I Reblog Things Here. Sometimes I Post Things Too

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It was always the same dream. Her and her girls, beneath the Seonangdang, dressed in hanboks, the Honmoon dancing around them as they sung lullabies in three part harmony, threading through her fingers as they fed it into a loom, weaving...something.

What was weirder is that all three of them kept sharing the same dream.

"Maybe we're performing maintenance in our sleep?" Zoey had suggested, "That's what dreams are anyways, loading screens while our brains sort out the day's events,"

"But that's before you add magic into the equation," Mira countered, "Did Celine have anything to say?"

Rumi shook her head, "There are a lot on dreams in the records, even shared ones, but nothing of substance. The shared ones were just a byproduct of the Honmoon connection,"

"But why did we only start dreaming together now?"

Rumi shrugged, helpless.

"Maybe we're overthinking things," Mira sighed, pressing kisses to their foreheads, "This is all Honmoon nonsense and we need to wait for it to make sense,"

---

So the dreams continued, on and off through months, throughout appearances on variety shows where Mira was a standout with children, throughout trips to California where they'd spend time with Zoey's niece and nephew, days spent with children, nights weaving together the Honmoon, mornings spent with songs on her lips and a deep, deep want in her heart.

Then, one night, they finished, and Rumi snapped awake to the fading glow of the Honmoon.

Mira and Zoey roused beside her, looking about as flabbergasted as she felt.

"What-,"

A whine suddenly cut through the room.

An infant's cry.

The three of them scrambled to the edge of the bed, and looked down.

A baby looked up them, swaddled in a patterned cloth the shimmered like the Honmoon.

"WHAT THE-,"

The baby whined, cutting off Zoey's words, and Mira swooped down, collecting the baby into her arms.

"Rumi, Rumi she has patterns,"

She pulled aside the blanket, pointing out dark markings criss-crossing her arm and cheek, like patterns, but softer, rounder, like strings of the Honmoon.

"The dreams," Rumi whispered, "Weaving, oh fuck,"

Zoey let out an insane little giggle, "Oh my god our yearning created a child. Are, are we moms now?"

The words settled over the three of them like a blanket, Mira rocking the child, humming a now familiar lullaby.

"Yes," Rumi declared with an insistence that surprised even her, "Yes, we can be her moms. Wait, it's a girl, right?"

"Yep."

Kind of imagining the call to Celine going like;

"Okay so I need you to be, like, not upset and to keep an open mind okay??"

Which is pretty much the exact thing Rumi shouldn't have said because Celine immediately responds with a stressed, "Rumi, what did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything!? I didn't do anything! I didn't know we were making a baby!"

But he also,

Throws fits when things don't go his way. Not a "I'm a bad bitch" destroying everything-type fit, but tossing a trash can, breaking a screen-type fit.

Cries. A lot.

Pleads. He begs.

Doesn't answer the call to action.

Shows weakness. Being a coward and being fearful are two things he defines himself with.

Doesn't end up with the girl. In fact, that girl isn't even interested and he isn't, either.

Cherishes friendship over a romantic plot or something stereotypically brave like, "I'm going to save Rocky so I can save his world." No, he wants to save his friend, first and foremost.

Squeaks. He squeals. He screams, loudly and very high pitched. He whines. He complains. He physically struggles to open a jar. He's clumsy as hell. He makes some of the least graceful noises one can make.

Is not afraid to be the primitive species lowkey.

Big fan of high academia Dr Ryland “will call you a staggering waste of carbon” Grace who is a short tempered, egotistical, and kind of a jerk.

Big fan of how Ryland Grace can be both these things but while still having his same fundamental personality as a good person and wet cat.

Big fan of how it’s generally agreed that teaching burned the evil out of him and let his whimsy shine.

do you think he asked rocky to be the one to kill him, flooding the hail mary with his atmosphere, so he could hug his best friend before dying? so the last time he’ll be touched by someone, it would be someone he loved and not people forcing him into a mission he didn’t want to participate in? so his last breath would be taken knowing he is loved, and so he is not alone as his body stops working?