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vicunaburger · 4 years

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Imperfect and inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 1/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,978 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: Y’all remember when I said I was going to play in in the Dewey Finn + vampire universe? WELL...here we go. Trying out a new “free-form” scene by scene chapter format, rather than a standard chronological order. We’ll see how this plays out

Chapter 1 - Night - Routine

The alarm went off at precisely 8:14pm.

From under the massive pile of blankets covering the twin-sized bed, an arm slithered out, feeling along the nightstand in the dark. The vibrations from the cellphone led the fingers toward their goal, tapping the screen - a few misses - before the noise finally ceased. Finished with its task, the arm retreated under the blankets, tucking itself inward like a snake retreating to its den.

At 8:17pm, the alarm went off again.

This time, an entire body followed the arm out of the blankets, turning off the alarm with one hand, and turning on a small desk lamp with the other. With a wide yawn, they stumbled out of bed, shuffling along the carpeted floor until they reached the bathroom. Luckily, this room had an automatic light fixture, the space filling with a soft white glow. Another automatic feature kicked on around the same time; a TV screen built-in to the vanity mirror taking up most of the wall. At once, the familiar voice of the weather channel anchor echoed around the tiled bathroom.

Magdalena Newton looked a mess when she woke up.

Her only saving grace was the fact she had the forethought to plait her long hair into a braid every night, or else she would have to deal with a rat’s nest besides the general unkept-ness of her appearance first thing in the morning. Absently, she untied the ribbon in her oil-black hair, watching the weatherman as she started to untangle the strands.

Sunrise was at 6:28am that morning; a good amount of time to take care of her errands.

Magdalena tapped the center of her vanity mirror and another screen snapped to life, along with some ring lights attached to a small camera. Within a few seconds, she could see herself in the mirror’s surface, as clear as though she were looking in the actual glass.

Technology was a marvel.

Her reflection was always such a strange thing to look at, to be honest. There were moments it didn’t seem like she was the one looking back at herself, only recently getting the ability to see herself within the past few decades. It was centuries before she could recall what she truly looked like, relying only on a painted portrait or a lover’s descriptions.

Both of which were never accurate.

Wincing at her haggard appearance, Magdalena started to work on fixing herself up for the night. No use going out looking like you just rolled out of bed… even if it were true. She was raised to be a proper lady when in view of other people, and that took some care and effort on her part. Besides, one never knows who you might see wandering the streets so late at night, or whom you might be looking for.

—

Was it just him, or did the sliding door of his van sound louder when it was dark outside?

Checking his watch in the circular beam of the streetlamp, it was just around 9:00pm when he parked his van outside of his apartment building, sliding open the door to start moving equipment from the vehicle to the home. It had been another late-night practice session at the concert venue with his students, which meant he had spent the last hour or so of practice getting berated by parents for keeping their kids so late.

The gods of rock care not for simple mortal concepts like time. Or calling parents in advance. Or responding to the last 15 text messages you got.

Eh, he knew they would shut up about it once they saw all the hard work the kids were putting into the show. It was shaping up to be quite the epic mid-summer concert spectacular he had seen in his dreams. The uptight little bastards were really doing him proud.

Dewey Finn stuck the handle of his guitar case between his teeth, trying to balance the bottom half with his knee, and simultaneously grab his satchel from under the front seat. It was a good idea, in theory, had it not been for the fact that the angle of the guitar case was preventing him from reaching into the van. He wasn’t about to set his prized guitar case on the street, nor did he feel like making two trips up and down the building’s stairwell.

He lost count of how many times he had sent angry emails to the supervisor about the busted elevator, only to be told it would “take some time” because it was a “historic building”.

Historic was a polite word for collapsing at any given moment.

Dewey couldn’t complain too much, all things considered; the apartment’s mysterious landlord company gave him a break on the rent due to him using the space for education. Apparently, whoever own the place was a fan of music, which gave them an upgrade in the landlord scale from Hell spawn to Minor Annoyance.

Shifting his weight to keep the guitar case balanced, Dewey tried again to reach the satchel, muttering a slew of curses with a mouthful of leather handle.

—

Magdalena heard the van door before she even rounded the corner, which made her take pause during her speedy trek down the sidewalk. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time: 9:07pm. He was a little earlier than she anticipated, putting a significant kink in her plans for that evening.

For the two and a half weeks, she had clocked him arriving at his apartment no earlier than 9:39pm, which would leave her plenty of time to scale the fire escape until she reached his floor. Nothing scandalous ever happened during her vigils; she was more than content to listen to the sounds of life from his apartment. His weighty footsteps padding around the creaky floors, rummaging around for something to eat, playing video games late into the night. Speaking with other people either in person or on the telephone.

And her favorite hobby of his: singing.

Was it still considered voyeurism if one didn’t actually look at their object of affection? Listening was more than enough. Hearing him plunk out little tunes on his guitar and sing classic rock ballads were something she could have listened to all night if she had the opportunity. She would risk staying out beyond daybreak if he had stayed up all night singing; her own private concert, and he didn’t even know anyone was listening.

For now.

Still, she was debating if it was too early to introduce herself. What is in doing so, she was committing a grave miscalculation of her plans and would therefore have to resort to… unpleasant measures? What if he didn’t want to know her? What if he ended up not liking what he found out?

What if it was something mundane: she wasn’t the right type? The right build or height? The right gender? He hadn’t brought anyone into his apartment save his friend - Nathan? Nolan? - that she could tell. However, his daytime activities were as of yet a mystery, which could have meant this entire plan would end in utter disaster if he were spoken for.

Nope. There was no use thinking the worst of things without even making an attempt.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

—

The more he struggled, the more his jaw began to ache.

Dewey was stubborn more than anything, which his best friend Ned always pointed out just how illogical it was for him to be such a damn slacker 90% of the time when he would get into his hellbent fits of motivation. He was going to make it up the stairs in one go, and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself doing it.

Such delusions of grandeur can only go so far before one’s hubris decided to take the driver’s seat.

Dewey’s jaw finally gave out, causing his guitar case to tip over across his knee and gain a bit of air before starting to fall to the dirty sidewalk below. The whole thing was like a slow-motion sequence in a movie; Dewey reaching out his hands, fumbling for purchase on the leather case, and ultimately sending it further away from him when he failed to grasp it tight.

Unable to watch the carnage, he screwed his eyes shut tight, waiting for the inevitable crashing of his precious instrument hitting cement-

-which never happened.

Cautiously opening one eye, he peeked out in the darkened space beyond the streetlight, seeing his guitar case being held oh so carefully by a pair of delicate hands. Fully opening his eyes, he followed those hands up their respective arms until he came face to face with his savior. A woman, about his height, stood next to his van with the case secure in her grip. It was hard to see her in the shadows, even more so with her face obscured by the neck of the guitar case.

“Clumsy.” The woman said, her voice clear and crisp in the still air.

Dewey was immediately taken aback by her speech, his overly sensitive musical ear picking up a mix of accents he couldn’t place, and a soft, rounded lisp near the front of her mouth. Within a few seconds, however, he was far more concerned with the welfare of his guitar, reaching out and gently taking the case from her.

“You… you saved Tawny from certain death. My precious axe. My baby.” He cradled the case like a small child, setting it down in the van with great care. “I was such a fool to treat you so carelessly.”

The woman tilted her head, “Tawny?”

“Tawny. Ya know, like the girl from the White Snake video? Only the hottest woman to ever dance on the hood of a car.” Dewey replied, “Not… not that it was her only quality.”

“Never met her, so I couldn’t say.” She replied, a bit of laughter lilting through her voice this time. “She was attractive though, no shame in saying it.”

Whirling around on his heels, Dewey finally turned his full attention to the woman, almost falling over into the passenger door of the van once he got a good view of her. He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t… her.

“Snow White” was the immediate image that popped into his head. She looked pale as a ghost in the dim shadows, with dark hair tied intricately with braided bits gathered into a low ponytail, and her bright blue eyes catching the light like some nocturnal creature. The stark difference between her skin and her inky hair, coupled with her all black ensemble gave her the appearance of a living black and white image. The only color visible in the darkness with a bright, robin’s egg blue scarf tied in a bow around her neck.

“Uhhh…. I… you… wow…” Dewey leaned against the van, trying to act casual. “I mean, w-what’s a girl like you doing on a sidewalk like this? It’s late for a casual urban hike.”

“Protecting defenseless musical instruments from certain death.” She mirrored his stance, placing a hand on her hip. “I moonlight as a vigilante.”

He nodded, holding out his hand in a friendly gesture, “Ah, well, consider me a grateful citizen oh Superhero- Lady- Ma’am. Wow- you know what? That was lame. I’m just gonna show myself out before I embarrass myself any further.”

Dewey started to take his hand away, but not before the woman took hold of it, shaking it with a firm grip, “All in a night’s work, fair citizen.”

The woman - reluctantly- let go of his hand, stepping around him and continuing her way down the sidewalk. As though finally discovering that: yes, he had a brain, and yes, he should use it immediately, Dewey jogged a couple paces to try and catch up to her. She stopped when she heard him approaching, which made him bump into her softly, having not anticipated the sudden pause.

After steadying himself, Dewey ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, “Listen. Maybe… maybe we can start over? Because this whole night is gonna keep me up for weeks if I don’t try and regain my dignity. I’m Dewey Finn.”

Laughing softly, though she covered her mouth delicately with the back of her hand, she nodded. “Fair enough, Dewey Finn. I’m Magdalena.”

Writing Tags: @amywright @mrgeuse @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs

#school of rock musical #school of rock broadway #school of rock fanfiction #school of rock AU #dewey finn x oc #writing time

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caltropspress · 4 years

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FEEDBACK LOOP #1: Armand Hammer’s “Flavor Flav”

What are the Black purposes of space travel?

—Amiri Baraka, “Technology & Ethos”

Black futurism is a temporally troubled matrix Black futurism is a temporally troubled matrix that thrives on opposites and oppositions, flowing lines and nonlinearity, conflict resolution and asymmetrical warfare. It prefers the mad dash on shifting sands while in pursuit of higher ground and safe havens.

—Greg Tate, “Kalahari Hopscotch, or Notes Toward a 20 Volume History of Black Science and Afrofuturism”

Welcome aboard our spaceship, it’s so nice to have you here. —Newcleus, “Space is the Place”

Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day but for all times, sees races, eras, dates, generations, The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together. —Walt Whitman

I’m so tired of being forced to promote the myth of white supremacy by performing works by old white men like Whitman who said blacks...didn’t have a place in the future of America. —Timothy McNair

Today is the shadow of tomorrow, today is the future present of yesterday, yesterday is the shadow of today. —Sun Ra, “Secrets of the Sun”

This highly allusive track from billy woods and ELUCID toys with itself—that is, allusions are a figurative means of collapsing time in and of themselves. Past and present history & culture don’t contend so much as support one another. A set of stilts to do the Dance of Death on, if you will. “Start downhill running.” The Seventh Seal hilltop silhouette danse macabre steez, though. The whooshing, metal-creaking beat—with all its haunted psithurism charm—is the backdrop for this sleeper Shrines track.

The name “Flavor Flav” is used metonymically here to mean time. This isn’t a braggadocio, low-key threat in the spirit of OC’s “Time’s Up.” This isn’t a Grandmaster Flashian “You Know What Time It Is” (though the hands on the clock tower do spin clockwise and counter-). Neither is this a Kool Moe Dee-esque rhetorical “Do You Know What Time It Is?” Armand Hammer are frustrated by time, by the “ideals and dreams that don’t work.” woods laments his “time machine [that] don’t go backwards.” This no-good lemon of a H.G. Wells contraption he’s steering. This isn’t some Christopher Lloyd-cum-El-Producto Delorean. There’s no Great Scotting going on, just stubbornness.

Progress isn’t made. Time stagnates. Like the “list of ill-fated quick licks under ’frigerator magnets.” And that “school trip permission slip”—likely a bus ride to a museum: a carefully curated collection of artifacts, most notable for its colonial muscling. The question remains: What is left out? What is excluded? What is ignored, discarded, or co-opted so as to not withstand the test of time? woods’ short-i assonance speeds the delivery up only to slow it down:

billy woods, son of a revolutionary, redefines Afrofuturism (re-re-re-defines—its brilliance is in how it remakes itself unconditionally). Afrofuturism becomes about birthing the next generation of Black revolutionaries, so he subverts the line and expectations when “big hand captured” refers to the clock, but “little man [not hand] chasin’” refers to a youngin. (Try to keep up.) Put the faith in the youth when our “ideals and dreams” stall out—when the days, months, years are fleeting and forceful (“It do tick faster / The hour coming rough”). The spliff that’s “[skinned] like an onion” turns the cypher into Perrault fairy tale “pumpkin,” Cinderella style.

“Don’t come ’round with that ‘Go slow’” is in conversation with Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam,” of course. It’s Nina who said “[she] can’t stand the pressure much longer,” who objected to those who “keep on saying ‘Go slow,” who had her band ironically chanting Do it slow. billy woods, like Nina Simone, decries reformism, incrementalism. Don’t do things gradually. We’re at the point where Nina stands up from her piano bench and shouts That’s it!

Forego the telephoto lenses, he insists, this is the “Battle of Algiers with the GoPro.” Urban guerrilla warfare uploaded and disseminated via YouTube. Again, time collapses. The struggle to decolonize continues. Watch for the This video is no longer available dead-end.

billy woods’ Nietzschean “loathing and fear” reverses the hallucinogenic time-warp of Thompson’s (and, in filmic relation, Gilliam’s) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. “History is hard to know,” Thompson writes, “because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of ‘history’ it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash.” That flash will reappear in ELUCID’s verse.

If “all roads lead to Rome,” we’re settling into the inevitability of our moves. It’s a fatalistic shrug, but homophonically, all roads lead to roam—that is, the journey is prolonged interminably. It’s nomadic. Much static. So, naturally, you’re going to “[shake] the hourglass like a snowglobe,” distort time, and splurge on the “JC Penny Timex,” which is appropriately “flooded with rhinestones.” Flooded, because no more water: the fire next time. Don’t “lose track” and don’t “get trapped in the future.”

The chorus quotes the Rolling Stones’ “Time is On My Side,” but it ain’t that simple, no. The history is as messy as we’ve come to expect amerikan music to be. “Time is On My Side” was originally penned by Norman Meade (Jerry Ragovoy), and trombonist Kai Winding first recorded it. Jimmy Norman, a Black songwriter, fleshed out the lyrics significantly, and Irma Thomas recorded that version in the same year as the Stones. The song followed a path similar to that of “Strange Fruit”—a composition written by a white Jewish man under a pseudonym (Abel Meeropol as Lewis Allan) but popularized by a Black female jazz singer (Billie Holiday). As author Jess Row has said about jazz—hip-hop applies, too—it is “by its very nature multi-racial, intermingled, and collaborative across color lines.” But this cognizance must always be contextualized with views of Black artists like that of Art Blakey: “the only way the Caucasian musician can swing is from a rope.” Hip-hop has always had its Paul Cs and Rick Rubins, but the racial heterogeneity of a genre, or even a single recording, can’t cloak the power dynamics still in play. The Stones’ version of “Time is On My Side”—undoubtedly the most popular version—is a rip-off of Irma Thomas’ version. Mick Jagger even jacks Thomas’ ad-libs, which is to say, her rawness and spontaneity. Even the band’s shadowed faces on the cover of 12 x 5, the album on which the track appears, suggest the racial problematics, the minstrelsy heist. Armand Hammer mock the British Invasion blues filchers by adding “they” to the chorus line: “They said time is on my side.” They being white institutions (especially within music publishing, production, and recording industries) who promised enough airtime for everyone. They who urged patience. (Go slow!) But, as history shows, the profits only lined certain pockets.

ELUCID begins at the “golden hour,” which is both the photogenic beauty of the sky after sunrise and before sunset—a beauty too good to behold. It’s the sun glare shining in your face on the winter commute from work. It’s your high-speed accident and then the golden hour is the paramedics and doctors trying to salvage your corporeal existence. ELUCID’s verse is a hypnagogic jerk, gasping for breath as he takes a “portal to Orangeburg, ’68.” It’s a reference to the campus shooting of young people in protest—South Carolina State University. Unlike Kent State, which came afterwards, Orangeburg didn’t get the attention keening white women in Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs do, despite “live ammunition,” three dead, 28 injured, and “nine acquitted assassins.” Unnoticed. Black invisibility. Not that H.G. Wells type of invisibility—the Ralph Ellison kind.

We’re told what this is: it’s the aggregate stress (“the load of the allostatic”) of Black life. It’s one’s personal Extinction Agenda, the “post-traumatic” of the gunfire “flashes” that double as flashbacks. The pain, stress, the brain that can’t rest, the pressure on the chest.

“The center won’t hold” lets us know this isn’t all PTSD reverie—it’s a rebel poem: surely some revolution is at hand. ELUCID channels Achebe channeling Yeats. Things might fall apart but not without struggle. The “Flavor Flav clock spins centrifugal,” as a gyre, as an apocalyptic (91…) voice. Turning and returning. The words have an air of insurrection, proclamation.

He misses “watching how a flat circle fold”—it won’t budge, won’t wrinkle. We’ve been here before: on “Hunter,” on Paraffin, when billy woods was on that “time is a flat circle” shit. That Nietzsche eternal recurrence shit:

What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain…will return to you. […] The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!

“Can you find the level of difficulty in this?” suggests game playing, arcades. Calls to mind more Walter Benjamin’s Arcades, though. billy woods and ELUCID are gleaners and magpies of cultural cadavers in Benjamin’s way. Their bars are play and critique both. We’re left with a modicum of optimism at the song’s end. Even “only [moving] the pen six inches” is something, is struggle. The “pale faces beyond the fire” are ever-present, though. The “flinching, panic, [and] confusion” are committed to continue.

Is it the fool or the insurgent who thinks time is on their side? We want the life we live to be “more brilliant than a sunbeam.” That’s to say, we don’t want to wait for the golden hour or the golden years. We want what they say we can’t have. We want what they say we shouldn’t imagine. But Armand Hammer helps us take solace in the “drum skin stretched”—the rhythm, the rebel. The oft-quoted Douglass gem, If there is no struggle, there is no progress, is played out for a reason. The reason is because it needs to be played again, and again. Like a mantra, like a song.

Images:

Sun Ra’s Space is the Place (screenshot) | Flavor Flav (detail), courtesy of archivist Sean Stewart | Grandmaster Flash “You Know What Time It Is” music video (screenshot) | Kool Moe Dee “Do You Know What Time It Is?” single cover | Nina Simone live at Antibes Juan-les-Pins Jazz Festival 1965 (screenshot) | The Battle of Algiers (screenshot) | The Rolling Stones 12 x 5 album cover | Flavor Flav, courtesy of Stewart

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bourbonboredom · 6 years

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A Reason To Believe Chapter 3

Being an undercover officer is a perilous job and Flip Zimmerman knows this far too well. He keeps his romantic life limited to one-night stands, never letting anyone get too close. That all starts to change when he meets a vivacious Jewish woman named Elle just as he’s about to take on a seriously dangerous undercover job; infiltrating the KKK. Elle and his undercover work make him question things he’d never thought to before and challenge him to see the world, and himself, in a whole new light.

A Flip x OC Fic

Word Count: 4,751

Warnings: none

Of all the boys I've known, and I've known some

Until I first met you, I was lonesome

And when you came in sight, dear, my heart grew light

And this old world seemed new to me

(x)

“Grandma said today’s the New Year,” Flip told his mother as he watched her move around the kitchen. She was making dinner so it was ready for dad as soon as he came home.

She smelled of perfume, as always, and was immaculately dressed while making cooking, as always. He sat at the kitchen table, his legs swinging from his seat, not quite able to touch the ground yet. His growth spurt wouldn’t happen until seven years later when he reached thirteen.

“Did she now?” His mother’s voice had just a hint of annoyance, one Flip didn’t yet recognize. And so he powered on.

“She told me on the phone last week. She said we should call her today so say Luh-Sannatovah--”

“Luh-sha-NAH tov-AH,” She corrected him, opening the oven door. “And we don’t celebrate that, Grandma knows this,”

“But why not? We’re Jewish aren’t we?”

“We don’t celebrate it Phillip, don’t ask again please,” her voice was clipped but dangerous. The roast pan clattered as she slammed it on the stove top.

“Don’t mention this to your father when he gets home, the last thing he needs is to hear you bringing this up,”

Flip stopped swinging his legs. He kept his mouth shut from then on about the holiday from then on.

------------

As promised Flip was at the apartment before sundown, a bottle of red wine in hand. He parked his truck on the street outside the plain brick building. He looked from the sheet of paper with her address, it said she was on the third floor. He looked up to the windows, hoping to maybe catch a glance of her before making his way into the building.

He went up the old rickety staircase, the steps groaning under his weight. He opens the door to the third floor hallway and looks for her apartment number. As he walked he could hear the different tenants going about their night. One room had a tv blaring the latest variety show, another had the game playing in the radio as some kids were running around. He finally reached her apartment door, music drifting into the hallway.

He knocked on the door and awkwardly looked around while waiting for her to open the door. He noticed a tiny brass object hammered into her door frame, just at his eye level. It was a mezuzah, which had parts of the Torah inscribed on a piece of paper inside in order to bless the home. He vaguely remembered his grandmother instructing him to touch it before coming into someone's home. He placed his fingertips to it gently, feeling the cool metal under his skin. In that moment he heard a lock unlatch and he pulled his hand back to his side right before door swing open in front of him.

"Hey you," Eliana looked up at him, opening the door wider. "Come on in, you're the first one here,"

"Hi Eliana--”

“You can call me Elle,” She interjected, walking further into the space.

“Elle. It smells good in here," he following her into the kitchen.

He noted she was wearing a pair of chords and a simple blouse, her Star of David necklace hanging freely now that it was unrestricted by a uniform. Her hair was half pulled back and she was barefoot. For a moment he wondered if he should have taken off his shoes but before he could ask she started speaking again.

"Thanks, I've been cooking all day. Sorry it's a bit of a mess in here right now," she said, moving back to the oven to check on what was cooking inside.

"All day?" He asked.

"All day," she reaffirmed. "It's a holiday, and a lot of the traditional foods weren't really available at the supermarket. So I had to make do,"

She motioned to the kitchen table, which held an impressive amount of food. Round loaves of challah still giving off steam, bowls filled with cooked carrots and potatoes, and another platter of unidentified food filled the small table.

"Well it looks great," he said, settling the bottle of wine among the feast.

“Thanks! The chicken will be ready soon. I figured that would be friendlier than the customary fish head. Besides, my other friends don't eat a lot of fish so this was the safest option,"

"Where are your other friends?" He asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"They should be here soon. I think they're running late, Ruth always seems to be a good ten minutes late to everything. We had to change her watch to be fifteen minutes fast so she could actually get to work on time," Elle rolled her eyes and lifted herself up to sit on the counter.

