#but that argument in the restaurant I want to bottle that and cradle it to my chest

[djarinispunk]

Beautiful, Dirty, Rich - Loki Laufeyson Mafia AU

Chapter One - Homecoming

Dark swirls of red echoed around Loki's mind, images of angels and devils dancing in his dreams as he slept. There was a particular image he kept picturing, for a few nights now he had been seeing someone. A girl — If she could even be called that, Loki would've rather called her a succubus with the way she entranced him, only to leave him in a cold sweat when he woke up, gasping and wide eyed in the dark room of his hotel.

He tried to put these dreams to one side, not thinking much of it. He'd suffered nightmares far worse.

It took him a moment to get his bearings, staring out the large window as the sun began to show itself through soft clouds. He then focused on the clock situated to the right of him, he took in the time with a sigh.

It was time to go home.

Feeling a warmth on your skin, your eyes began to flutter under the light, gently pulling you from your slumber. The warmth felt on your skin was from the sun, which shone through the blinds and cast your entire room in a golden glow. You had missed this part of New York, going to sleep with the bustling city as your background noise, the twinkling of lights the last thing you saw as sleep overtook you. Paris had been fun, but deep down, you knew you were always going to be a New Yorker at heart, take that as you will.

Upon checking your phone, you weren't shocked to see that half the day had already passed. This certainly wasn't irregular for you, but the impromptu night of drinking proposed by your best friend certainly hadn't helped the matter of your laziness. You cradled you head in your hands, your headache a harsh reminder of how much you had drank last night.

You didn't regret it, hell, your return to New York was sure to be celebrated. Although, when you took another glance at your phone, noting the four missed calls from your father, you questioned whether the extra bottle of Cîroc really had been worth the hassle.

You sighed before calling him back, it only rang for about four seconds before the stern voice was booming into your already sensitive ears.

"Where the hell are you?"

Warm welcome as always. "Hi Dad."

"We had reservations for twelve. Now, I'll ask again, where the hell are you?" he had his business voice on, the one he used when somebody had fucked up and he had to assert his dominance over them.

Shit. You had completely forgot that you had agreed to meeting for brunch. In all honestly, you had only agreed so you could get off the phone quicker.

"Oh, I'm on my way. There's traffic."

You heard a muffled sigh, you could picture your Dads face, etched with frustration as he ran a hand over his face. All because of you, the eternal disappointment.

"Hurry." was all he said before you were met with silence.

Typical.

You arrived at The Alfheim only a half hour after your lovely phone call with your father. Although as you approached the table, the sight of your father deep in concentration staring at is phone made you just want to turn around and cut your losses. You took a moment to watch him, weighing up your options. Surely telling him you got into a car crash and couldn't make brunch was probably a tad too dramatic...right?

"Sit down." he didn't even look up to address you, you only huffed as you took a seat opposite him. No imaginary car crash for you.

You watched as he pulled a face of discontent before putting his phone down. Looking you over finally, his prior expression only seemed to intensify as he tutted under his breath.

"Traffic my ass. If you were planning on being hungover for this brunch, you should have just not come at all." he reprimanded you like a child, which wasn't too dissimilar to how he always treated you.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but you knew that would only prove his point of you being childish. Instead you chose to nibble at the inside of your cheek, holding back on saying something spiteful, you didn't want a full fledged argument when you had only woken up an hour ago. "I'm not hungover, me and Sophia just went out for a late dinner after the flight. You know, to celebrate me coming home." you couldn't help the sullen look which cast over your face, you had been gone for four months.

To your father, it didn't matter, you were only an inconvenience to him.

"Look at me." anger laced his tone and you begrudgingly lifted your eyes from the table to look at his face. "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot?" he spat.

If you were nibbling at the inside of your cheek earlier, it was fair to say you could taste the familiar metallic pang of blood now. Yes, you did think he was an idiot. You chose to only shake your head at his words

"Did you forget who's card gets charged with all the shit you buy?"

Oh, you guess you should've seen it coming.

"I'm sure you enjoyed the three bottles of tequila with your late lunch, right? I hope Sophia enjoyed wasting my money too." he sniped, only stopping as the waiter approached your table. You were left biting down bitter words of resentment as you drowned out the sounded of your father ordering the two of you food.

God you really were a child, twenty one years old and you couldn't even be trusted to order your own food, let alone buy your own things. You tried to not focus on the thought too much, it was too deep for what was supposed to be a easy brunch.

"We have a function to attend tonight, I expect you to be there." his attention was pulled back towards his phone, though you weren't focused on that, you instead perked up slightly at his words.

"A party?" you asked hopefully. Whilst you were in Paris, you had to admit you had missed the debauchery of Mafia parties. The excessive nature of the gatherings were otherworldly, and everyone always attended looking like they bathed in gold; you being no exception. You wanted a party, an excuse to get all dressed up, it was one of the only things you enjoyed in the life you had.

Christ, you sounded sad.

"Sort of. It's to celebrate the return of Laufey's boy."

"I didn't know he had a son." you picked at your cuticles, not overly interested in the topic. How come he got a welcome home party?

"Yes you do. I've mentioned Loki before." he certainly hadn't, but you knew better than to go against him. So you just nodded. This was the last of the conversation between the two of you, your father now fully consumed in his phone, you took to your own.

Y: You awake?

S: Barely. I ended up at Charlie's. Don't ask.

You rolled your eyes a little at Sophia's text. Charlie being in reference to her on again off again boyfriend who she had conveniently told you she was 'completely over' last night.

Y: Fair enough, do you know about the function tonight?

S: Yep, I don't know if I can handle another night of drinking though

Y: Same, but I feel like we always say that

S: True. Answer your door I'm outside

Y: Oh, I'm with my Dad, the code hasn't changed though, I wont be long

S: Sheesh, bet that's fun

You suppressed a laugh before sneakily snapping a photo of your dad consumed in his phone, his brow furrowed as he stared at the screen. You smirked before sending it to Sophia.

S: You know what they say, a picture says a thousand words

S: And this one says, 'Your dad's a dick'

You let out a quiet laugh, fighting the urge to correct her on her misquoting the phrase.

You caught a glimpse of the waiter and put your phone back in your bag. Thanking the waiter you and your father were launched into a silent meal. You scanned the restaurant, watching as all types of people ate and conversed with each other. You turned back to your salad, pushing it around with a dissatisfied pout.

Welcome home to you.

[theladyofdeath]

After the Fall {2}

Throne of Glass fanfiction.

Warning: mature content throughout.

Centered dominantly around Aelin + Rowan, Lysandra + Aedion. Others make appearances throughout.

Click here for the masterlist.

“You’re not scared?”

Sam laughed, bright and beautiful. “Of course, I am. I’m scared shitless. But...I don’t know. I...we created a baby, A.”

Aelin smiled, despite the gut-wrenching fear that had been tearing at her since the little blue plus sign showed up on that pregnancy test days before.

Sam picked her up and swung her around before laying her back on his bed. Once he was hovering gently over her, Aelin pressed her palm against his stubbled cheek. “You don’t think we’re too young for this?”

“Of course we are,” he replied, simply. But that was Sam. Even the biggest things seemed like the smallest. He always looked at the bright side. Always saw the light at the end of the tunnel. “But it happened. It’s happening. And whatever you decide, I respect that. But, if you want to have this baby, A, I’m going to be the best damn dad in the world. Okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be here, every day, supporting you, supporting our child…”

Aelin reached herself up to kiss him. “I have no doubt that you will be an amazing dad.”

Sam was everything a woman could hope to find in the father of her children.

Although she was only eighteen - shit, she even had months left until graduation, the year had just begun - she felt a steady calmness as she stared into Sam’s deep, brown eyes. “Am I crazy for wanting to keep it?” she asked.

“If you’re crazy, then so am I,” he smiled, pressing his lips to hers.

They were young, completely naive. They had no idea what it would take to become parents.

And Aelin had no idea that she would be forced to do it all alone. 

High school was over. 

Over, done with.

Not that the end of high school had been all that pleasant. She was eight months pregnant at graduation and had Mara two weeks after. The summer had been pleasant enough. Aelin had always been decent at saving up, so Mara was able to have what she needed and Arobynn paid the bills.

But after he died and life became clear for the first time in a long time, Aelin decided that her savings were running low and it was time to find a job. Three months was more than enough time after giving birth. Of course, it meant she could have to find care for Mara while she was working, but she would work that out later.

“The leaves are starting to fall.”

Aelin smiled. She had always loved Autumn. When the leaves changed colors and graced the ground with their presence, Aelin loved nothing more. “It’s beautiful.”

Lysandra agreed.

It was cold enough to feel a chill but warm enough to only need a light coat. Terrasen was breathtaking in the Fall. 

Mara was enjoying it, too. Her brown eyes were wide open beneath the hat that Aelin had forced her to wear. The blanket that Aedion had given her the day she was born, covered in cute pink, blue, and green cartoon wolves, was wrapped around her as she sat snugly inside of her stroller. 

“Hair salon down the street is hiring a front desk girl,” Lysandra said before sipping on her coffee.

Aelin scrunched her nose. “Eh.”

“Okay,” Lysandra said. “How about janitorial work? I know it doesn’t sound like too much fun, but I know the high school is hiring. For full time, the benefits aren’t bad.”

Aelin shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her voice was clipped, frustration settling in. “I’m not qualified for anything. I have zero experience. All of these places will probably want experience. All I have to offer is a high school diploma.”

Lysandra seemed to pick up on the tension and nodded. “So, what are you thinking, then?”

“That we walk until we see a help wanted sign,” Aelin said, although not too excitedly. “And someone will give me the time of day with a job that has great pay and fantastic benefits without wanting experience.” 

Lysandra had an urge to tell her that it was a shitty plan, but she held her tongue.

So they walked.

And after an hour passed, and Aelin had ignored every help wanted sign that they passed, Lysandra suggested that they stop for lunch.

Mara was in agreement.

They entered a small restaurant and bar and sat in a booth next to a window that looked onto the main strip. Aelin cradled Mara and gave her a bottle while Lysandra read to her off the menu. After agreeing to split a pizza, Aelin sighed. 

“None of the places we passed that are hiring are right for me.”

“Can we really  be picky?” Lysandra mumbled.

Aelin shot her a look. “I’m not being picky. I just don’t want another shitty job.”

“Shitty job?”

Both girls looked up from their subtle argument to find Dorian Havilliard giving them both a sly grin.

Aelin laughed, shaking her head. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

They had gone to high school together, had been in the same circle, but he had graduated the year before and fell out of touch after the death of his father.

“I work here,” he said, smiling, eyeing Mara as she fell asleep in her mother’s arms. “This must be your little one.” 

“Mara Galathynius Cortland,” Aelin said, proudly.

Dorians smile faltered. “I heard about Sam. I saw you at the funeral, but I didn’t want to bother-“

“It’s okay,” Aelin interrupted, because she didn’t want to get into it. “Anyway, how have you been? Still with Manon?”

Dorian’s smile had returned. “Yeah. Three years.”

Aelin felt a sudden pang of jealousy, but quickly brushed it away. “That’s awesome.”

“Hello?” Lysandra sang. “I’m here too.”

Dorian chuckled. “Always a pleasure.”

Lysandra grinned. “Likewise. So, what is it you do here?”

“Oh, I serve while I go to school,” he said. “Usually on nights and weekends, but I’m filling in this afternoon.”

“Are you hiring?” Lysandra asked. “A is in desperate need of employment.”

Lysandra grunted as Aelin kicked her in the shin under the table.

“A server just quit, actually,” Dorian said. “So, yes. I can get you an application-“

“No, that’s okay-“

“She’d love one,” Lysandra smiled. 

“But I’d have to be here on nights and weekends,” Aelin said. “Who would watch-“

“Me,” Lysandra said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I work weekday mornings, it’s perfect. You wouldn’t have to pay for daycare like you would if you got a day job.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” Aelin said. Meanwhile, Dorian stayed quiet and watched the two sisters go back and forth.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Lysandra leaned against the table, smiling softly at Mara. “That’s my niece. And you're my sister. We’re family. There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

Aelin looked unsure, but before either of them could say anything more, Dorian left and came back, a piece of paper in hand.

“At least fill it out,” he said, gently, as he put the application in front of her.

Aelin promised to think about it, just as their pizza arrived.

. . . . . 

“Havilliard, huh?” Aedion grinned. “And Blackbeak still has a hold on him.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “They’re good together.”

“So are we,” he shot back.

Lysandra scoffed.

Aelin was grinning, though, enjoying the usual banter between the two. 

They were finishing going through all of Arobynns stuff. They had tossed the stuff that was worthless, and sold what little did have worth. The house was paid off, and left to them, so it was officially going on the market.

“I can’t wait to move out of here,” Aelin said, once the others had quieted down.

Lysandra nodded. “Same. This place just feels evil.”

Aedion said nothing, his smile gone. “You know, you two could stay with me until your apartment is ready.”

He had offered as much multiple times, but Lysandra wouldn't have it. Besides, it was a one bedroom which means the three of them would be in the living room. Aelin didn’t want to give Aedion that burden.

“They said they’d have it ready this week,” Aelin smiled. “We should be able to move in by Friday.”

Aedion nodded, although she could still sense his unease. He knew what had gone on within those walls, knew the horrors in which the girls had endured.

“You’re going to apply for that job though, right?” Aedion asked. “I can help with Mara, too, you know.”

Aelin did know. She also knew that being absent for Mara to go to work was a necessity, even though she wished it wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” she sighed, at last. “I am.”

Lysandra beamed. “Good!”

Aelin shot her a look.

Aedion looked back and forth between his cousin and the love of his life. “I sense tension. Why do I sense tension?”

“Aelin thinks she’s too good for waitressing so I had to give her a wake up call,” Lysandra said.

Aelin scoffed. “Not true! I never said I was too good for waitressing.”

“Liar.”

“Am not.”

“You don’t want to wait tables,” Lysandra said, forgetting what she was doing to cross her arms.

“Does anyone want to wait tables?” Aelin said, voice raised. 

“Yes!” Lysandra said. Aedion took a step back. He was in the middle of two women known to have tempers. Not a good place to be. “I’m sure some people love waitressing and are thankful for the job that they have.”

“I never said I wasn’t grateful for the chance,” Aelin snapped. “Obviously I’m thankful for any chance to support Mara.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” Lysandra hissed.

Aelin threw down the photographs she was sorting through and stomped down the hallway, into the back bedroom where Mara was fast asleep.

Lysandra took a deep breath, rubbing her temples. “She’s being ridiculous.”

Aedion said nothing.

Apparently, that wasn’t the response she was wanting, because Lysandra spun around to face him, eyes ablaze. “What? Now you’re choosing not to kiss my ass?”

Aedion stared back. “I don’t know what your deal is, but-”

“What my deal is?” She spat, laughing humorlessly. “I have been going through my dead prick of a father’s shit all day, and you want to know what my deal is?”

Aedion, once again, said nothing. 

