#And then you have people who have one narrow idea of the future who reject anybody else as Zionist

[vamptastic]

Another thing that is driving me fucking insane is that the only thing the current rise in the anti-zionist movement is in agreement upon is a ceasefire. I think that's good in terms of organizing around one immediate, actionable change, but god it's going to be a fucking shitshow when a ceasefire does occur because there seems to be very little consensus on what should happen long-term. Not surprising, considering a lot of people are new to the cause and that their passion stems from the obvious atrocity currently happening, not a deeper connection or investment. Just bonkers to see people who want one 'secular, democratic' state (not a lot of elaboration on what that means) and people who want two independent states and people who want one Palestinian state (sometimes secular, sometimes not) all calling themselves one movement... I mean, where is all this support going to be channeled in the years to come?

[kittenfangirl20]

Marry Me Au

Lucifer was doing vocal warm ups, he was in his suit for the stage and ready to marry his long time girlfriend and fellow singer/actress Lilith.

They were going to get married on stage during their concert tonight.

He had no idea that he was in fact going to get married tonight, just not to Lilith.

-

Adam groaned as his best friend Angel dragged him to the concert. He didn't even want to go. Sure pop music isn't that far off from rock music but it still wasn't rock music.

Adam: Do we have to? I have school in the morning.

Angel: Your precious studies can wait, it's not everyday that Luicfer fucking Morningstar is going to get married! And I got us free tickets!!

Adam was in college as a music major. Not long ago his long time girlfriend Eve rejected his marriage proposal saying that she didn't see a future with him.

Adam: I don't know Ang.....

Angel: Oh come on, if nothing else it will be fun! I even made this!

He held up a giant sign that said "Marry Me?"

Adam: Why?

Angel: Because it's their fucking marry me concert numb nuts. That's the song they will sing and then they will actually get married. I hear ten million people or more will be watching.

Adam: I wouldn't want a wedding like that.

-

Lucifer was all set to go out when his manager Emily came running up to him.

Lucifer: What is it what's wrong?

Emily grimaced and showed the news feed of Lilith making out with his assistant Steve.

The footage was from an hour ago....

*Lucifer walked onto the stage and he saw Lilith in her wedding gown as they sang the song together, but all he could think of was her cheating on him and he just couldn’t look at her the same way, when the song was done, the priest walked out to marry them*

Lucifer: I can’t marry you.

*Lilith looked at him through narrowed eyes*

Lilith: Why not?

*to not be forced to look at her glare, Adam’s eyes went to the audience and he saw the most beautiful man holding up a sign saying “Marry Me” on it, he didn’t look like the type who would listen to his music, but those honey brown eyes had him captivated*

Lucifer: Because I am marrying someone else tonight.

*Lucifer jumped into the audience and walked over to Adam*

Lucifer: Hello, what is your name?

Adam: Adam Kadmon, wait am I the one you are marrying?

Lucifer: Please just join me on the stage.

*Adam noted that poor Lucifer looked nervous and upset*

Adam: Ok.

*Adam walked with Lucifer onto the stage, while he didn’t sing the type of music he listened to, he had to admit the guy was handsome at least*

Lilith: Are you serious? You are actually leaving me for this tub of lard?

*Adam nervously covered his stomach*

Adam: I’m not that fat, and I at least I am a bitch who is being left for the supposed tub of lard.

*before Adam knew what he was doing, he grabbed Lucifer’s hand and they walked to the priest*

Adam: They came for a wedding, let’s give them one.

*Adam was mainly doing this to stick it to Lilith, but what he didn’t know was he had just met what would turn out to be the love of his life and they were going to get married*

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[sayafics]

As, Bs and Cs - Chapter I

A CRM!Rick Grimes x OFC fic!

This is quite a lengthy chapter to hopefully build up the necessary context and foundations to their connection.

Masterlist

Next Chapter

The world had ended over a decade ago, the walkers consuming the population bit by bit until there was nothing left. The Civic Republic scrounged up who they could, their numbers growing to the thousands.

Still, the ones they had were not good enough.

They were civillians. Normal people who did normal things and didn't understand like the rest of them.

The Civic Republic Military was losing more and more soldiers with every mission, becoming overwhelmed with the number of walkers that roamed outside their walls. There weren't enough people to replace them - enough competent people at least.

In a decade or two, the CRM could collapse, and it would be no one's fault but their own.

They are the ones who had saved thousands of people who couldn't fight, when they should have looked for more soldiers in their place.

The CRM was weakening, and if it crumbled the Civic Republic and all its people would pay the price.

That was when Dr. Greer had proposed a... curious idea.

The Civic Republic was not without its faults, and neither were its people. They had their fair share of criminals who would pay the price with community service, but there was a small percentage; almost minute; who were worse.

Major General Beale had wanted them sentenced to death for their crimes, but Okafor had protested. He argued in favour of their usefulness - the skills they needed to commit the horrors they did was what was necessary in the CRM.

They could find use of them, he promised.

And it seemed Dr. Greer had.

Dr. Greer was a geneticist before the world had ended, with a long and profound career in foetal medicine.

A controlled birthing population - a programme designed so the CRM could gain the soldiers they needed without gaining too many mouths to eat.