The two sat in awkward silence for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the record player crooning pre-war tunes. The harmonizing of The Andrews Sisters poured from the speakers, playing a song he hadn’t heard since his childhood.

Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain

Bei mir bist du schön means you're grand

Bei mir bist du schön, again I'll explain

It means you're the fairest in the land

Despite having an obvious attraction to one another, they both realized in that moment they really didn't know much about the other person.

"So... did you have any trouble finding the place?" she asked.

"No, I have a pretty good idea of where things are here. Police and all," he responded.

"Yeah, that'd make sense," she said, seeming like she was kicking herself on the inside.

"Do you need help finishing anything up?" He asked, trying to be polite.

"You could cut some apples with me, I haven't quite gotten there yet," she hopped off the counter and pulled a bowl of apples off the counter and placed it between the two of them.

"Knives are in the drawer by your leg," she pointed. He stepped back and pulled a couple out for them and they got to work.

"So any particular reason for apples? Kinda strange for dinner," He asked.

"Wow, you were serious about not celebrating, huh?" Elle said, smiling up at him. "Apples slices and honey are eaten together to symbolize having a sweet new year ahead,"

"And the fish head you mentioned?" He asked, almost not wanting an answer.

"You start with the head of the animal, its supposedly good luck. My mother used to go to the market to get sheep head, and would get mad when we wouldn't eat it,"she grimaced. "I'll take my chances with the chicken if it means my dinner isn't gonna be looking at me,"

"Understood," he said, not wanting to think about that memory.

"My siblings and I would collect the meat in napkins and toss it outside to the neighbor’s dog. My mom thankfully never caught us,"

"You have siblings?"

"An older sister and a younger brother. Rebecca is off living the housewife life with her husband and 4 kids in Brooklyn. Alex is finishing up college in Manhattan,"

"Is it hard being away from them?"

"Sometimes. Is it bad to say but I miss my brother more than my sister? I'm kinda the black sheep of the family, choosing a career over meeting a nice Jewish boy and settling down. Rebecca likes to remind me that my biological clock is ticking, she takes after mama," she tried to switch the conversation away from her. "How about you? Any siblings?"

"Nope, only child. I do get the settling down question from mom a lot though, that's seems pretty universal,"

"I guess so," she laughed. He laughed with her.

“So how did you get all the way to Colorado from New York City? Aren’t most people dying to move to your hometown?”

“New York is my home, and it will always be,” Elle mused. “But after going upstate for college, which was a good eight hours from home, I learned that I really liked my freedom,”

“I was away from my parents for the first time. I was taking classes on things that I actually liked and was making friends, and could wear pants without my mother kvetching about me looking like my brother! I love my family but being on my own felt great and I didn't know if I would be able to have that if I stayed in New York. So I took a job in Indiana at a hospital in a small city. I worked there for a few years and heard about a job opening at a hospital in Colorado that desperately needed nurses and was paying more than enough, so I thought why not? So here I am,” she gestured to the room surrounding them.

“That’s brave of you,” he noted.

“I don’t know if its brave so much as I’ve seen my sister’s life as a housewife and its encouraged me to want more. It’s like Betty Friedan said 'no woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor’—”

Flip’s lips twisted into a smile and he let out a short laugh. She realized the crassness of her quote and put a hand up to cover her mouth.

“I probably shouldn't be talking about orgasms during the high holy days,” she laughed.

“I get what you’re saying though. It’s not everyones calling,”

“And your calling is being a cop?” She changed the subject.

“I guess. I joined the military right out of high school. My dad was in the Air Force so it was expected of me. We lived on base in Nebraska, he didn’t retire until I was in my twenties. I did two tours over in Vietnam before coming back to the states and joining the Colorado Springs PD,”

“Is this the wrong time to tell you I spent a lot of time in college and post-grad protesting the war?”

“I mean, I went over there and I served but I didn't really agree with what was happening by the time I left. A lot of the people around me had been drafted. They didn't want to be there and were vocal about it, but we kept each other safe enough to get home,”

She was quiet and avoided his gaze. He knew what she was thinking. The country was so polarized about this war. It wasn’t popular by any means. He remembered the welcome he received coming home. Wearing your uniform didn't feel honorable when people called you a baby-killer as they walked by. He traded in that uniform for a CSPD one, finding it to be one of the only places where people didn’t scowl when they heard his resume.

“I didn’t kill anyone if thats what you’re thinking. My unit wasn't specialized or anything, we barely saw any action. There isn’t as much going on over there as the news is making it out to be,”

She bit the inside of her lip, cheeks flushing as she took in his words.

“I honestly hadn’t heard anything from anyone who had been over there. I appreciate you being honest about it. Sorry if I came off too strong,”

“It’s okay, I get it. Besides, you can make it up to me with dinner,”

He flashed her a cheeky smile and she shot one back his way. She looked beautiful right now, with her hair up in a loose bun from cooking and apron covering her outfit. He hoped he was appropriately dressed. He’d subbed out his usual flannel and jeans for a dress shirt and slacks. She was about to open her mouth, no doubt to shoot a sarcastic remark his way when she was suddenly interrupted.

The phone rang and she excused herself to go answer it. He found this all strangely relaxing. Slicing apples, the background music, the two of them just chatting and laughing. It was like they'd been doing this together for ages. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden change in her voice, he eavesdropped into her call in the next room.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to send some soup your way?... No, don't worry about it, you focus on getting better... Okay, I'll call you tomorrow then, L'shana Tova..." she said before hanging up the phone and coming back in the kitchen.

"Everything alright?" He asked, putting the apple slices on a plate.

"The girl that was supposed to come, Ruth, she's really sick and can't make it. So I think it's just gonna be us," she said with an air of uncertainty.

He realized she was nervous. He was practically a stranger, just sitting in her kitchen with this huge meal she’d created. With four people, it would have been a party. With two though, it was more of an awkward date. He tried to receive the tension, let her know he was okay with this.

"Oh. Well, more wine for us then?" He offered.

She broke into a relieved smile.

"More wine for us then,"

——

The sun had just started to sink over the horizon as Flip helped Elle with setting the table, the two extra chairs being dragged back into the small living room. She turned off the radio and motioned for him to sit down as she retrieved a candle that had been burning in the other room.

“You said you’ve never done this before, right? Do you want me to break some of it down for you?” She asked as she came back into the kitchen.

“Uh— yeah. I mean, yes. Please. That’d be great,” he said, wanting to seem at ease with everything that was happening.

She took the unlit candle sticks, set in silver holders, and lit them with the existing flame which she then set on the kitchen counter behind them. She turned back to the table, standing over the candles. After a deep breath through her nose she closed her eyes, waved her hands over the flames and began reciting a prayer.

If Flip was being honest, he didn't understand anything she was saying. He never went to Hebrew school. The closest was an hour away and his father basically forbid it. There were no celebrations in his house growing up, at least none that were explicitly Jewish. He never thought much of his secular upbringing, but he couldn't help but feel in awe of the way Elle stood in front of him, speaking a language that was thousands of years old.

She looked so at peace with her movements, the prayers could have meant anything to his inexperienced ears but they sounded reassuring when voiced by her. She moved to gently cover her eyes with her hands as she spoke, shielding them from the light. After she was finished, she placed the candle to the other side of the table away from the food.

“That was for lighting the candles, which is important for most of our holidays. Think of it as a signal that this is a sacred time, separate from the everyday,” She told him. “Could you pass me the wine?”

He handed her the bottle he brought her and she popped it open using a cork screw she had kept on the table. She poured some wine into a small metal cup and motioned for him to pass his own glass. His was filled as well and he listened as she recited another prayer. When she was finished, he wasn't really sure what to do with it. So he held it, waiting for her to continue.

"Say Amen, we drink it now. Kiddush cup first," she winked, taking a sip from the metal cup before passing it to him to do the same.

“That was us blessing the wine before the meal. This is good pick by the way,”

She turned her attention to the challah that was covered with a clean dish towel. She uncovered them and spoke again. Flip was starting to hear familiar words in her prayers, they all seemed to start the same way.

"Baruch Attah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam…"

He couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed when she moved around with so much confidence. Elle had clearly been doing this for her whole life, and it made him think about how much of an absence there had been of this in his. There was purpose in her actions, the rituals being practiced were far older than either of them.

She broke off a piece of the challah, handing it to him before taking her own. She dipped it in a small bowl of honey, waiting for him to do the same, before bringing it to her mouth and eating it. He followed suit, met with sweet buttery bread and thick honey on his tastebuds.

“That was the HaMotzi, we’re thanking G-d for providing us bread,” She explained. “There’s one more blessing, and then we can eat. Take one of those apple slices you made and dip it into the honey,”

He did as instructed, mimicking the way she held it upward to keep the honey from dripping. He listened to her sing one more blessing, smiling to himself as he thought of how much he liked hearing her voice.

“Perfect! And now—” she took a bite of the slice. “We eat!”

“Thanks for walking me through, that was helpful,” he said as he ate his own slice.

“Of course. It’s weird to just sit there and listen to stuff you can’t understand. If Ruth and her boyfriend were here it might've been more fun, the more the merrier on holidays,”

“I’m still having fun with just you,” he looked to her, letting her know he really meant it.

She smiled at him, just staring back at him for a moment. It was hard to believe this was happening right now. He’d met Elle less than two weeks ago. He only learned her name earlier this week. And now they were having a holiday meal together in her apartment. He was used to moving fast with girls, but not like this.

“Oh no I forgot the chicken!" she gasped suddenly and rushed to the oven.

She pulled mitts on her hands and pulled the bird out in its pan. He'd forgotten about the main dish as well. There didn't seem to be any smoke so that was a good sign. She checked it over for damage.

"It's edible!" She declared, setting it down in the center of the table.

The two of them laughed before digging in.

---

Everything was delicious.

Flip couldn't remember the last time he’d had a full homemade meal. Maybe thanksgiving? Or going over to Jimmy’s one night? Whenever it was, Elle’s meal was two times better.

Between mouthfuls of food, they found time to converse. He wanted to know more about her, she was unlike anyone he’d ever met. Funny, assertive, intelligent, and had a pretty dirty mouth after a few glasses of wine.

“So you grew up an only child? Must’ve been nice having some damn peace and quiet,” she commented as he spoke about his upbringing.

“It was lonely sometimes. I think my parents might’ve wanted more kids but it just never happened. And yeah, it was really quiet. I didn’t realize how quiet until I started going to friend’s houses. My dad was a military man, very reserved and serious. And my mom was always concerned with fitting in with the neighbors,”

“That’s gotta be hard if you’re the only Jews on the block,” she sympathized.

“Yeah, we didn't really celebrate anything. Like, we had a menorah in the house but it was never lit. My parents said it was an heirloom and was too delicate for that, but I think my mom just didn't want the neighbors seeing. We even had a christmas tree up in later years,”

“Wow thats really bizarre. New York had literally everything. No one cared what you were doing for the most part. A lot of our neighbors were Jewish so there was never a second thought celebrating anything. I suppose that’s why my parents came here, the freedom of religion. There wasn’t much of that in Germany before they came over. Now they like to go all out,”

“They came before the war then?” he asked.

“Yep, 1937. They had my sister just a few months after arriving in America. Kind of an anchor baby, but don’t tell her that,”

“Do you speak German then?”

“German, Yiddish and Hebrew. They taught us German at home and we learned Hebrew in Hebrew school. We learned a little Yiddish too, but that’s just for talking at home, mostly simple stuff. I kinda wish I knew more,”

“Well, that’s still three more languages than I can speak,”

“I thought of going to school to study language. But then my mother said that’d be a good way to meet a husband and I decided to switch to nursing so I could make enough money on my own. And maybe to piss her off a bit,”

Flip laughed. He knew a lot of women went to college to get their MRS. degree, but he hadn’t heard of one who went to specifically avoid marriage.

“I’m sure she was thrilled. Eight hours away, protesting the war, and wearing pants,” he mused.

“Oh, she was ready to arrange a marriage at that point. I made the mistake of bringing home a box of rubbers one holiday break. She snooped around my bag and found it, I thought she was going to drop dead right there,”

He roared with laughter at the thought. Condoms were a very scandalous thing for a single woman to be carrying around in the 1960’s. For her even to obtain them was a mystery he thought was best unsolved. She was certainly ready to cause trouble at ever turn, and he loved it.

“I stole a cigarette from my father in middle school and went to the edge of the base to smoke it. One of the other officers caught me and told my dad. I don’t think I was more scared in my life than coming home and finding him in the living room with a belt next to him,”

She gasped before laughing again.

“Well was it worth it?”

“I smoke the same brand as him after all these years, it all worked out somehow,”

“I’m having trouble picturing you as a little trouble-maker, officer Zimmerman,” she confided, lips turned up.

“And I can’t see you as prim and proper. I saw you in your nurse uniform just a few days ago, looking all professional and crisp but then you’re telling me stories that make you out to be a hell-raiser,”

“I was a part of the National Organization for Women back in New York and Indiana, not to keep adding on to your narrative,”

N.O.W. was something he’d read about in the news, or seen on tv. A feminist group that was often demonized and dismissed. Passed off as a bunch of crazy women looking to achieve something that would never come about. He’d take those news stories with a grain of salt. He saw nothing wrong with a strong woman.

“A bra burn-er huh? You might need them here in Colorado, it gets pretty cold you know,” he teased.

“I’ll have you know my bras are fully in tact, thank you very much! We were more focused on getting the Equal Rights Amendment passed,” she informs him.

“Best of luck getting anything passed in Congress. But maybe there’s a chapter around here you could join,” he offered.

“You’re okay with me being a feminist?” she asked.

He was taken aback for a moment, unsure of how to answer that.

“Yeah. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Gotta be passionate about something, right?”

“And what are you passionate about Flip Zimmerman?” she rested her chin on her hand as she waited for his response.

He didn’t have one.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But this chicken sure is a forerunner,”

She gave him an odd little smile, somewhere between amusement and pity.

“You can take some home if you’d like, there’s more than enough,”

“I might have to take you up on that,”

They talked the night away, moving from the table to the couch once they were both full. The wine bottle followed them, perching on the coffee table as they spoke. They were just touching, her figure curled up on the cushion next to him, the two of them facing each other in the dim light.

She made him laugh like crazy and he did the same. They exchanged more childhood stories, and he filled her in on some of the more wild cases he’d been apart of on the force. Once they had both finished their last glass, things started to get heated.

What was ‘just touching’ became his large hand resting on her thigh. She rested her hand on his bicep as they spoke. And slowly, their faces grew closer and closer together until their words died on their lips. He was the one who bridged the gap, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He was testing his luck, seeing if she was feeling the same way he was. She quickly returned the kiss, deepening between them.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were making out on her couch like teenagers. She moved to his lap, straddling him as they kissed. His hands settled on her waist and her’s rested on his shoulders. Flip hadn’t done this in a long while, just kiss a girl, really take his time. It was nice.

She broke a part their kiss, touching her nose to his as she spoke with a hushed tone.

“I have another bottle of wine we could open if you wanna stay a while,”

He thought about it. Of course he wanted to spend the night with her, she was fucking gorgeous. He would spend every night with her if he could. But that was part of the problem.

He wasn’t going to be able to one-and-done it with Elle. He liked her too much. He liked getting to know her and eating dinner with her and even preparing dinner with her. He wanted to get to know a girl with her clothes still on. Who was he turning in to?

New year, new Flip Zimmerman.

“As much as I would love that sweetheart, I gotta get up early for work tomorrow,” he heard himself say.

She looked disappointed. He felt disappointed in himself, to be honest.

“But this was nice. I’d like to do it again sometime,” he assured.

“You know Rosh Hashanah only happens once a year, right?” she teased. He chuckled.

“I mean us getting together and having a good time. Maybe more of this?” He accentuated his words by rubbing his hands down her sides.

“I think that could be arranged,” she hummed. “Yom Kippur in next week, I suppose you don’t so anything for that either?”

“I can’t say I do,”

“Well if you’re not up for fasting, you’re welcome to break fast with me. Maybe with some Chinese food from the place around the corner?”

“I’d like that. Not the fasting part, but after,”

She kissed him again, looping her arms around his neck as if to keep him there just a little bit longer. He felt himself getting tighter in his jeans, a sign that he should stop before the alcohol makes any major decision for them. He broke the kiss, lifting her from his lap with ease before setting her on her feet.

Her curls were slightly disheveled and her blouse was un-tucking but she still looked beautiful. She ran a finger over his Star of David before trailing into the next room.

“I’ll pack some of this up for you. You can get the Tupperware back to me whenever, there’s no rush,” she called from the other room.

he awkwardly stood on the doorway of the kitchen as she worked, not wanting to get in her way. She seemed to know what she was doing.

“You need any help with the clean up?” he asked.

“No, thanks for asking but don’t worry about it. It’ll help me sober up,” she joked. At least he wasn’t the only one who needed the break from the wine.

She strode over to him, three pink Tupperware containers in hand. He took them into his arms, cradling them so they wouldn't fall.

“I hope that’s enough,” she chewed at her lip.

“More than enough, thank you. And thank you for inviting me over. I hope your friend feels better,”

“I’ll tell her you said that, thanks. So I’ll see you soon?” she looked up at him with eager eyes. He had a feeling not just anyone got to see that.

“I’ll give you a ring tomorrow if you want. Around eight?”

Her face lit up.

“Perfect, I’ll hold you to it,” she warned him.

“Alright. Happy New Year Elle,”

“L’Shana Tova Flip,”

He swooped down to give her one last kiss before walking out the door.

“L’shana Tova” he mumbled as he walked down the hall, Tupperware in hand and a small grin on his face.

---------

Notes:

The light irony of having a Jewish New Year chapter released around the first week of 2019. Happy New Year! I tried to write Rosh Hashanah to the best of my ability, my family is on the Lite(TM) end of Judaism, so I asked a lot of friends about their family’s customs to help make sure everything was good. If anyone does anything differently, I’d love to hear it!

-For those who don’t celebrate Rosh Hashanah, it’s a two day celebration that is at the beginning of the seventh month of the Jewish calendar (which is different from the Roman one we use, thats why Jewish holidays fall on different days every year). It’s about the celebration and reflection of the last year, the latter helps prepare for Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement.

-Rosh Hashanah usually has a service you attend, but Elle is new in town and I would think too busy with double shifts to make it to synagogue (if there were any close by at all). Dinner can be a big affair depending on what your family likes to do. There is a lot of symbolism involved in the food choices, and with two nights of celebration there are different customs for each night. For example, eating a new fruit is customary on the second night, but that isn’t written about in this chapter as it was only the first night.

-Kvetching is Yiddish for complaining/bitching

-Betty Friedan’s quote is from her book The Feminine Mystique, which was a huge influence for the second wave of feminism. She also co-founded the National Organization for Women (NOW). She also believed associating with the LGBT community would hurt Women’s Rights, calling lesbians “The Lavender Menace” (which is obviously shitty)

-the 1960′s was a turning point in the national attitude toward sex. The Sexual Revolution in the 60′s and 70′s made sex more of an open topic, but a lot of things were still taboo. Condoms for unmarried women in the 60′s were hard to come by. Also remember, Roe v. Wade was 1973. Abortion was still illegal at this time.

-I absolutely do not advocate punishing children with belts. But Flip grew up in the 40′s/50′s/60′s where corporal punishment was unfortunately a lot more common.

-I head cannon that Flip grew up on Offut Air Force Base in Nebraska.

-I head cannon that Elle went to nursing school in Buffalo, NY. The State University system would have been cheaper than private school, which her parents would have probably appreciated. SUNY schools were really big on protests in the 1960′s and 1970′s, some of the schools even having uneven staircases installed on campus that make it more difficult to riot (no joke).

-Voicemail wasn’t invented until the last ‘70s, if you wanted to call someone, it was best to tell them what time you were calling.

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #flip x oc #masterlist #ARTBmasterlist

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spockuhurashipper · 6 years

Text

“A Risk Worth Taking” - Chapter 8 - Voight/OC Fan Fic

Hi all! Please leave notes if you enjoy. I also have this story on fanfiction.net now if you’d prefer to read/comment there:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13185182/1/A-Risk-Worth-Taking-Voight-OC

Intelligence caught a new case while Layla was finishing up the software updates. A tender-aged male was found brutally tortured and left for dead. Layla got to see the Hank Voight that she’d only heard stories about when he started barking orders to his team and making damn sure they knew this case had to be solved - no matter what it took.

Around 3:00 PM, Layla finished her work and packed up her laptop. Everyone was out chasing down leads except Hank, who was in his office reviewing crime scene photos.

Hank looked up when Layla knocked on his door and waved her in. As soon as she entered he quickly closed the folder.

Hank ran his hand over his face, as if trying to clear the images from his mind, and sat back in his chair.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know I’m done with the updates. So I’ll be reporting back to Jerry for my next assignment.” Layla told him.

“Thanks for getting that done so fast.”

“No problem.” Layla told him.

They were both silent for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. They both realized this was the last time, at least for a while, that they’d see each other at work.

“Hank, I wanted to…” Before Layla could finish, Hank’s cell phone rang. He looked at Layla apologetically before answering it.

“Voight.”

Layla watched as anger clouded his face. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

He was already standing and grabbing his coat as he ended the call.

“We’ve got another tender-aged victim at a similar crime scene.”

Layla stood and waved him on. “Go, go. We can talk later.”

She watched as he turned and headed towards the stairs, glad he was on the case. If anyone was going to catch this sick bastard, it would be Hank Voight and his team.

Layla headed downstairs and stopped at the desk to speak to Trudy. “Hey Trudy, I’m all finished upstairs so I guess I’ll see you around.” Layla pouted her lips, sad that she would have to leave the friends she’d made in precinct 21.

“Sad to hear that Layla. Too bad Intelligence caught such a rough case on your last day. Kind of a sour note to go out on.” Trudy said.

“Yeah,” Layla glanced over at the stairs, “but I know they’ll get the guy.”

Trudy met Layla’s eyes and nodded in agreement. “They will.”

An officer behind the desk interrupted, asking Trudy a question, and Layla realized she should get out of her hair.

“Well, I better get going but I’m all settled in at my place if you’re still interested in coming over to listen to some records?”

Trudy smiled, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

The two talked and decided on that coming Friday night. Layla headed out to her car and back to the IT office in the Ivory Tower to get her next assignment.

Her next assignment had Layla doing the same traffic cam software updates in precinct 9. It was a much slower-paced precinct and no one there really welcomed her. She came in, did her updates, and went home.

Layla had texted Kim throughout the week, and though she couldn’t get into details, Kim did tell her that their case was still unsolved.

Layla wanted to call Hank, if for no other reason than to voice her support for the team, but she knew if the case was still ongoing he would be working around the clock.

