawed at the sheets.

But then—

Soft breathing.

Warmth.

Zoey’s arm was thrown across her waist, protective even in sleep. Her forehead pressed against Mira’s shoulder.

Rumi’s legs were tangled with hers, her hand still loosely curled around Mira’s wrist, as if afraid she’d disappear in the night.

Mira was in the middle. Like always. A spot they insisted she take when the nightmares started again.

She blinked, hard. Her breathing slowed. The dream still throbbed inside her chest, but the cold fear was melting under the heat of two bodies curled against her like shields.

“…Was it bad?” Rumi murmured, not even opening her eyes.

Zoey’s grip around Mira’s waist tightened without a word, pulling her closer.

Mira swallowed. Her voice cracked. “They left me.”

Rumi’s eyes opened now. Barely. She looked up with that sleepy, serious gaze of hers and said, “We didn’t.”

Zoey made a sleepy noise like she was trying to argue but didn’t have the words yet. “You're stuck with us,” she finally mumbled into Mira’s shirt.

Mira let out a wet little laugh. “I’m… a mess.”

“You’re our mess,” Rumi whispered, leaning up just enough to kiss Mira’s temple. “You’re the reason we laugh. You’re the chaos that makes this house feel alive.”

Zoey looked up now, all puffy-eyed and soft and real. “And you’re the reason I don’t feel like some broken tool anymore. You made me feel human again, Mira.”

Mira blinked fast. The tears still came.

But not because of pain this time.

She buried her face in Zoey’s chest and stretched her hand behind her to find Rumi’s. Fingers tangled. Hearts slow and steady.

She had a family.

A real one.

Not perfect. Not easy. But real.

And as she drifted back to sleep—wrapped in the limbs of the people who never stopped choosing her—Mira finally believed it.

She was loved.

She was worth it.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

[chefs-other-corner]

ㅤ DOMESTIC FLUFF ✶ PROMPTS . . .

SCENARIOS . . .

i  , sitting on the bathroom counter while their partner gently dries their hair with a towel after a shower, murmuring sleepy compliments

ii  , holding the other steady while they stand on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet, hands resting firmly at their waist

iii  , fixing their collar or hoodie drawstring before they head out

iv  , pressing their cold cheeks against the other’s warm ones and giggling when they flinch from the sudden coolness

v  , tugging the other’s oversized hoodie sleeve back into place when it starts slipping over their hand too far

vi  , pressing a kiss to their shoulder as they pass by in the kitchen, not even thinking about it, just muscle memory

vii  , slipping thick socks onto their partner’s cold feet and pressing a soft kiss to their ankle before pulling the blanket back over them

viii  , pulling the other’s hood up over their head before they leave the house together into the cold

ix  , one cooking, the other perched nearby on the counter, lazily kicking their feet and stealing ingredients from the cutting board

x  , tracing gentle shapes on the other’s back while they lie on top of them

xi  , noticing their partner’s hands are cold and immediately sandwiching them between their own without a word

xii  , brushing their partner’s eyebrows into place with their thumbs while lying face-to-face in bed, just…because

xiii  , sharing headphones in bed, both of them curled under the covers, softly humming along to the same song

xiv  , helping them zip up a dress or jacket from behind and pausing to press a kiss to the back of their neck

xv  , giving their partner's cheeks the gentlest little squish while brushing crumbs off their face after a snack

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

[chefs-other-corner]

Number 1 Fan

Sense Ao3 is down gotta post my fics some how. So here's Zoey being down bad wc: 812 ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Zoey’s thumbs hovered over her phone screen, the glow illuminating her face in the dark dorm room. Mira and Rumi were both asleep, soft breathing filling the quiet.

Her heart pounded as she typed.

@mirrorumi_slave: I want Mira to step on me so bad 😩 why is she so perfect??

She hit post and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to squeal. She watched the likes tick up.

@mirrorumi_slave: Also Rumi could slam me into a wall and I’d apologize for being in the way 🫠

She wheezed quietly. Her pillow was damp from her tears of secondhand embarrassment.

@mirrorumi_slave: They’re so hot I’d sell my soul just to hear them say good girl once 😫

Zoey rolled onto her back and groaned, stuffing the phone under her blanket.

From the top bunk, Mira stirred. “Zo?”

She froze.

“…You okay?”

Zoey cleared her throat. “Mm-hm. Normal. So normal.”

“’Kay. Night,” Mira mumbled, drifting off again.

Zoey let out a strangled whimper and closed her eyes.

The next morning, Zoey scrolled through her notifications at the kitchen table while Rumi brewed coffee and Mira ate cereal.

@mirrorumi_slave: imagine Mira calling you babygirl I’d actually pass away

She snorted, then choked on it when Mira glanced over.