The programme had only been a whisper for the last few years, a quiet promise and a tempting future. But the opportunity to implement it had never arised.

Until now.

The Campus Colony had been set aflame, and with it, it had stolen over nine thousand souls.

The perfect opportunity.

Now, all they needed were the perfect lab rats. A way to prove the programme would work - a method to rehabilitate criminals and give the CRM what it needed.

Major General Beale had wanted Okafor to be the first to try, but as whispers of Rick Grimes' rebellious streak took hold of him, he saw it as the sole opportunity to truly have control over the man.

Rick Grimes had spent years trying to escape the Civic Republic, all of his attempts ending the same - in failure. But he had grown daring, even willing to cut off his own arm so he could have a chance to return to his life before the CRM.

When the man had finally agreed to join the CRM after years of rejection, the ease behind his decision only made Beale grow more suspicious.

Rick had changed his mind so easily and had given up on finding his friends and family in a blink.

It made Beale uneasy.

So he would do what he could to keep the man tied to the CRM, even if it came in the form of a child.

***

"I didn't sign up for this."

Rick's voice was filled with fury as Okafor stood before him stone-faced, having recounted what Beale and Greer told him as he passed on the orders to Grimes.

"Yes, you did. The minute you said yes to joining the CRM, you said yes to every condition Beale makes."

Rick scoffs, a hand running through his hair as he paces up and down the sparse space of his living room.

His voice deepened to a growl, "this wasn't part of the deal. This wasn't our deal!"

"I know," Okafor's voice softened. He knew what was happening was wrong, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. Not right now.

"But you have to, Rick. If you don't, then someone else will. You're a good man, Rick. The others aren't."

Rick narrowed his eyes, growing sceptical of his words. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Okafor called it a controlled repopulation, a programme designed so the CRM could have the soldiers it needed in the future. But he saw it for what it was, and it wasn't anything good.

"Why do you care so much if I say yes?"

Okaford clenched his jaw, "because it's my fault she's here. And the least I can do is make sure she won't end up being partnered with someone that would hurt her."

"Your fault?"

A grim smile twitched on Okafor's face as he sighed and took a seat on Rick's couch, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shook with morbid amusement.

"I brought her here. As a 'B' not an 'A'. She lost everyone because the men in our ranks knew no control, and I promised her she would find everything she needed here. And now what? She's a 'C'? A criminal turned into a pet for Greer and her people to study her like she's a fucking lab rat."

A bitter laugh escaped his throat as Rick came to a stop in front of him. He waited, hoping the silence would urge Okafor on.

"My men and I were sent on a covert mission - a retrieval. But one of the recruits got spooked, lit up everything around him as fast as he could. By the time we got him down, it was too late. You could hear her screaming, like it was battering your brain. We went to look for her and found her and her people inside a small cabin a few clicks north."

"What happened?"

Rick's voice was sombre, he knew what had happened.

"They were all dead and she was dying."

Okafor looked up at Rick, eyes wet despite the blank look upon his face - "I brought her back. Said she was a 'B' and spent every day after convincing her to join the CRM. She said no, of course."

He scoffed before he continued, "when she finally got citizenship, shit. Let's just say the world really didn't change much from before. She got herself a life sentence, would've been given death if I hadn't stopped Beale."

Now that sparked Rick's interest, what damage could someone do to have Beale want to sentence them to death. Or better yet, what hold did she have on Okafor for him to still fight for her after the supposed horrors she committed.

"This is a second chance. For things to go right."

Rick shook his head vehemently, "no. This ain't right. This ain't no second chance. This is worse than death. Worse than torture. Look what you're signing her up to."

"But it's the closest she'll ever get. Look, if this works, if the programme is successful and you give them what they want, she'll get her freedom back. Five years, Rick. It's five years and then she is no longer your burden to bare."

Before Rick could protest further, a bellowed voice called him from the front door, the blatant order being punctuated by three heavy knocks.

At the sound of Beale's voice, Okafor's shoulders straightened, and he stood up with a stiff spine as he looked into Rick's eyes, a hazy vision of pleading behind the stoic mask of an obedient solider.

"Say yes, Rick. Don't fight against it. They'll make you take someone anyway. Just let it be her. No one says no to Beale."

Okafor didn't give Rick a chance to reply, skirting past him as he swung the door open and stood at attention, saluting Beale in greeting. Rick followed him instinctively, copying his every move.

Beale nodded at the men to stand down, marching past them. Behind him followed a stern-faced woman, narrow-framed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she pursed her lips in distaste at the sight of Rick's apartment. She made her way towards Beale, nodding at Rick and Okafor before she looked over her shoulder and called, "bring in the girl."

They all turned to face the door now, the quiet jingle of chains growing more ominous as the faceless figure of Alara Hunter drew closer.

Rick held his breath when he finally caught sight of her.

She was flanked by four soldiers, their grip on her arms and shoulders so tight Rick could see her skin blanching under their touch. She was dressed in a thin vest, blue jeans, and socks. Her hands were cuffed, and so were her ankles, each one attached to a single chain held by the soldier on her right.

