Knightmare’s Treasure Trove
(Closed, Unmoderated)
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Summary
“Do you think we'll ever get through to her?”
“Everyone meets their breaking point eventually.” At Zoey's worried frown, Mira’s expression softened. She leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Don't worry, we'll be there to catch her when she falls.”
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Mira's attempt at a spiel about love and friendship and unbreakable bonds turned to ash on her tongue.
“Rumi. Rumi, no.”
Rumi inched closer to the rail.
“Rumi, please don’t.”
Zoey’s foot moved.
Rumi leapt.
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Aka, another version of ‘Mira and Zoey find out about Rumi's patterns in a different way’ but this one's ✨mine✨
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Summary
She had failed. She had failed. She had failed.
This pain was punishment. Punishment she deserved. She deserved so much worse. For the pain she had put Zoey and Mira through. She didn’t deserve them. She had lied for years. And years.
But somehow they still love her. Patterns and all. Rumi didn’t deserve them.
Her fists hit the bag, this time her knuckles split. Splotches of red starting to show on her wraps.
Rumi relished in the pain.
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You want a tally, I lost the count by BeyondMoonlight
Fandoms: KPop Demon Hunters (2025)
18 Mar 2026
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Summary
What if Mira and Rumi's argument on the train goes differently? What if Mira takes a different approach with Rumi? Will Rumi decide to come clean, or will she continue hiding?
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Inspired from art by @prtty_pthtc on Twitter (link in the notes) -
i will send out an army to find you, in the middle of the darkest night (it's true, i will rescue you) by PrettyLittleGallagherGirl
Fandoms: KPop Demon Hunters (2025)
24 May 2026
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Summary
After the fight on the train, Rumi returns to the penthouse convinced the only way to save the Honmoon is to remove herself from the equation entirely. Mira and Zoey follow her onto the rooftop and finally discover the truth, neither of them react the way Rumi expects.
Or: Rumi learns that being a demon and being loved are not mutually exclusive.
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Summary
“Deep breaths.” Mira said, voice strained but making a solid attempt at soothing.
She was afraid to look up and see them, so instead she looked at the patterns on her hands. Her lungs filled and refilled with air that burned going down. She flexed a hand, digging the sharp points of her claws into her palm experimentally. This was new.
Her fingers were pried back firmly and insistently before she could break the skin.
What if that conversation under the stage had gone slightly differently?