“You were tossed around the system, Aedion, which is shit, yeah, but I was adopted and it was supposed to be a blessing but instead turned out to be my own personal hell. Now he’s dead, but it’s like he’s still here, breathing down my neck,” she said, voice having calmed. “I hated Arobynn. I hate being here. I hate looking around, going through this junk, sleeping in my bed like nothing has changed. I still expect to walk out of my room and find him passed out drunk, ass in the air, in the hallway, or the kitchen, or that damn chair.” She gestured to an old, torn up lazyboy in the corner of the den.

When she said nothing else, Aedion took a step forward, and when she didn’t move, he put his arms around her. Both of them stayed silent, but Aedion’s gentle stroking fingers along the middle of her back was comfort enough. Lysandra kept her arms crossed against her chest, but she allowed herself to lean into him. 

After a moment, she cleared her throat. “I’m- I’m going to talk to A.”

Aedion nodded and took a step back.

Lysandra didn’t meet his gaze. She simply turned her back to him and padded down the hallway until she turned the corner.

Aedion watched her until she disappeared.

. . . . . 

Aelin was watching Mara sleep. She would miss these days, when her baby girl was so small. The thought alone had made her feel lighter. The last three months had passed by in the blink of an eye.

This little gift was hers. She had made a tiny, perfect human.

“Hey,” Lysandra said, quietly, from the doorway.

Aelin jumped, then turned. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry.”

Aelin nodded and sat down on the edge of her mattress. Lysandra sat next to her.

“I don’t think I’m too good to be a waitress. I need a job. I realize that. I’m qualified for nothing. I wanted to go to college after high school, but I can’t do that now. You’re right, I can’t be picky. And I’d make great tips.”

Lysandra nodded. “I was too harsh though.”

Mara stirred from her spot in her crib, but didn’t wake.

She looked so much like her father.

“He was supposed to be here with me, helping me raise her,” Aelin began, voice breaking. “I’m so grateful for you, and for Aedion, but Sam was supposed to be the one to help me.”

Tears began to spill down her freckled cheeks, but Lysandra caught them and brushed them away. “I know.” 

They sat there for a moment, Lysandra’s hand on Aelin’s.

“I think we should stay with Aedion,” Lysandra said, and when Aelin gave her a surprised look, she added, quickly, “Just for tonight.”

Aelin nodded, slowly, as if Lysandra had somehow lost her mind. “Okay.” 

. . . . .

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[mariequitecontrarie]

Pistachio

Summary: While secret newlyweds Belle and Leland Gold are on their Saturday hamburger date, Gold’s estranged mother pays an unexpected visit. Rating: T+  Notes: Secret marriage AU in which where Gold's mother is her horrible, extra self and Belle stands up to her on Gold's behalf. Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “We accept the love we think we deserve.” Thanks to @galactic-pirates and @maplesyrupao3 for the help.

On AO3

“Sweetheart, are you sure you don’t want to eat someplace different?” Leland Gold asked as they settled into their usual booth at their usual place.

Lunch at Granny’s Cafe was their Saturday ritual, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Belle grew restless with him and his obsession with routine. His new wife was spunky, bright, and adventurous. He, on the other hand, would be more aptly described as a murky pond. Stagnant, dark, and stuck in his ways.

“It’s Saturday,” Belle replied, as he knew she would. “Do you want to eat somewhere else?”

His thoughts traveled back to the new Italian restaurant they’d spotted on their drive into town and he hesitated. Maybe next week.

“No,” he confessed, shaking his head. He unfolded his napkin and smoothed it across his lap. As long as he was with Belle, he could eat anywhere. Nothing else mattered.

In the eight weeks since they’d met, dated, and decided to marry, today wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if he could make her happy for a lifetime. Their courtship had been short, but he’d known since he first touched her icy fingers in the freezer aisle of the grocery store that Belle French was the perfect woman. To his utter amazement, she told him almost every day how lucky she was to have him for a husband. Yes, he had a brilliant, stunning wife who adored him beyond all reasonable comprehension.

Perhaps his worries were only newlywed jitters. He pushed them aside, declared himself a lucky bastard, and broke a hot biscuit open with his fingers. Since Ruby Lucas had taken over for her grandmother at the beginning of the year, the cafe had started serving complimentary biscuits to every table.

“Granny’s is my favorite. You know that!” Belle closed her menu with a grin and swatted his arm with it, teasing a snorting noise out of him. Reading the menu was a mere formality. They both knew what they were going to order.

“Was that a laugh I heard just now?” Belle asked, her eyes dancing with mirth at the running joke between them. “I’m writing this one down,” she said, pretending to rummage through her purse for paper and a pen.

The corner of his mouth turned up in an indulgent half-smile. “As you wish, my love.”

“Hey, lovebirds.” Ruby Lucas flipped open her order pad and pulled out the sharpened pencil tucked behind her ear. “Usual for you both? Extra pickles for Belle?”

Their usual was hamburgers all the way with fries and iced tea. Ruby knew the double order well after serving it every Saturday since Belle and Gold had met.

Gold nodded. “Thank you, Miss Lucas. I mean, Ruby,” he amended quickly with an embarrassed smile. Although he was new to marriage, he was not new to Storybrooke. After so many years of eating here and calling her Miss Lucas, it was hard to remember to drop the formalities. However, Ruby had not only attended their wedding, but she also happened to be Belle’s closest friend.

Marriage to her best friend made Gold her friend too, Ruby had informed him.

“Like it or not, you’re gonna get used to me, Gold,” Ruby had insisted at the wedding ceremony, then softened her sass by straightening his tie and kissing his cheek.

“How’s Granny enjoying retirement?” Belle asked. Everyone called Ruby’s grandmother Granny whether they’d known her all their lives or had only heard of the no-nonsense widow who’d founded the cafe.

“She’s great. Been into axe-throwing lately, believe it or not.” Ruby rolled her eyes and laughed. “What a hobby, right? I know she’d love for you guys to come for a visit, so I’ll set something up soon?”

“We’d like that, wouldn’t we Belle?” Gold said. His wife was nodding eagerly and he was proud of himself for accepting the unexpected invite with grace. He sat up a little taller in his seat.

“Great! So two burgers and two iced teas, extra lemon slices, and no seeds.” Ruby scribbled a note on her pad. “Should be up in a jiffy.”

“Actually, Rubes...” Belle flipped the menu open again before Ruby walked away. “I’m gonna go chicken parm and white wine. And make it the bottle, please.”

Gold furrowed his brow. Belle didn’t care for wine in general and never during the day. His face must have registered his surprise because she burst out laughing.

“Darling, I’m kidding,” she said. “The usual, please, Ruby.”

“Ruby, please bring us the usual, as well as the chicken parmesan to share. Also a bottle of white wine. The pinot grigio should do nicely with both, I think.” He winked at Belle, delighted by how the smallest concessions made her happy. “It’s Saturday. We should live it up.”

Ruby scribbled on the pad again. “Anything for one of my favorite couples.”

“We live it up all the time, Leland,” Belle said after Ruby left to put their order into the kitchen. “My idea of living it up is being with you.”

He rubbed his fingers together, an absent, nervous gesture he’d acquired sometime back in law school. “I meant doing something spontaneous.” Maybe he should have pushed for them to try the new Italian place after all.

“You planned us a two-month honeymoon in Europe beginning with Paris, my bucket list city,” she said. “That will give us plenty of opportunities to be spontaneous--in public and in private.”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and his face grew hot, his imagination running wild with all the ways they could get into trouble together if his wife had her way. Being arrested by the Paris police for sexy shenanigans at the Eiffel Tower wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

“A proper honeymoon is the least I can do for you,” he countered. “Seeing as we didn’t have a proper wedding.”

“You being you is more than enough for me.” She caught his hand where it rested on the table and brought it to her mouth, placing a quick kiss at the juncture of his thumb and forefinger. “Besides, since when have we done anything the traditional way?”

The gentle reminder made him smile. It was true.

They’d been married in a quiet, candlelit ceremony out in the forest by the old, moss-covered well. Archie Hopper, the town psychiatrist who also happened to be an ordained minister, had officiated and Ruby had been a witness. Two weeks later, word hadn’t made it around town about their nuptials yet and he was secretly glad. They weren’t hiding the wedding or the marriage, but they weren’t publicizing it, either. Love shouldn’t be a spectator sport, Gold reasoned. People would find out in time, and the longer it took, the better. Small and intimate was what they both wanted. Rather, it had been what he wanted and Belle hadn’t argued. Although Belle had claimed to be fine with their quiet wedding, doubts tugged at him. What he knew about women could fit into a teacup, but the grandness of the wedding industry said otherwise. There had been no wedding cake, no reception, no confetti thrown at the blushing bride. Women liked to make a fuss, especially over happy occasions.

Two months ago, he’d met Belle on a Saturday evening in the freezer aisle at the Storybrooke Grocer. Both of them had opened up the ice cream case and put their hands on the last container of pistachio gelato. He could still feel the brush of Belle’s cold fingertips against his like an electric jolt. Awareness sparked in her eyes, an immediate connection forming between them. It was a memory he would never forget.

They tugged the carton back and forth in a playful tug-of-war, falling into a good-natured argument about whose day had been harder and therefore deserved a treat more. Belle, a librarian, argued that she’d completed and turned in two grant applications, and on a weekend. Gold, a shop owner, countered that small businesses worked every weekend. In addition, his shipment of jewelry for his antique shop had been delayed and wouldn’t be on time for an advertised sale.

“Sounds like what we both need is some company,” Gold had suggested in a rare moment of boldness with a woman. They collected their groceries and went back to his house to share the cold, nut-studded confection. Usually, he was terrible at talking to women and even worse at asking them out. With Belle, he never ran out of words to say.

They both loved books, listened to classic rock, and shared a fondness for Candy Crush. Both lived in Storybrooke alone with no family. Belle’s parents were back in Australia where she was from, and she saw them only once every two years. Gold’s father was reliving his teenage years by backpacking through Europe, while his mother lived in a New York City high-rise on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Fiona was too busy running the family commercial real estate business to make time for her son, but that was nothing new.

After talking long into the night on their first evening together, Belle and Gold had fallen asleep on the sofa with Belle’s head on his shoulder and the empty ice cream carton cradled between them. They became inseparable from that day forward. Pistachio gelato, preceded by lunch at Granny’s Cafe in the center of town, became their weekend ritual.

Melting into a life together seemed a natural next step. Six weeks to the day after their impromptu date in the freezer section, he brought Belle to the well at sunset. And in the serene glow of late afternoon light against the backdrop of a brilliant pink sky, he’d asked her to be his wife.

She leaned back in the booth and sipped her iced tea, the same serene look of contentment on her face today as when she’d said yes to his marriage proposal. Sometimes there were blessings like this, he mused. Two lonely people who found love and happiness on a trip to the grocer for a carton of ice cream.

Ruby delivered their food with her usual efficiency and a broad smile. He inhaled the comforting aromas and took a bite of his piping hot hamburger. Delicious as always.

“Mr. Gold,” Belle said with mock sternness, “we talked about the timing of our honeymoon. You had inventory at the shop to finish and I wrapped a writing workshop at the library. Alice is helping at the shop today and now that it’s May, she'll be finishing college for the term. Why doesn’t she run the store while we’re gone?”

He brightened at the suggestion. “Robin Mills might like to help. Give those two kids an excuse to spend some alone time together.”

Belle nodded in eager agreement. She’d been wanting to play matchmaker for Alice and Robin for months. “Think of it, Lee. Paris in the summer. The Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Élysées--there are so many places and landmarks I want to see.”

Her face was wreathed in joy, her travel dreams reflected in her bright blue eyes, and it tugged at his heart to see her so excited. “Anything you want, Mrs. Gold.”

He’d tasted the burger, now it was time to give the chicken parmesan a try. He cut into the juicy meat with gusto, forking it up with a twirl of spaghetti when disaster struck.

“Love, what is it?” Belle asked, her face draining of color. “You look like you’ve seen—”

“My mother.” He dropped the forkful of parmesan and it clattered onto the plate, splattering bits of sauce onto the tabletop.

“Your mother, what?” Belle mopped up the stains with her napkin.

“She’s here.” He gripped his cane with both hands to stop himself from shaking. There she was, wearing her usual sleek black trench coat, breezing through the front door of the cafe like she owned it.

“In Storybrooke?” Belle squeaked.

“At Granny’s.” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Belle had yet to meet his mother and with good reason. Fiona Blackwell was a raging bitch. His preference, if given one, would be to keep her as far away from Belle as possible for the rest of their lives. It seemed he didn’t have that kind of luck.

Belle smoothed back a wayward lock of curly auburn hair and chanced a look toward the door. “Your mother is here right now?”

“Now, and coming this way.” Gold lurched to his feet, grabbing his cane and moving to Belle’s side of the table to stand beside her. He laid a protective hand on her shoulder and braced himself for the oncoming storm. When Fiona paid one of her rare visits, it was always unannounced and always with an agenda. What would it be this time? Must be desperate if she was seeking him out at Granny’s.

Belle tugged on his sleeve and bit her lip. She knew something of his lonely home life, of course, but his mother hadn’t been a major topic of conversation beyond Gold confessing they didn’t have a strong relationship. “What if she doesn’t like me?” Belle murmured, her eyes wide and worried.

“Don’t trouble yourself, my love.” He soothed her with a tender stroke of his fingers against the underside of her face. “She doesn’t like anyone.”

Helpless, that was how he felt. If only he’d had time to warn Belle, to prepare, but his mother’s heels clicked against the floor at record speed. Frankly, he’d never expected her to show up in his town anyway.

“Hello, Malcolm.”

He glared at the woman who’d given birth to him, rendered speechless by her rudeness within seconds of her arrival. According to his birth certificate, he was Malcolm Alexander Leland Gold III, but no one ever called him by his father’s name. It had always been Gold or Leland. Only his mother found calling him Malcolm to be some glorious joke.

When he didn’t respond, Fiona arched a black eyebrow. “I believe the greeting you’re looking for is ‘hello, Mother’.”

“Fiona.” He leaned stiffly into her light hug and air kisses without returning either. “What’s it been? Three years this time?” He shook his head at her supple, glowing skin. Here he was, 42 years old, and his mother appeared to be a solid ten years younger than him, making her look closer to Belle’s age than his. “Must be tough to find a moment to visit between facelifts.”

Annoyance marched across her face to wrinkle her perfect brow and he smirked, satisfied the barb had hit its mark. May as well enjoy getting his digs in while he could. “However did you manage to find me? I don’t think this place even appears on most state maps.”

She sniffed in disdain. “Well, it wasn’t easy. Dove dropped me off at that musty little store of yours and I walked here.” Dove was the chauffeur and the one person from his joyless upbringing that he missed.

“On your own two feet? Surprised you made the two-block hike down Main Street without stopping for a latte.” He sat down next to Belle and patted her knee under the table.

“I’m a New Yorker,” Fiona said archly. “I can handle anything this podunk town throws at me.”

“Not without your Peloton and one of those Mirrors,” he muttered into his iced tea.

“Now, now. Retract your claws, dear. We shouldn’t be arguing here in public in front of this…who is this?” She gave Belle a quizzical look as if finally noticing someone else was there.

Then again, why was he surprised? His mother always did believe she was the center of the universe.

“This is Belle French,” Gold said, his mouth tight at the corners. The moment he introduced her by her maiden name, he realized his mistake. Belle stiffened beside him but she didn’t falter.