He couldn't help but furrow his brows as he lifted his eyes to track her face only to find half of it concealed behind what appeared to be a muzzle.

Her dark eyes darted across the people standing in Rick's apartment before flickering back to where Rick knew Okafor stood. He could see her throat move as she swallowed harshly at the sight of the man.

Apart from the chains and muzzle, she looked well. Rick wanted to scoff at the thought as soon as it entered his mind. Here she was, a young woman who had lost freedom, who was chained and tied down by the CRM.

But she looked clean and healthy and angry.

"Rick Grimes."

It was Greer who spoke, a pleasant smile upon her face that didn't match her demeanour.

"I believe Okafor has explained to you the purposes of this task?"

Rick clenched his jaw, turning to face the woman. He couldn't help but take a final glance at the woman standing at the door - Alara Hunter.

He turned back, catching Okafor's gaze before he nodded solemnly, "yes, ma'am."

"And so, I believe you are happy to participate in this mission of ours?"

Mission?

He wanted to spit in her face, call her vile and absurd and stupid. This wasn't a mission. It was immoral and unethical and torture.

Still, he held himself back.

He had seen the other men in the CRM: brutes that were all too happy to hurt instead of speak. Cowards who wasted bullets on flickering shadows. Men who had never truly grown up, and behaved like unsupervised children.

It wouldn't be fair to subject her to such a fate because Okafor was right. Regardless of whether or not Rick said yes to Alara, he would still be assigned a partner, and so would she.

He gritted his teeth as he nodded, "yes ma'am."

Beale let out a deep chuckle, moving forward to clap a hand on Rick's shoulder as he spoke, "this may be the best decision you've made, son. You are doing the CRM proud."

Rick looked over his shoulder once more, catching Alara's dark gaze, which grew hopeless as the seconds ticked by, and he wondered for a moment whether the people he left back in Alexandria would be proud.

"There are some conditions, of course."

"Conditions?" He turned back to Beale with a look of incredulity, eyes narrowing as he took a step back and shook the hand off his shoulder, "what conditions?"

"Given your... history here at the Civic Republic, Dr. Greer thought it best to ensure your compliance."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" It was Okafor who spoke now, drawing forward as his gaze skipped between Rick and Alara, who stood motionless at the door.

Greer spoke now, her voice sounded pleased as she sniffed lightly, "we believed it necessary that your first few copulations were witnessed. Simply to ensure adherence of course."

Rick felt bile burn the back of his throat, a wave of nausea that just grew strong every passing second since Okafor first told him and Greer's plans - "you want to watch us have sex?"

"If you would like to put it so crudely, then yes."

***

The conversation hadn't lasted much longer than that, Rick unable to have much of a say apart from agreeing to their terms.

Okafor had shifted to meet Rick's eyes with his own pleading gaze, and Rick had agreed to Beale's conditions under a certain stipulation.

He had only wanted the first attempt to be witnessed, but it seemed that Greer was unwilling to go any lower than three. Rick agreed begrudgingly, knowing three was still better than the initial seven Greer had wanted.

It was under Greer's command that the girl was escorted to his bedroom, and Rick was unable to hide his look of disapproval and contempt as they looped her chain around a post on his bed. It made him sick to see such a thing, made his stomach twist and turn as he held back his anger with strained difficulty.

As they made their way out of Rick's apartment, Greer turned to him with a leering grin, eyes running over his form as she wished him luck and revealed that she couldn't wait for the performance he put on tomorrow.

Rick froze at that, tomorrow?

Greer could only laugh coyly, an expression that was unsuited for her ageing face. She ran a hand over her slicked back hair, adjusting her bun as she smiled in earnest - "tomorrow is trial day number 1. It seems our experiment started at the perfect time, Miss Hunter begins ovulating tomorrow."

Rick shifted uncomfortably at the fact, unsure of what to say or do. It seemed Okafor was the same, eyes darting between Rick and the closed door over his shoulder where he knew Alara had been hidden.

"I have left you with the booklet instructing you on how to care for your programme partner, as well as how to discipline her, should she become aggressive. Do follow the guide Mr Grimes, we wouldn't want to place our first participant in any harm."

Rick could only blink, hand tightening around the small handwritten booklet Greer had passed him whilst Beale's men were dragging a reluctant Alara to his room. He could only nod, unable to meet anyone's eyes as he reached for the door and pushed it shut.

The last thing he saw was Greer exchanging a victorious grin with Beale and realised that they believed they had won.

And for once, Rick feared they may have been right.

***

After Okafor had left with Beale and Greer, Rick's apartment rung silent. If he hadn't seen Beale's men drag the girl into his room, it would've seemed like nothing had ever happened.

But it did.

Rick wasn't sure what to do - whether he should just sit on his couch and finish his bottle of rum, or if he should go in and make sure his "programme partner" was okay.

She hadn't so much as twitched in the wrong way since they dragged her to his doorstep. Her eyes wandered. They darkened and misted and narrowed, but she never moved too quickly or pulled away too harshly.

Whatever she had done was enough for Beale to have wanted her dead, and for Greer to want her genetics to be passed onto the soldiers she was curating.

