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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

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Pero Tovar x mixed race OFC, Isla Han

Thank you @heatherbel for the beta!

Welcome to my next crazy adventure, a Romancing the Stone/Kate and Leopold mash-up. Big love to the really excellent @fleetwoodmactshirts for the original idea and planting the seed for the romanting the stone twist.

There might be quite a lot of British humour in this? Just know that Manuel is a character from the cult classic Fawlty Towers.

Chapter One

Present Day

ISLA: C’mon Lau. Put me out of my misery. Just tell me he won’t be at my office this year.

LAURA: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

ISLA: Don’t pick now to start being modest. At least get someone actually Spanish this time. Last year’s effort was way more Manuel than Antonio Banderas. Just saying.

LAURA: And yet you insist that you weren’t into that…?

ISLA: He was dedicated, I’ll give you that much. My editor wasn’t impressed when he started to strip in full view of the conference room, though.

LAURA: He was worth the money, all right. Should’ve got someone to record it for Youtube.

I snorted and tossed my phone on the sofa. My birthday was tomorrow. Which meant, just like every year since I’d started my bestselling series of novels, I’d get a visit from a guy all trussed up like my swarthy Spanish mercenary, Alejandro.

It had been five years and my friends - Laura was the ringleader - never failed to embarrass me. All the guys they hired were complete bollocks. Dressed in cheap party-shop chainmail and leathers.

Some of them tried a Spanish accent (always terrible).

Others stripped (even worse).

Last year, poor Manuel had done both, exceeding my expectations, and tripped over the chainmail around his legs on his way out, yelping loudly as he fell face first into a waste paper basket.

At least everyone else had been entertained.

I closed my eyes and leaned back on the sofa. It hadn’t escaped my notice that I’d managed to write the man of my dreams into books that had sold well all over the world, and yet I couldn’t find an actual man who held my interest much longer than the time it took for them to say “what you drinking tonight, love?”

It was probably just as well. I’d rather live in my delicious fictional world of Alejandro and his warrior Princess bride as they traversed the globe, saving others in need and having sex on any surface that stayed still for longer than five minutes.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and opened my eyes. My gaze caught on the poster of the cover of my first novel, The Spaniard. I’d had the image blown up to A1 and framed after it had sold a million copies and the artist’s rendition of Alejandro had stolen my breath. He looked the perfect combination of menacing and beautiful, his full lower lip creased in the centre, like the angel who made him had pressed a thumb there to mark a job well done. His inky hair curled, tousled, over his forehead and his chestnut eyes, one marked with a long, wicked scar, blazed out from the page. Little wonder people had been compelled by him and his broad-shouldered form in the layers of chainmail and leathers.

The footsteps came closer and my brother Paul poked his head around the door. “I’m off out. Want anything from Tesco’s?”

“No, thanks.” I did in fact, want some milk, but when Paul said he was going out he could be gone for ten minutes or five hours. God knew what he did when he went on these little sojourns.

“Okay, text me if you change your mind. See you later.”

“See you.”

I listened to him clatter back down the stairs of our shared townhouse and a minute later, the front door slammed shut.

My parents would be appalled if they knew I essentially let Paul sponge off me. But I was lucky; I could afford it. And Paul had been my rock in our early years, when our Dad had several nervous breakdowns and was sectioned. I’d have been lost without him.

Besides, I didn’t like rattling around this big house by myself. There was only so much TV I could watch, and the bright lights of London held limited appeal after a few years.

LAURA: So... will you record the next guy? I mean, not that I’ve hired anyone.

LAURA: Yet.

LAURA: Please?

I laughed, decided not to reply, and instead got up off the sofa and climbed the stairs to my office to continue work on my edits.

*****

London, 1269

“I should have known bringing her here was a mistake,” William Garin groused as he and a fellow mercenary, Pero Tovar, crouched outside their somewhat ramshackle lodgings, waiting for a man to exit.

Pero snorted. “Bringing a woman into any situation is playing with fire, no? Someone always gets burned.”