“Mrs. Gold, a pleasure to meet you,” Belle said smoothly, offering her hand across the table.

Fiona frowned at Belle’s proffered hand like it was covered in dirt. “Mrs.Gold? Pet, no one’s called me that since the day in court when I took that bastard for every cent I could squeeze.” She tittered at her own cleverness. “The name’s Blackwell. Fiona Blackwell.”

“That’s her fourth ex-husband’s name, sweetheart,” Gold supplied.

His mother did a double-take at the endearment but didn’t comment.

“Mrs. Blackwell, then.” Belle smiled, always willing to give people a chance, even in the face of blatant mockery. Some called it naivete, but Gold knew Belle’s extraordinary patience came from a generous, loving heart. She gestured toward the empty side of the booth. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Charmed, pet.” Fiona tossed her long, dark brown hair and settled into the bench across from them. “But you should really scurry along now. My son and I have things to discuss.” She ran a finger over the Formica tabletop with a distasteful shrug and looked at him. “Unless you have someplace more upscale where we can have a decent meal?”

“Perhaps Granny’s isn’t much to look at,” Belle said, “but I never judge a book by its cover. These are the best burgers in town.” She took a large bite for emphasis, making it clear she had no plans to go anywhere.

“I’m vegetarian.” Fiona exhaled sharply through her nose, regarding their hamburgers and shared chicken with disgust. “This indulgent display of animal fat is most unwelcome.”

Gold ground his back teeth. “Speaking of unwelcome, Belle and I were in the middle of a pleasant lunch. Why don’t you head back to the city, Mother?”

“Oh, dear.” Fiona’s mouth puckered. “I thought perhaps she worked in your little shop. I had no idea this was a date.”

It was a shameless fish for information and he wasn’t allowing it. He squeezed Belle’s hand under the table in a wordless apology.

“There is zero shame in working in Leland’s antique store,” Belle said crisply. She lifted her chin, daring his mother to contradict her. “It’s a charming place filled with treasures. I, however, am a librarian.”

“How quaint to play with books all day for a job,” Fiona said in a saccharine voice. “Can’t be much of a moneymaker, though.”

Gold fisted his free hand under the table, the insinuation that Belle’s profession was a waste of time making him see red. And God forbid anyone would work for the sheer joy of pursuing a passion. His refusal to work in Fiona’s commercial real estate business in favor of  ‘tinkering with his toys’ was a sore point for her. With his mother, all of life came down to dollar signs.

“Belle is brilliant,” he gritted out. “And universally adored. Children wait weeks to join her reading groups and every book she recommends is in immediate demand.”

“I’m sure she’s very talented.” Fiona’s tone was cool and appraising.

“Everything okay over here with my newlyweds?” Ruby rushed over, her arm covered with steaming plates from shoulder to wrist. “Oh! You have a guest,” she said, her alarmed gaze settling on his mother. “I’ll be right with you, ma’am.”

Fiona gasped. “Did that girl just call you newlyweds?”

“That’s right.” Not caring for the attention his mother was drawing, Gold glanced around the restaurant and lowered his voice. “Belle is my wife.”

Although after today, Belle would probably demand a divorce.

His mother picked up his wine glass and quaffed the contents in one gulp.

“God, I needed that.” She set the glass down with a thump and upended the half-full bottle until the glass was filled to the top, then she drained it, too. “You’re married?” she demanded, her voice loud and shrill. “You’re married and you didn’t tell me.”

“What’s to tell?” he shrugged at her wounded expression.

“I’ve never heard of the name French.” Deciding she would get no information from him, Fiona set her shrewd sights on Belle. “Do your parents get out into New York society much? Surely they expect a reception. At the very least an announcement in the Times. ”

“My father is a florist and my mother is in market research,” Belle replied in an even voice. “But they’re back in Australia. No galas at the Met, I’m afraid.”

Fiona leaned back against the back of the banquette looking crestfallen. Her attempts to bait Belle weren’t working, so she turned back to him. “What about Milah? I always thought you and she would--”

“Mother, you are positively delusional.”

Belle crossed her arms. “Excuse me, who is Milah?”

“She was my prom date.” He threw his mother a level look and turned to Belle. “Back in prep school. Last I heard, she married another one of our classmates, Killian Jones. There’s nothing between Milah and me and hasn’t been for a long, long time. I couldn’t even tell you where she is.”

“Back to the point at hand, you’ve yet to explain why you’re here.” He glanced around the cafe again, hating the idea that they were on display. This wasn’t the way he intended to announce his marriage to Belle, in the middle of a crowded restaurant with his estranged mother wailing and rending her garments. However, he refused to give Fiona the satisfaction of more privacy. He had nothing to hide.

“What is it you’re after this time?” He pretended to study his nails. “Money? Surely you haven’t run through my father’s entire estate?”

“Really, Leland.” His mother cast Belle a shriveled sideways glance. “This is a family matter.”

“What do you know of being a family?” he bit out.

From the moment he’d seen her enter the cafe, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t overreact or walk into her traps. Yet her very presence sank beneath his skin and rotted like a disease. “Unless you count the headmasters at the boarding schools you sent me to, I never had a family. Until Belle. She is my family, and anything you have to say can be said in front of her. We have no secrets between us.”

“Fine.” “Fiona pouted, wringing her hands. “I want you to come back to New York, son. I need your help with the business. Lily and Blue have left me and I can’t run things without you. I would make you General Council and we would share control of the firm.”

Lily Kaplan and Marianne “Blue” Azure were his mother’s business partners. Tough, calculating, and smart--the three of them had dominated the Manhattan real estate landscape for the last fifteen years. The only difference was Lily and Blue had scruples, and Gold had known it would only be a matter of time before they tired of his mother’s duplicitousness and insatiable thirst for power.

“Hell will freeze before I ever come to work for you,” he snarled. “I knew you wanted something but I never figured you would stoop to guilting me into returning to the city. To run your company? Utter madness. As I’ve told you on many occasions, I am a simple shop owner.”

“It’s your birthright, son. Your legacy. Everything I’ve created has been for you and someday it will all be yours. If you don’t want my company for yourself, think of your wife.” She turned to Belle, attempting to plead her case. “And now that you have a wife, your future children. You owe them--”

“Love is what I owe them, Mother. Which is far more important than anything money can buy, and more than you were capable of giving me.” He wrapped a protective arm around Belle’s shoulders. “Since I’m well aware you thrive on the possibility of scandal, let me save you the trouble of speculation. Belle is not pregnant, so don’t run off at the mouth telling people that’s why I married her.”  

Panic flashed across Fiona’s face. “If you have no secrets, why are you so worried about our conversation being overheard?” Her look turned craven as she tossed his words back in his face. “Yes, I’ve seen you looking around the cafe like you’re being hunted. Don’t bother to deny it. Are you ashamed of your wife, Leland? Or is she ashamed of you?”

“Enough!” Belle said.

He’d felt her seething beside him while they’d confronted his mother, fierceness mounting with every harsh word, but until this moment he’d never seen her furious. Now her eyes were cold with rage and her lips were pinched. It was satisfying to see that his mother looked cowed, and maybe even a bit afraid.

“The only person who should feel shame here is you, Mrs. Blackwell,” Belle spat. “You have already spoiled our lunch, which has now gone cold. How dare you come here and try to spoil our happiness as well? Leland is a good, kind man and a wonderful husband. I love him, and I don’t care who knows it!”

He was awed by Belle’s courage. Awed and humbled. No one had ever come to his defense like this before. Pride and admiration made his heart swell and he put an encouraging hand on the small of Belle’s back, supporting her while she supported him.

“Despite what little acceptance you’ve shown my husband, he deserves love, and I intend to be the one to give it to him. You’ve missed your chance. There’s nothing here for you now, so please, tuck yourself back into your stretch limousine and return to where you came from. Leland Gold is too good for you.”

He wasn’t sure how long his mother sat there with her mouth open before she gathered her belongings and swept out the door in silent fury.

xoxo

Dinner that evening was a tense, pensive affair.

Too tired to attempt cooking after the emotional acrobatics of lunch with Gold’s mother, Belle had ordered pizza for early delivery. She wanted to eat and go to sleep--anything to bring this awful day to an end. There was a fresh carton of pistachio gelato in the freezer, the usual capstone to their Saturday evenings, but she doubted it would come out tonight.

After they ate, Belle curled up on the living room sofa under a blanket, the remnants of their makeshift dinner still littering the coffee table. She’d been trying to lose herself in a re-reading of Persuasion , but when she felt Gold hovering in the doorway she realized she’d read the same page five times. Abandoning the effort, she tossed the book on top of the pizza box and turned.

Having the mother-in-law from hell was reason enough to feel sorry for herself, but she was far more concerned about Gold. He looked battle-weary and drawn from his mother’s unexpected visit. Belle had lost count of the number of times he’d apologized.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

There it was again.

“No more!” she demanded, harsher than she intended. She threw off the blanket and went to him, lifting her hands to cradle his haggard face. “I won’t listen to you apologize for her behavior anymore.”

“The way she treated you was unforgivable.” His shoulders were slumped in defeat and he shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite distill what had happened.

“Come and sit, Lee.” She took his hand and led him to the sofa. She laid her head against his chest and tucked the blanket around them both. “She did what bullies do, love. She bullied us. But you are the one who has been hurt by her time and again all these years, so please stop worrying about me. I’m fine.”

It was no wonder that when they’d swapped stories about their upbringings, he’d been so tight-lipped about his mother. Her parents lived far from her now, all the way across the world, and she missed them. But his parents had been absent even in childhood, too busy building a legacy of money and power to give their son what he needed most--love and attention.  

“We didn’t finish lunch. You barely touched your dinner.” Gold nodded toward the coffee table at the plate still holding her untouched pizza. “If you’re not upset about her, what is it? I can tell something’s bothering you. Is it me?”

Unsure of how to answer, Belle tucked her face into the nook between his neck and shoulder and closed her eyes. His cool, masculine scent gave her the most wonderful butterflies in her stomach and she sighed against his warm throat. Who wouldn’t want to feel this way every moment of every day? When they met a couple of months ago, she could hardly believe her good fortune--a handsome, charming, considerate man showed interest in her. Not only in her pretty face but in her ideas, what she had to say. In her experience, boyfriends were interested only in droning on about themselves and taking her to bed. Leland was her whole world, but she’d somehow failed to make him recognize how much she loved him.

When he’d proposed the idea of a quiet wedding, she’d readily agreed. He loathed gossip and she wanted to honor his wishes. Now she felt she’d allowed the secrecy to go too far. The presents, the fancy food, and the floor-length gown were pretty, empty nothings. Only Leland mattered. But a wedding should be an announcement, a celebration of mutual commitment.

After the way he’d behaved at the cafe earlier, though, whispering and craning his neck to see who might be watching and listening, she feared his mother’s barbs had hit too close to the truth.

Did Gold believe she was ashamed of him?

“Belle,” he said again, pulling back from their embrace to search her face. “Is it me? Am I the problem?”

“Do you want it to be you?” she asked in a careful, quiet voice.

“What?” His caramel eyes darkened with despair. “No. I don’t understand.”

She tucked her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close so she could stare into his face. “When you asked me to marry you, I said I was fine with our private ceremony and I am, I was. But it’s been two weeks now.” She took a deep breath. “Without counting your lunatic mother, no one in town but Archie, Ruby, and Alice know we’re married. Why is that?”

Worry flitted across the angled planes of his face, and he looked away, drumming the top of the sofa with his fingers. “I thought we were having fun keeping our relationship quiet.”

She lifted his chin to give him a sad smile. “At first, yes. There’s something to be said for a little private delight. After today, though, I’m starting to wonder if you want to hide our marriage because you think I’m going to leave you, hurt you the way your mother did. And if I do make that choice, you’re safe. You’re safe because so few people know the truth.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No.” But the tremble in his lips gave him away.

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘we accept the love we think we deserve?’” she asked. “It means we only allow ourselves to receive as much love as we believe we’re worthy of. It’s silly, really, because it gives the impression that love is something to be earned, like a salary or a merit badge.” She shook her head. “You can’t do anything to deserve my love for you. It’s a gift, freely given. All you have to do is open your heart. Trust me when I say my feelings for you are real and true, and never going to fade. If anything, my love for you grows every day.”

He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, his lips vibrating against her skin. “Belle, I’m so grateful to have your love. The day you said yes to marrying me was the highlight of my life. But I don’t want to trap you into forever if it’s not what you want.”

“It is what I want,” she said. “I love you. Today. Tomorrow. Always. And tomorrow, I’m calling the Storybrooke Mirror to announce our marriage in the newspaper.”

“Oh, Belle.” Light entered his tear-filled eyes. He took her mouth in a hot, desperate kiss that had her gasping and tearing at his clothes, needing to touch him and be touched in return.

“Belle.” He pressed her back into the sofa and gathered her to himself, cradling her close. “My sweetheart.” More kisses seared her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, their clothes melting off their bodies into puddles on the floor. “I love you,” he muttered between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

A long time later, he lifted his head from her chest. They were lying in a tangled heap on the floor, the room plunged into darkness. Belle guessed it was sometime in the middle of the night. They had spent hours making love, forgetting about his mother and other people’s opinions in favor of losing themselves in each other.

“There’s only one thing that could make this better,” Gold said, then pressed a kiss behind her ear.

Belle stretched beneath his body, feeling luxurious and sated. The nightlight from the adjacent kitchen illuminated his body, and his voice was raspy and thick with sex, making her want to pull down the blanket resting on his hips and shower him with love all over again.

“Gelato?” she guessed with a giggle.

“ Pistachio gelato.” He kissed her nose and groped in the dark for his boxer briefs. “Wait here, wife. I’ll be right back.”

“Leland?” Still sprawled on the floor in decadent laziness, Belle propped herself up on one elbow.

“Yes?” He paused in the doorway en route to the kitchen, his hair sticking up at ridiculous angles.

She was going to be able to wake up to that crazy hair and this beautiful man every day for the rest of her days. There was no more glorious way to spend a life.

“Don’t forget the spoon.”

###

[buddhababyuniverse]

Creating Italian Foodies, Cradle to Grave

Whether or not you have ever traveled to Italy, one thing is for certain- Italians know food and love to eat good food.  There is absolutely no argument there.  I can say this with 100% certainty as I myself am a full breed Sicilian, albeit born in the West Village in New York City, but who has very fortunately grown up around absolutely, hands-down, in my opinion, the best food going.

As you may already know, the food palette changes quite a bit, some may even say drastically, from region to region in Italy.  I am particularly obsessed with the food in Sicily and really with all things Sicilian.

But, besides my love affair with Sicily in general, one thing that has always struck me about Italians and when I say Italians, I mean natives from Italy, is how well their babies eat, never mind the adults.  

Never once have I met an Italian baby who does not avidly await his or her “pappa”, a dish usually consisting of tiny pastina, a vegetable, a meat, romano cheese and olive oil.  The cheese and olive oil alone is enough for me to live a happy life.  My point is, children in Italy are taught from very early on to appreciate rich textures and flavors.  These children usually go on to develop refined and varied palates well into their adulthood, setting themselves up for a lifetime of wonderful meals and openness to trying new foods.