Rick glanced at the closed door to his bedroom, wondering what monster hid beneath the chained woman who stood in there. Then he thought for a moment of who he was before the CRM, before Alexandria. Of the beast he had become after months on the road, surviving day to day with his children and his friends- his family.

Okafor had said one of his men had killed her people, and Rick knew that if he had been in her position and everyone he knew and loved had died, he would want to destroy the Civic Republic and all it stood for.

It was in that quiet space of reflection that he realised she may not be the monster they all made her put to be. And if she was, she couldn't be worse than the one that lurked in the shadows of his being. The monster that was chained down by threats. The monster that was trapped in a community of faux civilisation.

Rick steeled his spine, and with every step he took towards the bedroom door, he wondered how exactly he had been dealt such a fate.

***

Alara Hunter hadn't always been angry. She used to be quiet and shy and cry at the smallest inconveniences. She liked to think an echo of that girl still sounded inside her, but sitting on top of a stranger's bed, her wrists and ankles wound in chains and her lips forced shut, she wondered how she had managed to get herself into such a predicament.

She wondered how she had changed so easily.

She wondered why she was always so angry.

She still cried. Of course, she did. But her tears were filled with fury, with hatred. Towards everyone - her father for leaving her when the world ended, her people for shielding her that night, Okafor for bringing her to this God forsaken community. And herself.

Alara was so angry at herself. For letting herself be brought here instead of fighting to die at her people's side, for letting herself get trapped with the very people that slaughtered them, for letting them take advantage of her and get away with that too.

And now, what?

A sex slave for the CRM. A breeding whore. A mindless cunt.

Not an A, never a B. Trapped as a C.

Her heart hammered with rage, her hands trembled and her eyes clouded as she struggled to breathe through the muzzle. Like a dog, they had chained her and tied her down.

She promised herself, with a soundless voice echoing in her mind, that she would kill them all. She would burn them to the ground and make sure they couldn't rise again.

She wouldn't let them win. She couldn't.

The sound of a door creaking open pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to find the man who had been assigned to take everything from her. To break her.

Beale hadn't outright admitted that was the reason he agreed to place her in the programme so easily, but she knew. She could see it in the way his eyes lit up with triumph when Rick agreed, how he grinned viciously when Greer was adamant to watch their copulations.

He thought this would break her, but she wouldn't let it.

She stared at the man - Rick. He was tall, tall enough that she was sure even if she was standing she would have to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

And his eyes, she found she couldn't look away if she tried. Something hollow glistened in them, as though the man was no longer human.

An unfamiliar whisper spoke in her mind, like calls to like. And she wondered how much truth was held behind such a statement.

He was handsome, she couldn't fault him there. But he was a soldier for the CRM and that made him an enemy. It meant regardless of his pretty eyes or gravelled voice, he was just as bad as the rest of them.

Just as bad as Greer and Beale and Okafor.

Rick steps closer to her and Alara can't help but shrink away. It seems he expected her reaction, halting on the spot as his eyes soften. The sight did nothing but ignite a smouldering rage in her heart - if he felt pity for her, he should let her go. Let her escape.

For some reason, it seemed Rick was able to understand exactly what she was thinking, and he spoke placatively as she narrowed her eyes in his direction, "I can't take the cuffs off."

Alara rolled her eyes, that much was obvious. If he wasn't going to help her, then she didn't want to speak to him. She drew herself back further on the bed, her back pressing against the headboard as she turned to look out the small window of his bedroom.

The view wasn't the best, but it was more than the sliver of light that occasionally glimpsed through her cell. She felt the gentle touch of a setting sun heat her skin, she could feel herself flush under its soft embrace as she wondered how many years it had been since she had felt the sun on her face. The wind in her hair.

Her skin had paled in her dark cell, her tan from harsh summers in Georgia stripped from her when she was sentenced. It was then she decided; it had been far too long.

She closed her eyes and counted Rick's breaths as he stood, watching. The setting sun was a timer to the start of her doom, she heard Greer's plans and it was moving too quickly to put a stop to them now.

Rick's breaths were slow and steady, like he was trying to control his own wild beast as he watched her. She pretended they were the sound of a clock ticking, that time had slowed down to let her savour this broken freedom and make most of the hours she had left.

The bed sunk under an unexpected weight and the light warming her face had been blocked by a head. She kept her eyes closed pretending she didn't notice the difference- pretending her face didn't grow warmer under his intense stare.

"Have you eaten? It's late."

She kept quiet, hoping he would think she was dozing off and leave her be. But he saw the way her lashes fluttered, the way her chest rose and fell in quick successions as she struggled to breathe through the mask, the way her fingers twitched when he shuffled upon the bed.

He scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say or what to do.

"I could make you something to eat. I- I could make pancakes, Ca-" he took another deep breath, settling a quiet ache in his chest, "or eggs or something."

Her eyes burned as she kept them shut tight, thinking about when the last time she had a warm meal was. She turned away from him, nodding as she reached a hand to run through her hair only for the chain to stop it short of her shoulders. She gritted her teeth at the harsh tug, unable to hide her sniffles and the tears streaming down her face.

Why was she crying?

Was it anger? Fear?