William sighed, shifting position behind the large hay bales. “Not my sister. I brought her here to protect her from the kind of gobshites we have in Ireland. Not to have her catch the eye of another.”

Pero drew out a strip of dried meat from his belt pouch, offered it to William. The Irishman shook his head.

“Suit yourself, amigo.”

“He’ll be coming out any minute, and you’re eating?”

Pero scoffed. “I can eat and fight at the same time, cabrón.” He finished the dried meat, and took out another strip.

William shook his head, but he was smiling. “Do all Spaniards eat this much?”

“They do when their Irish comrades starve them, and make them sit for hours behind stinking bales of hay to protect their virgin sister, si?”

William clapped him over the head. “I - look alive, Tovar.”

The door to the small, two-storey thatched house opened. Catriona, William’s sister, a comely redhead, peeked outside, then ducked back in.

A tall man, pale-skinned, thick dark hair with a closely trimmed beard, exited, then briefly doubled back to kiss a smiling Catriona.

“Bastard,” William gritted out.

“Patience, amigo,” Pero cautioned. “We see where he goes, and then we plan.” He shoved William’s head down behind the hay bale, letting him up when it was safe. “And now we follow.”

“Eejit.” But William followed Pero’s steady lead.

They tracked the man through the dirty London streets, narrowly avoiding a fishwife emptying a chamber pot out of a high window. Two girls half Pero’s height wheeled a cart of freshly baked pies down the narrow alley opposite, the scents mingling with the more unpleasant stink of everyday life.

The stranger turned, and Pero yanked William behind a rickety butcher’s cart, crouching and ignoring the stocky man’s “oi!”

“He’s stopped looking,” William confirmed, and they tracked him down nearer the big river that snaked through the dogpile of the city.

Pero’s attention was briefly snagged by an enterprising young pickpocket, currently targeting a well to do merchant admiring trinkets with what was likely his mistress. The boy caught his eye, hesitated. Pero winked. Who was he to cut the boy off in his prime?

The stranger disappeared into the mouth of what looked to be an abandoned hovel, and William and Pero darted after him on feet made silent by years of training.

The hovel was dark inside, dank. A light blinked on in the gloom; like no light Pero had ever seen the like of.

“What is this witchcraft?” He muttered.

“Don’t dally, man!” William tugged Pero after him, rushing to grab their quarry.

The Irishman tripped, caught the surprised stranger by the collar - and then everything went black.

******

“Tovar! Tovar!”

Pero opened his eyes, groggy. He lay on a smooth, flat surface. Not unlike the floors of the fine throne rooms of kings he’d served during his years as a sellsword. He smoothed a hand over the unblemished ground, blinked.

“Snap out of it, man!” William grabbed him, shaking roughly. “Follow the bastard!”

A terrible banging, drums perhaps, assaulted Pero’s ears from somewhere outside their strange, smooth grey prison. A pile of rubble was stacked in one corner. Crude art littered the walls; also the same luxurious smoothness there.

“William - where are we, amigo?”

But the Irishman was preoccupied. “Do you not see he’s getting away?”

Pero climbed to his feet, his head aching. Mierda, it was so bright here.

William was already giving chase, so Pero followed his friend as best he could with his head spinning from wherever they’d followed the stranger to - the stranger woo-ing Catriona. Sweet Catriona, who he’d seen grow from a child.

William shoved a rickety door open, and all at once a pillar of light hit them. William stumbled, falling back on to Tovar, who hit the ground with a grunt.

“Ay, cabrón!”

“What in Heaven’s name-?”

They gaped through the doorway. A huge metal pole grew from the earth, a bright light at its apex, streaming down on the ground. Some feet away sat what looked to be a small fort on wheels. But wheels unlike any Pero had ever seen before. The unholy, piercingly bright light shone into the wheeled fort, illuminating a chair inside.

Used for torture, perhaps.

“Where are we, amigo?” he whispered again, to William.

“We’ll make enquiries later. For now, the bastard’s getting away. Come on!”

“Of course, amigo, where you go, I follow,” Pero muttered.

But what other choice did he have?