Before she realized it, Friday night had arrived. Layla was excited to have Trudy over. She liked the older woman, she was bold and funny. Layla was just taking a lasagna out of the oven when there was a knock at her door.

“Trudy, you’re early,” Layla said as she opened the door.

She was surprised to see Hank standing on the other side. He looked like hell.

“Hank, are you okay?” Layla put her hand on his arm and coaxed him into the apartment.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just sat down on the couch, Layla sitting down beside him.

Finally Hank said, “We got the guy.”

Layla let out a sigh and said, “That’s great.”

But Hank’s expression didn’t change. He looked distant. Sad.

Hank wasn’t sure why exactly he was at Layla’s. Normally, he would have gone home and drank himself to sleep after a case like this. But after what he’d seen, he wasn’t quite ready to be alone with his thoughts.

Finally, Hank said, “That was one of the most brutal cases I have ever worked.”

Layla reached down to hold Hank’s hand in support and he flinched. Looking down, she saw his knuckles were raw, covered in dried blood.

She raised her eyes to his and knew instantly, he’d spent a little one on one time with the murderer.

“Let me get something to clean this for you.”

As Layla stood, there was a knock at the door. She’d momentarily forgotten that Trudy was coming over.

As soon as Layla opened the door, Trudy started talking. “Layla, I hope you like red wine because this bottle of cab is out of this world.” Trudy walked in and her eyes landed on Hank.

“Oh. Hi Hank.”

“Trudy. Sorry, I didn’t realize you two had plans. I’ll just head out.” Hank started to get up but Trudy stopped him.

“No, no, no. You stay, I’ll go.” Trudy had known Hank long enough to know he was in a bad place right now. She’d heard some details on the case Intelligence had been working and she was glad she didn't know more. It sounded incredibly brutal. Plus, she was a fan of this potential Hank/Layla relationship and decided she was going to help it along a little.

Layla watched as Trudy and Hank met eyes and seemed to have some unspoken conversation. Years of history obvious between them.

“Thanks Trudy.”

Trudy nodded and turned back to the door. “No sweat, Hank. Here,” Trudy turned to Layla and handed her the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon she’d been carrying. Layla was going to object but Trudy widened her eyes at her, and tilted her head slightly towards Hank. Layla nodded.

“Thanks Trudy. We’ll reschedule okay?”

After seeing Trudy out, Layla went into the bathroom and got some rubbing alcohol, bandages and ointment.

Hank was quiet while she cleaned the wounds on his hands.

“All done.” Layla said softly when his hands were cleaned and bandaged.

“Thanks.” He met her eyes and said nothing, grateful she was there.

“Have you eaten?” Layla asked as she stood, walking backwards to the kitchen. To lighten the mood, she said in a sing-sing voice, “I just took a lasagna out of the oven.” Hank smiled, starting to come back to the present. It made her happy that she could distract him from his thoughts.

“That sounds great.”

Layla put on some soft music before they both headed into the kitchen. She fixed them each a plate with a small salad, lasagna and garlic bread. Then she opened the bottle of red that Trudy had left and poured them each a glass.

While she did that, Hank stood in front of her fridge which was covered in photos of Layla with her friends from North Carolina, Layla with her niece and nephews, with her sister and brother-in-law. Once Layla had everything on the table, she walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s eat, Sergeant.” Layla teased and Hank let out a small laugh as he sat down across from her at the kitchen table.

After one bite of the lasagna, Hank put his fork down and looked at her. “Beautiful, smart, and a great cook. I see you’re the whole package.” Layla laughed.

“Well I’m glad you think so.” Layla told him, a flirty look in her eye.

From that point on, Hank was able to put the case in the back of his mind. The two enjoyed the meal together and got to know each other better. Hank talked about why he became a cop, told Layla all about Erin, and talked fondly about his friend Al. For the first time since his death, Hank was able to hear his name without wanting to be sick on his stomach.

Layla enjoyed watching Hank relax. She was having a great time just talking with him.

When they settled into a comfortable silence, Layla cleared the table and said, “Why don’t you head back into the living room and I’ll refill our wine.”

Layla followed a few minutes later and sat beside him on the couch, handing him his wine glass.

“Layla,” Hank said, turning not just his head but shifting his body to face her, “Thanks for letting me crash your plans tonight.”

Layla smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I don’t think Trudy will fault me for inviting in a handsome man that just showed up at my door.”

Layla blushed and Hank let out an appreciative laugh.

“I promise I used to be better at flirting.” Layla sighed, embarrassed.

Hank put his hand on her leg and looked at her. “You’re doing great, don’t worry.”

Hank reached over and sat his wine glass on the side table, then took Layla’s and did the same.

When he turned back to her, Hank leaned forward and hesitated, looking into Layla’s eyes for consent. In response, Layla closed the space between them and their lips met in a gentle kiss.

This kiss was different. It was tender and patient. There was an understanding about it, as if they each saw a light breaking through the surface of the loneliness they’d been drowning in.

This kiss was full of hope.

The guilt that Layla had felt a week earlier was still there. She knew it wasn’t going to disappear overnight. But now it was quiet and still, falling to the back of her mind instead of causing panic to rise in her throat.

As they parted, Hank didn’t remove his hand from where it cradled Layla’s cheek. Their faces close, they both looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, both realizing the significance of what was just beginning between them.

Hank let his thumb slide gently along Layla’s cheek bone and she closed her eyes at his touch, sighing.

Slowly, he lowered his hand and Layla opened her eyes. Without saying anything, Hank leaned back and lifted his arm, prompting Layla to slip under it and tuck herself against his side, her cheek resting on his shoulder. The music that Layla had put on earlier was still playing softly in the background and the two of them sat like that for a long time, not saying anything.

Layla was starting to drift off, Hank’s warmth and comfort relaxing her, until she heard Hank clear his throat.

“It’s late. I should probably go.”

Layla snuggled closer to him and made a noise of protest, causing Hank to laugh. Layla could feel the rumble of it against her cheek.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from his side and stood up. Hank did too and they walked slowly towards the door.

“Thanks for dinner.” Hank told her as they reached the door and he turned around to face her.

“Anytime.”

“Listen,” Hank said, “Next Saturday night there’s this fancy party to kick off the mayor’s new gun control initiative. I have to go. Actually the whole team does.”

Hank reached out and took her hand, a sparkle in his eyes. “Will you go with me? As my date?”

They both knew that it meant people seeing them together and talking about them.

“I’d love to.”

Hank smiled and said, “I’ll get all the details and get back to you.”

Hank let go of her hand and turned around, opening the door. The cold air swirled in around them. Hank turned back to Layla, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on her lips before whispering “goodnight.”

Layla watched as he walked down the stairs and out of sight.

#chicago pd #hank voight #hank voight x character #hank voight x oc #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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icemintfreeze · 6 years

Note

What’s each of your Object OCs’ personalities, likes and dislikes? I really think they all are really cute and would really love to draw them in mini scenarios!

oh!!!! OH!!!! thank you?!! i have. a lot of them because each one is gonna play a big role in the show, so ill list em below if thats ok!!!BIG LIST BELOW O:

SO!! here we go:

Lava Lamp- Anxious, timid, closed-n? But he’s trying his best to be positive, to heal, to be better than he was!Slime Jar- JUBILANT! Sweet, very bright, loving! Lava Lamp’s right hand woman, they’re the closest of pals Water Wand- Welcoming, a great listener, very nice and always offers a cup of tea when they have visitors. They believe they’re magical; they want to live in the performing art city; not where they are now.Cuckoo Clock- Ditzy, loopy, high (off of life jahdhssh) never thinks twice, vulnerable to ALL danger. Has one brain cell sjdjjdjxSticky Notes- Very moody, each color sticky note is a different mood (green-happy, red-angry, Yellow-afraid, etc.), works 3 jobs, just. Tired FOODSJelly Bean- Sweet! Loving! A baby!!! A child at heart, she’s very bright and believes that the world is amazing.Cake Pop- Sassy, yet polite, a fashionista; mysterious aura. he aspires to live in the city of beauty, but he’s stuck with the foods; he feels like an oddball.Peanut Butter Cup- Rude, arrogant, close-minded. She knows how to cut someone down to nothing, let it be mentally or emotionally.Heart Lollipop- Ambivert! Loving and forgiving, yet self-depreciating (shes trying to drop the habit!)Lemon- Blind, somber, yet grateful to still be alive. Not afraid to speak up for their sibling, Lime.Lime- Protective over Lemon, doesn’t really care about himself. He’s either very cool n’ chill, or very very sour.Cough Drop- Drowsy, sad, constantly thinking about…..him. Feels extremely misplaced; focused on making cures for illnesses. Coughs sometimes. Nature PalsPoison Ivy- Brave, stubborn, kind of a jokester. Kind of mean. Can’t really come in contact with any one, otherwise they get a really nasty rash.Touch-Me-Not: Shy, scared, weak. Isn’t the strongest, can’t handle anything without crying or closing up. No one knows much about them.Ocean FriendsFire Coral- Tough, bilingual (knows english spanish n many more). He’s very smart but doesn’t like to show it; he’d rather be seen as a toughie than a nerd. Like Poison Ivy, no one can get close to him; they’ll get a very bad burn.Sea Anemone- Faithful, wise, trustworthy; the mom friend of the group. She will destroy anyone who hurts her pals. (she. has no arms tho…..)Fish Bowl/Container(?)- Skillful and mature. They take care of the beta fish inside of them, with the help Sea Anemone and Sea Glass (and sometimes Fire Coral)Sea Glass- Isolated, misty; they honestly can’t find much joy in anything. But, pair them with Slime jar, or Sea Anemone, or anyone? They’ll be happy and alive; life will clear up for themMessage in a Bottle- Local postman of the ocean part, LOVES to spread gossip. Very conceited.Arts n’ Crafts!Canvas- very expression ate! if you were to draw anything on her face (or if she does so herself), her mood/personality would match the painting! (ex. draw something sad, she’ll be gloomy. draw a tree? she will stand still and up; like a tree).Clay- confused, silent, doesn’t know who they are. Tries looking for themselves in others; the way they do this? shapeshifts into other arts n crafts. (loves to shapeshift into Ticket’s form. Though, Ticket isn’t very fond of them).Glitter: Imaginative; spaces out constantly. They’re very silly, yet very sangfroid when it comes to situations.Bead Box- Glitter’s buddy, she’s very vitriolic. She has more book-smarts, she doesn’t want to be in this town anymore. She loves to learn; she loves to build, most of all.Water Bead- very sincere and honest; has a high tolerance for everyone, and is a great pal to vent to. But who knows whats going on in their head…BeautyEye Shadow- A former model, eye shadow is very non-verbal. She only speaks in a mysterious, yet soothing tone of voice. Her past is full of questions, and she has a mysterious aura wherever she goes. But don’t fuck with her; she will NOT have it.Earrings- Siblings, blue agate jewels; they absolutely LOVE to mess around with Eye Shadow. They like to misplace her things, mess around with her, play pranks; though they do it at a point. They never push her limits. They’re very respectful and when she is ticked, they keep their distance. The two love to bake.Card- Party animal!! He loves to throw extravagant parties, or wild ones, even small, calm ones! He doesn’t know why he was put here in the city of beauty; was it just because of his card cover?Tourmaline- they’re two in one! They both enjoy studying other types of minerals and diamonds. The most nerdy in the city, the others come to them for answers about regular jewel stuff; “where are diamonds found?” “how is gold made?” and, the most common: “do I look better with the rubies necklace or the pearled necklace?”Lights! Camera! Action!Music Box- can only sing or speak on a harmonic tone; very emotional during her performances. Very gentle and sweet, doesn’t mean no harm.Ticket- Very grumpy and hates this stupid town. Wants to be in arts n’ craftsville, because they love to draw. But they sell tickets for a living; and they hate it.SpooksGhost- Scares everyone they meet, but they don’t mean it; they’re very joyful and full of. life. they can float and they have strong supernatural powers; if they’re sad, it rains. if they’re angry, the earth shakes. spooky.Planchette- Pale, insane, paranoid yet proud of it; he sees things no one else can really see, sometimes summons demons when he’s truly angry. Otherwise, he’s just a trembling train-wreck during the day, like a vampire.SCIENCE!!Cursor- Very technology based. They’re a big nerd, they will randomly spew out facts that they’ve learned from the web; or, facts about gadgets they’ve built. Battery- Zany and Fidgety, she doesn’t understand why everyone thinks she’s so smart. She’s filled with so much energy!! When she’s running low, she’ll be very sluggish, and won’t know whats going on.Virus- Knows about all sicknesses and diseases. They’re the doctor of the group, but don’t get too close- they’ll get someone sick. They’re mostly bossy and they lead everyone else in the city.Glitch-In constant pain. They don’t remember what happened that made them this way. They believe that everything in this utopia isn’t well, but can never speak it out. No one knows about their past…Magma- Bold and fanatical, he thinks he’s the greatest in the city. He gets called Lava by a LOT of the objects; and this ticks him off.SO!!!! THIS WAS A LOT IM REALLY SORRY ANON BUT!!!! I HOPE THESE ARE GOOD!!!! they’re all still a bit of a WIP

#i hope u enjoy!!!#asks #anon #ice rambles #my oc's #ten rules #EDIT; TUMBLR LET ME POST HELL YEAG #FEEL FREE TO RB BTW!!#id love for other peeps to know about em!

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dnkaus · 5 years

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Fateful Visions | Chapter 33: Closure

Namjoon x Reader (OC)

Summary: We learn about the villian of this story. Maya and Namjoon face the mental repercussions of experiencing trauma and come in terms with their own selves and their relationship.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Previous Part: Chapter 32

2 years after Maya’s Kidnapping

It had been a few years since the kidnapping. The case had closed about a year and a half ago and the decision was that Maya’s infamous kidnapper would go to jail for 15 years. But there are two sides to each story. Up till this point, you had gotten to learn a lot about Maya and Namjoon. But you may be wondering, who was Maya’s kidnapper? Who would be so cruel to hurt another human in such a way? Why did the previous chapter end the way it did? Well, it’s time for this story to shift attention. Let’s meet the villain of this story. Let’s meet Kim Ree-Mi, the woman with the red dress that Namjoon met in that dark room.

Kim Ree-Mi is the daughter of a well-known businessman in Korea. She has an MBA from Harvard. But besides being very well-educated. Ree-Mi is also quite generous. She volunteers at the homeless shelter every Saturday and donated a considerable amount of money to BTS’s #EndViolence campaign. Ree-Mi also used to have a fansite before the kidnapping incident. Yes, her fansite was dedicated to Namjoon. As mentioned in her conversation with Namjoon, she had known about BTS’s music even before they debuted. She went to almost every event and dedicated her life to BTS. You can say, she was in love. A love that was so strong that she often couldn’t understand how to process her feelings. Every second of her life belonged to Namjoon and BTS. She barely slept at times, making sure Namjoon was sound asleep.

You may be wondering, how did she know whether Namjoon was asleep? Well, these things are so easy to find out nowadays. Tracking phones, cameras, and easily influenced staff members, all helped Ree-Mi keep her eye on Namjoon at all times. No matter what part of the world Namjoon was in, Ree-Mi was there too. Money can get you anything in this world...well, almost anything.

Some consider Ree-Mi as a saesang. And she would proudly admit that she was. Her love for Namjoon wasn’t the stupid superficial type like the other saesangs. Her love was real. And there was nothing in this world that could change her mind about that. She did stop keeping an eye on Namjoon after going to prison. But even during that time, she would often write letters to Namjoon asking how he was doing. He never responded. But that’s okay.

To get to the point, Ree-Mi only had one motive to kidnap Maya. Ree-Mi wanted to see how real Maya’s love was for Namjoon. Was Maya even capable enough to be with Namjoon? To find out Ree-Mi had kept an eye on Maya’s every move since Maya and Namjoon went on their first date and in the end she had concluded that Maya and Namjoon had some deep connection. That would be the only possible explanation of why Namjoon would risk so much for someone so ordinary such as Maya.

Ree-Mi wasn’t jealous of Maya...Okay, maybe she was a little jealous. But honestly, she was mostly intrigued by Maya. She was intrigued by the way Namjoon would look at Maya. Ree-Mi often imagined what it would have been like if Namjoon had looked at her the same way he looked at Maya.

But alas, he never did. So, in pure frustration and anger, Ree-Mi began to bother Maya with those threats. Initially, those threats weren’t meant as anything. They were just meant to ruin Maya’s day. However, one day when Maya and Namjoon did an interview for the Huempathy campaign and Ree-Mi saw the way Namjoon defended Maya, a part of Ree-Mi sort of collapsed and she gave in to her urge of hurting Maya. That afternoon when Maya went back to her dressing room, Ree-Mi had left her a note.

“You have two choices. You can either leave this campaign and Namjoon right now or suffer the consequences”

Maya stupidly chose to run to Namjoon and she forgave him for hurting her. In fact, Maya and Namjoon even spent the night together after that press conference because Maya was afraid she would die soon, if the threats were true, and wanted to spend whatever time she had left with the love of her life. But at the time, Ree-Mi thought, by choosing to become closer to Namjoon, Maya was asking for a war.

And so the war began. A war that had a very dissatisfactory ending. Ree-Mi ended up hurting the one person she wanted to protect. Her weapons ended up hurting Namjoon more than anyone else. She can never forgive herself for that. She will never forget the pain she caused Namjoon and the guilt that she knew would eventually consume her.

To cope with the guilt, Ree-Mi spent the first few months in prison thinking about ways to apologize to Namjoon. That was why she had written the letters. But when she didn’t receive a response, she knew she had to choose another way of dealing with the guilt. During her time in prison, Ree-Mi also reflected on her actions towards Maya and realized that if she truly loved Namjoon, she would also respect his love for Maya.

That’s why Ree-Mi decided to write a story.

The story that Ree-Mi wrote was about a woman and man that were meant to be together and they would have visions about the future when they touched and looked at each other. But due to fate, they suffered various obstacles to be together. Ree-Mi hoped that Namjoon would read this story and realize that Ree-Mi had come to the realized that she had no place in Namjoon’s life and that was okay. Ree-Mi will always view Namjoon and Maya as prime examples of soulmate.

With that, I announce that I am Kim Ree-Mi, the writer of this story.

Each and every word of this story is just my perception of Maya and Namjoon. This story represents my love for Namjoon and the love of his life, Maya. Everything you read so far was just my take on Maya and Namjoon’s relationship. Me, a saesang and also the villain of the story. You must be wondering what I gained out of writing this story. Well, actually I gained a lot.

These past several months have really made me question what it means to be a fan. Do I hold even a little space in my idol’s heart? Does it even matter whether my idol knows who I am in the grand scheme of life? If the idol and fan relationship means nothing, then what is the meaning of everything I worked for these past several years? Is it Namjoon’s fault that he didn’t fall in love with me even though I was there in front of him this whole time? Or, is it my fault for believing that I could be with him without ever truly knowing him? Who is Kim Namjoon? Who is Kim Ree-Mi? What is my identity outside of being a terrible saesang that almost killed her own idol? I thought I would ponder these questions until my last breath. But writing this story made me realize, there was no right answer. I started as a fan of Namjoon’s music, but along the way, I forgot my own identity in the process of loving him. This story made me realize, I was only an outsider in Namjoon’s life. That is what we’ll all always be. Only Namjoon and Maya would know themselves.

In the end, Namjoon and I could not be together in this life, but maybe in another, we’ll end up together. I hope Namjoon and Maya both live a peaceful life and I apologize for the trouble I have caused. May they both live happily ever after.

Publisher’s note: Kim Ree-Mi passed away right after submitting her final draft of this story to us. Please note that we did not know she would take her life when she had began writing the story. We pray she rests in peace.

———--END OF FATEFUL VISIONS————

Epilogue

Note: This portion of the story is not written from Kim Ree-Mi’s perspective and is not a part of “Fateful Visions.” This is the real Maya and Namjoon.

6 Months after Namjoon was released from the Hospital

It had been some time since the incident. It had been a while since Namjoon had been inside that dark room where Maya was kept. But those images still felt fresh inside his head. Namjoon held on to his desktop mouse tightly as he felt a sense of panic come over him suddenly. He was just sitting at his computer, working on a song, when a random melody triggered the panic. For some reason, the melody reminded him of the incident and that elicited the stress. Namjoon gripped the mouse tightly, trying to take deep breaths. The images of Maya being stuck in the room, the feeling of getting shot, both kept lingering inside his head. Namjoon felt like he couldn't breathe.

He felt like he was about to faint. His back brace, from the physical rehabilitation center, was starting to feel tight suddenly. Like he was suffocating in his own skin. He clenched his jaw, trying to fight the feeling, fight himself, and turned off the speaker. The melody stopped playing and suddenly felt a wave of relief. He tried to breathe again. Soaking in the silence.

All of a sudden he heard the door to his studio open and heard footsteps followed by someone setting something on the table behind him and suddenly someone covered his eyes. Namjoon was about to panic again until he realized the softness of those hands belonged to none other than Maya.

“--Maya” Namjoon mumbled.

“Happy Birthday, Joon” Maya tenderly replied.

“Thanks...sorry, I was just working on a—” Namjoon’s sentence was cut off as Maya held up the object she had placed earlier on the table behind him. It was a small cake.

“Don’t be sorry...I am sorry for barging in like this, but I wanted to get here earlier before our appointment so I can give this to you.”

Maya handed Namjoon the cake with a small candle on it. Namjoon smiled and took the cake into his hands.

“Didn’t we already celebrate last night?” Namjoon asked in confusion. Last night Maya had kept Namjoon awake, so that as soon as the clock had struck 12, Maya and the other BTS members could surprise Namjoon with a small party. It was just in BTS’s apartment and it was really just them, but still, the party had gone on till the early morning.

“Well, that party was more for the boys. They planned that whole thing and I was just a device to keep you distracted.” Maya laughed. “You can say I am selfish and I wanted us to have our own little celebration,” Maya added. “That’s hardly selfish…I wanted to spend time with you too.” Namjoon nodded and calmly responded.

“Okay now blow out your candle before the candle wax ruins the cake!” Maya urged.

Namjoon closed his eyes and blew out the candle, making a small wish.

“...Happy Birthday to you!!! Yayyy!” Maya sang the birthday song with just as much enthusiasm as she did last night.

Maya took the cake from Namjoon’s hand and handed him the knife so he can cut the cake. Then they both shifted over to the couch in his studio, feeding each other a bite of the cake.

“This is nice…” Namjoon stated suddenly.

“Yeah, it is…” Maya replied. “So, should we head out for our appointment?” Maya continued.

Namjoon sighed. “yeah, let’s just get it over with”

“You are still afraid…” Maya responded.

“I just hope you don’t leave me after talking to the therapist.” Namjoon was only half-joking.

“That’s not how it works, Joon!” Maya retorted with a slight eye roll.