Rick watched her for a moment as she tried to compose herself. She struggled with the limited movement and tangled chains, she screwed her eyes shut and her shoulders raised as she took deep breaths.

Rick couldn't help the apology that escaped his lips as he stood from the bed, nor could he stop the guilt weighing upon his shoulders at the broken laugh she replied with.

***

Rick hadn't eaten much since joining the CRM. Being forced to give up the idea of returning to Alexandria had taken a part of him, had broken it beyond repair. He rarely felt hungry anymore.

At most, he would force himself to eat some slices of toast so he wouldn't stumble during training. Or if he was truly lost in his thoughts, he would make himself Carl's favourite meal and pretend his son was there, eating it alongside him.

That was what sat in front of him now - blueberry and peanut butter pancakes, with whipped cream dolloped on to make a smiley-face and sugar sprinkled on top. He remembered the day Carl had first begged him to make it, and his pleading eyes and mischievous grin had been too precious to say no. It had tasted horrible, all sorts of sticky and sweet lathered in soft bread, but when Carl had asked him so proudly what he thought, Rick could only smile and clear his plate.

The handwritten guide Greer gave him sat on the counter near him, and the page he had left it open on strictly forbade him from giving the girl utensils, in case she hurt herself or him.

He didn't have any plastic cutlery on hand, so he could only sigh as he took the paper plate back to his room to lay on top of the bed.

Alara stared at the carefully decorated stack, and though the muzzle hid the shape of her lips, he saw the corner of her eyes crinkle and he liked to think it was because this small memory of Carl had been enough to make her smile.

He bit his lip before he spoke, "I can take the..." he gestured carefully to her face, "I can take it off, so you can eat."

Her eyes gleamed with hope, her lips burning at the stretch of the mouthpiece wedged between so she couldn't bite her tongue and choke herself to death.

"But I got'a put it back on after, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed, she pushed the plate away as a garbled scoff could be heard through the muzzle. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, it wasn't as though the muzzle was a newly added piece to her prison regalia. No, Beale had ordered it to be placed on her after her first few weeks in the CRM prison cell didn't go too well.

"Hey, look," Rick's voice sounded strongly as he got closer, sitting at the edge of the bed and facing her, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to. But it's in Greer's instructions, and if I ignore it, it's not going to end well for either of us."

She looked at him with scepticism in her eyes, but it took one look at the warm plate of pancakes to dissolve any resistance. She agreed reluctantly, and Rick reached around her head to unclip the mouthpiece.

It covered her entire mouth and lower jaw, pressed tight against the skin in a way he knew had to be uncomfortable.

Alara could feel his slow breaths on her neck, and goosebumps broke out marking their way down her arms and chest. Rick felt her shiver against him, and as he continued to unlatch her muzzle, he murmured a promise to try and get some clothes that would fit over her manacles.

When he finally gets the muzzle free, the first sound to escape her was a relieved sigh, making the most of her momentary freedom. She stretched her jaw and Rick leaned away, throwing the muzzle on to the bed as he stared at her with his gaze anew.

When he had first seen her, he couldn't deny her beauty - not with her long, dark hair and her soft brown eyes. But now, seeing her face whole, he couldn't help but be mesmerised by the sight of her.

Alara was young, her youth visible in her face. She looked untouched and unharmed by the end of the world, but Rick knew that thought was a lie.

She licked her lips, the skin cracked and dry from being forced to remain stretched over the mouthpiece. She looked away from Rick, pretending he wasn't there despite how hard it was to ignore that the man sat directly opposite her.

He pushed the plate closer, encouragingly - "eat."

She reached for the plate, unsurprised by the lack of utensils, and ripped off a piece of the pancake. She reached to place it in her mouth, only for her chains to stop her short. She growled lightly in frustration before leaning her head down to take it into her mouth. The awkward position hurt her neck, the muscles already aching from the weight of her muzzle.

She sighed contently, the pancake warm in her mouth and the cream melting quickly. It was sweet and left a cloying taste in her mouth, her jaw tingling as it was exposed to flavours that had been hidden from her for so long.

She looked out the window again where night had fallen, and slowly chewed the food in her mouth as she savoured it. When she swallowed, she turned back to take another piece only to find one waiting inches from her face.

Rick watched her with a contemplative gaze, before encouraging her by saying, "it wouldn't do you any good to eat like that."

She bit her lip, wondering what she should do. But this might be the only meal she gets before the trial if Greer had it her way - she didn't know what instructions Greer had left, so she couldn't risk not taking the opportunity if it stood before her.

Another careful thought entered her mind, pushing her to get close to Rick - close enough, intimate enough that he may possibly choose her over the CRM.

She kept that whisper close to her heart, looking deep into Rick's eyes that resembled the sky and she ate the piece he held for her. He watched her chew and swallow, and something in her begged her to speak.

To show her gratitude or to fill the silence. Something to show him she was human, something to make it easier for him to care.

"This tastes horrible."

It was the first time she had spoken in years - she had given up talking because there was simply no one to listen, and her broken screams had been silenced by Beale's muzzle.

Her voice cracked with every word, rasped and dry. The sound of her voice felt like that of a stranger's.