They ran out of the door, towards the wheeled fort of torture, and into the unknown.

Tagging the Pedro pals: @thirstworldproblemss @jaime1110 @chews-erotically @songsformonkeys @alwaysbethewest @beccaplaying @nelba @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @gamingaquarius @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @soldade @agirllovespasta @pajamasecrets @thegreenkid @cryptkeepersoul @kindablackenedsuperhero @littlemissthistle @alienprincesspoop @keeper0fthestars @f0rever15elf @mrsparknuts @abuttoncalledsmalls @mrschiltoncat @thempiregroovy @dornish-queen @mourningbirds1 @a-seeker-of-imagination @knittingqueen13 @ mstgsmy @roxypeanut @poenariuniverse

#pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar fic #pedro pascal fic #the great wall fic

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cloud9in · 4 years

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if you feel like writing again could we have some soft zoey x mc or at least some sort of resolution after the events of the human sacrifice because your rewrite absolutely broke me (in the best way possible) - satrinadia💞

An excuse to write more Zoey? YES! Here it is @satrinadia I hope you like it :)

Human Sacrifice (Alternate Ending)

Summary: Bea comforts Zoey in the aftermath of the Bacchanalia

Warnings: Lots of fluff? Some angst

Pairing: Mc (Bea) x Zoey

Tags: @samanthadalton (#1 FAN!!)

I wrapped my arms around Zoey’s torso as we silently walked across campus. Her body had given up after a while, but I held her up, even as her head sank down onto my shoulders. She felt heavy and looked exhausted. The Zoey I knew wasn’t the same girl in my arms tonight. Her tall, proud frame rested completely on my support. I let her sob the remaining tears she had onto my exposed skin, which was rough from the chilly night. But that wasn’t important, I didn’t care. The only thing I gave a shit about was her. It was always her. After Poppy’s credit cards hit the T, I rushed out of that hellhole and found Zoey standing in the path, her eyes a teary mess, and her hair...god her hair. I wanted to go back and rub salt on Poppy’s wounds, but my bestfriend needed me, and I wasn’t going to put anyone before her.

Zoey had lifted her head slowly when we arrived back at the dorm. I could see her visibly relax once she knew there was no one around to laugh at her appearance. Not that I would even let anyone come close to doing that. I wanted to say something, anything to break the deafening silence that lingered in the room. I look to the ground, concentrated in thought before Zoey clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh..I’m going to go clean up…”

I peered over to see her eyes lock with mine for only a second. She eventually lowered her gaze and was unable to suppress the tremors that rocked her shoulders. I reached out as cautiously as I could, my face etched with concern. Can she stand by herself? I don’t want her to collapse.

Zoey shakes her head and turns her whole body away from me

“I-I don’t want you to look at me like that. I don’t want you to pity me-”

“That’s not what I’m doing Zoey”. My throat burns with fear. Was I even helping? I don’t want her to feel like she can’t talk to me. I shake the negative thoughts from my mind and stand up straighter, “Please look at me.”

She doesn’t move an inch, not until I pace closer and carefully wrap my arms around her heavy posture. I breathed in her scent, and even with the layer of tomatoes, I could smell small hints of her favorite pineapple perfume. How can she always be this perfect? I’d have to remind her more often.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened...I just want to take care of you Zoey. Whatever you need, it’s yours.” My voice revealed more softness than I expected. I was a small town girl with a backbone, and a knack of getting into fights. But with Zoey? She brought out a side of me I never knew existed. A side of me that only catered to her. With that being said, I’d still beat Poppy’s ass for doing what she did, I think it’s only fair.

I laughed quietly into the curve of Zoey’s neck and she stiffened before stepping out of my hold. “...What?”

I could sense the insecurity in her voice. It was so soft. Maybe if I wasn’t standing so close to her, I’d save myself from hearing that haunting sound, and my heart would still be in one piece. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling right now...but I’m determined to be the one who eases her mind, at least tonight.