I saw this with my own children, now 14 and 9.  I prepared and fed them a variety of Italian cuisine at a very early age, everything from “pappa” to octopus salad , to grilled lamb intestines stuffed with herbs and breadcrumbs, to pigs feet in tomato sauce and to this day I have never had an episode of finicky, picky eaters on my hands. They are willing to try everything, even if they don’t always like it.  Maybe I just got lucky, it’s possible, but I am going to bet pretty highly on the fact that exposing  them to different foods, prepared with love,  using quality ingredients (makes ALLLLLLLLLL the difference,  FYI), prepped not only their palates but their psyches as well.   Am I suggesting that pig’s feet and lamb intestines is for everyone?? Absolutely not.  These are very Sicilian delicacies and are not going to be everyone’s cup of tea nor do they need to be at all.

From a psychological perspective, I truly believe that children’s behavioral patterns , just like for adults get solidified if not challenged early on. We are creatures of habit and we are creatures that like to model what we see at a young age. So, the two points I wish to make here as I put on my psychologist hat, are:

1.) What your children see you do as parents is often modeled by them. So, unvaried eating habits, ordering out all the time, avoiding or being scared of the kitchen sends a message to kids that food is something  they don’t really have to have a relationship with other than eating it. And, I’m not suggesting one has to be or become a gourmet chef, not at all. What I’m saying is spend a bit of time demonstrating food prep; a little love in the kitchen goes a long way.

2.)Children love to eat things that taste good, so make them taste good. Pretty simple, but this does not mean adding tons of salt and bottled sauces to their food. This means spending a millisecond of time adding fresh herbs and other interesting, unique and healthy ingredients to their food.  No rocket science here, just a few hugs and kisses for your kitchen and throw a few in there for the kiddies too!! Your children will thank you and you will be thrilled when you see that they want to order something other than mac n’ cheese and chicken fingers without having a meltdown.

Does this scenario ring any bells?  Your child  only wants to eat the same foods, prepared exactly the same way, only from one specific restaurant or it’ll be meltdown time...sound familiar?  

 What I hope to accomplish, because I see how frustrating it can be for both parent and child  when this scenario occurs is to help guide you through suggestions and maybe a recipe or two. 

I would like to present you with not only unique variations on foods you might already love and enjoy,  but also discover behavioral changes that can be made to help to reach this goal.

In my blog you will find tips for preparing delicious meals that you may already prepare, but I will teach you how to take them up a notch by doing some simple “Italian” tweaking (i.ie. nothing a spoonful of fresh grated parmigiano cheese and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil can’t fix). I also hope to offer you insights on how cooking with your child can help to build a lifetime of healthy and varied eating habits never mind being a great way to spend precious time together.

I hope you’ll join me. Happy Eating and Mangia Bene (Eat Well)

Best,

Dr. Maria (The Psychologist Foodie)

[pianoperson]

Cradlesona

I have worked on this for two days but I am finally done with my Cradlesona!!

@lovingsiriusoswald Thank you for starting this trend!

Now, introducing my Cradlesona: Angel Burnham! (or is it really her name...)

This is my first digital drawing so it looks wack shhhhhhh

A brief warning, though: Personality might confuse you because of the way I wrote it. I’ll make a much better version of this, however.

Basic Info:

Name: Angel Burnham (It is not her real name, however.)

Nickname: Angel

Birthday: December 12

Age: 22

Height: 150cm

Blood Type: O+

Physical:

Eyes: Her right eye is a natural brown color. Her left eye, however, is akin to a galaxy. It became like so when her magical abilities decided to show themselves while playing the piano one day. Nobody knows how the galaxy pattern was made permanent on her eye (nor do they know why her eyes become the colors of space when she uses magic instead of the typical red).

Hair: Dark brown hair, which can look black in some angles, while in other angles, it looks more brown (the image shows it brown however).

Accessories: She has two rosary bracelets on her left wrist and a St. Benedict ring on her left middle finger.

Features: Other than her left eye, there isn’t anything about her that stands out.

Illnesses: Aside from allergies to most seafood except fish, none

Social:

Affiliation: Neutral at first, Red Army later on

Occupations: Originally worked as a waitress in a cafe, but sometime after the day she found out about her magic, she was recruited by the Red Army to help them in the war.

Relationships:

Blanc: He and Angel are friends. Blanc let her stay in his house, gave her a place to stay when she wanted to move out, and was the one who helped her find a job in Cradle. He does this as an apology for accidentally bringing her to Cradle. Blanc, alongside Oliver, are the only ones who really know where Angel is from.

Oliver: At first, Angel was intimidated by him due to his less than friendly first impression. But within the time she spent living with him and Blanc, they were able to get to know each other and become friends through ranting.

Fenrir: When he stops by to pick up something from Oliver, he would occasionally chat with Angel. He gave her a tour around Cradle as well.

Edgar: Edgar may be kind to her, but something about his smile was sketchy to her. She doesn’t pry, however, mostly because she doesn’t have much concrete reason as to why he felt sketchy to her. Edgar would occasionally tease Angel about her crush, however, much to her annoyance.

Kyle: Angel loves his chill self and admires his dedication as a doctor. They’re friends and sometimes, if she feels like going out, Angel would accompany Kyle to the bar. She never drinks, however, so she’s stuck with bringing Kyle home.

Lancelot: She was intimidated by him, but after learning what Lancelot means to the army through Kyle and Jonah, she realized that the King of Hearts is actually nicer than he lets on. 

Zero: They don’t talk much but Angel thinks he’s great company.

Jonah: Angel has a crush on him. She found him attractive when she first saw him, but after Blanc’s brief descriptions of the Queen of Hearts and seeing him looking happy while eating a strawberry mille-feuille one day, she found herself crushing on him.  

Personality:

Race/Ethnicity: Half Filipino-Cradle blood

Type of clothes/How they wear it: When she first fell into Cradle, Angel wore a long-sleeved dark blue-and-white striped shirt, with dark blue jeans and black sandals. Due to 19th century customs for women, she had to wear a couple of dresses. She has three favorite dresses that she wears nearly every day: the premium dresses from Jonah, Sirius, and Lancelot. 

Mannerisms: She mostly doesn’t care and likes to act as how she wants to act. She can behave and be formal if necessary, but otherwise, she definitely does not have the manners of Lancelot, Jonah, and Edgar. When it comes to taking care of herself, she tries but it’s not enough. She brushes her hair and takes a bath every day, but her hair can still look like it hasn’t been brushed. 

Favorite subject: Math because there is something about the numbers that captivates her and she feels pride over the fact that she can do math while her other classmates struggle.

How do they want to be seen by others: Angel hopes that people see her as a decent human being and not someone who seems to be bad-mannered or mean to others.

How people see them: Angel isn’t really sure on that aspect, but she did get a few comments from people who say that they were initially intimidated by her due to her serious expression. It’s most likely that she’s too serious for people to feel like they can easily approach her.

Introverted or extroverted: Angel is an introvert. She likes to hang around with friends, but that would mean staying in her place or being alone the next day to recharge. She isn’t the type to initiate conversation, but she would gladly engage in one if she feels like it.

What makes them laugh out loud: A lot of things actually. Snarky comments, roast comments, someone’s rather enthusiastic way of telling a story, dissing other friends, and the list goes on.

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider: Angel doesn’t judge people, especially if they’re strangers because she is aware that they both come from different places. However, she will judge if someone makes a stupid move, including herself.

How do they react to praise: Angel’s reactions can vary. If she is proud of what she did, she’ll say thank you, but if she does not find a reason to deserve the compliment, she gets bashful. Either way, her day will feel better, knowing she did something right.

“” criticism: Angel accepts it with grace. She does not want to make a fuss, nor does she want to reveal any negative feelings towards said criticism. 

How do they treat anyone: If Angel is with a close person, she’s much louder and more carefree. She looks more cheerful. If Angel is with a person who dislikes her or she dislikes, she still acts polite, even if she is tempted to show her irritation.

What is their view on lying: Angel absolutely hates lying. It’s not to say she’s above it, but in the moments she doesn’t say the exact truth, she feels guilty. This extends to her friendships; she strives to not lie to her friends about anything and will always try to keep her word. This honesty, however, can sometimes cause her to say an off-handed comment, which she’ll regret saying later on.

Favorite animal: Her dog from the Land of Reason. When he pops into her head, she hopes that he is still alive.

Music, art, or reading: This is a hard choice for Angel, since she likes all three, but she’ll choose music. All three keep her entertained, especially when she can barely do anything without WiFi for her phone.

Favorite color: Darker hues of blue and gold

Favorite day of the week: Wednesday, because that day tends to be her most relaxing day

Most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen: Angel tends to find so many things beautiful. She can find beauty in even the way the stones on a cobblestone pathway are arranged. Deep down, however, she will say Jonah Clemence (lmao).

Political views: In the context of the conflict within Cradle, Angel is neutral. As someone who lives in the Philippines, she can’t help but note the disadvantages of the dictatorship that the Red Army advocates for. On the other hand, democracy can be somehow difficult to manage. Therefore, she prefers to not think about it.

How do they deal with conflict: She doesn’t. Angel tries to avoid arguments most of the time. However, she will speak up if she feels there is something wrong. When she does argue with someone, she tries to keep her inner peace without blowing up. However, when faced with conflicts regarding personal problems, she can get stressed easily and lose it.

Are they more likely to fight with their fists or their tongue: Angel prefers to speak. She is doubtful that she can fight, even with magic and the resistance to it in her arsenal.

How do they deal with stress: Angel will rant to herself when she’s completely alone. Sometimes, she’ll also rant to Oliver. If what is stressing her is sadness, however, she will keep it in and not tell anyone. 

What is their biggest regret: Angel is the type to regret a lot of things and when she least expects it, the things she regrets will enter her head and she will clench her fist and shut her eyes tight to make it go away. Her biggest regret, however, is when she played Sonata Pathetique mvm. 3 in a restaurant, the day she found out her magical abilities.

What is their greatest fear: Angel is secretly scared of one thing: being unwanted and consequently alone. She’s scared that she won’t get a man who would love her unconditionally because she’s not good enough or she’s scared that her friends gossip behind her back or love each other more than her because she’s not good enough. This fear worsens after she found out about her magic.

When was the last time they cried: Angel hates crying, more so in front of others. She doesn’t know why she even does; it was a thing she knew ever since she was a child. Because of this, she doesn’t normally cry, even if she bottles up depressing thoughts. She does cry, however, when the guilt from the day she found out her magic and the fear of not being loved by anyone ate her up.

What is their philosophy of life: Angel likes to go with the flow but she has to establish a few things she wants in life to make it easier.

What will they stand up for: Angel doesn’t have much she particularly feels passionate about, as she’s the type who would rather chill and not be caught in conflict. But if there’s one thing that would irk her, it’s people being mean. She doesn’t get why people would betray their friends nor would she understand why people are jerks. Therefore, she tries to be nice to everyone she meets.

Is it easy to admit their mistake: Yes. Angel will know if it was her mistake or not. 

Is it easy to forgive others: Definitely. Angel can’t hold a grudge.

Weak traits: Angel can be lazy and won’t complete a project she started on. Angel also has some level of arrogance, born out of the fear that she isn’t good enough and that no one would want her.

Strong traits: Angel will always try to be a trustworthy person and someone who tries her best. 

Family and History:

Angel is actually from the 21st century who recently graduated from college with a degree in music. While walking back to a condo her family owns, Blanc bumps into her and drops his pocket watch, which she picked up. She chased him and called him but he was too fast. Eventually, he disappears, confusing Angel, and standing on the spot where he was, she ended up falling to 19th century Cradle.

Angel’s family is actually a mix of two worlds. Her mother was a Cradle citizen, born into a family of magic users, while her father was from the Land of Reason. Her mother, for some reason, entered the Garden on the full moon and accidentally ended up being transported to 21st century Earth, where she met Angel’s father and fell in love. They hid this from Angel and her other siblings and she only found out during a chance encounter with her mother’s parents. Because of the magic and resistance to it being passed down, she inherited both abilities, which are most powerful in music.

Skills and Special Abilities:

Magic: Angel can cast magic like typical magic users. When she uses magic normally, it’s far from the power of magic users such as Lancelot and Harr. However, when she plays piano or flute, her magic becomes much stronger, possibly stronger than the aforementioned two. Using it, however, can cause fatigue, fever, and even fainting.

Magic Resistance: Due to her roots in the Land of Reason, she also has the ability to nullify magic, making her one of the most powerful people in Cradle– and a target. Strangely, when she makes TwoSetViolin references, her magic nullification ability is more powerful. (It was how she even found out about her magic resistance. She remarked “iNtErEsTiNg” once and the nearby lights went off. The crystals in the light bulbs were newly installed.)

Pianist: She has a decade and a half worth of experience.

Flutist: While not as experienced with the flute (only having played it for around 5 years), she can still play it.

Paired with: Currently no one, but she has a crush on Jonah

Life in Cradle:

Angel just recently graduated from college when she first encountered Blanc, who bumped into her. Blanc seemed very antsy and, after apologizing to her, ran off. He dropped his pocket watch, however. The same thing that happened to Alice the Second occurred, except Blanc actually was nearby when Angel was falling to 19th century Cradle.

The portal closed immediately after Blanc caught Angel, so she was trapped in the unknown world.

On the first days staying in Cradle, Angel was nervous, even with Blanc and Oliver helping her. Often, she was reminded of how tense she was.

During one of the days Blanc showed her around, Angel saw a troop of Red Army soldiers, being led by Jonah. Angel found him attractive and kept glancing at him. 

Eventually, Angel asked Blanc if she can get a job and her own living space, since she didn’t want to burden him. Blanc helped her find a job as a waitress in a cafe and got her an apartment to stay in.

She found out about her magic nullification abilities when she moved in to her apartment.

For two months, she carried a rather mundane life as a worker in a cafe. There was a day when, during break, she ate in another cafe at the same time as Jonah (and found him cute as he ate his mille-fueille).

A few days after the news of the former King of Hearts being assassinated was announced, Angel was eating out with some friends from work. The restaurant had a piano, so she decided to play Sonata Pathetique mvm. 3. Midway through the piece, she heard screams and shouts of pain. That was when she found out that she was unleashing magical attacks through her playing and started to panic when she realized her hands were moving on their own. That was when an explosion occurred.

She was brought to Kyle thanks to Oliver. She was the only one who survived the fiasco, which was dubbed Perish Song Night. She also found out her left eye changed color.

Because of the fiasco, she was fired from her job. 

A week later, Red Army declared war on the Black Army. The next day, they faced off. Angel was nearby when it happened and was praying in her head for nothing bad to happen. That was when she accidentally repelled Lancelot’s magic, confusing everyone. It was enough for Blanc and Oliver to arrive and stop the conflict.

Two days after the face-off, Edgar finds Angel in her apartment, taking her to the Red Army HQ. There, Angel is made to serve the Red Army by using her magical abilities against the Black Army.