To her surprise, Rick simply laughed, his eyes glistening with the faint memory of something as he tore off another piece to feed her.

They then chose to sit in silence, Rick feeding her every bite and watching her chew and swallow methodically. By the end, Alara hated to say that she grew fond of the weird taste and wondered when she could try them next.

When Rick stood to dispose of the plate, they both pretended not to notice how he forgot to replace the muzzle.

***

The bed was soft - foreign. After years of a thin mattress on the cold cement floor, she didn't think she could get used to something like this bed again. Nor the feeling of sleeping without a chunk of metal strapped across her face.

It had helped with one thing though, that stupid muzzle. She had learnt to make the most of each breath, quiet inhales for six deep seconds, hold for four and release over eight. Wait and repeat.

It was a structured sound, calculated based on the accompanying breaths that sounded from the ground.

Rick also lied awake, eyes focused on the ceiling as his mind whirred around how everything had changed so quickly. Again.

First the bridge. Then the CRM. And now, her.

For once, he found himself thinking of someone else other than those whom he had left behind in Alexandria, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing. He thought of her reaction to the pancakes, a ghost of a smile on his face as he reminisced a fading past with his son.

He wondered what colour Carl's eyes had been when they widened in glee. Had they been the bright blue of a summer sky? Or the misty clouds right before a thunderstorm? Carl had always loved thunderstorms, loved to run through the rain and splash in the mud before everything had gone so wrong. Had his eyes been blue at all?

And what about Judith? Who had she grown to resemble? He imagined she would be a spitting image of Lori, with her long brown her and her kind eyes, but she would have Shane's short temper and remarks and it would make her that much more precious to him.

His eyes burned, and he sent a silent prayer to whoever would listen and begged to be reunited with his child. An even quieter whisper confessed he wouldn't mind which one.

Alara's breaths teetered off, her silent counting falling apart as Rick's own grew shuttered in the dark. She wasn't sure if she should say something - he had chosen to stay here, to sleep on the floor and listen to the guide even though he had already ignored it once.

Then she thought of the miserable nights she spent in her damp cell, how she wished there was someone she could share her burdens with so they wouldn't hollow her soul and burn her will.

"How did you get here?" She whispered into the dark, her voice still scratchy from the lack of use.

She heard in sharp inhale, one he tried to cover with the rustling of blankets as he turned his head to look at where she lay on the edge of the bed.

Lying on her stomach was the only comfortable position she could manage. Her head rested on her arms, her legs curled as close to her body as she could manage. She could only look towards Rick in her mangled state, but there was something in her gaze that looked content at the feel of the beds soft embrace.

Even the smell was so unlike the stale wetness that clouded her cell, it had smelt like the air right before the rain fell in autumn. Now, her nose was buried in the faint scent of musk, leather and something earthy, and she liked to think this is what freedom would smell like, had they let her roam outside.

"Someone found me when I was hurt," Rick believed there was no harm in revealing such information, a small part of him hoping the small similarities in their pasts would make her trust him even more.

"They brought me here, I haven't left since."

"Because you didn't want to? Or because you couldn't?"

The silence that rung between them spoke for itself.

"They took everything from me before bringing me here. The only thing I wanted was my freedom, and they've taken that too." There was no hesitation in her confession, only conviction.

Rick watched as she shifted her head so she could focus on the lamp on the nightstand instead, and before he could wonder if she would use it to hurt him, he saw her eyes glisten in the faint shadows of light.

"And now..." her voice wavered for a new reason entirely, "they're going to take my choice from me. And I can't do anything but wait."

A harsh laugh escaped her, her head shaking vigorously on the pillow as she shook her head and her voice dropped to something promising and threatening - "I'm going to burn them all. I'll make them all pay."

"You can't."

He could feel her glare through the dark, but he knew his words were true.

"There is no killing them. There is no escape."

"You don't know that. Not unless you've tried."

Rick lay a hand over his stumped arm, his heart sinking as he remembers all he sacrificed to escape only to stay trapped.

He doesn't say another word for the rest of the night, falling into a fitful sleep.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! There are many more to come <3. Let me know if you have any theories or ideas for what might happen next, I would love to hear them! And to the people who have been following me from the start, thank you for being patient during my long break. I hope I gave you guys something worthwhile to come back to <33.

Taglist: @hhhilloklll @bellstwd @classyunknownlover @voodoopoetry @graveyardblossom

[kazimirkharza]

What are your thoughts on how many anarcho-primitivist/luddite/anticiv spaces have been taken over by right-wing types? It seems less people are actually engaging in primitivist thought and more so thinking it's "based" and "trad."

I saw how you got downvoted for insulting whatalthist, and this is what led me to ask this question.

I'm assuming you're referring to online spaces. There's a strong effort by the right to co-opt primitivism. There are some forums that are frequented by right-wingers, though they're in the minority; most problematic spaces are the ones about Kaczynski and things directly related to him. There are also many social media accounts that express primitivistic ideas in combination with authoritarian and rightist politics (e.g. individuals who adore both Ted Kaczynski and Pentti Linkola). Most concerning to me are actually the offline examples that get press coverage.