I smiled quietly, an idea forming in my head. “I was just wondering how you still smell so good right now.” I smirked as Zoey tried to stifle a laugh, her grim features now disappearing as her eyes loose with shock. “Is that seriously what you’re thinking about right now..?” I wanted to tease her more (and I definitely planned on it) but not while she’s still dripping red goo all over the floor. I looked towards the hall where the bathroom stood and nudged her forward. “I mean yes..but you also still reek of tomato soooo, let's get you cleaned up huh?”

Ignoring her protests I pull Zoey’s arm towards the bathroom, turning on the light.

“...So what will it be? Bubble bath or…” I spread out my arms dramatically pointing to the glass door, “el shower.” She stares at me for a moment before cracking up with laughter, “...you do know that’s not how you say shower in spanish Bea.” I felt my face heat up with embarrassment but it was definitely worth it to see that gorgeous smile again. Maybe I’d be able to see it again tonight. I decided to turn on the shower, (which is called la ducha btw, Zoey decided to give me a Spanish lesson while I prepped everything ), and gathered nice smelling products, while setting a hot temperature to wash off the icy breeze of the night. I gazed over at Zoey after I finished, “well it looks like my job here is done, I do expect to be paid for my labor.” She rolls her eyes but gives me a cheeky grin.

I decided that while she was cleaning up, I would cook a nice comfort meal and set up the couch with a bunch of blankets and pillows. Maybe we could have a movie night, or scroll through social media and clown the Zeta Girls.

But Zoey’s voice cuts off my train of thoughts

“Wait are you not gonna join me?”

I think right about here is where my brain short circuits, and judging by the giggling coming from inside the bathroom, Zoey noticed it as well. I tried to ignore her gaze but when I looked at her once again, her eyes were much softer. She dropped her arms to her side, letting them lightly sway as she lowers her eyes, “I kind of don’t want to be alone right now...and if you don’t mind...I also might need help scrubbing tomato off my back..” Zoey mimics a brush scrubbing her back and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. I walked back into the bathroom and closed the door, my heart beating rapidly for some reason (keep it together Bea, it’s just Zoey. Not like you have a big fat crush on her...). When I turned around, Zoey was already undressed and in the shower. The water gathering on the floor was a mixture of tomato remains, and soap suds. I couldn’t help but study every inch of her body, the light casting a radiant glow on her dark skin. The subtle red stains on her skin reminded me of chestnut, and her eyes shined like they were made of chocolate. I swallowed and averted my gaze after she noticed me staring. Zoey looks at me with a small smile, “well are you coming in or not?”

I inched my way towards the glass door and before I could make a move of my own, Zoey tugs at the straps of my lingerie and pulls me under the shower. I stare at her for a moment, taking in the droplets of water that glide slowly down her cheeks. I wanted to reach out and wipe them away. I wanted to run my fingers through her thick curls. But it seemed like getting lost in thought about Zoey was a bad decision. The moment is drastically cut off when a stream of water shoots out from all directions of the shower. I yelped as every inch of me was soaked immediately.

“....Okayyyyy I never had jets in my shower... it feels like I’m in a damn car wash!” Zoey howls with laughter as she holds on to me, her body racking with mini screams as she uses me as a shield. I struggled to move but eventually I managed to lower the strength of the jets, shooting her a playful glare. “Was this your plan all along?”

She feigns innocence, grabbing a bottle of honey-milk conditioner and welding it into her curls. She gives me a once-over and raises her eyebrows, “are you going to be showering in your clothes..?” I peered down at my damp stockings and smirked, “well why not? My purpose here is to help you, might as well look good while doing it.” Zoey eyes me suspiciously before shrugging and returning to her hair. I stood there watching as her fingers massaged her scalp, eventually trailing down the flat of her stomach and colliding with the soap that painted her body. I then turned around and slowly began peeling the wet fabric off of my skin, catching the eye of Zoey as she gapes down at me. A smug grin sits happily on my face as I grab one of the bottles of soap and squeeze its contents onto my palm.

“Turn around”

Zoey arches another eyebrow at me, reaching out to touch me but I step back with a smirk. “Unless you want tomato skin on your back, I recommend you turn around..”, she eventually obliges with a huff.