“Good!” Namjoon said.

Maya helped Namjoon settle into his wheelchair and rolled him out of the studio. Namjoon was still recovering and so he was still using a wheelchair to get around. For the past 6 months, he had been visiting multiple physical and occupational therapists, learning to walk and move around again. Maya was also recovering. Physically she was in much better shape than Namjoon, but mentally both Namjoon and Maya were not doing as well. Things like this change people and their relationship.

A couple of weeks ago, Maya’s younger sister had come to visit Maya in Seoul. Through conversations, she suggested that both Maya and Namjoon go see a therapist. Not only for themselves but for each other. At first, both Namjoon and Maya were hesitant but eventually agreed to give it a try. Han Bi recommended the name of a therapist and both Namjoon and Maya decided to make an appointment.

As Namjoon and Maya arrived, Namjoon was asked to wait in the lobby by the assistant and Maya was led to the doctor’s office first. Maya paused and stared at the door of the therapist and noted the name. Dr. Park Jia was written on the door. Maya took a deep breath and knocked lightly. She was not ready for any of this. But she also knew if she didn’t do this now, the emotional and mental wounds would fester even more.

“Come in” someone inside replied.

Maya opened the door and walked inside. First thing Maya saw was dark wooden furniture and an enormous bookshelf that was filled with what seemed like textbooks.

“Hi…” the lady sitting at the desk replied. The woman was beautiful. She looked like she could be an idol or a model. Her eyes were warm and friendly, yet if one looked closely the may see some sort of sadness within them. Perhaps, it was listening to other people’s sadness, that had impacted the woman to this extent. The woman smiled as she made eye contact with Maya. Her smile seemed familiar to Maya.

“...I am Dr. Park. But you can call me Jia…” Jia, the woman at the desk continued. She spoke in fluent English.

Maya smiled in return and made her way to the desk and responded in English. “Hi, I am Maya.”

“Nice to meet you Maya, please have a seat,” Jia replied.

“You speak English?” Maya asked as she sat down and noticed that Jia barely had an accent.

Jia blushed slightly and replied. “Uh...yeah, I studied Psychology in America...plus I wanted to make you feel more comfortable and thought it would be easier if I spoke in your native language.”

Maya laughed. “At this point, I feel like my Korean is better than my English, to be honest. But thank you for being so considerate.”

“Well, that must be true, since you also wrote your book in Korean.” Jia laughed as well while speaking in Korean.

“Where in America did you study Psychology?” Maya asked.

“I went to UC Berkley” Jia responded.

“Wow, California huh? I am from there too.”

“Oh really? I always heard you were from Arkansas.” “Well, no, that’s where I did my graduate degree.”

“Ah! I see.”

Both became silent for a second.

“How do you know so much about me?” Maya suddenly asked.

Jia laughed again. “BTS and Maya Shroff are pretty famous in Korea. I don’t think there is anyone that doesn’t know you all.”

“Ah... yeah... you are right. I guess I am still not used it...” Maya slowly responded, suddenly remembering the cost she had paid for this fame.

Jia awkwardly cleared her throat. “So, anyways, today, I wanted to sort of create a structure for how we want to do this. I can help you as much as you help yourself and so the question is really what would you like to attain from your time with me? Or, what are you having trouble with?”

Maya was surprised by the question. She had no idea what she wanted from her therapy sessions. She hadn’t given much thought.

“Honestly...I am not sure.” Maya responded after a few seconds.

“That’s okay. We can figure that out today. But for that, I may have to ask you some questions that you might feel uncomfortable answering. Is that okay?” Jia smiled again. It was strange, but every time Jia smiled, her smile reminded Maya of someone she knew. She couldn’t pinpoint who.

Maya nodded.

“So, let me ask you, what do you usually do nowadays? Are you working on another book?” Jia asked.

“Uh, no...I have just been I guess resting recently. My family visited recently, so I have been spending time with them as well.”

“Ah, yes do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I have 2 brothers and 3 sisters” Maya stared at her hands in her lap as she responded.

“Woah, that’s a big family. Are they all in America?”

“Right now, yes…”

“Hmm, do you miss them sometimes?”

“Sometimes, yes…”

“I always wondered, how did you get interested in Korean literature?”

“I think the language is beautiful and the stories are always fascinating. I guess I just feel like I can express myself better in Korean.”

“In what ways?” Jia probed.

“I am not sure...it’s just easier for me to write in Korean and sort of articulate my emotions through Korean words. I guess I never thought about why that is. Maybe I was meant to come here so my heart always gravitated towards the language.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Does that mean you believe in fate?”

Maya didn’t respond at first. She turned towards the small window in the office that was on her left.

“I think I do.”

“Does this mean you believe that your experiences are your fate?”

Jia’s words sort of rung inside Maya’s ears. The last time she had really thought about fate was when she was receiving the threats.

“I mean it has to be some form of fate for me to meet Namjoon or to have my blog become so big or to...even experience what happened six months ago, don’t you think? A tear escaped Maya’s eyes. She quickly wiped it.

“What about your choices? Don’t they play a role in your outcome?” Jia asked.

“It’s not like I chose to fall in love with an idol or have a stalker following my every move”

“No, you didn’t. And you definitely did not choose to experience the pain you are feeling right now.” Jia replied. “...But, it does not mean you do not have a choice now.”

“What do you mean?” Maya asked.

“I guess we don’t choose the outcomes, but we choose our path that leads to different outcomes. And we can choose our responses to those outcomes. When I asked you if you believe your experiences are due to your fate, your first response was to jump to the conclusion that I was referring to your relationship with Namjoon or the kidnapping incident. But honestly, I was just referring to your experiences in general.” Jia replied.

“Maya, you have suffered through something that is beyond traumatic and your feelings and your pain are absolutely valid and normal. But you have your whole life ahead of you. You can either choose to define the word ‘experiences’ with your kidnapping or you can change your definition of the word ‘experience’. I think we have found your goal. What do you think?” Jia asked.

Maya paused to think about Jia’s words for a second. For the past six months, everyone around Maya talked about the same things, the same incident, and the same problems. The police, the media, the company, the fans, everyone wanted to remind Maya of those few days in that dark room. But the truth was, Maya couldn’t remember much from those few days. She was always drowsy and tired and numb. The things she did remember were just the weapons that they used to hit her and the hands that had touched her body. Even in those moments, the sensation of pain was almost foreign, as her body would freeze, almost working as an anesthetic.

“Yeah...that would be nice,” Maya answered.

“It might be a lot of work though. Will you be willing to do the work?” Jia asked.

Maya nodded.

“Good. So let me ask you, have you felt anything different since coming out of the hospital?”

“Like what?”

“Like do you feel safe? Do you feel in control of your body?”

Maya thought back to the previous night. She was sitting and watching TV with Namjoon, but she flinched when she heard the doorbell. It was just Seokjin dropping off some food, but even that doorbell had forced Maya to break into a sweat. She knew that was not a normal reaction.

“Sometimes, I get scared by the most trivial things. It used to be that I was only afraid of someone raising their voice with me or when someone made sudden movements towards me. But nowadays, I get scared even by a doorbell.”

“Oh really? Since when did you become scared of people raising their voice around you?” Jia noted something down in a notebook.

“I guess ever since I was little, but more so after I met my ex...he was...not the nicest person…”

“Do your parents know about this?”

“Ummm...no, not really…”

“Why do you think this started when you were little?”

“I am not sure... I guess my family and friends say I was always a scared little girl. I remember I was so nervous to move to Arkansas.”

“Sometimes fear is really just a mechanism to protect us from more danger. We can help alleviate the fear by showing you instances where sudden movements, doorbells, and loud sounds don’t always mean danger.”

Maya nodded.

“I have a question for you, Maya. Please feel free to say you don’t want to answer it right now. But I must ask, why do you think you didn’t tell the police earlier about the threats?”

Maya pursed her lips. This was a question that everyone had been asking her for the past several months.

“I had received my first threat after I went on the first date with Namjoon. I have never told this to him because I know he would feel even more upset if he ever found out...And then the threats stopped for a long time. But then they started again when I got back in contact with Namjoon. Also, I decided to do the Huempathy campaign because I felt like women like me don’t have a voice sometimes. Honestly, Namjoon and I were not on good terms when we started the campaign. We weren’t even together at the time, we were just pretending. I had told Namjoon about the first threat, and that’s why I had the...the bodyguards. But then, I felt like if I told him about the other threats, he would have forced me to step back. And I didn’t want to step back. So I didn’t. Besides, I didn’t think something would actually happen.”

“Wow, you seem to have a lot of thoughts about this. Have many people asked this question?”

“It was the only question that I have been getting these past few months.”

“Well, I have a task for you. I want you to think of all the times in your life that you remember feeling unsafe or you flinched and write it down, that way we can talk about it and process it together. You might have started to associate everyday things with fear or you may have started to associate Namjoon with feelings of unsafety. We can try to work through that together so you can change your thoughts about it.” Jia replied.

“It’s not that I associate Namjoon with feelings of unsafety. He is the only person I feel safe around, to be honest...I just notice that something feels strange between us ever since the incident.” Maya admitted.

“How so?” Jia wanted clarification.

“We haven’t talked about the incident with each other since it happened. I mean at least not one on one.”

“Hmmm...do you think you are afraid of having the conversation? Or do you think he is afraid?”

“I think it’s both of us.”

“Do you think you are afraid this incident has taken a toll on your relationship?”

“It has. But I don’t know how to fix it.” Maya finally broke down.

“How about you write down what you want to say to him. Sometimes writing it out is easier than talking and if that doesn’t work, you can practice talking to me. What do you think about that?”

Maya nodded. She hadn’t written a single word in the past six months, but hearing Jia saying this gave Maya at least some motivation to open up her laptop again.

“Yeah, I will try writing it down.”

“Alright, Maya our time is coming to an end today. But I do want to say that you are already doing an amazing job handling this. You know what to work on now, and that’s the best place to start. It won’t be easy, but I think you can do this. You can do anything. Right?”

Jia handed Maya a kleenex and smiled. It was strange but looking at Jia comforted Maya. Maya stood up from her seat.

“Thanks Jia. It was nice meeting you.” Maya bowed and prepared to leave the room.

“Yeah, same here,” Jia replied and stood up from her seat, following Maya to the door.

Jia came outside with Maya and followed her to the lobby where Namjoon was sitting with a notebook and a pen in his hand. He was writing something.

When Maya went up to Namjoon, Namjoon looked up. Namjoon gave Maya a smile and put his notebook in his pocket. Then Namjoon’s gaze shifted towards Jia.

“Hi, I am Dr. Park Jia...you can call me Jia.” Jia introduced herself and bowed.

Namjoon was still in his wheelchair and still wearing his back brace so he bowed only slightly.

“I am Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you,” Namjoon replied.

“Shall we go in?” Jia suggested.

Namjoon nodded and tried to wheel himself towards the office. However, Jia went behind him and helped him instead. “I can help.” She said.

Maya sat down in a chair in the lobby while Jia helped Namjoon with the wheelchair and rolled him into her office.

When he got inside the office, the first thing Namjoon saw was the bookshelf. It was massive and was filled what seemed like textbooks. He also noticed that there were 3 copies of Maya’s book Wan Blue Night. Namjoon felt a surge of guilt. It had been months since Maya’s book came out, and to be honest, he had not read it. He should have read it. But he couldn’t. Every time he looked at the book, a sense of pain would take over him. Seeing Jia have 3 copies of his girlfriend’s book made him feel even more guilty.

Jia noticed Namjoon looking at the books, so she went over and held up one of the copies.

“Ah, I can’t believe Maya Shroff was in my office just now and I forgot to get her to sign my copy! I can’t believe myself! I’ll have to remember it next time I see her.” Jia took the book over at her desk and set it on the corner and looked over at Namjoon.

“Uh yeah...it’s okay, I am sure Maya would be happy to sign the copy for you,” Namjoon replied.

“Yeah, she is quite sweet.” Jia agreed.

Namjoon finally looked over at his therapist, Jia. And it was crazy but he felt like he had met her before. Jia’s face and smile were abnormally familiar. It was like he was experiencing Deja Vu. Or, perhaps it was Jamais Vu.

“I am sorry but have we met before?” Namjoon suddenly asked.

Jia was taken aback by Namjoon’s sudden question. She laughed. “Uh well, if being at your last year’s stadium concert counts, then yeah I guess we’ve met…”

“Oh, you came to our concert?” Namjoon blushed and asked. All these years and he was still not used to having fans in the most ordinary places.

“Yeah, I have only been to one of your concerts, but it was great! I thoroughly enjoyed it!” Jia exclaimed.

“...but to answer your question, I don’t think we’ve met. And don’t worry, I am not an ARMY by any means. I am definitely Maya’s fan.”

“Oh it’s...it’s not a big deal. I mean…” Namjoon didn’t know how to word his concern.

“No, it’s okay... I know it would have been uncomfortable if I was an ARMY. But I assure you, I only know as much as an average person might know about you and Maya.” Jia assured.

Jia’s guess was right. Namjoon was worried that if Jia was an ARMY, that would completely change his dynamic with her. In the past few months, Namjoon was feeling quite unsure how to react around fans, considering everything that had happened with Ree-Mi.

Jia saw this as a way for her to find an in towards Namjoon’s feelings.

“How are you doing Mr. Kim Namjoon?” Jia asked directly.

“I...I am doing okay.”

“I am asking Namjoon how he is doing, not RM.” Jia clarified.

Namjoon looked towards Jia, her eyes were warm and comforting, but Namjoon also noticed some form of sadness in her eyes. He wondered what the sadness was about.

“ I am not sure what you mean…” Namjoon asked.

“I am asking how you as a human being outside of idol life are doing? What have you been up to? Any hobbies? Or plans?”

Namjoon knew what Jia was asking, but truth be told, he still didn’t have much of an answer.

“I am doing okay. Just recovering and working on music. It’s really hard to do anything with this back brace and wheelchair…”

“That’s understandable. What activities did you use to do before…?”

“Before I got shot?” Namjoon was direct. Unlike Maya, he hated when people tried to beat around the bush about the kidnapping incident. He didn’t want sympathy from people. Namjoon and his girlfriend had enough of that already. He wanted justice. He was still angry.

“Yeah...before you got shot.” Jia picked up on Namjoon’s anger from the way he said the phrase.

“I mean I used to like going to the Han River and biking. I also liked going to exhibits, but I honestly never really had time to do much of that once we started doing more tours and albums.”

“Do you think you as Namjoon would like to do that now?”

“I am not sure. I feel like things are just different now.” Namjoon replied.

“Why is that?” Jia probed.

“...I think I just don’t find those things as much fun anymore.”

“That’s okay. People change and we start developing new hobbies. But for that, we have to give ourselves some time. You mentioned you started working on music again? How is that going?”

Namjoon remembered the panic attack he had experienced earlier in the day. His motivation to produce music had depleted. He was only using music as a distraction from his own thoughts, and he knew that.

“It’s going well I guess…”

“Oh really? Music is really powerful. It can be healing at times, but it can also actually be quite painful at times if you start listening to the wrong songs.”

“I have never heard that before…” Namjoon gave Jia a puzzled look. “I don’t know if this is true in your case, but I know that for a lot of people listening to some melodies can create panic. Has that happened to you before?”

Namjoon sighed. “Yeah, it has.”

“Do you know why you feel this panic?”

“I don’t know. Every time I hear the melody I am working on it reminds me of that woman. Maybe the intonation of her voice that my brain sort of associates with this melody.”

“This might not be something you want to hear, but have you thought about just taking a break from music.”

“I mean I can’t just quit music. I have obligations that I am already not fulfilling. I can’t perform for a year at least...It’s unfair to my members how much time I am taking away from performing. I have put them through so much already…”

“Yes, maybe...but don’t you think it’s more of an inconvenience for them to see you in pain?”

“I feel terrible seeing them having to perform without me. They already have so much going on and on top of that, I am not there…” Namjoon sighed.

“What kind of relationship would you say you have with your group members?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you talk to your members about your personal life?”

“Oh...of course, I remember when I first considered dating Maya, the first person I told was Yoongi hyung…they are the most important people in my life. They are my family.”

“Okay, well here is another question, what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“A man with a terribly broken body,” Namjoon responded bitterly.

“Well, I see a miracle. I wasn’t aware of what was going on at the time when you were shot. But I remember the morning they took you to the hospital, the news were saying you were dying or would be dead soon. And they were showing millions of messages on SNS and other fans crying in videos. It felt terrible to think that we would never see you…and I barely even know you”, Jia paused and folded her hands together, adjusting her posture.

“...Since you were direct with me earlier, I will be direct with you. Namjoon you just came out of a near-death experience. Your family, your girlfriend, your parents, all almost lost you. But all those things aside, you didn’t die. You are alive and well, sitting in front of me, against all odds. If you had died, there would not have been a BTS leader RM or Kim Namjoon. But you didn’t. So now what? You are getting a second chance. So what do you want to do with this chance?”

Namjoon thought about it for a second. “I am not sure…”

“And that’s okay. That’s what we are here to figure out. Your body might heal quicker than your mental wounds. In a year maybe you might physically feel better and think you are ready to perform, but mentally you might not feel ready, and that’s okay. If your members are your family, they’ll understand. Because you would understand too if they had been going through the same thing, right?”

Namjoon nodded. Jia wasn’t scolding Namjoon, but the way she was talking to him made him feel like he was talking to an old friend, rather than a therapist. He needed someone to talk to him so candidly. Someone who wasn’t going to sugar coat things or try to show sympathy.

“I guess I am just worried because I am the leader…”

“Or, maybe you are afraid they won’t need you if you are gone too long…” Jia had hit a sensitive nerve inside Namjoon that he had never even noticed he had. “Your biggest pride is being the leader of BTS. Without it maybe you don’t see yourself as valuable…”

Namjoon pursed his lips. He was not ready to hear that. Was he so easy to figure out? How had Jia figured him out so easily?

“I am proud of BTS. I am proud of RM.” Namjoon clenched his jaw and responded. He knew that the answer was terribly superficial, but that’s all he could say.

“And what about Namjoon?” Jia asked.

“RM is part of Namjoon. A very important part.” Namjoon responded.

“But it’s not the whole picture. From what I am seeing, you have mentioned your music and your obligation as the leader. But have failed to mention your other aspects...such as yourself and even your relationship with your parents or your girlfriend.”

Namjoon was irritated because he knew Jia was right. He thought back to the night at the Grammys when he found out that Maya was missing. He stayed there at the event, and for what?

“Are you saying I am not a good son or boyfriend?” Namjoon asked in between short sobs that erupted out of nowhere.

“No...I am saying you are too good of an idol and leader. You are so good that you forgot that you are also a human.” Jia got up from her seat and walked up towards her bookshelf again. This time she picked up a small picture that was inside a photo frame.

“This is my dad. He is the CEO of Fortune Entertainment.” Jia handed Namjoon the picture. Namjoon looked at it was shocked. He had no idea about Jia’s background. “When I was young, I wanted to be an idol, but I decided to become a therapist after my mom passed away in an accident. My dad still wishes I had taken over his business, but I grew up in that environment and after my mom passed away, I was severely affected and realized that I needed to go down a different path.” Jia paused and went back to her seat.

“...The reason I am saying all of this is that I understand what it is like to be an idol. I understand the demands of this industry. But I think you are in a position to change that mindset, just like you and Maya are doing with racism. You could be the idol that promotes mental well-being.” Jia looked at Namjoon, hoping he would say something.

But his response was not what Jia expected. “I didn’t know you were the heir to Fortune Entertainment.” Namjoon tried to change the topic.

“No, I have already given up rights to the business...but you know that’s not the point”

“What I am saying is...I feel like your love for music and your love for your members has stopped you from loving yourself...despite that being your campaign slogan.Your map of the soul currently consists of 90% RM, and that little 10% Namjoon wants a second chance.”

This was when Namjoon finally burst into tears. Jia’s words stung deep inside Namjoon. And to be honest, it felt terrible. It’s not like he hadn’t tried to keep his Namjoon side alive. But when BTS started gaining popularity, it had become harder and harder for him to be Namjoon. Even that night when Maya went missing, his RM side had won. He had almost lost Maya because of that. He almost lost himself.

“What should I do? Tell me...how do I keep this side of me alive without giving up RM?” Namjoon pleaded.

“Get to know yourself and go spend time with yourself and family and people outside of the company. You can also always come to see me. I promise I am not always this headstrong.” Jia laughed as she offered Namjoon a kleenex.

“I feel like I have to share this with you because I don’t have the courage to talk to Maya about this…” Namjoon replied.

“Sure, what is it?” Jia asked.

“After finding out that Maya was missing, I went on with the Grammys even though I should have gone and looked for her.” Namjoon felt almost relieved to say those words out loud.

“Do you think Maya doesn’t know that?” Jia asked.

“Hmmm?” Namjoon was confused.

“Have you wondered why Maya didn’t tell you about the threats?” Jia asked in return.

“Wait, did she tell you?” Namjoon was suddenly curious.

“I can’t tell you what she told me. But as far as I got to know her today and what I have read about her, I can say, she knows you Namjoon. She knows your map of the soul and she knows you will always pick BTS over her.”

“That’s not fair. She should be mad at me. This is absolutely terrible” Namjoon clenched his fist in utter disappointment.

“She can’t be mad at you when she doesn’t even choose herself,” Jia replied.

Namjoon was awestruck by Jia’s sentence. It had never occurred to him that Maya was in the same conundrum that he himself was in. Both were putting everything else above themselves.

Jia suddenly brought Namjoon out of his thoughts as she handed him Maya’s book that she had set on her desk. “But I think you can both change that. Change your fate. You know?”

“Yeah...I know.” Namjoon took the book and opened the page with the acknowledgments where Maya had dedicated a section to Namjoon.

2 Years Later - 2 Months after Ree-Mi’s book “Fateful Visions” was published

Namjoon and Maya continued their therapy sessions for over a year. During that time they learned to heal themselves and they learned to heal each other. Some things were harder to heal than others. Soon, Namjoon was able to start performing again. BTS revamped their whole identity and began promoting themselves a music group, rather than a boy group. With this new identity, Namjoon and Maya also launched their own duo with the title “Wan Blue Sounds.” Under this name, they released their first song that Namjoon began working on before the incident and Maya ended up writing the lyrics for the song.

Ree-Mi’s book “Fateful Visions” was released posthumously (after her death). The book created a great roar in the world, but it did not fulfill Ree-Mi’s last wish because Namjoon never read it. Namjoon did, however, read “Wan Blue Night,” multiple times. It became one of his favorites of all time, not just because Maya wrote it, but because he was in love with the story itself.