I see this as being both due to deliberate efforts to co-opt primitivism, much in the manner Nazis co-opted socialism, and due to ignorance on the part of many right-wingers. It isn't too hard to misinterpret Kaczynski's remarks about leftism if you read him inattentively, and conclude that he must be some sort of right-winger. Ted's mistake was focusing on attacking the left too much and worrying too little about the right, but at the time he wrote his manifesto this choice made sense.

Ted was a fan of Earth First! and when he wrote Industrial Society and its Future the wounds of an ideological split within it were still fresh. EF! started out as a truly ecocentric movement with extremely narrow goals of protecting the wilderness from the ravages of industrialism and other harm caused by civilized humans. After gaining a lot of momentum, EF! attracted thousands of newcomers, many of whom leaned more to the side of leftist humanism than deep ecology, causing conflict — the newcomers were trying to transform the movement into one about ecology-related social justice issues, while the original Earth First!ers preferred to only focus on wilderness conservation. (For more on this check out Earth First!: Environmental Apocalypse by Martha F. Lee). The right-wing in America at the time was comprised mostly of people who were staunch prometheans, warmongers, etc., and Ted rightly assumed they weren't going to take over his movement. However as the political climate changed they became one.

The US and the rest of the "West" seems to be experiencing a rise in right-wing back-to-nature ideas, similar in many ways to the so-called "right-wing hippies" of the Weimar republic. I'm talking about doomsday preppers, christian nationalist communes, etc. Kaczynski did not anticipate this, and by the time news about who was adopting (some of) his ideas — not just anarchists and former Earth First!ers, but people including the Greek fascist Golden Dawn party, and Andreas Breivik — reached Kaczynski in his supermax prison it was a bit late. He penned a short note titled Ecofascism: An Aberrant Branch of Leftism in 2020, arguing against their ideas and saying he's their enemy. However, more people read and will read ISAIF in the future than this obscure note and the few other scattered critiques of the right that can be found throughout his work.

What we need to do is to aggressively shun these types until we successfully repel them. This applies to real life and online interactions. There will always be some who'll try to co-opt primitivism, but this big wave needs to be halted. There are also some who are genuinely willing to learn and adjust their beliefs, but they're few in between. It's necessary to distinguish between the two, keep the latter and reject the former.

[dark-elf-writes]

Chrome was with Mukuro when Tsuna grabbed him and she pats him on the back because she knows how this is going to end

Chrome loves her adopted brother. There’s no doubt about it. In her more dramatic moods she wonders if despite the year between their ages and being born to different families if they were meant to be born as twins. He was like the missing part of her. One soul in two bodies their adoptive family claimed. Weird little bastards their older brother fondly called them.

That didn’t mean she was blind to Mukuro’s faults if anything she was the most aware of them than anyone else. He was intense, possessive, violent to those that he felt had wronged him or the scant few people he had claimed as his, and perhaps his biggest flaw was once he was focused on something be it an idea thing or person he would never let go. Chrome was one of the people he had fixated on, back when she was fourteen and barely out of the hospital after her accident trying to adjust to her new reality and a new family all at once. It probably should have scared her, his undivided focus and attention, but he wouldn’t hurt her and it had been nice to have someone so… interested in her after so long of being ignored and hated by her parents. It hadn’t lessened in the years since, even as he found new things or ideas to catch his interest, but she had always known that eventually he would fixate on another person in addition to her.

That person came in the form of a wide-eyed boy with the fluffiest brown hair she had ever seen (he looked almost like a kitten, sweet and innocent and running to a wolf for protection) winding his arm through her brother’s while they had been going over an assignment for Chrome’s art class and announcing, loudly and bordering on panicked, that they were dating.

She knew the moment Mukuro’s eyes had traced over the boy’s face before flicking over to the person standing far too close to him. Knew when he unwound their arms to draw the boy closer to him. Knew when her brother traced possessive fingers over the side of the boy’s pale throat.

The poor guy had been claimed, and god help anyone who tried to take him from Mukuro now.

“Is there a problem, darling?” Mukuro purred, never taking his eyes off the man that was still too close to his new fixation.

“You didn’t say you had a boyfriend.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” Her brother’s eyes narrowed, clever mind already putting two and two together for why the poor guy had grabbed the first person he had seen and claimed to be in a relationship, “you should learn to accept rejection.”

Chrome bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her beloved brother wouldn’t see the irony in that statement and laughing now wouldn’t help this new ruse. She would laugh at him after. But first, there was another problem at hand a problem that would end with their family having to pay off the police again to keep Mukuro from catching an assault charge… or worse based on the way the man was reddening with rage.

She made a show of adjusting her grip on her cane and wincing. Not that the wince was fully for show. They had been standing long enough that pain was starting to lance up her leg in protest.

“Mukuro, let’s go. You promised you were buying both lunch today.”

Immediately her brother’s eyes were on her, tracing over her furrowed brows and the careful way she held herself. Good. He would be more focused on getting her off her feet than murder at least.

Later when they were settled at a rather nice restaurant Tsuna introduced himself and promised to pay them both back. He had also apologized and said he would get out of their hair.