The skin of her back was so smooth, it felt like silk sheets. I scrubbed away the remaining bits of tomato and let my palms rest on the base of her hips. I could feel her body vibrate as I trailed kisses across her shoulder blades and up her neck, eliciting small gasps. Zoey turned around in my grasp and placed her hands on either side of my face, drawing me in until our noses touched. From here, I could see a thousand specks of gold that sparkled in those beautiful eyes of hers. Any longer and I think I’d get lost in them. Her lips were plump and full, and the way they curl up when she smiles, drives me crazy. I hovered my lips over her own, my voice barely a whisper as I traced her jaw with a featherlike touch. The way her eyes shut tightly in anticipation is enough to make me smile like a fool. I stood there and admired every subtle reaction, and every droplet of water that mixed with the soap on her body. Seriously...how can anyone be this perfect?

A gentle smile appears on my face as my eyes sparkle with mischief. “You know... you look so beautiful right now”, Zoey opens her eyes and stares at me widely. She snorts in disbelief, “I...what?”.

My smile grows wider as I continue, “I mean it! Like seriously Vogue who? Picasso who? You...are a work of art right now. I’m almost mad I’m touching you! Did you know that red compliments your complexion? Have you considered getting red highlights? They really suit-” A smack to my side cuts me off deftly as Zoey’s laugh booms throughout the bathroom. I began laughing as well, dodging another one of her swift punches. “If you were trying to make me feel better, that was a horrible execution Bea...way to ruin the mood.”

I pretended to be hurt, hand hovering over my heart, all while looking at her with a shit eating grin, “anddd...that’s why you were laughing?”. Zoey rolls her eyes, a contagious smile surfacing on her face as she giggles.

“You’re ridiculous you know that?”

“I’m also cute but you knew that.”

After a long shower, Zoey and I settled on the couch with popcorn (because I burnt the food) and soda pops. We decided to stick with a good ole cheesy rom com that we could make fun of. She snuggled close to me and I couldn't help but wrap my arm around her tightly. Zoey rambled on about the actors of the characters and who was dating who in real life, but I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of her. I admired how brightly her face lit up when she laughed at a corny joke, and the way she would tangle her fingers with mine unknowingly. When she turned her head to look at me I captured her lips in a sweet, passionate kiss that left a tang of pineapple soda in my mouth.

I ran my fingers through her fresh black curls as she fell asleep on my lap. My other hand traced soft patterns on her palm. As I gazed down at her sleeping figure, my mind raced with thoughts of her lips, her eyes, her everything. It wasn’t until a moment later that my brows shot up with realization (and a hint of fear) that she meant more to me.

I whispered to myself quietly as I looked down at her again, shutting my eyes

“I...I think I’m in love with you”.

#zoey wade #playchoices #queen b #zoey x mc #choices stories you play #this one is much shorter than the original #fluff is not my forte

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idolizerp · 6 years

Photo

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON HONEY’S LEAD VOCAL ROXIE…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 32 DEBUT AGE: 27 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 22 SKILL POINTS: 10 PERFORMANCE | 15 VOCAL | 10 DANCE | 00 RAP SECONDARY SKILLS: Multilingual

INTERVIEW

her debuting was a shock. usually, those who debut outside the average range are young, energetic, and talented. hanmi checked only two of those boxes, missing the most important factor. being young. it seemed almost as if msg had debuted her for no reason. despite being the lead vocal, her vocal talents seemed to lack.

after honey appeared on their first reality show, her image was made clear. she was motherly, pure and sweet. she was always caring for her members. despite being twenty-eight, hanmi fit the youthful concepts surprisingly well. she doesn’t look her age, which adds to the shock factor and gains honey attention.

due to this, she has significantly less fans due to her almost being old enough to retire. however, having only debuted four years ago, hanmi has no plans of retiring soon. she’s the kind mother of honey with a set of sweet vocals that compliment honey’s concept well.