[swyllh]

[soonyoung] in accents soft and mild

title: in accents soft and mild

premise: you’re soonyoung’s soulmate, but your working knowledge of korean is limited, and vice-versa for english AKA the language barrier that nobody mentions in those soulmate aus

pairing: reader x soonyoung

wordcount: 2305

genre: soulmate au, fluff, language fics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

note: quoted italics are spoken in english; anything else is in korean. 

his name is a verdict on your wrist; a fine print of trials and errors. somehow it doesn’t strike you as odd when you realise that your soulmate isn’t just a couple of blocks or accidents away.

it’s an ocean of difference.

to forge on – past conversions of time, language, accents and ideals – mulishly boarding a plane after graduation, is less romantic than it should be. destiny yawns uneasily, stored between your passport’s waxy disuse and a list of hasty google translations. the plane whirls to a start. ready, looming.

you cramp your legs into the tiny cradle of the seat, and wait.

you’re not ignorant; despite your best attempts at mimicry, the nervous slant of your shoulders and wide-eyed nonchalance give you away as a foreigner. a tourist.

besides, the confusing rush of words on billboards and flat screens has you gulping. you pull out your phone, and try to connect to a public wifi spot. it’s still on airplane mode, thumbed down to avoid roaming charges.

a group of students pass by you, chattering and laughing. you pull your bag out of the way, tugging it closer to the warmth of your vulnerable stomach. the stench of cigarettes stings your eyes.

“are you lost?”

a startled jump as you glancing at, and then away from, a pair of plain groggy eyes. as the eyes blink themselves awake, you realise that he’s just spoken in english.

“i’m supposed to be at pledis entertainment,” you whisper.

the curve of his eyes deepen. “you’re standing right in front of it.”

“oh.” you crane your neck, looking behind him.

it’s there, the building.

“are you auditioning?” the man says smoothly, leading you through its lacquered doors.

“no, just looking for someone.”

he looks thoughtful, what little of his face you can see. you wonder if he’s famous, or if this is just another fashion trend you’ve never really got understood.

“who’re you looking for?”

you’ve reached the receptionist, and the man greets her warmly. you do the same, albeit masking your inadequacy at the language with a softer voice. she smiles at the both of you.

“there’s this singer,” you preamble, eyes darting back to the receptionist. “um, i’m looking for kwon soonyoung.”

the telltale signs of polite indifference are blatant in the room – a white nondescript desk, five black chairs and a metal stool, an office clock ticking incessantly at the five minutes they’d promised you. it’s cold, too, so you get up stealthily and tug at the thermostat.

the room is steeped in aloof hospitality, quiet and remote. you wonder if it’s too late to run, or pretend your appointment was never made. it seems wildly probably that they’d forgotten about you, or that this kwon soonyoung is uninterested in meeting you.

three knocks on the door are all the warning you get before it swings open.

he looks exactly like the photographs, you think.

“hello,” he says, bowing.

you nod a little. “hello.”

when he straightens up, you gesture towards the table, suddenly hyperaware of the distance between you. he leaves the door open for a staff member, as well as the man from earlier.

nothing really changes. you’re not looking at the world through some kaleidoscopic rose-tinted glasses, or feeling your heart settle comfortably, blissfully in your chest. from his uneasy look, you figure he must be feeling the same gutted un-satisfaction too.

you roll up your sleeve, showing his name in a meticulous inky sprawl across your wrist. he leans in, awed, casting shadows on your arm.

“wow,” he says, finally, fingers ghosting over your skin. “that’s my name.”

you vaguely understand what he’s saying, but the next exchange that happens between him and the staff member flies right over your head. it’s a sharp, punctuated exchange riddled with the easy-going abbreviations of everyday life. the staff member shakes his head, glancing over at you and then patting soonyoung on the shoulder. soonyoung forces a smile back on his lips and turns to you.

“he’s saying that it’s a miracle,” the man from earlier says, eyes regarding you kindly. “i’m joshua, by the way.”

you nod. “[y/n].”

soonyoung glances between you and joshua, barely scraping the tip of the iceberg of your dilemma. he tugs his wristband off, the velcro unsticking obscenely.

“my name,” you breathe, relieved.

soonyoung grins, an altruistic instinct. you smile back, stiff, forcing your jaw to relax.

in place of silence, you imagine conversations – motivations exchanged in hushed whispers, weaving inside jokes and bad puns into half-hearted chatter, and morbid little arguments leading up to breezy confessions.

none of that happens.

instead, soonyoung’s lounging by your side, face masked and hat pulled low. he’s taken the day off to ‘bond with his soulmate’, and though you do appreciate the company in face of purposeful, confident strangers, you wonder if he’s always so quiet.

“so you’re visiting,” soonyoung tries saying.

“yeah,” and then, “yes, i am.”

“yeah, man,” soonyoung says instinctively, and then slaps a hand over his mouth, laughing.

you grin.

“do you want eat?” he scratches his head. “rice, noodle…? burger?”

you shrug. “what do you like to eat?”

the uncertainty on his face fades away at the sound of your hesitant korean. he beams, rattling off a list of finger foods and possible restaurants nearby. you listen, you really do, but the general mutter of the streets and his muffled slangs have you furrowing your eyebrows.

“come with me!” he exclaims finally, clumsily guiding you by the shoulder.

the afternoon goes by unscathed, trailing lazily between basic conversational korean and cheerful english exclamations. after all, food is a universal language and it’s easy to stuff your face to avoid conversation. you end up pointing at random ingredients and following the slightest inflexions that roll of his tongue when he says their names.

“that one’s ‘namul’,” he says, chopsticks jabbing at the seasoned vegetables before you.

“‘na-mool’,” you repeat, head dipping forward to mimic the flow of his intonation.

he frowns. “‘namul’.”

you pop one in your mouth. “‘nam-ul’?”

“‘namul’,” he says, and then quickly moves on, “this, ‘gochujang’.”

“‘gochujang’?”

“yeah, man!” he says, reaching for a high five.

you press your hand up against his, and pull it back. with your chopsticks, you point at him, and say, “kwon soonyoung.”

he tilts his head, a look of confusion and shock flashing past his face. for a moment, you wonder if you’ve committed some cultural faux pas, accidentally insulting all ten generations of the kwon clan.  

but then the affronted look softens, and he barks out a laugh. “yeah man! kwon soonyoung!”

the rest of the meal passes by in relative silence.

the days following that are overlaid with the same hazy hesitance. soonyoung still has to train, and by extension that means you’re tacked onto his schedule, or given a free pass to roam the building. you’re technically unmonitored, but something like fear has you waiting patiently in the corners of dance studios, dodging cameras and selfie-cams. besides, once everyone’s done treating you like an oddity or childlike attraction, you don’t have to deal with the language barrier.

you’d planned to stay for two weeks or so, giving yourself time and a way out – if there’s any way out of fate. but with his consuming dedication to the group, you find that there isn’t really anything to go on before making your choice.

joshua slumps down next to you during one of the dance breaks.

“must be boring to watch us,” joshua says teasingly.

you turn your phone off. “nah. you’re only doing the same routine for eight hours every day.”

joshua cracks a smile at that. “so how’s it going?”

“it’s going,” you say, tilting your head in soonyoung’s direction; he’s still fervently chasing after the final touches of perfection. “he’s very dedicated, isn’t he?”

“he’s our choreographer,” joshua says, pride eminent in his voice.

an element of jealousy, or some frayed edge of possessiveness latches onto your gaze. you bite back the echoing “well, he’s my soulmate” and settle for twitching uncomfortably in your seat. joshua turns back to you, and takes a swig from his bottle.

“my korean’s pretty bad,” you find yourself saying, turning your phone over in your hands.

“you’ll have to learn,” joshua says. “unless you’re not staying.”

there. you take a deep breath, though it racks your chest for an answer your brain couldn’t provide. “it goes both ways. i don’t even know-”

(if i’m going to stay; if it’s worth the wait; if there’s a space for me; him.)

joshua frowns. he takes another gulp from his bottle, and wipes the sheen off his chin.

“he’s your soulmate. that has to mean something.”

the company’s not strict on dating policies. but after watching soonyoung’s elbow slip from the table(and his head bob unsteadily over his knuckles), you think it’s time to call it a night. he hasn’t eaten more than a couple spoonfuls of rice, but you’re sure it’s his bed that he’s drooling after.

“we go back,” you mutter, shamefully hoping your careless grammar will slip by unnoticed. “you... bed.”

he blinks vigorously, rubbing his cheeks. “nonononono, i’m okay, let’s eat. there’s still so much left!”

you grimace. he makes a show of rolling his sleeves up, picking up his chopsticks with a flourish and pinching at random blobs of colour on the plate.

“here,” he says, offering mushrooms to you.

“thank you,” you say.

dinner fades into a quiet lull again.

“uh,” you say, regretting it the instance it catches his attention. “what’s your favourite colour?”

it’s not the question you were planning to ask, but with his undivided attention (read: compensation), you can’t help but veer into safer territories. soonyoung doesn’t scoff at that, though you think it’s because of the effort required to coordinate an honest look of disdain.

“black and white. yours?”

you press your lips together. right now the names of colours are escaping you. “…white?”

soonyoung hums understandingly. it seems you got that right, at least.

“hey, can i see your,” he mutters something you don’t quite understand, “again?”

you pause. “one more time?”

he repeats himself; the word doesn’t register in your mind. it takes approximately five seconds of awkward staring and soonyoung’s faltering face before he realises that you have no clue what he just said. soonyoung further unfurls his sleeve, tugging it up and placing his forearm flat on the table. your name, matte and resolute, burns up at you.

you do the same, lining your arm against his. you have to lean in a little, tuck your feet under the leg of the chair and scoot closer. it’s quite a sight, you have to say, to watch the two names side by side, promised to each other.

“amazing,” soonyoung says, a little awed.

you keep your eyes locked on your limbs. the distance between them is impossibly small, shadowed in like an endless, breathless gulf.  

it’s all over the news the next day – headlines flaunting scandalously, brazenly stamped across the net; the paparazzi shot of the two of you, heads waning into each other, crescents of light against your cheeks. awed, as you stare down at your matching wrists.

soonyoung isn’t the one to tell you about you.

“[y/n],” joshua says, fingers clutching on the doorframe. “sorry, but there’s a conference about-“

you angle your phone and its incriminating contents at him. “sure.”

joshua leads you out of the lounge and down the other hallways. “it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“wasn’t it bound to?” you say thoughtlessly.

joshua gives you a look. “was it?”

the slip of tongue catches you unaware, and as you stride down the hallways, you realise just how inappropriate it is to be saying this to joshua. that the one beside you should have been soonyoung instead. the thought slows you down.

“joshua,” you say, stomach lurching, “what happens if i -?”

“soonyoung is like a brother,” joshua interrupts, hand poised on a door handle. you can’t see his face, and maybe that’s just as well. “if you hurt him, i will make sure he forgets your name.”

it’s a mild threat. you know that well enough, as does joshua.

he pushes the door open, and soonyoung jumps up, eyes searching for something in your face. you bite back a smile, taking your seat opposite him and next to a staff member. soonyoung settles back down, relieved.

while the meeting goes on, joshua begins translating, whispering short, tense sentences to you. it’s comeback season, there’s pressure, soulmates and dating may cause more drama, the fact that you’re a foreigner doesn’t help.

“should we just come out and say it,” soonyoung says testily.

you look up at him for the first time since entering. he’s irritated, or determined. you don’t understand. but when his gaze falls on you, you think you catch a glimpse of longing and a need for assurance. sitting opposite him, privy to the full force of his intentions, and you’re still not near enough.

“uh,” you manage to stammer.

the team around the table turns to face you. soonyoung’s stare hasn’t left your face.

it’s a little hard to breathe – if your korean is a downcast drizzle, sparse and unpredictable, then your english is an ocean. and that makes all the difference.

clenching fistfuls of fabric, you forge on. “um, what’s ‘honesty is the best policy’ in korean?”

pause.

joshua’s trying his best not to laugh – you can feel the chuckles bubbling in the pit of his chest. in front of you, soonyoung’s eyes taper into thin, black lines. the pink of his cheeks must match yours.

thankfully, joshua comes to your rescue. but with the way soonyoung’s scrunching up his nose, beaming bright and thankful, you think you got your message across.

[emetoandotherthings]

I don't believe you've done this before, so... how about Damian goes on a date with Jenna, and his order accidentally gets contaminated with gluten, so he gets super bloated and burpy, and as they're on the way home, he can't hold back his belches and he feels awful. Now Jenna is a total prude, so I wonder what her reaction would be to this? Is she gonna be caring and understanding, or a total bitch about it?

A/N: I was going to just answer this as a question, but I ended up writing a kind of drabble about it... so I hope it’s okay! Also this is the beginning of an arc for Damian and Jenna really, so look out for more soon! 