Namjoon began reorganizing his life and started to create boundaries between his role as RM and his role as Namjoon. BTS started taking longer breaks to spend time with their families and friends and to give themselves space. BigHit also filed complaints against saesangs or any fan that crossed boundaries. Plus, they did strict background checks from any security professional that they hired, making sure they were trustworthy. Maya also started her own self-development journey. She began writing again, but this time for herself. She also started taking self-defense classes, wanting to build her own self-confidence.

In February of 2022, Maya and Namjoon finally attended the Grammys again. This time not only was BTS nominated, but also the song that was released by Wan Blue Sounds. The media and world watched as Maya accompanied Namjoon to their seat, and later when BTS won, she also went up to the stage with Namjoon and the boys. Namjoon felt like he had somehow completed an incomplete task after all this time. He was finally able to let go of that incomplete wish.

After the Grammys, BTS decided to go to an unexpected place. They wanted to go back to Maya’s parent’s lake house where they first went when Namjoon and Ji-hyu’s pictures had surfaced. It had been years since they went there, but when they arrived, they felt right at home. This time Maya’s parents also came to visit Maya and also meet the boys. One afternoon, Namjoon was sitting in the backyard reading something, when Maya’s dad suddenly approached him.

“Hey!” Mr.Shroff said as he sat down in the chair next to Namjoon.

“Oh, hi…” Namjoon said. Ever since the kidnapping incident, Namjoon and Mr.Shroff had met multiple times. Maya’s parents came to visit him when he was in the hospital and after Maya and Namjoon began their recovery process.

“What book is that?” Mr.Shroff asked.

“Oh...it’s ummm...it’s actually Maya’s manuscript for her next book. She wanted me to give her feedback.” Namjoon replied. While Namjoon and Mr.Shroff had met multiple times, things were always a bit awkward.

“Oh really? She didn’t tell me she finished the draft of the book.” Mr.Shroff responded as he took a sip of his tea.

“Yeah, I think she just finished it on our way to the award show.”

“Well, it’s not like she would tell us anything anyway.” Mr.Shroff huffed.

“I apologize for my candidness, but it’s not like you have that relationship with her.” Namjoon retorted.

“Fair enough...so, I guess I’ll get to the point then. Maya’s mom wanted to know when are you going to marry Maya? You are both almost 30…”

“Oh...wow...umm, Maya and I haven’t talked about it. Honestly, I think we are both happy with the way things are right now. ”

“But you can’t just live like this forever.” Mr.Shroff gave Namjoon a ridiculous look.

“Why not?” A sudden voice replied behind Namjoon and Mr.Shroff’s chair. It was Maya. She came up and sat down next to Namjoon.

Mr. Shroff glanced at Maya.

“I am sorry, dad, but why can’t Namjoon and I live like this forever if we wanted to?” This wasn’t the first time Maya’s parents had mentioned the topic of marriage to Maya. They had been bugging her ever since she got out of the hospital. But this time Maya was more irritated because she realized they only wanted to spend more time with her and Namjoon so that they could bug Namjoon about it as well.

“Listen, I know you young folks want to be edgy and don’t believe in the institution of marriage, but trust me, when you get older and the legal ramifications start making sense to you, then you’ll understand,” Mr.Shroff said.

“I don’t think we are against the institution of marriage, we just haven’t considered it and don’t want to be forced into it,” Maya replied. “Namjoon and I want to do things our own way and I hope you and mom can respect that. We are both really happy together and very much in love, and if things go right and we both think we are right for each other, when the time comes, we’ll get married. Right, Joon?” Maya looked over at Namjoon, seeking his approval.

Namjoon nodded. “Absolutely. Sir, I just want to clarify that I do really care about your daughter and I will take care of her whether or not we are married. I hope that you can give more credit to her and her decisions.”

“It’s not that I don’t respect your decisions, Maya. I think you need to understand that the rules of the society are in place for a reason...you are just being stubborn and you’ll regret it” Mr. Shroff responded.

“And I think that the reason doesn’t apply anymore in this modern world and in our situation. Namjoon and I have our personal goals we want to accomplish and then we’ll think about marriage. But thank you for your concern, dad.”

Maya grabbed Namjoon’s hand and took him inside. Maya felt like she needed to explain to Namjoon why she said what she said to her dad. She took him to her room and Namjoon didn’t question her.

“Hey, let me explain...that whole situation— ” Maya said as soon as they got to her room. But before she could finish explaining, Namjoon wrapped his arms around her.

“I am so proud of you, Maya,” Namjoon said hugging Maya tightly.

“Why?” Maya mumbled against Namjoon’s chest.

“You stood up to your dad. That requires courage. I am so happy right now.” Namjoon let go of Maya and cupped her face in his hands, gently kissed her forehead.

“Yeah, I guess did, didn’t I. I just don’t want you to think I am desperate to get married.” Maya put her hands over Namjoon’s hands, looking up at him.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think that...but I do have a plan for us…”

“A plan?” Maya questioned.

Namjoon let go of Maya and reached in his back pocket, pulling out his phone. He then began searching on his phone for something. When he found what he was looking for, Namjoon handed the phone to Maya.

“Will you go to Bali with me?” Namjoon asked with the most sincere tone.

“Bali?” Maya laughed out of surprise as she saw the tickets to Bali on his phone.

“I wanted to take you on this trip before the whole Ree-Mi incident happened, but I couldn’t…” Namjoon explained.

“But what about your album...don’t you have to prepare for that?” Maya was surprised by Namjoon sudden initiative. It’s not that he didn’t do romantic gestures for Maya, it’s just she was surprised by the timing.

“Don’t worry, I will do that when I come back. I just want us to get away from everyone for a while. Just you and me...what do you say? Please! Will you give me the honor of spending a week with you in a resort in Bali?” Namjoon jokingly kneeled down on one knee, holding his phone towards Maya.

Maya laughed. “Let’s go to Bali, Joon.” Namjoon got back up wrapping his arms around Maya again, kissing her lips sweetly. If Namjoon had read Ree-Mi’s story, he would realize that Ree-Mi could never quite capture in her story just how deeply Maya loved him.

The next day, Maya and Namjoon went on their private trip to Bali, away from the requirements of the world, enjoying their time together, enveloped in each other’s arms and soaked in each other’s presence. They were learning to take charge of what they wanted and learning to speak for themselves.

Years later, during one interview at an award show, Namjoon and Maya were asked if they thought they were soulmates like they were described in Ree-Mi’s novel.

To that, Namjoon had answered, it didn’t matter if they were soulmates or not as long as they enjoyed being in each other’s life. Maya added that fate and destiny are just words to describe the consequences of our choices.

Choose wisely.

———————THE END——————

5 notes · View notes

bambyeol · 6 years

Text

Diss Band (p.1)

a two-part fic pairing/s: drummer! ong seongwoo x oc

character/s: ong seongwoo, park woojin

genre: fluff, music (band)

summary: ong seongwoo goes to get his drum repaired only to find a girl ranting about their band - BAM .

warning : a side story of This Band (could stand alone)

Diss Band (final)

reference : This Band p.8

“Person with the most fingers down by the end of the game should give us a consequence.”

“First! Seongwoo-hyung, never have I ever had to flirt with a lady to get my drums repaired for free.”

wanna one masterlist

---

The Underground seemed to be one of those places that looked increasingly better as it aged. Its rugged look, the walls thick with posters of their past performers and the doors looking like a canvas to multiple graffiti works, gave it a hip vibe that was appropriate for the audience that regularly fills this dimly-lit place to the brim.

However, the past few weeks brought significantly fewer people to the known hangout, with it being the official rehearsal venue for BAM’s Reunion. The owner so graciously offered a discount, knowing that the mere fact it was being used by BAM for their historic reunion would bring in more customers afterwards.

Ong Seongwoo now sits alone in the far front of the Underground a few minutes after they concluded their rehearsal for the day. His drumsticks propped on both of his ears as he looks at his phone, an urgent look on his sharp features.

“They just really had to break on me,” he muttered under his breath as he continuously scrolls through the search engine, glancing at the broken part of his pedal.

“Hyung, are you coming with us?” Woojin calls from the door, ready to leave with the rest of the band.

“You guys go ahead. I need to get my drumset fixed,” he said with a grunt without looking up from his phone, pointing to the loose pedal of the bass. “There’s gotta be a repair shop that’s open around the clock right?”

“I’m sure Hyuk-hyung’s shop is still open around this time.” Woojin suggests, glancing at his wristwatch.

“Ah, right! Why didn’t I think of that?” Seongwoo stands up abruptly, causing his drumsticks to topple onto the floor.

“Ey, hyung. Take it easy, you still have tomorrow.”

“And what? Listen to Sungwoon nag at me for being a delay?” Seongwoo replies as he collects his belongings and the broken parts of his drum set. “No, thank you.” he jogs to the door, overtaking Woojin who just laughed and shook his head at the older male, understanding the reasoning behind his panic.

“Don’t wait up for me!”

“We won’t!”

---

At the repair shop a few blocks away, a young part-timer struggles to stay awake through her job. It was her first midnight shift; the multiple coffee cans and the buzz of the television in front of her were the only things keeping her up.

“Can we close up? Who even goes to a repair shop at midnight...” she rubs her eyes and stretches in her chair as she addresses her brother who was strumming away at the backroom of the shop.

“Yeonrin-ah, most gigs are at night,” he explains. “Who knows if there ends up being a musician or two who needs us to their rescue.”

“Oh look here’s one now.”

Yeonrin straightens up at the sound of the door chimes and whips her head towards the direction of the sweat-stained man with a soft smile and comely features. He reminds her of a vampire, and she strangely thought that must have been the reason he enters the shop at such an ungodly hour.

“Is Hyuk around?”

She shakes her head. “Do you need any fixing?” she inquires, observing his whole stance and eyes landing on his drumming fingers on the tabletop with changing rhythm. He’s skilled. She notes. “On your drums?”

That stops him from finger drumming, and he whistles with awe. He leans on the counter, forearms atop and crossed. “Whoa, how’d you know that?”

He tilts his head, lighting accentuating his sharp features. Their distance makes her breathe his smell. Aqua mist. Strange. He smells clean and fresh, contrary to his look.

“Oh. Just because,” she trails off and raises her forefinger, “Black shirt - too thin for this weather. Rugged look. Rhythmic tics on the counter and,”

He raises an eyebrow with expectation. Ong Seongwoo is getting hooked on the girl’s careful analysis, “And?”

She blurts out her frankness leaning on the countertop too to mirror his stance, “An insufferable character. At least for me.”

He snickers and slaps his forehead with his palm . Seongwoo totally thought she’s about to drop a pick-up line or two. “Insufferable character? Now that’s the first time someone has ever said that to me,” he continues to stifle his laugh.

“See. That’s what I mean. Drummers tend to show off. “ she remains unfazed.

“Yeonrin, be nice!” her brother calls warningly from the back room. She just rolls her eyes and turns to Seongwoo with a fresh and accommodating expression as if the girl who welcomed him poorly just a few seconds ago was a completely different person.

“Anyway, is your repair urgent?”

Seongwoo doesn’t reply for a few moments, he shakes his head and smirks as if catching himself in deep thought. “Yeah. I’ll need it by tomorrow actua--”

“I’ll call Hyuk oppa over. He’ll be here in a few. Sit down please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Seongwoo bows, his cheeks still stretched with a smile of interest. He walks backward to the chair in front of the multitude of instruments hung around the shop.

BAM’s ‘The Reunion’ garners all the top spots in today’s trends

The midnight entertainment news’ low buzz still fills the place by the moment Seongwoo was comfortably seated. In an attempt to strike up a conversation, he threw in a comment about the headline. “That’s still on the news, huh?” and to his surprise, Yeonrin apparently had a lot to say about the famous band.

“I don’t get this hype over BAM. What does BAM even mean?” she said with a disapproving look.

“Beats and melody. 불안에마음.” Curious as to where this conversation was going to go and concluding that she does not recognize him from anywhere, the mischievous Ong Seongwoo leaned forward, his elbows prodded on top of his knees. “Not fond of them?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seems like they’re over-hyped. Even the buses are covered with their ‘coming soon’ posters, or whatever those are.”

“Have you tried listening to their music?”

Seongwoo was growing more and more amused by the second. Here was a girl who had not a single idea that he was a member of the very band she was blatantly judging. From who else can he hear such objective critique, right? He figured it was like an undercover evaluation.

“It’s probably just the same old lyrics. Repetitive melody. That might be why the public is into them.” she assesses, eyes turned away from the screen. Seongwoo’s eyebrows move to signal her to continue. “Seems like everybody blew up when they announced that reunion. Do you know how packed this shop was that day? Extremely packed. People see them on the TV and they just flock like birds.” she chucked her thumb to the screen now behind her and rolled her eyes.

Seongwoo was about to chime in, ready with his good-natured defenses but he figured he’d let her finish, letting the girl spill out her endless train of thought for nearly fifteen minutes. She talked about her schoolmates and how invested they were with the said group and how it was almost all they talk about. Yeonrin mentioned the recent controversies, saying they were publicity stunts. At one point, she even hummed a familiar tune from the radio, ranting about how many times a day they played that one song and how it is inevitably stuck in her head, to her annoyance.

It was funny how people claim not to be fond of a particular subject and yet know so much about them. However, instead of becoming offended, Seongwoo laughed at some of her comments, feigning agreement with some of them and even dissing some members here and there, to Yeonrin’s entertainment.

“I heard the lead vocalist doesn’t shower. But their drummer has got game.”

“Yeah right. You’re being biased.”

Seongwoo laughed uncontrollably at this comment, almost falling off his chair.

“It’s true! Their drummer makes sick beats.” he slaps his thighs, trying to contain the rest of his laughter.

“What?” Yeonrin glared at his overreaction. At this point Seongwoo was wiping the tears from his eyes brought by bout of laughter that just passed.

“You know, you’ll probably like their music if you try to listen to the rest of their songs besides that one that’s always on the radio.”

“Eh.” she shrugged. “How great could it possibly be? Don’t get me wrong, if you’re a fan, that’s great I guess.”

“Your call.” Seongwoo stood up and approached the counter once again. “You’re the one missing out on our hard work.”

“Our--” Yeonrin was cut off by the sound of the door chimes and a tall, lean man, who was sporting a stubble and a cap, walked in.

“Seongwoo-yah!”

“Hyuk-hyung!”

The two men quickly greeted each other with a hug and fist bump, the older male patting Seongwoo’s shoulders like a brother would.

“How’s our star drummer doing? Is BAM in prime condition for the reunion?”

“BAM? Drummer?” Yeonrin connected the dots in her head and pointed a weak finger at Seongwoo who had a wide smile on his face, obviously enjoying her current predicament.

“Uh-huh. You didn’t tell me Seongwoo was the one who needed the repair, Yeonrin.” Hyuk turned to the counter, his hands on his hips.

“I.....didn’t know.” Yeonrin sunk into her seat, eventually crouching down and slowly making her way to the back room in her daze and embarrassment, and to the confusion of her boss.

Seongwoo just restrained a smile.

“Thanks, Hyuk-hyung.” After almost an hour, the two returned to the shop after the repairs have been done in the Underground itself. “I wouldn’t have remembered you were open for 24 hours if Woojin didn’t remind me.”

“Ey. Don’t mention it. This is exactly the reason why we decided to have a midnight shift.” Hyuk stepped in the shop followed by Seongwoo who looked around subtly for a certain part-timer.

“Where do I pay?” Seongwoo asked.

“Over th-- Yeonrin?”

“Yes, boss?” a muffled voice from the back room resounded.

“Come out here and take care of Seongwoo’s payment. I’ll be leaving.”

Laughter from Yeonrin’s brother, who was already made aware of the situation with Yeonrin’s frantic storytelling, was heard followed by a scuffling sound and an “Ow!”

“I’ll be right out!”

Upon hearing the girl’s response, Hyuk bid goodbye to the younger male and left the shop premises.

When Seongwoo turned back, Yeonrin was still in the doorway of the backroom with a calculating expression on her face. “So…”

Seongwoo raised his eyebrows, waiting. “Is it too late for introductions?” he teased.

“...this is awkward.” Yeonrin rushed to the cash register without making eye-contact with the customer who was ready to poke some fun.

She prepared his receipt in silence until, with both palms on the counter, she finally mustered the courage to speak. “I feel really bad for everything I blurted out. I could be very judgmental, sometimes…”

“I found it very amusing.” Seongwoo had his arms crossed in front of him, a habit he seemed to have whenever he was even remotely entertained. “Thanks for the feedback, anyways.”

Yeonrin face-palmed at the boy’s successful attempts at deepening her embarrassment. “I’ll pay for your repair, if that makes up for my mean chatter...”

"Not enough."

"Not enough?!" Yeonrin’s eye bulged out of their sockets. She thought the man was going to take advantage of this chance to get a new drum set, something she would not think twice about cursing him for. “You know I’m just a student in university, right? I only work part-time and I--”

"My ego got wounded, you know. Need that to perform. Listen to our songs and I’ll have that confidence back again." Seongwoo tried to haggle with her as if they were talking about currency and not human emotion.

“Seems like you didn’t lose it anyway…” Yeonrin whispered through gritted teeth. “Fine.” She grabbed her phone from the countertop, scrolled and clicked repeatedly until she showed Seongwoo the screen and clicked ‘follow’ on BAMs streaming site. “I’ll get to it. Happy?”

“Very.” he put up both thumbs. “You’re welcome in advance.” Seongwoo winked at her before leaving the shop with a bounce to his step, leaving a baffled Yeonrin to figure out the strangeness of the recent encounter.

Usually, when people come across celebrities, they would immediately post their encounter on their SNS accounts, and how they were star-struck, lucky even to come across a star on a very normal day.

She’s no different if it was a normal encounter, except this time around it wasn’t. It was a rather unpleasant encounter. The worst meeting one could possibly arrange. She blamed her unneeded opinions.

To make up for it, she fulfilled her promise of listening to their songs, no matter how much it stroked her pride wrongly.

She liked their songs upon giving it a try, but she isn’t about to chase Ong Seongwoo just for him to give his satisfied smirk, and she’s content with just being another anti-BAM (no matter how sparse those people are) in his eyes. She completed the end of her deal, so she really shouldn’t feel a little bit guilty about the vicious words she uttered right to his face.

The door chimes in again at such an ungodly hour -- a deja vu. Right, then he’ll enter with his confidence. She takes a peek on the doorway, finding Seongwoo striding in with a smirk on his face just how she pictured it. A vague feeling sets in that it wouldn’t be their last meeting.

“Broke your drum again?” she greets condescendingly. He hums in return, dragging the stool positioned at the far edge of the counter right in front of the cashier.

“If yes, does the free drum repair still stand?” He rests his elbows on the counter, chin resting on the back of his hand.

“Suck it. That was deducted from my salary. “ she huffs out and shooes him away as if any other customer would actually enter in that hour, a quarter past 12. “I already listened to your songs. And I doubt you’re back to get your drum repaired. So?”

“I need visual evidence.” he brings out his iPhone X, rests it beside the cashier and plugs the earphones on the jack. She sighs and takes the earphones, but Seongwoo grabs the other pair, inserting it to his ear. He smiles innocently, nudging her to press the play button already.

“I needed sound evidence as well.” She rolls her eyes.

“We could have just played it on speaker.”

“Clearly, you don’t understand the charm of Bose earphones. It does wonders.” he says as a matter-of-fact, fingers flicking airily, chin raised and eyes fluttering coyly imitating that of a connoisseur.

She had the intense urge to smack Ong Seongwoo right there and then, to hell be his Bose earphones and Iphone X. “So does that mean you need some auxiliary for your band’s music?” she strikes back, a little proud over her reply.

“Maybe your ears might miss out on our awesomeness. Woojin’s bass is insane, something speakers can’t finely deliver.”

Mentally, she nods in agreement. She experimented on listening under different platforms, but she isn’t entertaining the idea of feeding Seongwoo’s already large ego.

Seongwoo scoots closer to not overly stretch the earphones cable. Once again, aqua mist. She likes his smell, and it distracts her from fully listening. Thankfully the earphones really did wonders, bringing out the music’s color better.

Seongwoo hums along, using the wooden countertop as his makeshift drums and some other paraphernalia that he found sitting -- a metallic tumbler, two ballpens and a lost triangle.

He makes it a duty to present Yeonrin his favorite songs, skipping along some tracks because they don’t have enough time to actually go through the whole discography.

Close to two and a half hours later, and a sore ear, Seongwoo finally closes his phone and unplugs the earphones. Pushing his phone to his back pocket, he tilts his head to Yeonrin who was pressing a finger on her ear’s tragus.

“So? It blew you away right? Right?” his tone rising with enthusiasm.

“It was….” mind blowing. exhilarating. jaw-dropping. amazing. ...

She gulps down. There is something hard to shake off against Seongwoo’s glittering eyes -- bewitching and taunting all at the same time.

“Too loud.” she concludes. Seongwoo’s eyebrows crease, a little crestfallen about her sudden remark.

“You forgot that your volume was a hundred. Clearly, you’re a drummer.” she snides.

She wins this time.

He groans, checking his phone and setting it lower this time. “Okay. One more time!”

“Maybe some other time, Ong Seongwoo. It’s closing time.” She unhinges the lock on the counter and leaves to flip the sign to ‘closed’.

--- notes : I swear I’m not Seongwoo biased lolololololol but writing about him makes me feel like I’m slowly becoming one

Fanfic where the side story was based on -- This Band (p.1) This Band (p.2) This Band (p.3) This Band (p.4) This Band (p.5) This Band (p.6) This Band (p.7) This Band (p.8) This Band (p.9) This Band (p.10) This Band (p.11) This Band (p.12) This Band (p.13) This Band (p15) B.A.M p1 // B.A.M p2 // B.A.M p3 // B.A.M final

#wanna one scenarios #wanna one imagines #ong seongwoo #ong seongwoo scenarios #ong seongwoo imagines #wanna one #wannaone #w1 #wannable #ong seongwu #wanna one fluff #bam #bamsidestory #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #park woojin

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darkling-er · 6 years

Text

Hope’s Savior ( John Seed x OC ) | Part 8

Summary: Trinity-Hope Johnson finds herself in the middle of a holy war, leading the Resistance, while having a complicated relationship with one of the cult’s herald. And she thought her first case would be easy. Oh how wrong she was!

Pairings: John Seed/Fem!Deputy, John Seed/OC, Earl Whitehorse & OC ( uncle&niece ), Joseph Seed/Fem!Deputy ( kind of ), might add more later

Warnings: mild language, violence, eventually smut, masturbation, oral sex, you know guys the usual, use of drugs ( bliss and other, thanks to Sharky ), fluff ( does that even need a warning? ), manipulation, angst, mention of mental illness ( insomnia, depression ), mention of child abuse ( from John’s side ), torture, I think that’s it? I swear it’s not so bad!

Word Counter: 5141

Notes: Onlyyyyy youuuuuu! ♫♪ If I made up some words, that made sense in my mind but have no real meaning, I’m sorry, haha !!Also warning, light smut ahead!!