anti-fans have, however, noticed how overly motherly she can be. she smothers the other members with skinship and often speaks over the other girls, bossing them around. anti-fans are quick to jump on the hanmi hate train, saying she’s going to get old and wrinkly before her group takes off internationally.

she can’t help it. it’s what’s expected of her. she naturally feels a sense of caring towards her younger members, but since a young age, she’s been made to feel as if she’s responsible for everyone around her. hanmi has to be in control.

despite the pressure from anti-fans and fans alike to change things about her, hanmi remains in the carefully sculpted mold msg has made for her. she feels herself crumbling, the pressure is getting to her. she’s worried, but there’s nothing she can do. she’s become a passenger in her life, her company becoming the driver. hanmi remains hopeful, people would kill for her lifestyle. they don’t know the dark side, though. no one does. it’s lonely being the only one who knows. she’s used to it, though. she’d crash and burn if she was the driver of her life.

BIOGRAPHY

october 2nd 1991.

“at five years old, our daughter kim hanmi can speak korean and english. she’s learning german, spanish, and japanese. show them, sweetheart.”

she slid down in her chair. five year old hanmi hated meetings like these. from a young age, she’d been learning languages, her parents trying their hardest to make her seem like a prodigy. they tried to get her into higher grades than she actually was in. no one believed her parents, thankfully. she wasn’t what they wanted her to be, she hated every second she was forced to spend reviewing english vocabulary or the japanese alphabet.

“hello, my name is hanmi kim. i’m five years old and my favorite animal is a monkey because they go ‘ooh oohh ahh!’”

she watched the expression on the administrators faces. they were only slightly impressed. her eyes moved to her parents, her mom looked at her dad with a worried look. “hanmi, can you tell me what you want to be when you grow up?” her father asked, emphasizing the fact he spoke english.

“i want to be a singer. singing is my favorite thing to do, not learning languages. it’s boring to learn languages!” she hissed quietly, pushing herself out of the chair and running out of the room. her parents were going to be pissed, she was scared of them but didn’t regret saying what she had.

august 31st 1996.

the lights shown bright down on ten year old hanmi. she loved being on the stage.

“i’m kim hanmi, i’m ten years old and i can speak korean, english, german, spanish, and japanese.”

no one was impressed as she was still speaking korean. she smirked, knowing all the kids at her school and their parents would regret ignoring her talent.

“i’ll be singing my favorite songs in each language i know.”

people’s energy shifted. she knew she was about to take home the grand prize, her parents would praise her then.

she began to sing her favorite english song, it’s all coming back to me by celine dion. the crowd clapped after she finished her bars. her dad was notoriously bad at korean. he’d been raised in vancouver, but moved all the way to seoul for her mom.

“el siguiente es mi canción favorito en español, sin excusas ni rodeos la carretera por julio iglesias.”

people were shocked to hear her speak such fluent spanish. she sang the song and followed with the rest of the languages. after finishing her performance, she sat down backstage. she let out a huge sigh of relief. everyone knew with her simple preformance, she outshowed everyone else.

december 25th 2001.

“wow, thanks, appa.”

her voice wasn’t fooling anyone, nor was the forced smile on her face. she’d gotten one present on christmas. a french 1 textbook. fifteen year old hanmi tucked her long hair behind her ear, setting the book on the ground.

“how many times have we told you that you can be a singer when you finish college, hanmi-ah?” her father asked.

“i lost count at twenty-eight.” she admitted with a frown. “appa, you know singing is what i want to do. the routine of singing songs in different languages is old! i want to be a singer! i don’t care if i have to go to america, germany, spain, or japan! we all know i’m talented in singing, not learning languages!”

tears welled in her eyes. “this isn’t up for discussion, hanmi,” her dad said, slamming his hand down on their kitchen counter. “go to your room and don’t come out till you can hold a basic conversation in french.”

she let out a large sigh, wiping her tears with the back of her hands. she grabbed the textbook and stormed out of the living room. “i hate this family!” she yelled before slamming her door.

february 1st 2005.

she smiled and held her bouquet of flowers. the flash of cameras went off, she huddled close to her friends. her dreams of being a singer had seemed to fade away. she was graduating from high school. she’d gotten a full ride to her dream college because of her talent with languages.