Damian should have known. He’d never ever managed to find chocolate brownie so rich and chocolately since having to switch to gluten free food. But the temptation had proved all too much when he saw the small ‘GF’ printed next to it on the dessert menu, and he’d succumbed. Now, half an hour later, he was almost positive that a mistake had been made. The uncomfortable bubbling feeling had begun in his gut as he was paying for Jenna and his meals, but he’d ignored it, assuming that he’d eaten too much. It wasn’t often that they found a restaurant that could cater for both his gluten intolerance and Jenna’s allergies, but they’d both heard separately about this new one on the other side of town so they’d purposefully made the effort to go. With the luxury to choose anything from the menu, Damian had felt like a kid in a candy shop. Jenna was still raring about it as they stood at the tram stop waiting for the tram that would take them the twenty five minute journey towards home. “I don’t think I’ve ever had Carbonara before!” She exclaimed, beaming as she gave Damian’s hand a quick squeeze. “Have you not?” He asked, he was trying to adjust his belt as it was digging painfully into his skin. “No,” she shook her head, “I wonder what they use in place of the egg… I should have asked them!” She damned loudly. “Ah well, next time!” She shrugged, and Damian felt his belly give a bubbly glug. “Yeah,” Damian forced, although his eyes watered slightly. Trying to be as surreptitious as he could, he slid his hand under his shirt, and was instantly confronted by the source of his discomfort. The skin of his belly was bloated out, stretched taut, as he gently touched across it. He was almost convinced now that the brownie had, indeed, contained gluten. “Maybe we should make it a monthly trip,” Jenna suggested enthusiastically; Damian was trying his hardest to keep a smile on his face despite feeling like if his stomach bloated any further it might explode. “I mean, we don’t go out and spend money on food like most other couples do, so this would be our treat!” “Yeah, I’m sure that could work – brrraaap!” The shift in pressure of Damian’s hand on his stomach dislodged a bubble of air, and he covered his mouth with his hand as he burped. “Oh, excuse me,” he pardoned himself a little sheepishly; it seemed as though he’d been louder than he’d thought as Jenna looked at him askanced. “I would think so,” she wrinkled her nose slightly and Damian felt his cheeks burn. “Sorry, I – brruuup!” Damian burped again, still covering his mouth. “Ah, oh dear…” “What?” Jenna asked; she’d withdrawn her hand from his as he burped again, looking a little put out. “Ah, I think – huurp! – something’s not agreeing with me,” he replied, trying to reposition his belt again, but no matter where he moved it, it kept digging in to the painfully distended flesh of his stomach. “What’d you mean?” She said as Damian folded over slightly, trying to reduce the pressure in his abdomen, which was beginning to cramp. “I think… oh, something I’ve eaten has had gluten in it,” Damian answered, muffling another belch behind his hand. “Well can you not just hold it in?” She asked, and Damian looked at her in surprise. “That’s like me asking you to hold in an allergic reaction…” Damian replied. “Not really,” she refuted, “I can’t stop my throat from swelling, you can hold in a burp.” “I’ll do my best… okay?” He said, giving his cramping belly a tender rub. “Good,” she nodded. The tram pulled up at the stop, it was very busy, and both of them ended up standing in the vestibule. Damian clutched onto the metal pole rather harder than was necessary as he fought to retain control of the roiling in his gut. The number of people around was making him feel more self-conscious, as sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He knew Jenna was watching him, so whenever he felt the bubbling urge to burp; he took a deep breath and swallowed. It might satisfy Jenna, but Damian was becoming more uncomfortable by the second – his stomach cramping like someone was running over him. His eyes were beginning to sting from the effort of holding it together; he was watching the small screen hanging down from the roof of the tram – three stops to go… two stops… only one more stop. “BaaaahhhhuuuUUURRRP!” As soon as they were out of the tram, the rumbling belch escaped from Damian, bringing a sliver of relief. “Damian!” Jenna excused, sounding disgusted; she glanced around. “Urgh… I couldn’t hold it in any longer…” He explained, rubbing a hand across his chest. No one else seemed to have noticed anything. “Maybe you’d be best just going home if you’re going to be like that,” Jenna muttered. “I really can’t – oh – help it,” Damian winced, his hand going to his abdomen; he was meant to be spending the night at Jenna’s. “Yeah, but maybe you’ll be better after a sleep,” she suggested. “I suppose so,” Damian agreed, he really wasn’t feeling up to an argument and he swallowed back another burp. “I’ll walk you home, I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” she replied, but she didn’t sound sincere. “You should probably let that restaurant know, so they don’t do it again.” “Yeah, I might,” he nodded; he tried to reach out and take her hand, but he found her hand irresolutely in her pocket. He walked along beside her, the cramping pain getting progressively worse. They stopped outside Jenna’s flat, and Damian felt awful for ditching on her. “Hopefully next time won’t be like this…” “Hopefully,” she said, then pecked him on the cheek, “night Damian.” “Night…” He stood as she went inside, unable to tell how he felt about leaving her because of the sheer aching pain in his belly. “BrraaahhhuuuuUUUUUURRRRRP!” The longest belch yet burst out of him as he turned to continue walking home; he just wanted to get there and lie down. By the time he was at the end of his street sweat was pouring off him like a fountain; he staggered slightly, clutching at his belly, to climb the stairs up to his flat and let himself in. “Damian?” Cain asked in surprise, in the hallway as Damian entered, “I thought you were staying at Jenna’s tonight?” “Was meant to be – rrruuuaaaarrrppp!” The burp took over and Damian covered his mouth apologetically. “Ah,” Cain nodded, understanding instantly. “Have you eaten something with wheat?” “Buuurrhhhpp! I think so…” Damian confirmed, cradling his midriff with his arm. “Jenna asked me – bruuaarp! – to hold it in cause it’s not nice…” “What?” Cain said, wide eyed and surprised, but Damian just nodded. “Jesse, could you fill your hot water bottle?” “Course,” Jesse appeared, looking worried. “Sorry…” Damian mumbled, aware that he might be interrupting their own couple time. “Come on in,” Cain instructed, beckoning him into their living room, “sit down.” Damian did so, leaning back in the sofa to allow space for his expanded belly. “Now just relax…” Damian closed his eyes, then felt Cain’s cold fingers give gentle ministrations across his stomach. “I – huuuuaaarrrp!” The belch dislodged with Cain’s rubbing, “sorry…” “You can burp all you need to here, if it’ll make you feel better,” Cain assured. “BuuuhuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPP! Oooohh…” The expulsion of air made Damian feel fractionally better. “Brrraaap!” “There you go,” Cain told him, “that’s the stuff.” “I – oh – brrruuurrrppp!” Damian couldn’t stop them now, they were rolling one after the other up his throat, and he started to relax as the cramp in his gut ebbed away. “Oh – thanks…” “I think this is a case of ‘better out than in,’” Cain chuckled slightly. “Tell Jenna that,” Damian mumbled. “I will if you want me to,” Cain offered. “No actually, don’t…” He retracted. “Thanks for this though.” “It’s no problem,” Cain said, still rubbing circles into Damian’s belly. “BaahhhuuuUUUUURRRPP! Oooh yes… thank you.”

[araspade219-blog]

DRAMARAMA (Jimin Scenario)

Cast  : Jimin(BTS) , Readers, Hyungwon (Monsta X), Seoyeon.

Pairing  : Jimin x Reader

Genre : A lot of Angst waiting for you.

Recommend Song : Dramarama by Monsta X - Hirari Hirari by Hatsune Miku.

To tell the world that you are the most upset and unfortunate girl, is understandment. They said, all person in the world deserved to be loved. Each person deserved to be at least feel loved by the one they love the most. But these kind of talk specifically didn’t apply to you.

               You always love this one boy. A neighbor boy in your hometown in Busan. You already liked him since he help you from some kids who likes to bullied you in elementary school. Since that day, both of you almost like to spend your time being together. You both are inseparable, many of other friends of yours always think that the two of you would ended up being together. But that’s not what actually what happen.

               When your heart still always waiting for him, you watched him get a girl and then watched how that girl break him into million pieces. The thing is, no matter how much you said the girl didn’t deserve his attention, Jimin still love her. Then, it leaves you to gather and mend all the pieces of his broken heart with a tiny bits of hope that he will return your feelings.

               Surprisingly,five years ago when you finally have the courage to confess your feeling to him, he said yes to you. But of course deep down you know that you are probably only a replacement of her. A rebound. They said once you are blinded by love, nothings matter anymore. Knowing the fact that you are only a replacement didn’t matter to you . As long as he is by yourside, you are fine.

               But you have know…

               Nothing will right when you know you are only a replacement…

               At first, it feels like nothing new to your relationship with Jimin. But once his career start sky rocketing, he often ditching you. He start distanceing himself from you. Even when you both are together, he prever to focus on his phone. He never kiss you on your lips. He only give a small peck and a kiss on forehead. Nothing more. This least for three year. He even always forgot your anniversary. It is either he is on schedule or he purely forgetting it. He even stop remembering your birthday two years ago. But being blind and foolish girl you are, you keep forgiving and keep making excuse for him.

               “He must be busy.”

               “He just busy.”

               “he must be really tired..”

And bunch other plently of excuse that already came out from your mouth for him. Your friends always telling you to confront him, but you are afraid of the result. What if he will tell you he want a break and end the thing for sure? You don’t want that. That’s why you prefer to suffer alone and keep hurting from loving him too much.

Until three months ago, during your small date with Jimin in a café you met with one person you are most afraid. That girl…Seoyeon.

               The girl who broke Jimin into million pieces.

               His ex…

               She is back.

You still remember how big Jimin smile was when he saw her. And how your already broken heart start to cracking again. You still remember how happy Jimin look like when she gave him a hug.You still remember the look of underestimating she gave to you and how she smirk at you. You still remember very clearly that, that day was the first day you start doubting yourself.

               After that day, Jimin become more and more distant. He only came to you when you beg him to. And it will never last long. After one hour, he will making excuse to go out. He rarely text you first. You guys often get into an argument, but it will always you the first person who apologize. Each day, you become more and more empty and lost. You keep doubting yourself. Telling yourself that nobody needs you and you are always a burden. You yearn nothing but the death of you everyday. Wishing that when you close your eyes, you are no longer breathing. But you are afraid. Afraid to actually kill yourself. Because you still thinking about Jimin.

What if that girl break him again? Who will be there for him? Will he be okay when you are gone? That’s what you keep thinking. Stupid, but yes. Even after being this broken, you still make him your first priority.But on the other side, you cant keep doing this. This is not good for you and him. This will bring him down somehow. So you take one last chance to prove yourself and him. To see if he really does care of you even the slightest bits or not.

               Next month is your 5 years anniversary.An anniversary you and him never celebrate before. You will celebrate it with him this time again. If he come, then you will give a try for this relationship and tell him honestly what when wrong. But if he didn’t…you will forever disappear from his life. That’s the deal.

               After telling Jimin about your anniversary plan, he agree to come. You should be happy when knowing this, but instead you feel really nervous. Jimin always agree to it before but he never actually come during the day. You shook your head, trying to get off those things from your head. You believe Jimin will come this time. He will come.

               The next month, you spend with searching for the best dress you could wear and taking a few facial care for your face. You want to at least being pretty for him even if he doesn’t really pay attention to you.You become a bit more lively after being depressed for so long. Because you believe Jimin will come.

               Of course…

               You should have know…

               Today is the day. Your anniversary of five years is today. The day you have been waiting for. You already message Jimin this morning telling him a happy anniversary incase he forgot again. For the rest of the day, you spend your day pampering yourself. Do a lil simple makeup Jimin likes, preparing the gift you have for him and styling your hair.

               You are so nervous that you come one hour earlier from the time you tell Jimin. You walk inside the very familiar restaurant. A restaurant where you always planned to celebrate your anniversary, but never actually had. Almost all the staff and the waitrer/waitress recognize you. They always try to confort you after Jimin stood you up each year, but today you come with a very bright smile that make them smile instantly.

               “Always looking very pretty Miss.” Said one of the waiter who is very familiar with you. He gave you a smile and you return it with a bright one.

               “Thank you Yoojeong. And I always tell you to just call me (y/n) but you never listen.”you said to him and he chuckle at you. He then guide you to your specific seats for tonight. The same seat. After placing your bottle of wine, all the staff excuse themselves and leave you alone in your seat. You wait patiently for Jimin to came. You look outside the window of the restaurant. Looking at the cloudy sky above. That actually gave you a bit of uneasy feeling, but you try to be positif.

‘Only for this night..Jimin will come (y/n). He will.’

 You wait..

Wait for him..

1 hour passed…you still believe him.

2 hours passed….you still believe him..

4 hours passed…you believe he will come…

6 hours passed…your smile start to drop…

6 hours 30 minute…the waiter come to you..

“Miss…im sorry…” he didn’t need to tell you what he is going to say. You all too familiar with it.You look up at him then at your phone before you dialing Jimin number, putting all your last hope in it…

“ The number you are calling is not active---“

               That’s…

               When everything changes..

                 After leaving the restaurant as fast as you could, you start walking around aimlessly in the middle of night of Seoul. Tears keep coming out from your eyes. The winter cold night didn’t bother you as you cant feel anything beside the big hope crushing down on you, made by the person you trust the most. You still cant believe that Jimin stood you up again. You believed so much in him, but he break it into another pieces after you work so hard to mend them alone.

               You should have know that you are nothing to him. You are only his friend. He will always cradle to the girl who break him and never look at you. After all, you are only a replacement. And it hurts so much. It hurt so much because you still love him.

               You walk into a han river. Thinking it might calm you down before you get home an pack you things to leave tomorrow. Walking with head on the floor, you didn’t notice a man infrond of you so you bump into him. Not that strong but making you wooble a bit, but the man hand stop you from falling.

“Im sorry, are you okay?” said the man to you. You look up to see a very young and handsome boy. Dress up in pin-strip suit while holding an umbrella. You stood properly while giving an apologize to him.

“im sorry. I walk without seeing infront of me.” You said to him.

“Its fine. “ said the man. Without saying other things, you walk past him, you don’t really want to deal with people asking about you right now. But after 5 steps from him, you heard him ask again.

“Are you okay?” he ask you.

You stoped but didn’t look back at him.

Are you really okay?

Or course you are—

“I’m not okay.”

                 I know im not the best boyfriend ever. Hell I will be the worst of the worst. I know well that I always threat (y/n) awfully. She always try her best to stay by myside in my worst state. She will always be the first person who I run to when I got  bad day. And I know how much she loves me. I love her too, but when I saw Seoyeon, I cant help but getting back the feeling I had for her long ago. Although im with (y/n) now, I always know that Seoyeon is the one that only in my heart. I always want to end things with (y/n) because I know I hurt her. But im so egoist, I want to keep her all by myself. I cant picture her with other man beside me. I just cant.

               But I decide that I have to let go of (y/n). she deserve someone better than me. That’s why I ignore her. I block her number from my phone and avoid her as much as I can. It feel so wrong and coward I know. But I cant see her heart breaking face when I told her I want to break up.

               Last night, I had this particular uneasy feeling all over me. Like…the world is trying to tell me something. Something bad that would happen…and the rain. It stay like that since last night until now. Its like the sky is crying over something..or someone.

               I was just hanging out with Seoyeon when we decide to take a lunch in a restaurant nearby while waiting for the raining to be done. When we enter the restaurant, Seoyeon didn’t notice this but I am. The staff and waitress/waiter all giving me a dirty look and unhappy feeling when they recognize my face. Im so confused because I remember correctly that I never enter this place and I never know any of them. So why they giving me those looks?

               I try to ignore them and just having my lunch with Seoyeon. We just eat and talk about our past. But then Seoyeon start talking bad about (y/n) in which I don’t like it. I don’t mind people talk about how shitty I am, but I don’t want to hear them talk bad about (y/n). not with her. She done nothing bad.

               When I was about to pay, I was greet by the waiter who suddenly scoof at me. I cant take it anymore. Why they become so rude to me.

“Excuse me, but I don’t know what I did to earn your dirty look. Did I ever do something to any of you in this restaurant?” I said out of annoyance. The waiter only giving me a unhappy chuckle cefore looking at me.

“You still have the guts to come here after doing those horrible things. “

“Excuse me?”

“I still can understand if it is only once or two but five years in a row? Unbelievable.” He still said with a mocking tone. Im growing impatient as im so lost here.

“What are you talking about? I never going to this restaurant before.”

The waiter only look at me, giving me those disbelieve eyes before one other waiter come to him and give him the box before he shove the box to me.

“Maybe this will refresh your memory a bit.” He said in cold tone. I look at him before looking at the box in my hands. I open the lid and see a cake inside of it. There was a sentences written on the top.

‘Happy Anniversary – Park Jimin & (y/f/n)’

“No need to pay for your food. Just take is as your girlfriend paymend because she never eat anything despite paying for it before. “ and then the waiter leave me with box of cake there.

 We immedietly leave the restaurant after that. I then go to (y/n) place. Leaving behind Seoyeon without looking back. I bring the cake with me. On my way, I keep thinking about how stupid I am. I already promising (y/n) about those dinner with her. Yet I hurt her again by forgetting it. By letting my ego again. Its already the fifth I stood her up. I cant stand seeing how broken she was each time I bail her out. And I done it again. This time I’m sure she wont forgive me again, but I still want to apologize to her.

               When I was arrive at her apartment, it sure was empty. Its like she haven’t been there for sometime.

‘She must be sleeping in one of her friends house. She figures I will find out and try to apologize to her again.’

               I was planning to wait for her in her apartment, but I cant since I have a schedule tomorrow. So I left the cake on the table and a memo for her, telling her to immedietly call me when she saw this. Then I left her place after making sure to lock them again.