“You good?”

Zoey slapped the phone face-down. “Yep!”

Mira eyed her suspiciously.

Rumi just grinned. “You’re so weird in the mornings.”

Practice was even worse. They were drilling choreography for hours, Mira barking corrections, Rumi doing aegyo between takes to cheer them up.

Zoey was sweaty and exhausted and borderline feral.

@mirrorumi_slave: Mira yelling at me in practice? Yes ma’am.

She typed it while pretending to check the choreo video.

Rumi bounced over. “Whatcha looking at?”

Zoey shrieked.

Rumi blinked. “Um?”

Zoey hid the screen so fast she almost sprained her wrist. “Nothing. Mind your business.”

Rumi giggled. “You’re so secretive lately.”

Mira’s voice cut in from across the room. “Zoey. Focus.”

Zoey whimpered, cheeks red, and stuffed the phone in her pocket.

Later, in the van, Zoey sat squashed between them, clutching her phone to her chest.

Rumi dozed on her shoulder. Mira scrolled silently next to her.

@mirrorumi_slave: Currently being sat on by Rumi head send prayers. Also Mira is RIGHT HERE she smells so good help.

Zoey typed it with one hand, biting her lip.

@mirrorumi_slave: if Rumi told me to shut up I would bark.

She wheezed.

Mira’s eyes flicked over. “What’s so funny.”

Zoey jumped. “Nothing!”

“Show me.”

“NO.”

Rumi mumbled, still half-asleep. “Zoey’s always laughing at her memes.”

Mira squinted. “It’s memes?”

Zoey nodded way too hard. “YES. MEMES.”

Back at the dorm, Zoey sat on her bed under her blanket, phone screen lighting her face like a campfire.

@mirrorumi_slave: one day they’ll ruin me and I’ll say thank you 😫

@mirrorumi_slave: Mira with those arms? Lift me like I’m nothing please.

@mirrorumi_slave: Rumi’s smile makes me want to be a good girl SO BAD

She posted them all in a flurry, giggling hysterically into her pillow.

Then she heard footsteps.

She froze.

Mira was standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“…What are you doing.”

Zoey shrieked. “Homework!”

“On your phone?”

“Yes!”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “Let me see it.”

Zoey clutched it to her chest. “Nope.”

Rumi peeked over Mira’s shoulder, hair down, eyes sleepy and curious. “Why?”

“Because!”

Mira sighed. “Zoey.”

Zoey’s phone buzzed in her grip.

Notification on the lockscreen.

@mirrorumi_slave: your post “Rumi slam me pls” got 150 likes!

All three of them saw it.

Zoey made a noise like a dying kettle.

Rumi blinked. “...Zoey?”

Zoey hurled the phone across the bed. “IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.”

Mira slowly walked over, picked up the phone.

Zoey dove for it, tackling Mira onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, screaming.

Rumi squealed and tried to help, but they just ended up in a ridiculous pile.

Mira pinned Zoey with one hand and read the screen with a deadpan expression.

“‘Rumi slam me pls’,” she read aloud.

Zoey covered her face with both hands and wailed.

Mira was crying with laughter. “Oh my god Zoey!”

Zoey refused to look at them. “I’m sorry. I’m trash. Burn me.”

Mira’s lip twitched.

“‘Mira’s smile makes me want to be a good girl’,” she continued reading.

Rumi squeaked. Her whole face went red.

“OH MY GOD,” Rumi squealed again, hiding behind her hands.

Mira finally snorted.

Zoey peeked through her fingers. “Please just kill me.”

Mira let out a rare, genuine laugh. “You’re such a perv.”

Zoey let out a broken sob-laugh. “I know.”

Mira peeked over her fingers, still red but smiling. “...That’s kinda cute though.”

Zoey gaped at her.

Rumi shrugged shyly. “Means you really like us, huh?”

Zoey whimpered, nodding.

Mira handed her back the phone.

“Lock the account,” Mira said calmly.

Zoey snatched it like it was a lifeline. “Already on it.”

[chefs-other-corner]

considering Mira's background I figure she's probably trained in classical music, like the violin or the cello or knowing her something unconventional for a Korean rich kid, my personal HC is that she's a jazz girlie and picked up the trombone or sax and the piano.

I'm thinking she probably sings like Ella Fitzgerald or the classic Frank Sintara and the girls literally melt, go full on dreamy heart eyes whenever she does it.

Mira can't do it in public, like at award shows because Rumi and Zoey will overheat and faint or something.

[chefs-other-corner]

If you don’t know what vine I’m referencing here gtfo you are not welcome /j

Really messy sketch Ik, but I had to get this idea out of my head or else I would’ve exploded and died