“hanmi, i’m so proud of you.” she laughed as her dad ruffled her hair. “appa, stop it!” hanmi laughed. “you’d make your mother very proud.” he said. she nodded. “she’s sick, appa. not dead, you know it.”

her father nodded. his smile faded.

“hanmi, we need to talk later. about your mom.”

march 12th 2007.

“my mother was a very kind and supportive woman. she told me to be happy, to embrace everything in life, to not take things for granted. i’m very thankful to have been her daughter, but i’m afraid…”

she held back tears, squeezing her eyes closed. they spilled over, sliding down her cheeks slowly.

“i’m afraid i took one thing for granted. my time with her. but being the woman she was, she’d tell me to not worry about it. that she’d always be with me. that’s what i’d like to tell you all, she’ll always be with us. keeping us warm in the winter, refreshed in the summer.”

music helped hanmi during her time of loss. she spent her time singing instead of studying for her tests. she’d rekindled her love for singing, knowing it was the thing she was destined to do. she was meant to sing, to bless people with her voice. no one should take it for granted.

june 13th 2008.

“hello, i’m twenty-two year old kim hanmi from seoul, south korea.”

she bowed, introducing herself to the panel of people in front of her. her heart was beating so fast she was sure the people could hear it.

“today i’ll be singing sin excusas ni rodeos la carretera by julio iglesias.”

one of the executives looked up and nudged the other next to him. she began singing in spanish, the third executive looking up and writing something down. they were whispering to each other and nodding.

“stop.”

she stopped.

“we’d love to see more of you. your voice is unique and strong, but with our training, it will become stronger. we’ll be in touch.”

she bowed and thanked them over and over. after giving them the information they needed, she rushed out and squealed, running into the arms of her best friends.

“i take it’s a yes?” her friend jiyoung asked. hanmi nodded furiously. “best birthday ever!!” hanmi said, laughing and looking at her friends.

october 19th 2013.

she was twenty-seven. time had passed, she’d gotten old. the other trainees were all at least five years younger. no one wanted to hang out with her. she was old, hopeless, she’d lost her window.

the executives had called a meeting with her and four other girls. she didn’t know what to expect, she’d seen people get kicked out during meetings like these.

hanmi sat in the waiting room, fiddling with her shirt. her dad was mad she was still a trainee and not allowed to date, all of her friends were married, so why wasn’t she?

“hanmi, they’re ready for you.” the receptionist informed her with a smile. “i think you’re finally debuting.” she whispered.

hanmi’s heart started racing as she sat down in the conference room. the other girls slowly but surely trickled in.

“after observing your skills for years, we’ve decided to pick the best of the best. we’d love for you five to debut in our next girl group, honey.”

hanmi smiled and laughed, cupping her hands over her mouth. she held back tears. “i don’t care, i’ll sign whatever contract you need.”

the executives laughed and so did everyone else. the day was here.

may 29th 2015.

it had been exactly a year since she’d debuted as honey’s lead vocal. she had fans, little to no scandals, honey was gaining popularity. things seemed to finally be looking up for hanmi.

“thank you for watching our one year live stream, we hope you keep supporting honey!”

the members looked to hanmi. it was her turn to thank the international fans in english.

“to our lovely international bumblebees, we hope you know that we still love you just as much as korean bumblebees and no matter how far apart we are, you’re always in our hearts!”

the live ended and she sighed happily. what an amazing year it had been.

present day 2018.

hanmi has remained relatively clean in the department of scandals. she’s very worried about how the executives see her due to the fact she’s the member with the most hate because she’s in her thirties.

hanmi fits her designated mother roll well, but is getting antsy for change.

she wonders what life would have been like if she’d just followed the path her father wished for her.

would she be happy or unhappy?

she’s surviving. her dreams of having a family now seem impossible as she’s getting older.

she’ll be okay.

#id.bio #id.msg #id.honey #id.park sojin

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