               A week passing by and (y/n) still haven’t called me. I tried to call and text her before but she didn’t reply any of them and the call just went straight to her voice mail. Each day, I grow a bit uneasy and worried. Did she leave me for good this time? Is she really breaking up with me? All of those though keep interfering with my focus. The hyungs often scold me for being sloopy and not focus while practicing. Fortunately, we got two days off since today is Christmas eve. I really want to spend this night with (y/n) but I still cant get a hold of her. I tried to contact all her friends but none of them ever saw her since that night.

               For some reasons, today I got a really horrible feeling in a pit of my heart. I look at the sky above me from the window in my room. The sky is so dark tonight and the snow is falling hard. What is this feeling? What is this horrible feeling I always felt since a week ago?

               My though got interrupted when I heard a knock on my door.

“Jimin –ah, someones want to see you. Come to the living room immedietly.” It was Namjoon hyung voice. His voice is a bit..tense. who is it?

               I get up from my bed while bringing my phone with me. When I get to the living room, I saw two police officers sitting on the sofa with Namjoon hyung, Jin hyung and Jungkook. Why would the police want to see me? Did I do something?

               “Umm…good evening sir. I believe you want to see me?” I said politely to them. They said yes and told me to sit infront of them.

               “Are you by any chance Park Jimin-sshi right?” one of the officer ask me and I nodded my head. Suddenly, the horrible feelings keep growing and about to burst from my stomatch each time the clock passed. One of them then take out something from the bag they hold and they taking out a small picture in a plastic bag inside. A picture of me.

               “Do you by any chance recognize this picture sir?” they ask me. I take the picture and take a look at it. Of course I recognize this picture. It is the picture of me smiling while playing in the beach when I was celebrating my acceptance in bighit with (y/n) before. This picture should be with (y/n) while I got her in my wallet. Why do they have this?

               “Y-yes…I know this picture. This belongs to my girlfriend…” I said to them. Without knowing why, my tears suddenly gather in my eyes. I don’t know why but I feel like what they will said next will broke me completely. And I don’t want to hear that.

               “Then sir, do you mind coming to the Hospital. We need you to do a check up on something.” They said with a slight pity and sympathy in their tone. I don’t want them.

               “im sorry for asking sir, but could you tell us what exactly happen? And what it have to do with my members?” Namjoon asking the police since I cant let out any word from my lips. I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me anything!

“This morning, someone just discovering a dead body of women buried underneat the snow in the park near here. We could find any identity card on her, but the woman holding those picture tightly in her hands…”

                 Jimin walk out from the rogue into the empty hall of the hospital limply. Eyes bloodshot but the light already disappear from there.

                 She was found dead undearneat the snow all this time. That’s why nobody ever saw her.But this morning, some kids who playing in the park decide to dig in the place she was put and discover a dead woman inside it.

                 He keep walking without care of people around him seeing him and giving him either weird look or pity look as tears keep falling from his eyes.

                 She was dead because of gun shot and bloodlost. There also a hitting mark on her side of skull and three stabbing wound on her abdomen.

                 Image of your lifeless face on the cold table keep playing in his mind. It was really you. It is you they found dead, alone in that horrible place. He wish it was not you, he wish it was other girl, but no. it is you who is killed.

                 Apperently, she was killed because she witnessing a murder of the recent serial killer. She was not suppose to be killed, but she was on the wrong place and wrong time. She war near the murder place when she saw it all. Unfortunatelt, the killer saw her and decide to kill her right away. The killer already arrested though.

                 Jimin stop in the middle of a really empty and dark hall of the hospital. He no longer have the strength to walk. He slam his fist on the wall on his right while his knee slowly give up on him and he fall to the ground.

                 We just found her body now. But we can assume that she was killed a week ago.

                 A week ago. During his anniversary night. You was killed during the night both of you should be happy. But no. instead of receiving all the happiness you deserved, you got murdered. On the night he decide to be a jerk. Indeed he wish you would just go from his life. But not like this. You still have a long way ahead. You still have your dream. Yet it was all shattered now.

               If only…if only he was there with her…if only he came… if only he was with her, he could prevent all of this from happening. You could be alive right now…breathing and happy.

               “Why?! Why am I so stupid?! I can prevent all of this but No!” he cried his eyes out on the ground. Gripping and pulling his hair until his scalp screaming for him to stop before his gonna rip his hair. Endless guilty feeling washing over him. She always saving him, but he cant save her. She ended up losing her life because of his ego.

               “God..if you can hear me…I want to start it over…I promise! I promise I will fix it all! I promise I will cherish her like nobody in this world matter to me anymore! I promise….” He put his face on the palm of his hands and crying alone. The though of you no longer in this world and further more it was mostly because of his faulth just eating him alive.

               “Are you willing to risking everything if I give you the chance to turn back time?”

Jimin jump in his place when he heard a new voice coming from above him. He release him palm from his face and look up. To see a young man not older than him, standing tall with his pin-strip suit and brown hair looking down to him with no emotion in his face. He is hoding an open up transparent umbrella in his left hand. Who is he? Who the hell in his mind bringing an umbrella inside a hall.

               “You didn’t answer me.” He ask once again. Snapping jimin out from his though. He scramble on his spot, trying to stand up.

               “Who..who are you..?”

               “My name is Hyungwon. You need to answer me. Do you willing to risking everything once you given the chance to turn back the time? To save the girl?” the man, Hyungwon ask Jimin oce again.

               “I will. I will take the risk if I got the chance…which is impossible. But I will sacrifice everything to save her. To avoid it.” Jimin said with determine in his voice.

               “Then I wil give you the chance.”

               “Ha? You mean you can turn back the time? Are you nuts? That kind of thing doesn’t exist in this world.” Jimin though that the man infront of him is one of the mental patience in this hospital and about to leave when he heard him again.

               “It is your only chance to see her alive again.”

               Jimin stop in his track and see Hyungwon again. This time the man holding a weird brown old fashioned watch in hid hand. That got into jimin attention.

               “I know its hard to believe but you need to if you want to save this era timeline.”

               “Save…the timeline?”

               “I am the watcher and the member of Chaldea. An organization in the far future that job is to fixing the error that happen in each timeline.And this era is just one of the many history I have to fix for the world to become balance. “

               “My job is to find out the one person that making the timeline error and try to fix them. When I arrive in this era, I though that girl, (y/n) is the key of the error of this world. That’s why I keep following her around to see where it went wrong. But I was wrong. She was the error that happen because of the mistake of the key.”

               “wait…I don’t really understand. She was the error? What do you mean of it?” Jimin finally ask after being too confused with his explanation.

               “She isn’t suppose to die that day.”

With this, Jimin eyes went wide. You are not suppose to die that night. He not suppose to find you die today.

               “There are mistake in this era that making this happen. She was not suppose to die. She still have a long way in her life. Yet because of the mistake, she ended up die. And this may cause unnecessary problem in the future. Including your death.” Hyungwon now staring right into Jimin eyes. Making the man gulping nervously.

               “My…death..?”

               “You are planning to kill yourself. And the news of your death will interfering with the other decision in life too. This may cause a chaos in this era. That’s why Park Jimin. You are the key mistake in this problem and you need to fix them.” Hyungwon said sternly. They grow silent for a moment.

               Jimin was thinking, if he could fix it that means he could see you again right? He could once again see you and give you what you deserved. If it is, then he will take the chance.

               “Tell me what I need to do.” He said. The determine and firm resolve could be seen in his eyes, and that making Hyungwon smiling gently.

               “All you need to do is fix everything. Fix what your mistake. You know very correctly what to do to prevent it. Make sure to use it wisely. I only can give you one chance to fix it. The rest is up to you.” Hyungwon then start doing something with his watch before clicking the start button on the side of the watch before the world around Jimin spinning and he felt sick and drowsy. Before darkness could embrace him, he hear Hyungwon for the last time.

“Learn from your mistake and take care of the person who is important to you before it is too late, Park Jimin.”

                   The next second Jimin snap up when he was sitting in a dinning table, with chopstick ready to pick a meat infront of him. All of him bandmates and Seoyeon is sitting infront of him. He blinked and trying to remember what actually happen.

               “Jimin? Whats wrong? You are spacing out haha.” Seoyeon voice snapping him once again. He  try to smile and resuma what he think he is doing before Hyungwon voice echo in his head.

“You only have one chance to fix everything…”

That’s when he remember what time it is. Today is your anniversary night. The day he will disappointing you again. The day you are murdered.

               He stood up immedietly from his seat, grabing his jacket and putting his shoes before he is dashing out from the dinner. Ignoring the yelling of his name from his member and Seoyeon. Right now everything is not important for him. All he think is you and you only. He run as fast as he can to the restaourant you are in. he know very well where it is and doesn’t need to see the map to know where is place. He ignoring the look of surprise people even his fans throwing him when knowing him running in the middle of the street like a mad man.

               When he finally arrive at the restaurant, he could see the surprise look the staff giving him, but doesn’t care. He just go inside without waiting for the staff to ask him who he is searching. As his eyes scanning the entire restaurant searching for you, he finally landed on the girl figure sitting at the corner of the restaurant, looking at the sky from the window.

(y/n)…

               When jimin eyes land on her, he cant help the tears that once again fall from his eyes. You are here. Alive. You are alive.

               He slowly made his way toward you. You still don’t know his presence since you just busy looking at the sky who is clear and snow beautifully start falling. You only realize when you heard his hoarse voice calling your name.

               “(Y/N)..”

               You look away from the sky toward the figure tanding infront of you. Clothes a bit mesy  with several snow resting on his body. Eyes teary and tears start falling from it. You utterly shock to see his state, thus you stand up immedietly and about to ask him what happen when he suddenly hug you tightly. You got surprise but reply his hug and rubbing his back when you heard him crying in your shoulder.

               “Jimin? What happen? Why are you crying dear?” you said trying to comfort him but all he did was tighten his hug like you will disappear if he release you. You utterly confused as of why Jimin suddenly become like this.

               “ You are here…you are here…” you could slightly hear him muttering several inaudible words but you don’t really understand what he mean.

               “yes im here dear. I wont leave you.i promise.” You said to him. He reluctantly release you and look at your eyes. You erase the tears that are still in the corner of his eyes and smile softly. At lease he really is here. You believe he will come. And here he is.

               “Whats wrong hun? Why are you crying like that? Do you really happy for our anniversary that you crying like this?” you try to joke and it success. He chuckle a but before kiss your fore head.

               “Yes…I really really want to meet you. Im afraid I could not see you again. That’s why I cry. I cry because im happy (y/n). and… I want to apologize for everything I do to you..” he is about to continue when your fingle blocked his lips from talking.

               “Lets eat the dinner first. After that you and I will have a looooong talk. Understand?” you said jokingly and he smile at you. Taking your face in his hand and start kissing you in your lips. Its different from the usual. Its like Jimin really putting all his life on this kiss. As if he just reunite with someone who he lost for the entire of his life. After release the kiss, you blushed and look away from Jimin who only smile at you. The both of them then start preparing to take dinner before Jimin eyes spotting a figure standing on the other side of the road holding an umbrealla with smile at his lips.

Hyungwon.

               Jimin throw him a smile and muttering a silent “thank you” to him while Hyungwon only smile gently and turn back toward the dark road before he disappear into the night.

[adonisstyles]

Knock Down, Drag Out Fight

you and harry get in a fight and he's really mean and then he kicks you out? and you come back in a bad state and lots of fluff and angst

Word count: ~900 words

Warning: angst, general very vague referral to family death.

A/N:It was very tough to write this. This was sort of how I imagined Christmas time will be THIS year with the missus and Harry. I in no way intend to make light of or fun of anything that’s happened to the Styles family. It felt like an important point to make that Harry is human and has feelings and that we as fans are entitled to nothing from him. Everything we get from him is a gift. I do not condone going through his trash, hacking his iCloud or any of the other myriad disgusting things that have happened to this family lately.

“Babe, I don’t know what else to tell you,” you yell frustratedly. “We went to my parents for New Year’s last year, it’s only fair to switch.” You watched him grind his jaw and stretch at his neck- he was very clearly angry.

“I don’t trust myself around you right now. You need to leave,” he stated loudly. He left the room and you could hear the door to the study slam shut.

You’d been bickering for the better part of an hour and full-out fighting for 10 mins. You’d never seen Harry angry let alone livid. His face and neck were flushed and the veins on his arms popped as he continuously clenched and released his fists. Harry’s words made you realize it was time to take a break. You stalked off to grab your backpack and threw in some things for a few nights. You’d crash at your friend’s place until Harry had cooled off.

Like any couple, you and Harry had bickered about small things- what to watch on Netflix, who got to choose the takeout restaurant or which route to take when driving somewhere. But this was a proper, all out, no holds barred row.

 You called up Cierra and sure enough she was home alone tonight as well. You arrived with a bottle of moscato and a couple pints of Bunny Tracks ice cream. She had cued up a horribly cheesy thriller on Netflix. You changed into your pjs and sat down with a bowl of ice cream. The nice thing about Cierra was she always waited for you to do the talking. After the credits rolled for the first movie all she had to do was make eye contact and you started spilling the details of the argument that ended up with you crashing on her couch.

“...He wanted to go see his mum on Christmas but we’d already agreed to go my parent’s house for Christmas. Its October! It’s a little too late to start changing plans?!” you blurt frustratedly. “Plane tickets have already been purchased and my parents are expecting us. Why can’t we see his mom after Christmas?! That’s the way we did it last year for my family!” You were so exasperated.

“It sounds to me like this last few months have been tough for him,” Cierra reasoned. “Go easy on him, it sounds like he needs this. Maybe see his mum first and then fly out to your parents. I know your parents are flexible.”

You sighed. You knew that was true but it had been so long since you’d seen your family you just didn’t want to feel like you were giving anything up. You knew Cierra was right and being in a relationship meant that sometimes his needs had to come before yours. This revelation had you packing up your things and driving back to H’s.

You opened the door and stepped into the foyer. The house was dark and quiet. You headed upstairs to your shared bedroom where you could hear soft sobbing. You paused and knocked on the door, not sure if you were meant to witness this.

Harry rolled over to look at the doorway and another sob wracked through his chest. You moved quickly across the room to embrace him and started rubbing circles on his back. You cradled him in the embrace absorbing his sobs, tears and snot.

His sobbing slowed and eventually ceased. You plucked a few tissues and offered them to him. He sat up and blew his nose.

“I was so mad at you, never felt like that before,” he sniffled. “I wouldn’t hurt you but I felt so out of control.”

“S’okay Haz,” you cooed, rubbing his bicep as he fought to keep his breath.

“No, s’not,” he replied. “I’ve just been so upset lately and I really haven’t seen mum since it all happened. I just wanted so badly to be there and I was mad you wouldn’t give in. You’re always so practical.”

You rubbed his back waiting for him to get out everything he wanted to say.

“Harry, if it’s that important to you, we can visit Anne on Christmas,” you conceded. “I was being selfish. My family is flexible and will be happy to see us at all.”

He embraced you, pulling you down to the mattress with him. He snuggled into the crook of your neck and slung a muscular thigh over your legs.