Hope hears screams as a person carries her on their back. At least that’s what she thinks as she can see legs and shoes, being upside down. A red carpet, wooden floor. A man standing at the end of the corridor. Then blackness again, she doesn’t want to wake up, not yet, when it was so peaceful and calm in the blackness of dreamless dreams.

But she wakes up again, she doesn’t know how much time she lost while she was asleep. But the uncomfortable position of sitting in a chair, and her hands being tied to it, making her wrists hurt wakes her up.

She opens her eyes and sees a light, illuminating in the background and right in front of her a man’s silhouette. As her vision starts to clear she opens her eyes wide. Staci! He’s the one tying her to the chair, but why?

“You shouldn’t have come for me. You should have run.” The man whispers to her but she has no words to speak. So Jacob has Staci. But how is that he’s free and not being kept hostage like Hudson. He doesn’t seem like he’s high on the Bliss like the Marshal either. So why doesn’t he run? Maybe there are guns pointed at him, which she can’t see from this position?

He looks tired, huge circles under his eyes, like he didn’t get enough sleep. He looks like he took some punches as well, but other than that he looks fine.

A clicking noise can be heard from her left, a projector’s sound. It’s a presentation, she realizes. Seriously? Did Jacob hunt me just to show me his evil presentation? Staci looks up over her shoulder. Hope can’t turn her head and look over there. Pratt quickly leaves her side and all she can see is a white board... or wall? In the dark it illuminates, coming from the projector which is standing next to her on a shelf of somekind.

A dead deer... Wow...eww... And behind that two words can be seen painted with black paint? Or maybe even dried blood? ‘Only You’. Two other resistance members are tied up, just like her. She wants to call out to Staci, but a man starts speaking. Jacob...

“The world is weak. Soft.” For a second the dead deer disappears, leaving the room black as another image appears: a wolf eating flesh, and Jacob Seed’s silhouette can be seen as he starts walking before the wall.

“We have forgotten what it is to be strong. You know our heroes are used to be gods.” Blackness, then another picture of another wolf eating meat. Jacob Seed is still facing the wall, not turning around yet, to face the deputy or the other two hostages. Staci is standing right next to him, like keeping guard. Why is he not fighting or running? “And now our heroes are godless. Weak, feeble, diseased”

Black and another picture: a weird photo of a deer’s corpse, standing on it’s legs like it’s still alive. Fucking morbid... Jacob turns around, his body covered in the picture as he stands in it’s light.

“We let the weak dictate to the powerful and then we are shocked to find ourselves adrift.” A picture of a white wolf, eating it’s prey. This guy is a furry, or something? Jacob is not looking at her, and honestly she’s happy about that she doesn’t need the attention of yet another Seed.

“But history knows the value of sacrifice. Of culling the herd, so that it stays strong.” He looks at the woman on the left side then the man on the right. “Over and over, the lives of the many have outweighed the lives of the few. This is how we survived... And we’ve forgotten.” An angry wolf looking right into Hope’s eyes. Jacob slowly makes his way toward Hope and tries out her wrists, but the ductape just won’t let go.

“...and now the bill has come due.” As he stands right in front of the deputy, she feels even smaller than usual. The man is a giant and with her sitting he’s even much taller as he normally is. He’s towering over her, but as he grabs her chair and pulls it toward him and he leans low, so their face can meet Hope would rather have him standing up again. Why do they always want to get to close to me? Have the Seeds ever heard of personal space?

“Now, the Collapse is upon us, and this time the lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many.”

His intense stare makes her uncomfortable. His blue eyes reminding her of John’s and Joseph’s ones. Each and every one of them carrying something behind their clear blue eyes. Jacob’s face is covered in scars, rashes even. But that’s not what scares Hope about Jacob.

“And when a nation that’s never known hunger or desperation descends into madness, we’ll be ready.” He smiles at her, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking once as he leans back, and getting something from the desk with the projector on.

“We will cull the herd.” It’s a small wooden box, a music box! He gets it ready to play as he speaks. “We will do what needs to be done.”

He shows it to her, opening the box and immediately her body starts shaking, her vision turning red and she feels like she’s having a seizure. She feels blood trickle down from her nose as the pressure grows inside her body. Filling her head with anger, she’s trying to get free, but it’s impossible. And her view turns to black or did she close her eyes? She can’t tell, as she has a view again.

She’s free from her hair, standing before the table she was sitting next to, a gun on it. The whole world is red, and it reminds her of blood, blood, blood. The building is collapsing and music echoes in her head, an agonisingly slow version of Only You by The Platters.

As she hears a tower bell and the two person stands up from the chairs she just knows what she has to do.

“Call the herd.” Jacob says from somewhere and she grabs the gun from the table and shoot at both of them as they vanish into smoke as the bullet goes right through them.

“Excellent.” Jacob says and she runs through a door, grabbing an SMG which was placed just for her.

She moves forward, building falling apart, broken wooden walls all around. People raise their guns at her and she shoot all of them. With each shot Jacob shouts:

“Train. Hunt. Kill. Sacrifice.”

She shots a man above her on a wall and Jacob talks to her again:

“Good, cull the herd.”

She doesn’t think, she doesn’t feel anything, just pure anger and pride as the eldest of the Seeds praises her moves. Why? Why?! She doesn’t know, as she runs fast opposite how the song slowly plays for her. It’s like she’s in a maze as she goes, she doesn’t even know where, but she rushes forward. ‘Kill, kill, kill!’ Jacob’s shouts can be heard and she just does that. Killing everyone who even stands close to her.

She picks up an AR-C as she reaches a yard. A gate of metal saying ‘St. Francis Veterans Center’ in front of her, as she shoots. It’s so surreal, object floating in the air, unmoving like they are hanged by strings. But she doesn’t think, she runs through the front door into the building, killing a man runing towards her.

“Yes, sacrifice the weak.”

She kils the man standing on top of the walls as she climbs. She has to ignore the fire below, get away from it. Fire is bad, fire is bad! Don’t be weak, be strong!

There’s a slide coming up and she takes it as the music suddenly plays faster, and the clock that has been ticking while she ran stops. And she doesn’t land as the blackness surrounds her.

When she opens her eyes, she’s still in that chair, tied to it, as she lays with it on the floor. Dead bodies around her, and her vision is blurry. Her mouth feels dry and Hope feels like she can’t move. There’s still blood under her nose, dried to her face, making her smell the irony scent of blood.

The music still plays, somewhere from the room. Am I dead? She thinks, and it hurts to think. She can still hear Jacob’s commands in her head: ‘Train, hunt, kill, sacrifice’. And for some reason she feels like she should be doing exactly that.

The Deputy sees movements and for a second she thinks Jacob is back, to call her weak. But she hears an unknown voice of a man.

“What a mess. Wheaty, check those chairs.”

“Jesus, the smell...” Another voice speaks and she wants to call out to them but her throat hurts like she swallowed knives. Her vision at least becomes clear as she sees a bearded man. Oh, god, is he a peggie?

“Been stewin’ in their own filth for days...” For days?! “Walker, get some windows open!”

A young man comes to her view, so called Wheaty if she heard it right. A third voice replies, so that must be the guy called Walker:

“Y-y-y-yessir!”

“Someone shut that music off!” The man who has the beard and has been commanding the other seems to be their boss, or leader. Thank God, yes! Turn it off! She thinks and her head gets a lot clearer as the music stops, no more Jacob’s praises or commands.

Wheaty crouches down to the body next to her, checking the clearly dead man’s pulse. The dead guy’s eyes and nose has been bleeding. Just like hers, but she’s still alive.

“Christ, it’s Sully. When did they get him?” The young boy says and he stands up, annoyed. “Why are we even bothering with this? They’re all dead.” No, no! I’m not dead! She wants to scream, but she can’t even blink, feeling paralised.

“Check ‘em anyways.” The leader says and she’s thankful for his words. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

The boy still seems annoyed by his job as he comments:

“Why am I always stuck on corpse duty?”

He turns her chair and she groans out at the sudden pain in her head as she’s being moved. The boy facing her gets so scared he drops her, causing even more pain.

“HOLY SHIT!” Wheaty lands on his ass, being so startled by Hope not being as dead as he thought.

“What?” The boss turns to him and comes closer, as Wheaty says an ‘oh fuck’ as well.

The boss looks down at Hope as she finally blinks, her eyes hurting as she does so.

“Live one!” He quickly crouches next to her. “Walker! Go get the truck!”

“Y-y-y-y-yessir!” The man stutters, seemingly only to know one sentence.

Wheaty comes into view and if Hope had any energy left she would find this situation actually funny, feeling like they’re in a comedy movie:

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry...” The boss pushes him away.

They grab Hope and the leader’s voice is nice and smooth, but still low and it makes her feel comfort.

“Gimme a hand, kid.”

She groans again as they set her chair, so she’s sitting in it. They face each other and Hope wants to say thanks, but only manages a low and painful moan out.

The leader gets out a knife with the intention to free her, but Wheaty looks at the man:

“Eli..is this...?”

“Yep.” The man says simply as he frees Hope from the tapes.

“What the fuck is the Deputy doing here?” Oh, look, I’m famous. How nice...

“Jacob took a shine to ‘er same as us.”

She wants to laugh at that but it turns into a cough as she does. I didn’t drink for days... Yeah, I can feel it...

“You’re gonna be okay, Hero. Whitetail’s gotcha now.” The Whitetails! Oh thank God!

They help her to her feet and start to walk, well more likely drag her body with them. She feels like going back to sleep again, feeling dizzy from the exhaustion.

“We’re bringing her back to the Wolf’s Den?” Wheaty asks.

“Where else?” The leader asks back. I like him, I always like people who save my life, defying the others.

“Tammy is not going to like this...” Well, I’m sorry, but Tammy has to bear with me until I can get up to my feet again.

Their voices become blurry as she falls into sleep again.

“Don’t worry about Tammy. She’ll be fine.”

Hope feels a soft surface under her and it feels so comfortable, her mind not wanting to get up soon. But as she hears voices she opens her eyes. Wheaty comes into view, a boy who can’t be older than her. He gently grabs her neck from behind, pulling her head up as he places a water bottle to her lips.

“Take it easy, you’re OK. Need you to drink this.”

Hope greedily swallows the water, some of it trickling down her face, getting her shirt wet. She had been changed into new clothes, a man’s oversized sweater, no jeans. She should feel ashamed, knowing that someone had to get her clothes off, but right now she doesn’t care.

Hope coughes as her throat becomes soft and slimy again, not feeling like a desert anymore. A woman comes into the room, looking down at her laying form and she turns to the man, the leader who brought her here.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Oh, I have a feeling this is Tammy.

The man is so calm it wants to make Hope laugh. Like a teacher, trying to get his students behaving without screaming at them.

“Now hold on. Wheaty and I agreed--”

“Oh you agreed?!” The woman turns to the kid standing next to Hope.

Wheaty holds up his arms, defending himself from the accusation.

“Woah, woah woah! I was at best an impartial observer.”

Tammy looks and points at Hope:

“This is stupid and this is dangerous.”

Hope silently comments but her voice is ragged and nobody seems to hear her:

“I can hear you, you know?”

The woman continues with her anger:

“You both know better!”

The long bearded man approaches her and he still sounds so calm:

“What was I supposed to do?”

The woman raises her arms, like it’s so damn clear what they were supposed to do with Hope.

“Leave her to die.” Wow, nice, thanks...

The man scoffs, faking out a laugh and looking down at Hope apologisingly:

“Tammy...”

“They’ve been in that room for God knows how long. I’ve seen what it does to people. You haven’t. You can’t trust this one.”

The man turns away from the junior deputy lying on the couch and turns to the all-too-angry woman:

“That’s what everyone said about you! But luckily, I didn’t listen.” Only now he starts raising his voice. “This is not up for discussion. We need her. That’s all there is to it. Understand?”

She makes a grimace and looks down at Hope, like she wants to kill her right here right now. Then she leaves the room. Wheaty comments:

“You’re right. She took that real well.”

“Out.” He doesn’t even turn his head away from the Deputy as he orders the young man out of there.

As he leaves Hope can hear him comment under his nose:

“I didn’t even do anything...”

The young girl smiles at that, a gesture that makes her face hurt a bit, but doesn’t make any painful sounds.

Eli walks around the couch right next to her, placing his hand on her leg and only know she feels a bit too exposed.

“I meant what I said, we need you. Let’s get you some rest.”

He helps her lay her head back down to the pillow and though she wants to stay awake she quickly falls asleep.

Hope wakes up at the sound of a radio. Music is playing, not the type she usually listens too, and it’s loud enough to shake her out of her continues dreamless dream. She moves around the couch and she puts her naked legs on the rug. She sits there for a while, getting ready to stand up on her legs,

A man is watching her, reading a book, looking at her naked thighs and she tries to pull the sweater down as much as she can. Yeah, I need pants ASAP.

She doesn’t feel cold that much, and her aching body is much less exhausted as before. She doesn’t have dried blood all over her face either. They took care of her, that’s for sure.

“Oh, shit y-y-y-you’re up. Eli needs a word with y-y-you.” The man says and Hope remembers his stutter from before, when the whitetails found her.

“Where should I go?” She asks nicely and smiles at the man.

“Head d-d-down the hall. Eli’s waitin’ for y-y-y-ou there.” He points to a direction and she nods and thanks him with a soft smile.

She takes some turns in the bunker, she figured it’s a bunker, since it looks a lot like Dutch’s. Then she sees a whole bunch of monitors, just like Dutch’s. And there it is the man, the one who saved her from that filthy place. He looks up at her from his map and smiles:

“There you are. Been tryin’ to track you down, Deputy. Dutch speaks highly. Look I get right to it. I know what you did down south. You got the Father thinkin’ twice now, and that’s good for us. We’re bleeding bodies up here, no two ways about it. I don’t know if we’ll be able to hold out more than a week at this rate. Times are desperate to say the least. I’m trying to get some footholds back, so I sent a handful of whitetails out to sabotage the Visitor Center. The cult’s been using it as a depot for that Bliss shit... But our guys walked right into a fucking trap. They’ve been taken hostage and we’re up against the clock. If I just send another group in there, we risk losing everything... but you! You’re something that cult ain’t expecting. You’re the only one I got around here who can handle this, Dep... only one I trust to handle this. I’m countin’ on you.”

The man says and Hope’s head start to feel heavy as she tries to understand him and she raises her hands, stopping the man from further speaking:

“Okay, slow down a bit. Look I...” She stands there awkwardly looking at the man’s confused eyes. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But I don’t even know your name and you’re saying that you can only trust me on this?”

She feels like an asshole, but her veins are filled with this odd feeling, a rage, hiding behind her small form. Hope doesn’t even know why she’s angry, and she tries to hide it as much as she can. This man did save her life after all.

“Oh, I’m... I’m sorry.. Name’s Eli, Eli Palmer.” The man says, clearly feeling just as awkward as the young girl.

“So Eli... Umm... you have any pants that I could borrow. Can’t do much of anything if I’m not dressed like I’m going outside.”

He looks at her naked legs, just realizing she’s without pants or shoes and turns to Wheaty:

“Hey, Wheaty, get some pants and shoes from the shop, will ya?” He says and the boy goes down the corridor, dissappearing. “I’m... really sorry about that.”

She nods, trying to make this scene less awkward as it already is.

“Didn’t you guys by any chance found my backpack? Or my radio? Or any of my weapons?” She asks, though she doesn’t dare to keep her hopes up.

Eli turns around and grabs a bag, filled with her stuff:

“Actually, we did, here ya go.”

After getting some clothes from the whitetails and getting her backpack on her back, her pistol in her holster and the rifle around her shoulder she stands before Eli. Hope feels much less exposed now.

“Look. I don’t know if people have been looking for me or not. And I know you need help, and I will help, that’s a promise, but...” She feels ashamed of what she says next. “... I need some time away from Jacob right now.”

Eli does seem dissappointed, but nods kindly.

“I get it, kid. I’m just desperate, you know? And you’re like the Hero of Hope County at the moment, I hoped you could help out.”

She feels bad about this and gets her map out of her pack and folds it out on Eli’s desk.

“Look, point me to the place, and I will look into it, okay? I’ll even bring some help, people who I trust and are good at what they’re doing. I am very grateful for what you did for me, I am. And I want to repay you by helping out, but right now... I’ll head back to the Valley, check out on some friends. I’ll be back and take care the peggies for you.”

Eli nods and marks the place on her map. She gets some angry looks by Tammy as she leaves and a kind smile from Wheaty. Well, she can’t be friends with everyone, right?

She uses one of the choppers from outside the Wolf’s Den to reach the Valley, it’s night time again and only now, looking at the constellations and the moon realizes how long she had been out.

“Hey, old man. I hope you’re not sleeping yet.” She says through her speaker, while flying over Dutch’s island.

“I never sleep, kid. Heard from Eli, that they got you out of Jacob Seed’s grasp. You’re gonna stay there, help out?”

The raven haird girl sighes and replies:

“No, I’m heading back to John’s region. I still have some distress calls from there. I want to check on the church, and than the airstrip at the Rye’s.”

Dutch murmurs something and she’s happy she didn’t catch what he just said.

“Okay, kid. It’s your call. Just don’t forget to help out in the mountains as well. I know Jacob Seed might look scary for ya. But we still have to fight him.”

And there goes Hope’s calm night:

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Dutch sighes and tries to save the conversation:

“All I’m sayin’ is that you had a meetin’ with Jacob and now you’re running back to the Valley and--”

“I’m running back to the Valley?!” She raises her voice and almost losts control over the chopper in her anger.

“Look... I’m just sayin’ the facts, no need to get angry at me for being honest.”

“For being honest?! Who the hell says where I should help out? You weren’t there you don’t know what he did to me!”

There’s a moment of silence and for some reason she feels like she shouldn’t be telling about the Platters’ song to Dutch, or to anyone for the record.

“Why, what did he do to you?” He asks suspiciously.

“Forget it Dutch, I’m tired, I want to land my chopper safely and help out at the Valley. I will go back to the mountains once I gother a little team to help me out. I’m only one girl, not an entire army...Hope out.”

She turns off her radio and looks down at the hills of the valley. The ‘YES’ say illuminating in the night, she has a new idea as she lands near the bottom of the sign.

She gets out of the chopper, once landed properly and walks up to the Hollywood styled monument.

She sits down at the bottom of the ‘Y’ and looks down at the valley. From up here it’s so peaceful, so calm. I wonder how cool Hope County was before the cult...

There are lights appearing in the distane, near the airstrips and she first thinks maybe someone blowed up a bunch of silos, but as she looks into her binoculars she sees fireworks.

There’s a smile appearing on her face as she looks at them. Who is partying right now? It has to be Resistance, right?

She picks up her radio and dials Pastor Jerome to get some information on this.

“Hey, Jerome? Who is helding a party tonight? I see fireworks in the sky.” Her voice is calm, cheerful.

A moment passes and she hopes she didn’t wake up the man. An unpleasent answer comes from his end, clearly not happy about the cause of celebration.

“John Seed is having a birthday party tonight.”

Hope can’t contain her laugh as she asks:

“For who?”

The Pastor sighs:

“For himself...”

Hope laughs and she can’t believe that days ago she was being held captive by Jacob Seed and now the youngest of the brothers is having a party for his birthday. It’s just too surreal and funny.

“Oh wow, did you buy him something?” She jokes and the Pastor chuckles at that.

“I’m pretty sure he has everything he wants, Deputy. Good to have you back in the Valley, there are still some folks out here needing help... I heard about Jacob Seed. If you need to just talk to someone, you can always come to me.”

It warms her heart, and she smiles softly.

“Thanks. I want to check on Boomer too. Did he behave while I was gone?”

The Pastor chuckles, no longer the dissappointment for the Seeds in his voice:

“He did try to eat my bible once. But he has been acting good. He misses you, I think. He perked up his head and started wagging his tail as he heard your voice now.”

Hope imagines the dog trying to eat Pastor Jerome’s Bible and she’s happy someone is not acting weird around her, asking her to do this or do that. Just having a nice and normal conversation.

“I’ll be sure to make a visit to Fall’s End tomorrow.”

“Alright, take care, Deputy.”

They end the radio call and Hope continues to watch the fireworks go on for a while. John Seed being so fucking extra, as always. She smiles to herself, shaking her head. It’s weird thinking about how a man like him had to be born once, was probably a child, just acting normal. Makes one wonder how they ended up being like this...

She lays down onto her back, looking up at the stars on the night sky. Remembering most of their names. She memorised them all, when she was a kid. Her parents painted her room’s ceiling like the night sky. She misses them, even though she never actually met them.

Her heart aches and she tries to think about something else, and she ends up thinking about the Cleansing. How she actually thought in her Bliss drugged state that she was a star. How John Seed’s eyes seemed to be glowing, beautiful blue amongst the white dots in front of her...

She feels an itch in her body, one that she haven’t felt since she got into this holy war. She slides her hand down her body, between her legs as she moans out into the night, only the crickets knowing what she’s up to. She teases herself through the fabric of her jeans and after some minutes like this she slips her had into her jeans and she touches her clit, crying out in pleasure.

And then her radio crackles to life, like God knew what she is doing and wants to stop her:

“Deputy, I heard you came back to the Valley. How delightful.” John Seed’s voice is cheery as always, like he knows when he can annoy Hope.

She doesn’t answer, the heat in her loin growing and she just wants to have some private moments to herself, without listening to John Seed, but God, that man loves his voice more than anything.

“I was wondering about one of our conversation just now. Do you remember, what I said to you, Deputy?” His voice sounds so smug, she can almost imagine the smirk on his face.

She groans out, letting her hand find it’s way out of her jeans and underwear. With an annoyed voice she click down the button on her radio to talk:

“No?” She keeps it short, because her breathing was just becoming faster when the man dared to intterupt her, so she doesn’t want to give herself away.

“Oh, my dear. I’m sure you remember. You know what, I will give you a moment to think. Get the blood back to your pretty little head...”

She looks confused and angry at her radio, not wanting to play John’s games right now. Then his words hit her, and her heart stops beating for a moment. ‘I have cameras everywhere, Deputy...’ he said a while back. Oh my god...

She quickly looks around her surroundings, her face getting red from the embarrasment if the man meant what she thinks he meant by that comment. His next words comfirming her fear:

“You know, Deputy... Lust is a sin.” With a muffled ‘oh my god’ she buries her face in her hands.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, I wasn’t putting up a show for you.” She replies to him, trying to save the situation, but she’s deep in it now.

“Are you sure?” Comes the teasing tone of the Baptist. “And here I thought it was your birthday gift for me.”

If she wasn’t flushed already, she sure as hell is now. And without even wanting to think about it, how it might be a gift for him, how he might mimiced her movements, touching himself at the sight of her... NO! Stop thinking about that! But the thought sends a wave of pleasure between her folds.