He sobs gently into your neck for a little longer until the sobs turn into soft snores.

“I’ll call my parents in the morning, Haz.”

[colorguardian10]

Response to Mike Rose’s “Blue-Collar Brilliance”

I said I wouldn’t share this if another post didn’t show enough interest, but @yoursinfulsister asked to see it and I didn’t really need a strong excuse anyway.

For my Writing Seminar course, we were supposed to write a five-page response to this article. He wrote about how a lot of workers in low-class jobs are considered to not have intelligence, and about how it’s a gross misconception. I recommend reading it for the full context of this paper. Here was my response to his article:

Mike Rose speaks on the concept of most jobs fitting into one of two categories: the intellectual or “white-collar”, and the physical or “blue-collar”. Hearing these groups, examples come to mind: accountants, lawyers, teachers propped up against steelworkers, construction workers, or plumbers. We immediately categorize work differently in order to treat it differently. I’m not sure my first job could have been a more fitting example of this divide.

While I was in high school, my school district decided to try something new. Every student is given a laptop assigned to them to help with schoolwork and develop technology literacy skills, and every summer, they hire a few professionals to deal with the hundreds and hundreds of computers needing maintenance over the break. This year, they planned to hire a handful of mildly tech-savvy, and cheap, students instead. They also knew that they were short on janitors for cleaning each building while the students were out.

So, in the main library, applications were put out: you simply checked which of the two positions you were applying for, why you wanted to work there, and how many hours you would be available.

This turned out to be a grave mistake on their part. For starters, through some form of miscommunication, 12 “technology interns” were hired for the five open slots. For another, not a single person applied to be a janitor. Having relied on a boost of students to fill out their gaps, they were now even more short-staffed than before.

A solution was reached: the interns would rotate between the job they had applied for, and being janitors, to help even out the balance in each. Anyone unwilling to accept this could leave. (One quit, one threatened to sue for the position, and an additional two were later fired for committing crimes at work.) As much as I wasn’t happy with the arrangement, I knew that the administration was doing its best in an unusual situation, and certainly preferred it to not having a job at all. I stayed.

Working as an intern was repetitive, but concerningly easy. Our first task was to update the software on every laptop in the school and set up the school’s network (a process called “imaging”), which required first wiping them of personal data as a matter of policy. We simply had to memorize a series of hotkeys and administrator passwords and wash, rinse, repeat. All the interns of the day did for weeks was sit at a desk with two or three laptops in front of them:

ctrl + alt + D / ctrl + alt + D / ctrl + alt + D

Are you sure you want to reset to factory defaults? If so, provide credentials and press enter:

qu@k3r / qu@k3r / qu@k3r

Do you wish to download the latest software?

yes / yes / yes

You are using a private network. Please log in as a network administrator to continue:

qu@k3r# / qu@k3r# / qu@k3r#

Put them back in the computer carts, pick up three more from the “unimaged” cart. Repeat.

Certainly, it required basic computer skills, but it was pretty obvious why they didn’t bother to ask for previous experience on the form. Later, we were tasked with fixing broken hardware, which at least required the ability to unscrew the casing, identify and replace sensitive parts, and put the casing back on in one piece.

On the other hand, being a janitor was exhausting. Every summer, the entirety of every single building is cleaned from top to bottom: every desk, every chair, ceilings, walls, and cabinets alike. Furniture has to be removed so that all floors can get a new layer of wax. Outside maintenance is done, too. I was spared by only having to fill cracks in the tennis court with wet asphalt in the summer sun for just a few days. I was “accidentally” placed in the rotation for twice as much time as any other intern, though, so maybe not. I became very familiar with Laura, my immediate supervisor in this department.

I said it was exhausting. This was in part due to the fact that they were still short-staffed, and a quarter filled with unwilling teenagers to boot. I never got to stop. We had our 30-minute lunch break and two exactly-fifteen-minute breaks. The other eight hours were nonstop, moving, scrubbing, mixing solutions, lifting desks and slate tables, carefully picking up lamps, and putting everything back exactly how the teachers left it - they might complain about having to shift the desks again, I was told. Third floor to bottom floor, stripping the wax floors and re-waxing every room and hallway as we went. I could barely even interact with my family when I got back home from how mind-numbing it was on top of barely being able to move. I was given the “easy” jobs because I was young, and a student, and the other workers didn’t want me to “break something”. Laura had been working at my school longer than either of my parents have been alive. Despite this, I had never even heard of her.

My personal experience would support the notion that jobs come either physically taxing or mentally taxing (or perhaps physically or not at all). I might even have argued against Rose’s claims that they’re not so divided, but I have the sense to see that my examples are pretty far on either end of the spectrum, and that one came with very different pressures than the other. I know that the majority of “physical” jobs, such as a waitress like Rose’s mother, do require mental effort as well as physical.

Mike Rose mentions the complexities of something as externally simple as taking orders, one of many basic skills of a waitress - “Waiting on seven to nine tables, each with two to six customers, Rosie devised memory strategies so that she could remember who ordered what. And because she knew the average time it took to prepare different dishes, she could monitor an order that was taking too long at the service station.” (47) He goes on at length about the massive cleverness needed to keep your head on straight in the restaurant business.

Even being a janitor, which I’ve already stressed the physical effort of, came with its tips and tricks: solution #20 for the desks and the walls, #8 for the windows, but dab some #16 on first for stickers. Zizz-O® gets off permanent marker and mop in that white gunk to strip the floors – but if you actually touch it head straight for the chemical shower. And by the way, pour in some extra #20 in your bucket, here’s a bottle we popped with a screwdriver - the mixing machine dilutes it too much.

You might take Rose’s statements and counter that, obviously, waitressing must be a strange exception that really requires knowledge rather than endurance. He prefaces these remarks by describing her additional efforts simply navigating the restaurant, describing her as walking “full tilt through the room with plates stretching up her left arm and two cups of coffee somehow cradled in her right hand” and “weaving in and out around the room” when not holding dishes as a constant part of her work, “flopping” into a booth to take a break with him (Rose 46).

However, while I do solidly agree with Rose’s argument that the perceived division of jobs is untrue, I do not agree with the way he makes it. He states that physical jobs include a mental aspect as a way of giving them value. I believe they should deserve it regardless. Certainly my experience would suggest giving even more respect to physical work.

I do not agree with the notion of intelligence garnering respect, and the corresponding notion that roles not requiring it are not worth respect. To again apply it to Rose’s thinking, I agree that jobs are often divided into mental and physical, but I believe that this is an applied devaluing of jobs in the latter rather than a quirky misconception with side effects. Work not requiring a formal education is frequently devalued based on not requiring “intelligence”. Rose applies this to waitresses and argues that they deserve respect by showing that they need smarts to do their job well. I believe that he is trying to rise something up with an idea used to bring it down, and accepting his argument completely, to me, simply leads to the same problem he is addressing - just for other people.

The superintendent told us we might be getting paid less while janitors - for the same qualifications, for the same hours, technically even for the same job title! Why? Because it was “unskilled work”. So what kind of “skills” are we really talking about when considering pay scales? Rarity of required skills, and compensation of effort in gaining said skills, may be one factor, but who decided that removing an LCD screen was harder than removing an entire classroom? While certainly some work is worth more than others, efforts to funnel money out of working people’s hands has only been hitting those least able to get it back, resulting in a drastically unfair imbalance. Instead of trying to help each other, our society climbs over each other to get at the precious “fair” work left, and people who can’t compete with one-dimensional standards get work that’s even less valued. It’s not about “skills” or “effort” at all. It’s about your rung on the ladder.

Rose does make good points. He clearly shows through his examples that stereotyped categories of work (he also includes “pink-collar” or creative/empathetic work in his comparisons) are defective and out of touch. He gives examples of foremen and waitresses having aspects that obviously contradict the social divide. He even admits that intelligence doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with formal education – and then says that many jobs require intelligence even if they don’t require formal education. Even Rose can’t seem to separate himself from the root problem enough to denounce it. Most likely he is not conscious of this – few people knowingly perpetuate issues – but that doesn’t mean that I can suddenly agree with the underlying notion.

I believe that we should hold ourselves accountable when we notice ourselves keeping harmful ideas alive, at the most basic levels we can. That means, yes, don’t belittle work based on the perceived intelligence needed, but it also means don’t belittle work based on the actual intelligence needed. The original purpose of jobs and specialized work is so that everyone can provide for the needs of the populace. Roles are needed because no one can be their own doctor, and banker, and cook, and technician, and janitor. People simply can’t independently fulfill their own needs in modern society. We work to help each other. If someone is working in a position socially lower than you, then they are doing you a service. Respect them.

“Respect them.” What does that even mean? I know what I think that looks like, but I grew up in a rich neighborhood. I have more concrete examples of what respect for workers doesn’t mean. Do you remember Laura? I never even knew she existed until I had met her. When people are giving their time and effort for the sole purpose of making your life easier, we should appreciate that. Instead, we say these roles are “insignificant” or “low-level” and push them under the rug.

Have you ever had to wait in line at a fast-food restaurant because the service is slow? Think about this instead: the people behind that wall are working even harder than normal. Service isn’t being slow, demand is simply too high to keep up with. You have to stand still for a few minutes. They can’t stand still until everyone in there is gone, and probably haven’t for a while. I know far too many people who take a situation like this and complain, or leave pitiful tips. After all, you had to wait a long time to receive food you normally don’t have to wait for. To me, it always seemed that it meant the people serving you are doing an even better job working to fulfill your needs.

Part of recognizing that all roles aren’t divided into definite categories, as Rose and I argue against, is recognizing that work also can’t be categorized into quantifiable worth. The person making your Starbucks, the person making your sandwich, and the person wiping your floors are all working at least as hard as you are, and to your direct benefit. Treat them as such.

You may disagree with my earlier ideas, that work exists to help others. Isn’t everyone just working to provide for themselves? That’s how American society at least frames it. Rose shows his mother acting very differently. He says that many customers came in with a desire for human contact, and describes how she changed her behavior to suit that. Though he also says it was all to get a higher tip, this is an outlook we disagreed on from the beginning. One of the founding principles of a capitalistic society is that everyone has to compete to “earn” their right to live freely. And so, payment is phrased as points in some great unwinnable game and not as acknowledgement for doing your part. This is where the faults lie. We can’t ever be compensated properly when our compensation doesn’t treat our work as work. Beyond that fact, not everyone can “compete”. Certainly not everyone can compete in a system where your worth is measured by a singular quality. Waitresses have intelligence? Great. Why weren’t they respectable without it?

Again, I wish to state that Rose made a valid argument. I saw his article as halfway to getting at the true problem, but for many his view may be the first time they’ve seen it that way. I can think of a couple people back in my rich neighborhood who could have used the worker’s perspective. Maybe the girl who rented a stadium for her birthday, or my mother, who thinks that most of the janitors made minimum wage because they’re too lazy to get a degree. She can carry the accursed solid slate chem room tables for decades - then she can tell me what “lazy” is.

My experiences may be extreme, and my views radical. But I said above that it is necessary to prevent ourselves from perpetuating harmful ideals. That includes calling these ideas out when we see them. I know that the teenagers typing in passwords were placed at a higher worth than the full-grown adults working themselves to death. I saw Mike Rose’s criticism of a system that put those two forms of work on different pedestals, and I wanted to express what I meant by saying that this divide is unfair. Seeing so-called “white-collar” and “blue-collar” workers in different lenses is something we should recognize, and we should also recognize why we made that divide. Rose argued how inaccurate this difference is, and I argue that the difference shouldn’t even exist.

[nonnarannana]

Grief

Death. A heavy event experienced by practically everyone. May it be someone who you know personally, or someone you just exchange glances with, we've all experienced the death of someone around us, and it is absolutely heartbreaking. One day, that person is just there. The next, they're completely gone. I've experienced many deaths in my family, but the one that affected me the most was my grandfather's. With him being my fatherly figure, I looked up to him. He was my inspiration, what I wanted to become. When I was told by my mom that he had passed, I could not believe it at first. I thought it was a joke, that he was fine, so I did not shed a single tear. But, after a couple days have passed, I finally learned that, no, he was not fine, but I still had a little voice in the back of my head claiming that he would come back, so, I would spend weeks without any wink of sleep, terrified of missing him suddenly entering my room just like before, pretending like all this was some cruel joke that everybody but me knew the punchline to. For years, I lived with pain and guilt. Guilty over the smallest of arguments that we had, regretting not spending enough time with him. I would beat myself up for things that happened years ago, hating myself for not being grateful. But, over time, I convinced myself that I finally accepted what happened, that I could no longer see him again. I convinced myself that, no matter how much I beg and pray. it is impossible for him to come back. I finally accepted it. But that was a big fat lie. After having a conversation with my family regarding his death, I started to realize that, instead of accepting his passing, I've been hiding myself from the truth. I've been telling myself this entire time, that he was long gone before I was even born. I realized this as I thought to myself, "It was such a shame he did not live until I was born." Then I realized, he passed away when I was nine. I learnt that I've been lying to myself this entire time, making myself believe that our weekly visits to his Columbarium was a routine my family did ever since I was a baby. I was still in pain, illusions created in order to mask me from the harsh truth. I was stuck with grief for over five years, and I still am. But, I am slowly improving myself through a list of steps that I have made for myself, in order to finally accept what happened. While there is an already existing list for the stages of grief, I made my own. First, is exactly like Kübler-Ross' for it is denial, and I can surely say I've gone through that stage, and possibly still return to at times. As stated, I have never really let his death sink in. I've just let it sit, never reaching the deepest end. I'd still wait for him to come home from his work, suitcase in hand, but that would never happen. I would wait in his room on Sunday afternoons, hoping for him to come back with snacks in his arms, a brand new set of movies cradled in there as well, but that never happened. Next, in my list, is the sadness and anger. I've gone through multiple breakdowns, guidance classes, and other forms of help, but I've still kept most things bottled in. Until recently. A couple weeks back, I finally had myself realize the truth. I told myself what happened, harshly and straight to the point. And that's what finally did it. Yes, I did have some episodes afterwards, but I have never been as good as I am as of now. I've started to become more open and vocal with his passing, and I started to feel less bothered whenever he is mentioned. My confrontation with myself was all that I needed for help. Next, is my final stage, acceptance. This is possibly the most important of them all, with it also being the hardest. This is the stage I am slowly letting myself sink into, not afraid of rushing things, since this will be the last of my journey. I have been going through his belongings that I've previously refused to touch, afraid of sparking any memory from the past back to life, now accepting whatever it is, and instead reminiscing on the past. I have finally returned to our favorite restaurant from when I was in kindergarten, and even ordered the exact same thing as before. Complete acceptance may be far from where I am as of now, but I no longer fear the journey. While I may take a step back from nearing the finish line, I am accepting his death, and still trying to move on. - Additional note: I fear judgement and pity with all of my heart, and bringing my grandfather up is rather painful, which is why this topic is possibly one of the hardest things I've ever discussed. But, while it may be difficult, it may also be of help to others. Grief is a painful thing that we all experience at one point in our lives, and I want to help people get through it. I want them to know that, even if us grievers attempt to change, we may come back to our old ways at times.