“Oh, no!” She cringes at herself and him. “In your dreams, Seed!”

She tries to keep her cool, but what he says next sends her over the edge.

“If this was my dream, you would be right here with me, beneath me.”

She did notice something was off in his voice, she thought it’s only exhaustion or something, but now she thinks it might be from something else. She gulps as she asks:

“Are you high right now?”

A chuckle comes from the other end and it sends a pulse into her clit, begging to be touched.

“Maybe... So what do you say? Care to pay me a visit?”

This is crazy. He’s crazy, this whole situation is crazy. But the most crazy thing is, that she actually stops thinking about his offer.

A/N: ehehehehe *evil laugh*

Tags: @onl-you

#hope's savior #trinity-hope johnson #my deputy #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #john seed x oc #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #far cry 5 #my ocs

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stickystarspectrumtroll-ocs · 3 years

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So for a lot of my posts on this blog I’m imagining my OCs all living together in one house in a Pocket Princesses style situation, so, I’m just gonna go make a post to imagine how each OC’s room looks, how they choose to decorate.

Things they all have: Light beige carpeted floor. A window. Bed. Dresser/nightstand by the bed. Desk and chair. Closet or wardrobe. A lamp or two. A mirror somewhere.

Luna: Deep purple painted walls and ceiling. A dresser by her bed, which is in a corner against the wall. Maybe a carpet or rug. Maybe a beanbag chair. Tbh I don’t think she puts up many decorations though. Apart from like, a few family photos or whatever. She might let it get a little messy though, clothes and random objects strewn on the floor and draped over the bed and the desk chair. The important stuff though, like her prank supplies? All carefully tucked away in the closet and desk and maybe even some secret compartments in the walls or something. Window is usually shuttered or has the curtains drawn. She also has a little turtle bed for Rupert, plus his food bowl and water bowl. And a homemade patchwork quilt on her bed.

Jewel: The rooms might all be about the same size, but if there’s a little bit of variation, hers is on the bigger side, and has a fairly high ceiling. She’s made some flowers and patches of grass grow from the floor, and covered the walls and ceiling with sapphires, amethysts, aquamarine, and lots of flowering vines. They wrap around the furniture, all of which she’s ALSO embellished with some gems and jewels. She has a little balcony too, actually! The doors to that are always open.

Allets: She has a pink vanity, a window nook, and a small walk-in closet. Her bed is a canopy bed with its head against the wall in the middle. Other than that her room starts off pretty bare-bones, but she starts decorating it more and more over time. Hangs up some fairy lights, gets some bright pink-and-orange lampshades, puts up some inspirational quote posters, gets a beanbag chair, some throw pillows (some of which are sequinned), a rug that looks like a cute cat’s face, changes her white blanket for a black one, etc. She paints two of the walls in that shade of shamrock green that she likes, one of them deep dark purple with metallic gold stars, and gets wallpaper for the remaining wall that’s white with different colored polka dots. She wallpapers the ceiling to look like an actual night sky.

Eliote: She’s got a big target on the wall for practicing archery and knife-throwing. She has locks on some of her desk drawers, and curtains on a particular space or two in her bookshelves (I’m sorry, I couldn’t just NOT...), where she keeps her journals and sketchbooks, a framed picture of her with her parents, a framed picture of her with Allets, a framed picture of her with Allets AND Jewel and Luna, and a framed group picture of the whole OC squad with her included. There’s a mini-fridge in the corner that she keeps a bunch of jars of peanut butter and mayonnaise in and puts some leftovers in after nearly every meal, and a little too many bags of different snacks (mostly trail mix, but also some chocolate) stockpiled beside it or on top of it. She’s got an odd number of safety items on her shelves too. She locks her room when she’s not in it and some of the time when she IS in it. At night when she goes to bed she sets up this trip wire with a little bell on it that the door will set off if it’s opened, and puts a whole bunch of mouse traps all over the floor. Sometime when she’s been there for awhile, she makes a few blue and green designs on the walls. A few musical notes, a few leaf shapes or something.

Maddie T: The walls are covered in posters for various movies, shows, books, etc., along with all kinds of mirrors and all kinds of clocks. Grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, totally regular-looking clocks, clocks that look like frogs, clocks that look like cartoon characters’ faces, etc. The clocks are all set to different times or different speeds though. From the gaps of wall you can see in between the many clocks and posters, one wall is white, one wall is purple, one wall is yellow, and one wall is red. The ceiling is a horrendous pattern of swirls in all four of those colors. The room is an absolute mess, clothes and prank supplies and spray-paint bottles and stuffed animals and pillows and pens and pencils and bits of paper and all kinds of random junk strewn all over the place. Colorful glowing mushrooms grow out of the floor in some places. She has a tea table with a couple of chairs somewhere. There’s a cabinet somewhere with a few tea sets in it. There’s some mini disco balls in various places around the room. Fairy lights are strung across things, along with strings of colorful shapes. Lined up on the wall and hanging on a hat stand are all kinds of hats. There’s a chandelier. There might be a window nook.

Finley: She puts light pink wallpaper up on one wall, sea green on another next to it, and leaves the others plain white. She hangs frames with inspirational quotes, and puts a few potted plants and/or succulents on her desk and windowsill. There’s a few decorative pillows here and there, and a fluffy pink rug on the floor. She hangs up some fairy lights along the walls and flowery curtains on the window. There’s a walk-in closet. She has a white vanity. She has neatly organized shelves full of spellbooks. She also has a big whiteboard, either on wheels or on the wall, which she uses for all kinds of organization and planning and scheduling and breaking-down-and-figuring-stuff-out kinds of stuff. There’s a large and well-organized bulletin board above her neat white desk, with a calendar, some post-it notes, and maybe some other stuff on it.

Penny: She paints one of the walls in a rainbow, and puts up wallpaper that’s covered in smiley cartoony suns on the other three. Hangs up a bunch of fairy lights and lanterns and garlands of colorful paper shapes. Places a whole bunch of lava lamps and mini disco balls and all kinds of LED lights around the room. Paints glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. Puts up paintings of hers on the walls too, along with some photos of her with her family and friends before she was turned. She’s got a small speaker or two for blasting music.

Twig: Walls and ceiling are all lavender. She’s got a beanbag chair. And paper stars and other shapes hanging on strings. And some kind of glowing bug that exists in the Trolls verse that she keeps as a nightlight. She tapes a bunch of her drawings up on the walls. She’s got a cabinet/low bookcase/whatever where she keeps a whole bunch of art supplies, and she sits on the floor by that to draw and scrapbook and stuff. She sometimes leaves some out when she’s not using them. There’s a few toys and books strewn around too. She also has a boombox or record player or something.

#life with my oc squad #all ocs

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venomsedits · 4 years

Text

Hii. So I decided to make an account where I can freely post all my edits, writing, and ocs. This my first post and it’s a concept edit for an oc that I recently made inspired by Ten! There are mentions of death, blood, and violence (murder) so just a warning before you read…

Akara Chakrii was born to a unique family. His mother, Achara, was a famous singer. His father, Anurak, was a prince who had a passion for dance. Both had met when his mother was scouting for new talent to join her and his father had snuck off to perform at a dance competition with Achara herself. The two had a connection that was unlike any other. Not just passion. Pure fire that coursed through their veins a lot faster than the heart pumps out blood. No one could have ever expected what would happen when they collided on the stage. Anurak had caught Achara in his arms as they found themselves twirling around the stage as he lifted her into the air, surrounded by the crimson silk of her ball gown and then it happened. Their eyes connected in that moment. Unlike in most love stories where the room freezes so all you see is each other and no one else, the entire room burst with the vibrant colors that awoke inside of them. Suddenly the faded yellow rays coming from the lights of the stage appeared as a bright gold that shone over Achara’s chiseled face to reveal how bright her emerald eyes truly were. She saw Anurak’s chocolate eyes with a swirl of honey in the irises. Soon enough their performance was over and the crowd erupted in cheers. They had given the most ardent and admired dance of the night without even realizing it.

“You could be mine. All you have to do is follow me and we’ll make magic wherever we go. We could keep this color forever.” Anurak breathed as he cupped the side of the singer’s face with a faint smile on his face that showed off dimples in the corner of his mouth. How could Achara resist that offer? Normally she wouldn’t rush into these things but something in her heart and even her soul knew that this was what she’d been waiting for. Someone that was as passionate about music as she was. The one person that brought the familiar fire back into her life. “How could I say no? We can go wherever the music takes us. All you have to do is agree to go on this adventure with me.” Achara replied decisively as her voice rang out in the alley when they snuck away from all of the attention. After that, the pair were off and soon ended up being wed at a beautiful ceremony with both of their families or friends gathered together. Even though there were some there that hated their marriage with a passion.

So this was the romance that Akara was born from. He was a very happy child with the talent of both his parents. You could always find the small little boy in his parent’s secret dance room, copying their moves or trying to sing the beautiful languages his mother had introduced to him. These developed until his skills were an equal match for them both. His youth was spent with smiles, laughter, and special memories that only those two could give him. He went anywhere that Achara or Anurak were. If they originally told him that he would be staying in their cozy home filled with the busy life of his father’s lineage, he would jut out his bottom lip and flash his large chocolate orbs to his mother and father. His arms just barely crossed over his torso. “But I want to see the world with you! There’s no where else that I’d rather be than with my family! You’re both my home. Please celebrate my birthday with me.” Akara pleaded, urgently, at the age of 23. He had always believed that twenty four would be such a special age.

Something was off about his parents. They all seemed to be nervous and their eyes were filled with concern as they held up their hand to stop their son before he could go any further. “Not this time, Akara. There is something going on that you don’t understand yet but we will tell you when we return. That I promise to you. Your birthday celebration will be grand when we return.” Anurak’s strong and firm voice filled the room as he dipped his head solemnly. Akara had instantly caught the crack in his father’s tone so his lips parted to speak. Something inside of him practically screamed that a dark cloud would fall over the family in the next few days. Almost like a bad omen. It made goosebumps litter his skin and a shudder ran down his spine. Achara placed a kiss on her son’s forehead as she adjusted his dyed blonde hair with fading neon green streaks in it. “We love you. You’re our proudest accomplishment. Please stay safe and we will return as soon as we can. Goodbye, our raven.” His father reminded with a gaze over their shoulder as he headed towards the door.

“I love you both too. More than anything in the world. Even more than my love for music or dancing. Please be safe and hurry back! It will mean the world to me to spend my twenty fourth birthday with all of you. Goodbye, mama and papa raven.” Akara called with a wave, forcing a smile onto his face but he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes. A few tears fell once his parents had left and he was alone in the house that suddenly felt so cold. His fingers gripped his sweater tightly that night. He was curled up in his bed as nightmares began to plague him until it rattled his mind. All the boy could see was flashes and he could hear the screams that pained his ears. It was all on his mind though. The faint figure of a woman clad in all black with a veil over her face appeared in front of him but splatters of dark blood appeared on her stark white skin as she whispered a warning.

Hurry and escape. Midnight is approaching.

The pure feeling of dread and immense fear was enough to make Akara’s eyes snap open as a shaky breath left his lips. He had never been so scared. What did those dreams mean? He couldn’t figure it out. His body jolted with a slight screech as the clock chimed to signal that midnight had arrived. That meant that the male had turned twenty four. Unfortunately he would be stuck there for the rest of his existence.

You see, a conspiracy had began since that wedding, that the heir of Anurak and Archara could never take the throne. Anurak’s own parents had come up with this plan. They never liked how rebellious they thought their son was even though he was just living his passion and enjoying life. He had been willing to settle down, become more serious, if that meant that he would be allowed to marry his real soulmate. So Anurak’s parents anger against him was going to be taken out on their own son. When they had left for a trip back to Thailand with faked news of a terrible nature, his parents knew that Akara would be left behind so it would be the perfect time to strike.The door to Akara’s room was thrown open and he fought with all his might. He slammed his fists, feet, or any object that he could get his hands on into his two sets of uncles. One even got busted over the head with a vase which shattered and created gashes in his skin. Akara screamed for help after he threw both of the larger men off him after using some dance moves that required elaborate kicks, busting them in the gut and jaw which was enough to send the knives clattering to the floor. “Help! Anyone! My uncles have gone crazy. Please get my grandparents or somebody that can stop them.” He yelled until his throat was sore and the air left his lungs until they were burning with an unquenchable thirst for air. His face bunched up in horror when a few figures appeared in front of him.

There stood his grandparents with knives of their own and plunged them into his heart. Even though sent sharp pains all along his body, it didn’t beat the agony of knowing that his own family betrayed him. Akara had tears filling his eyes as his lips fell open to let out one last desperate breath which caused blood to fall from his lips and spill onto the floor. It stained his mint sweater that his parents had given him. “You..you did this? I thought that family was meant to protect each other. All of you are monsters.” He choked out with a sudden fit of rage and anger boiling his blood as his body collapsed onto the floor in a swift motion. His face was pressed against the cold wood as the figure dressed in all black appeared in front of him. Her eyes were pitch black and a wicked grin carved onto her lips to show off unnaturally sharp teeth that practically dug into his lip. Akara knew exactly what the dream meant. She was there to help him make sure that his death got justice. “I’ll come back. Stronger than you and much less human. No one in this room will get away with it. Just you wait.” were the last words that Akara would speak in that life as his fingers curled around the woman’s open hand. It felt like ice but it was welcomed as black veins crept up his body.

His family had done it. They created a vengeful ghost. One like no one had ever seen. Akara’s eyes became a cloudy white when the life had drained from them and he stared holes into their soul. It struck their hearts and made them tremble so badly that they all released their weapons, stumbling out of the room until they reached the hall. Those that looked back were greeted with such a shocking sight. Akara had floated up straight as his bones cracked and groaned, rolling his head at uncomfortable angles. With every snap, you’d expect his neck to break but it barely even affected him. His clothes had changed. He was wearing a mesh gray shirt with a shining black jacket that had purple accents. Chain jewelry, cuff bracelets, a silver skull ring with devilish red eyes, another one that was intricately woven with music notes, and moon necklaces dangled from his frame. Akara barely smiled as he lifted up a peace sign that he so often used. A sign that he was going to get rid of all of them.

“Goodbye. I can’t wait for you all to see what I have planned. Be ready because Akara is coming for you.” His voice was contorted into something demonic and like a growl as he relentlessly stared at them before disappearing into thin air. That was how the infamous ghost of the Chakrii kingdom came to be.

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yeoldontknow · 7 years

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As Still As Sound: Prologue

Author’s Note: i really didn’t think i’d start another series so soon, really i didn’t. but this came to me one night, and i feel like i’m going to scream if i don’t write it. this story is basically a love note from me to a lot of different things; some of it is personal, some of it is fictional, a lot of it is me doing something i never do and writing real, true love story. i hope you enjoy this prologue!

Summary: Two years after soulmate bonds are formed in our universe, and still the world is reeling from the connections. Everyone seems to be affected, except you. You seem to think you’ve been left out and forgotten, though you don’t really want a soulmate at all. All you really want is to be alone with your music…

O/C’s Spotify song this chapter: Blow - Ghinzu (music for each chapter will be the song the reader/oc/you is listening to)

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female)

Genre: Soulmate!AU; fluff; angst; drama; sci-fi; eventual smut

Rating (this chapter): PG

Warnings (this chapter): references to threats of self-harm

Word Count: 5,024

METRO UK APRIL 8, 2013

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW! FIRST UK SOULMATE PAIR DISCOVERED: TWO YEARS ON

Anita and Wesley Goulding made history on this day in 2011 as the first couple in the UK to find their soulmate after the Era Shift. They’ve sat down with us today to discuss how they met, the struggles they endured in the early days of finding one another, and why they think the new soulmate process is a double edged sword.

Q: Congratulations on two years!

Anita: Thank you! It really doesn’t feel like it. I wake up every morning and see him, and I somehow fall more in love with him.

Wesley: I honestly don’t know what I was doing in my life before I met her. It’s been the most magical two years.

Q: Finding your soulmate is different for everyone. Tell us what happened to you both, as the first.

A: Well, I don’t think we were technically the first [laughs], but I think we were the first to find each other and document it in some way, or at least reach out on a national level to alert people that this was happening? But, for me, I woke up one morning knowing I wasn’t alone in my mind. I know that sounds terrifying or awful, but it actually felt comforting. I could feel him there, sort of at the side, all day until I was able to hear his thoughts.

W: Yes, I woke up that day feeling like I was warm. Warm sounds like a silly way to describe it, but I could feel her presence and it just made me feel good, like down to the core.

A: I think we went about two days before we could talk to one another. It was a constant inner monologue. I wanted to tell him everything the second I heard his voice.

Q: How did you end up meeting or finding each other?

A: We were quite lucky that we only lived about an hour away from each other. We suggested meeting in Bristol for the day because it meant we’d have things to do, and we could leave whenever we wanted if it went badly. He waited for me at the train station and when I saw him by the platform it felt like seeing the sun for the first time.

W: I was quite nervous meeting her because already I knew that I was in quite deep. To be honest, I wasn’t even thinking about if I’d find her attractive because I already knew I would. Everything about her felt right, and when she came off the platform it was like having my breath stolen from me but paradoxically, I could breathe easier knowing she was there and she was mine.

Q: Had you been in a relationship during your time discovering one another?

W: No, and I think again we were lucky in that regard. We’ve all heard stories about people already being married, engaged, or in serious relationships learning that they aren’t soulmates. We were both single and I think that’s why we were able to surrender to the magic of it.

A: I don’t know how we would have handled it had we already been committed to other people. The pull towards him is irresistible and I have great respect for those who are going through that tough situation right now.

[…]

THE SCIENCE OF SOULMATES

Natasha Waters - Edited for Metro UK by Miles Kuyer

Before we begin, it is critical that some discussion on the historical context regarding the Era Shift is initiated as to better understand the complexities arising within the studies of Soul Searching, and the concept of the soulmate bonding itself. Furthermore, I would like to point out that this paper exists only as a method of summarising and categorizing what is known, confirmed, and defined in Soul Searching. New discoveries are being made daily given the tumultuous and varying nature of the science, and so I make no attempt to tangentially comment on, or speak to, what may still be considered hypothetical or theory as these are wholly outside of my qualifications. While there is little progress in the study of how soulmate bonding came into fruition (i.e. the direct connection between ion proportion and pheromone detection), there are many things within scientific circles considered to be true and founded, and my hope is to present these to the public to act as a definitive guide on the subject.

In July of 2010, two separate sunspots were discovered on the Sun’s photosphere, each with a diameter of approximately 75,000km in what was eventually discerned to be opposite magnetic polarity. Each spot traveled at the same velocity and propulsion for two days before converging on the photosphere as one critical mass event with a spot diameter of 160,000km. While it is normal for sunspots of this size to endure for a timeframe that varies between two to seven days, this spot endured for three weeks before resulting in a coronal loop. This became the first of many small solar flares across a six month period.

In September of 2010, two other sunspots were discovered in the exact same positions, however these only had diameters of 50,000km. They followed the same trajectory before converging into a single spot with a diameter of 110,000km. The single spot endured for one week before resulting in yet another coronal loop.

In March of 2011, a coronal mass ejection of 1 × 10^25 joules was released in the position where the two sunspots had converged and decayed. This coronal mass ejection resulted in possibly the largest solar flare we had seen in three decades and reached Earth’s atmosphere in the early hours of March 27th.

Four days later, the first soulmate couple was reported on American local broadcast station Channel 5 in the state of Maryland.

Scientific circles have been able to connect the events of the solar flare to the discovery of soul mate bonding, and Soul Searching, due to the processes through which the electrons and ions were able to restructure neurological responses within the human brain. Through various methods of MRI and X-Ray technologies, we are able to state with absolute certainty that the amygdala has seemingly adapted to respond to pheromone triggers across long distances.

While it is still difficult to accurately discern which other parts of the brain have been affected, as the case study for this issue could undoubtedly be humanity itself - especially with each soul bond differing from case to case - there is confidence that the Reticular Activation System, Temporal lobes, and Limbic systems have all evolved or adapted since the solar flare of 2011.

[…]

HE STOLE HER CAR AFTER SHE LEFT HIM FOR HER SOUL MATE

[…]

Tune in TONIGHT on Channel 4 to watch The Bond, the latest reality show from the makers -

[…]

Two years after the Era Shift, many adults are still trying to adapt to the ways in which their soul bond will take effect. Not least of which are a group of individuals from Manchester who have come together as a support group after the loss of major senses.

‘I thought I was terminally ill,’ says Catherine Fisher, 30. ‘You really can’t imagine what it’s like to wake up in the morning and suddenly…everything is so grey. I’m still not used to it, really. My memories are all in colour, and I have pictures of events that I know are in colour but I can’t see them that way.’

Within the group, there are many, underlying feelings regarding the concept of the soul mate as a whole.

‘We thought it was supposed to be for the betterment of humanity, you know?’ says Daniel Goddard, 36. ‘I was married to a woman I really did love and we have a beautiful daughter, but how do you tell her mommy and daddy aren’t meant to be together? And how do you explain to your wife that you love her, but it’s not enough? And how can you tell me it’s ok I can’t hear music until I meet the person I’m supposed to be with? I know people have it worse off, really I do, but it’s sh**.’

You shut the paper with a huff and rest your head against the wall of the tube carriage, turning the volume of your music up to drown out the roar. Once again, no Sudoku puzzles. The usual page overrun by redundant soul bond news.

Two years on and still the Era Shift seemed to consume the media, the public, the world. As if this was the only thing to care about. As if love was the only newsworthy event because the lack of choice suddenly made it exciting or mysterious. People falling in and out of love made the front page just as often as a world leader or the start of a new war, and both topics make you feel uneasy and uncomfortable in equal measures.

Love has become an irresistible force and consequently, the heart is now an immovable object. Logically, neither can truly exist. Logically, a love like this should be impossible. Choice of partner has been eradicated, replaced instead with a forced paradox of biblical proportions and you can’t find it in your heart to be pleased.

Some days, admittedly, you feel you may be too ungrateful or scornful. You’ve heard the stories of those who’ve lost colour vision, the ability to hear music, the doom clock on the arm that is constantly counting down, and you know, in some way, you’ve been blessed. Ever since the flare, you’ve felt no discernible or ominous change. Your body and your mind have belonged completely to you, always, never intruded on by someone else’s thoughts or feelings and for this you are thankful.

But you feel the same. Unchanged and unmoved, you’ve yet to feel any sort of connection to humanity beyond the basic framework of how things worked before, and you almost feel as though you are the only one who’s been left behind.

You think you’re supposed to feel part of a grand design. Perhaps, you should feel an anxious sort of excitement that washes over you at whim, whenever you think about prospect or opportunity or fate. Instead, you feel nothing but a tepid neutrality that leaves you feeling bored and, truthfully, bitterly disinterested.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sensation of being watched…admired. The hairs on your arms start to rise in knowledge and slight discomfort, and you release a quiet sigh.

You remember when tube journeys were an anonymous, rather stoic affair. Not long ago, you felt like you could fade into the sea of faces in a tube carriage, enjoying the comfortable silence that came with the ride. Now, even with your eyes closed, you can feel eyes scanning your face, searching for some kind of trigger or shock that says she’s the one. Two years ago, this kind of scrutiny would have been impolite and in poor etiquette. Lately, you’ve grown used to it and occasionally welcome it. You’re starting feel comfortable in the disappointment and distraction, sometimes luxuriating in gladness that others are just as lost as you.

As the train comes to a halt, you open your eyes and stand to depart. It’s now that you see who was looking at you, studying you with a quizzical and fascinated stare. You smile brightly, though you know this will have little result. He’s handsome, handsome in all the right ways with broad shoulders and long fingers - a musician with kind eyes, you think, and you know you’d call him your type. He smiles back, but it’s sad - for both you and him.

In another life, you’d call this a meet cute. In another life, maybe you would have slipped him your number. Today, you are strangers and today you are not soulmates, neither of you belonging to the other for any substantial amount of time. And while he will forget you, moving on to the next pretty face to find the right curves and teeth and hair, you will remember him only because he was wrong, a mistake you could have made. And you know that you would have picked him, picked him and relished the disaster of it, had you only been given the chance.

Hesitantly, you depart the train as your heart says goodbye to a man who could have been yours, in another life.

The walk to the pub from Angel station is quick, drenched in uncharacteristic sunshine and tucked away from the busy high street. It helps you recenter yourself, finding joy in the smallness and simplicity of things. Life continues on around you and in the heart of the city, you almost feel as though nothing has changed. There’s comfort here, in the obscurity of city streets and you relish the sensation of being alone with yourself.

When you arrive, Kate is already waiting for you in a corner booth near the back, and she waves at you with an awkward enthusiasm, childlike in its nature. She’s radiating joy, it’s brimming out and over from her smile and into the room, and you’re blinded on impact; she’s even ordered you a cider.

Immediately, you’re wary.

‘Hiya,’ you say, shrugging your bag off and onto the cushion between you and the wall. ‘What’s all this about, then?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, airily. ‘Can’t I buy you drink?’

‘Kate, you’ve literally never bought me a drink unless it was my birthday.’

She looks down at her own glass, smiling with a warm sort of shyness you haven’t seen since you first met her. It’s unlike her to be so reserved or bashful. Usually, she’s rather frank, even to the point of sometimes catching you off guard with her seemingly absent sense of tact. This is unlike her. She has something she wants to tell you, but she’s afraid of your reaction. She’s afraid of you.

‘I have some news,’ she begins, lightly.

‘Of course you do,’ you say, softly, trying to ease her into the conversation. ‘What’s so important it couldn’t wait until after my shift?’

‘I bonded last night.’

‘Oh…’

Words live in your mind and die on your tongue, dissolving before you can birth them into the atmosphere. A slight chill has wandered down your spine, settling in your bones and dropping your stomach with disappointment. For a whole minute, you forget that your surprised sigh is the only sound you’ve made.

‘Wow, that’s incredible!’ You hope this exclamation sounds excited; you’re sure that it doesn’t.

‘You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic,’ she laughs.

Anyone else, and you know they would have been upset at your reaction. Bonding is meant to be treated like engagement announcements of the past, and your lukewarm response would be considered hurtful and rude. But Kate knows you, knows everything about you down to your core, and she already expected this from you.

‘No I am, really!’ you backtrack with a laugh. ‘I just…you were like, the one friend, you know? We had the shit end of things. And now I’ve got no one to complain to.’

You’re trying to keep the mood light, lacing your tone with a playfulness you think might have been found on single women before the flare.

As usual, she cuts your words down to the heart of your sentiments.

‘You have a soulmate,’ she presses. ‘I know you do.’

This really isn’t what you wanted, changing her announcement into a debate about you and your seemingly absent soul bond. Truthfully, you’re not in the mood to discuss all the ways you seem to be excluded from a newfound sense of completeness, so you change the subject to something that interests you more.

‘Whatever,’ you say, dismissively. ‘Let me see the clock.’

Resting her right arm on the table with an awed expression, you lean forward to admire the purple-white numbers just below her skin.

23:04:16:17:04:22

Twenty-three years, four months, sixteen days, seventeen hours, four minutes, and twenty-two seconds. That’s how long it took her to find her soulmate.

Unlike many people who were fortunate enough to have a clock that counts down to finding their soulmate, Kate had received a clock that tracked how long it would take. You both found this to be one of the least helpful gifts of the solar flare, and, while it isn’t a major sensory loss, for a time you both considered this to be one of the most traumatizing.

The morning she woke up and discovered a clock beneath her skin was the first time you ever heard her cry. She’d called in a panic, her breaths falling in quick, shallow succession as her words became mangled in her sobs. Initially, she thought she had been dreaming, but the burn along her flesh was far to tangible to be fiction of the mind. Then, she thought it was a tattoo and, for a brief moment, she felt comforted. But soon, she realized she hadn’t been out the night before and, probably most horrifying of all, the numbers were moving.

They were counting, upwards and towards something, and for days all she did was watch the clock. She’d skipped classes, sat in her bathtub and watched the way the numbers made the water drops glow. After about a week of trying to figure out what it could possibly be counting to, she threatened to cut the numbers out with a kitchen knife. Screaming over the phone, she said they were driving her crazy, that the numbers haunted her even behind her eyes. She was trapped and consumed by time, and if this was what it took to find true love then she didn’t want it at all.

This was her lowest point, her lowest, darkest point, and it’s difficult to have this memory, so visceral and clear in your mind, as you watch her smile at the thing she once so deeply hated.

In the grand scheme of things, you find this to be an incredibly short period of time: to change your mind about the clock, to change your mind about your soulmate - to find your soulmate at all. It’s all happened so fast, and you’re starting to feel left behind.

Shaking your head to clear your head, you lean back and take a large drink of cider. ‘So, tell me how it happened.’

‘It was in Covent Garden actually.’

Your laugh comes out as an unsurprised bark, accidental in the magnitude of its volume. Covent Garden is her favourite part of London. This story almost sounds romanticized and predictable. ‘Of course it was.’

‘Ha ha,’ she mocks. ‘He was actually coming out of Whittard’s as I was going down to watch the string quartet, and when I saw him it was…it was like seeing stars.’

‘Stars are just lights in the sky,’ you casually remark with a shrug. ‘They aren’t really that special.’

‘I don’t mean like a standard city night sky,’ she retorts with a roll of her eyes. ‘I mean…imagine whole galaxies blooming in front of you.’

Eyes wide at this statement, you almost choke on your drink. ‘Oh, so suddenly you’re a poet?’

‘Maybe I am, now!’ she laughs.

‘So when are you seeing him?’

Her response is terribly quick.

‘Tonight actually.’

Now you do choke on your drink. ‘To-tonight? That’s so soon.’

‘I know,’ she giggles. ‘But within minutes I just wanted to do absolutely everything with him. Like, even right now I’m anxious being away from him.’

Everything about this sounds like it’s moving impossibly fast. There’s no courting, no collection of texts to prelude an actual date, no time to actually get to know one another. Perhaps because you’re the only one without the tension and anticipation of emotional connection, it makes you terribly nervous.

‘Please be careful,’ you say, seriously.

‘He’s my soulmate, not a stranger,’ she sighs.

‘I mean he kind of is.’ Your voice is colder than you intended, so you soften yourself before continuing. ‘You’ve known him, what, twenty-four hours and you’re already in this deep?’

She narrows her eyes at you, and you can feel her frankness before she even opens her mouth.

‘You know,’ she says, voice warm but stern. ‘Not long ago we would have considered this standard excitement over a cute guy. I feel like you think it’s different now because we just know we’re meant to be together.’

‘I’d still be telling you to be careful,’ you reply. ‘Especially if he was just some guy and not your soulmate.’

She takes a long sip of her drink and furrows her brow. ‘Yeah, but he is my soulmate, so I don’t think he’s going to hurt me.’

‘I just have to say it, okay?’ It almost sounds like a plea, and perhaps it is.

Her features relax into an expression of gentle understanding, her lips pulled into a sympathetic smile. Today is not the day for arguing.

‘Sometimes I don’t know why you’re so hard on the soulmate thing,’ she says, changing the subject. ‘You know, considering your parents.’

After the Era Shift, most marriages began to dissolve and shatter as nearly everyone had somehow wound up with the wrong partner. There really wasn’t a single person you knew whose family wasn’t broken because of this, except your own. Somehow, when your parents woke up affected by the solar flare, they faced each other in bed and found The One, the one they had shared a bed with for 35 years. They’d spent the morning laughing, touching, and rediscovering each other, the bond only magnifying their love for one another. This was how it was meant to be, you thought, an awakening and discovery of what was already there. It rarely worked out this way.

‘They were the minority,’ you clarify. ‘And their fate really has nothing to do with mine, you know? They had each other. You have a soulmate. I’m not even sure what I have.’

Kate sips her drink and regards you with a cool stare. She knows there’s more you want to say, and you know she’s already slightly exasperated with you. None of this is new. It’s a discussion you’ve had with her, and many of your other friends, for the past two years and you keep coming back to it like a crutch. You don’t really feel passionate about love, because you’ve been excluded from it for so long. Nor are you passionate about people, but you feel very passionately about free will and you can’t help but feel like it’s been taken from you.

‘Love is complicated,’ you concede. ‘It’s so complex and difficult, and people are always making promises to each other they can barely keep -’

‘That’s why soulmates are a thing now,’ she interjects, smoothly.

‘Okay, but it tripled divorce rates because suddenly these people weren’t meant to be together.’

‘There’s every chance those marriages would have failed along the way, regardless.’ She tries to say it as gently as she can, but it still comes out a little bit callous.

‘Yeah, but not all of them,’ you say, voice rising. ‘Those people entered into a marriage because they loved each other, and some of them would have worked through their issues or weathered that storm because they chose to. That to me is more beautiful than just knowing things are going to be ok because some kind of fate tells you it’s going to be.’

‘I get that, really I do,’ she asserts in hushed tones, trying to coax you back down. ‘But I don’t think you’re counting the fact that you’ll want to choose your soulmate. At every turn, you’ll want to choose them. And no one is saying the problems are gone. You can’t have a relationship that never, ever has an argument, but it makes it easier to forgive.’

‘You’ve literally known yours for a day and you’re already lecturing me,’ you groan, though you can’t seem to hide your laughter.

‘It comes from a place of love,’ she says dryly, reaching out to touch your hand.

You regard each other in silence for a long while, and mentally you’re already preparing for yet another loss. Soon, her time will be entirely taken up with her soulmate. If you do spend time together, it will include a person who effectively turns you into the third-wheel of a nine year friendship. It pains you to see things this way, but you’ve lived through it enough to know this is how it starts and, though you are aware of it, you’re never quite prepared for how it ends. Several of your friends and family have coupled off, their days spent in a marital bliss unlike anything you’d ever witnessed. You know that Kate will always be your friend, but you know, deep down, things will never feel like this again.

Pensive and just a little bit sad, you glance at the clock on your phone and begrudgingly start to gather your things.

‘I’ve got to head to the shop,’ you say, coming to stand and downing the last of your cider. ‘Tell me how everything goes, yeah?’

‘Will do,’ she replies, standing with you to offer you a hug.

Her embrace is warm and comforting, connected in a way you know you will soon miss. Pulling away from it is almost painful, but you give her a kiss on the cheek and tell her that everything is going to be just fine. You will be just fine.

The walk to the record shop is short and what would have been a peaceful stroll is now consumed with thoughts of Kate’s bond. You don’t like to consider yourself envious, you don’t envy her clock and you don’t really envy the fact that she’s found her soulmate, but you think you envy her ability to surrender into the dream of it all. She makes it sound and feel easy, makes it sound like something beautiful and wondrous. Sometimes you think with your guard so high and impenetrable, it’s no wonder you haven’t felt any sort of change.

Pushing open the door to Flashback Records, you’re relieved to see your favourite coworker standing behind the counter cleaning a record. You don’t often get to work with him, seeing as the market for second hand records is rather small. There’s been a slight influx of customers over the years, the advent of soul bonding seeming to make people nostalgic for the romance of tangible, physical music played from a turntable. Still, business is never busy enough to require more than one person on the till.

‘How long are you here?’ you ask, sliding behind him to get to the employees only closet.

‘Until about half-six,’ comes his reply, though he doesn’t both to look up from the record he’s cleaning. His blonde hair has fallen into his eyes, and he’s so focused on his task he doesn’t both to brush it away.

‘Nice. Looks like you’re stuck with me for three hours,’ you tease, nudging him with your hip.

‘Don’t!’ he hisses. ‘You’ll make my hand slip and scratch it.’

Rolling your eyes, you start to clock in on the till computer but you briefly become distracted. On the turntable in the back of the store, Chris has chosen to play something that sounds vaguely familiar to you. You know you’ve heard it before, perhaps with a different guitar effect or voice, but you know that you’ve heard it and you know that, at some point, it meant something very dear to you.

Part of this doesn’t feel like a memory that belongs to you, but you’re fond of the song and the way it tells a story. All at once, you think you’ve figured it out.

‘Hey, Chris, wasn’t this in Pulp Fiction?’ you ask, frozen in place at the counter.

Even as you suggest it, it feels wrong. You know it was used in the film, you’re sure of it, but this doesn’t feel like the question you want to be asking or should be asking. The song feels heavier than a soundtrack, heavier than a memory of cinema or cult fan-boy connection.

‘This is Neil Diamond,’ he snorts. ‘How do you not know this song?’

‘I know the song,’ you say quickly, frustrated. ‘Can you just answer my question.’

‘This is the original version,’ he explains, though he doesn’t sound terribly interested. ‘Urge Overkill did a cover of it that was used in Pulp Fiction.’

‘Where’s the sleeve?’ you demand.

He nods in the direction of the end of the counter, and you eagerly reach for the album sleeve. With it in your hands, you get the passing sensation of slipping, like you’ve held this exact item in your hands before, or heard this precise version or sang it to someone important. You know that you haven’t, and think maybe what you’re experiencing is a prosthetic sort of nostalgia, a nostalgia brought on by a wish for a life you could have lived.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep inhale of breath, you center yourself and, as quickly as it came, the moment passes. You decide then that you need this song in some way, need it to be close to you always, so you pull out your phone and add the album to your Spotify. Truthfully, you don’t think anything has ever been as important as this song is, right here, right now.

It’s important that you have this song with you, tonight and for every tomorrow. Important that you make it yours.

#chanyeol x reader #exo soulmate au #kpoptrashtag #exo scenarios #soulmate!au #exo fanfiction #exo ff #exo au #exo soulmate #park chanyeol fic #park chanyeol x reader #park chanyeol #exo fluff #exo angst #park chanyeol fluff #park chanyeol angst

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iwillbeinmynest · 8 years

Text

An Owed Debt - Bucky x May(oc) Chapter 2

Author’s notes: Well enough of you seemed to like it that I guess this is a thing. lol :) Thank you to those of you who sent me some encouragement on this!

Notes/Warnings: Mentions of death and dead parents, Use of knives and guns.

”There’s no food in here!”

May’s annoyed voice woke Bucky from his nap and he grumbled. Why? Why won’t anyone let him sleep? He checked the clock again. 9:46 am. Ugh. Bucky struggled to untangle himself from his sheet and he huffed as he finally got out of bed.

He shuffled into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame with crossed arms. “There’s plenty of food here.” He grumbled. This had to be the worst idea Steve has ever had.

“Ramen noodle and a few plums don’t exactly equivalent a healthy meal.” She sassed from her spot on the other side of the room.

The tension between them matched that of the moment before the fight at the OK Corral.

“I’ll go do some shopping.” May finally broke and brushed past him to grab her shoes form her room.

“No. I can do it.” Bucky huffed, feeling obligated as the oldest person in the house. “Just tell me what you want.”

“No, seriously,” She said as she reappeared from her room. Her shoes were on and she had her purse slung over her shoulder. “I’m have to get out of here for a while anyways, I might as well go. Besides, I can’t listen to you talk to yourself any more.”

Bucky’s head jerked to the side. What was she talking about? He was in his room sleeping. Did he talk in his sleep? Bucky dismissed her comment and grabbed his wallet from the counter. “Well, here,” He handed her some cash. “At least let me give you some money.”

She grabbed the folded bills and nodded. “You want anything special?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m easy. Just...call me if you need anything. Do you, uh, have my number?” He asked out of duty. Heaven forbid she go missing after being at his house for only a few hours.

May rolled her eyes. “Yes, I have your number but I can handle myself.” She pulled out her headphones and plugged into her phone, drowning herself in heavy beats. She was out the door in an instant and Bucky huffed and ran both of his hands through his hair.

“She’s nothing like you, Monty.” Bucky spoke to the memory of his friend.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky woke, for the third time that day, to a new and hearty smell. He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep again and when he looked at the clock it was six forty-five in the evening. He ripped the sheet off of his legs and decided to grab a shower before heading out of his room for the night.

When he emerged from his room he was hit with the a smell he hadn’t known in years and he quickly walked into the kitchen to inspect the aroma. There was a new pot? No, it was sitting on the counter, not the stove. He opened the lid and the scent filled his nostrils with the steam that rose from the contents inside.

“What is this?” Bucky shouted to May who was finishing her bowl of food on the couch. “And what’s in it?”

“It’s a crock pot.” Bucky could practically hear May rolling her eyes from the other room. “And it’s a roast. Beef, potatoes, carrot, celery, onions and seasonings.”

“You bought a new pot and you made this?” He asked shocked.

“You were lacking in the kitchenware department and It practically cooks itself, Mr. Barnes. I’m not an idiot, I can cook more than microwave dinners.” She walked into the kitchen to rinse out her bowl.

“Don’t call me Mr. Barnes again or I’ll kick you out. It’s Bucky. And I don’t think you’re an idiot I just...I don’t even know how this thing works. I was surprised is all.” He said with a scratch of his head. He inspected the crock pot again and May chuckled.

“You’re serious aren’t you?” She said with a raised eye brow. “Pops gave the impression you could do anything.”

“Pops? You mean Monty?” Bucky asked as he grabbed a bowl and began picking at the fall apart meat.

“Yeah,” May nodded and walked back to the couch. “I didn’t know him really, that’s just what we called him.”

Bucky scooped up some of the vegetables and broth and poured it into his bowl. “If you didn’t know him how can you say he gave you an impression of me?” He walked into the living room and sat in a chair by the window.

“My mom talked about him a lot.” She confessed with a sigh. “She told me the stories he told her. She adored Steve from the way she retold Pops’ stories.”

Bucky nodded as he forked his first bite. “He’s a good guy. Holy...” Bucky scrambled to find a more appropriate word. “Christmas. This is amazing.” He ogled at the food in his bowl.

“It’s just a roast.”

“Yeah, but... Man, I haven’t had food this good since my mom-” Bucky stopped at the foggy memory and shook his head, ignoring the thought. “This is the best meal I’ve had in years.”

May couldn’t repress the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“She knew what she was doing.” Bucky said with a grin.

May’s eyes watered and she jumped up from the couch and hurried towards her room.

Bucky set his bowl down with a clank and followed her. “May, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Its fine.” She called over her shoulder before slamming her door in his face.

“May-”

“I’m fine. Just please go away.” She said from the other side of the door.

Bucky clenched his jaw and huffed. How were they ever going to get along? Bucky grabbed a black tactical bag from his closet and hauled it into the living room. He dropped it by the couch and sat back in his chair to finish the mouth-watering meal May had prepared. If nothing else at least he may get some home cooked meals out of this. That was a crappy thing to think after just bringing up her dead mother.

Bucky ate quickly and then prepped for his evening routine. He moved all of the furniture against the walls and laid out a black mat int the middle of the room. He pulled out two knives from his bag and began his offensive knife drills. Swing. Block. Stab. Repeat. He fought against nothing for an hour before switching weapons. He pulled out his go-to handgun and dropped the mag. He made sure the chamber was empty and then began dry-firing at random objects in the room, the T.V., the lamp, the rocking chair.

He twisted to aim at the crock pot int the kitchen and raised the gun immediately, pointing the barrel at the ceiling in surrender.

May’s breath hitched in her throat when he aimed the gun at her but she was able to breathe when he raised the gun and held his hands up.

“May, I’m so sorry. I di-”

“It’s fine.” She said quickly. “Don’t mind me, I was just coming to clean up dinner. Please, do whatever you need to do.”

“It’s not loaded.” He shared, hoping to ease the tension.

“I hope not.” She let out a dry chuckle. “Really, I get it. Do what you need to do.” She repeated. She turned her back to him and began to put the left-overs away and do the dishes.

Bucky still felt like he owed her more of an apology but he wouldn’t know what else to say. He put the gun away and pulled the free standing dummy out from the hall closet. He set it up in the middle of the mat and leaned against the wall while he wrapped his one flesh hand. He walked back to the dummy with his fists raised but before he made the first hit he glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen.

May was scrubbing at the over sized pot and Bucky could see the chord from her headphones that were attached to her ears. Satisfied that he wasn’t the center of attention he started hitting and kicking at the cushioned sand man. Hit after hit, drill after drill and Bucky never relented. With every blow to the dummy a new memory seemed to try and press its way into the front of his mind but he’d grunt and hit harder forcing the pieces to stay locked away.

May glanced over her shoulder to see Bucky bouncing on his toes winding up for another punch to that worn down kickboxing dummy. Bucky was sweating, causing a trail of sweat to form from his shoulders to his waist. She could practiacally feel the tension in his back. The way he seemed so wound up, so uptight.

“It’s not my fault!” She heard him shout.

May snapped her head forward, turned up her music and resumed washing. Maybe if he thought she didn’t hear her she could finish the dishes before she locked herself in her room. May clenched her jaw and took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. She didn’t want to be here and he didn’t want her here.

She could tell Bucky was trying to be nice, no matter how much he wanted her out. But the things he said when he thought she wasn’t listening, she knew that he wasn’t doing this for her. He wasn’t even doing it for Steve. He was doing this out of duty to her grandfather, a man she never got the chance to meet. She just wanted this to be over.

And most of all, she wanted the voices to go away.

Forever tags:

@heismyhunter @beccaanne814-blog @tatortot2701 @pickledmoon@whimsicalrebirth @marvel-lucy @thisisthelilith @james-bionic-barnes@thedreamingowl @poemwriter98 @kimistry27 @annie-lujan @buckyandsebsinbin @lilasiannerd @holding-on-to-francis

An Owed Debt Tags:

@17sullivan @themistsofmyavalon

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