Chrome had laughed, reaching across the table to pat the back of her future brother-in-law’s hand. He would learn soon enough that there was no unwinding his life from theirs, but she would at least get to sit back and enjoy the show in the meantime. Besides, she had the feeling Sawada Tsunayoshi would make a good friend.

[hoboblaidd]

The Heart

archetypes headcanons

|| The Heart || When was the last time your muse’s heart was touched? Soak in every detail you can and feel the heart awaken.

So the thing is, it started simply because of circumstance. His plan failed, Corypheus lived, and his anchor was on her hand. He described her as a "mystery", not because of who she was, but because he needed that anchor. But there was no way to extract it, so he needed to see the Breach closed and his orb returned.

It's just that they spent all the time in each other's company and she was not what he expected. Especially from the Dalish, who were so knee deep in Evanuris propaganda. But she challenged him, made stupid jokes, got angry, made good choices, and terrible ones. She didn't remind him of him, she reminded him that there was more to this world than his narrow prejudices. She was real.

She sat on his desk as he painted his murals. He went to her balcony and they watched sunsets. Every mission from the Hissing Wastes to the Fallow Mire took days and even weeks to reach. All they could do, all any of them could do, was talk. She asked him about his 'journeys in the Fade,' and he through it he could talk about his memories, his grief, his regrets. He asked her about her clan and elven views, and she talked about her hopes, her joys, her frustrations. They camped next to each other every night, and then they started to explore the Fade together.

She showed him that everyone was real, but not through speeches or pleas. Through her actions. The little fleeting moments of joy they stole, the laughter she shared with the others. She showed him they all had worth, value, and deserved not just the peace of sudden oblivion, but life.

He almost told her, right up to the end. After Corypheus was gone, and after two years had passed, he told her he withheld the truth because he didn't think she would respond well to him being the "great adversary in her people's mythology." But that was a lie. He didn't tell her because he was afraid: not that she'd reject him, but that she wouldn't, and he'd have to choose like the fisherman in Varric's tale - fight for his idea of a better future or sit back, live, and watch the sun rise and set on this new world.

If she'd asked him then, he would've chosen the sun rise. So he chose not to let her ask.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Malleus Draconia Masquerade Dress Personal Story: Part 1

"We should begin from the top once more"

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Diasomnia Dorm – Lounge]

Malleus: As I have been invited to the first ever gathering of future mages…

Malleus: I wish to bestow my utmost gratitude to those from Noble Bell College who chose to include me.

Sebek: How kind of you, my lord…!

Lilia: Good thinking. There's no one in the world who wouldn't like to be thanked for their troubles.

Silver: I agree. I believe it would be a wonderful sentiment that would help break the ice with those new friends.

Lilia: Have you decided how you're going to give your thanks?

Malleus: I have been thinking for some time now… Only, nothing comes to mind.

Malleus: Do you three have any ideas for a gift worthy of my gratitude that I could bring to the cultural exchange?

Silver: A gift, hm. If it were me…

Silver: I would enjoy a cake.

Sebek: A cake? Who'd even think to bring anything perishable on a trip like this?

Silver: Perishables…? I see. I suppose a normal cake would not be suitable to bring on a 3-day, 2-night trip.

Silver: Then, perhaps if we were to make a dairy-free, non-perishable cake?

Lilia: Hm. You seem to be intent on suggesting a cake.

Lilia: I didn't expect you to think of a cake when asked about gifts. Did you always have a sweet tooth like this?

Silver: No, that isn't entirely the case…

Silver: I was only recalling the time I received a cake from you, Father, as a reward for the successful completion of a training mission.

Silver: I remember being very happy then, so I thought it'd be a good present.

Lilia: Kufufu… How nostalgic! I see, I see, so you really liked that, Hm.

Lilia: Then, maybe I should make a non-perishable cake for the students of Noble Bell College?

Silver: Ah, no! Not… Anything but...!

Sebek: LET'S NOT MAKE A CAKE!!

Malleus: I agree… To begin with, I do not like whole cakes, myself. I would prefer to gift something that I would also enjoy, if nothing else.

Malleus: Regrettably, I must reject the notion of a cake.

Lilia: Alright… Too bad, Silver.

Silver: Yes, thankfully. I mean, oh, so sad.

Sebek: …Well, does my lord truly need to bring anything as gratitude, in the first place?

Sebek: Coming from someone like Malleus-sama, just those words of appreciation should be enough...

Sebek: Rather, even gifting them a passing, "You there," should be a grand enough gift, pass down for generations!!

Lilia: I think you'd be the only person who'd accept something like that all teary-eyed, Sebek.

Malleus: Of course, I intend on giving a word of thanks as a matter of courtesy… However, I wish to present something more, to commemorate the event.

Lilia: Something that's not as hard to prepare as a cake, but also something more meaningful than mere words…

Lilia: Well, that narrows it down. And you all still have a ways to go if you still haven't realized what it should be.

Malleus: Oho, so you seem to have thought of something Lilia. How promising.

Lilia: Mhm. So, the gift you should bring is…

Lilia: MASS GAMES!

Silver/Sebek: Mass games?

Lilia: Oh, you don't know? It's a calisthenic exercise done as a group. In the past, the Kingsguard of Briar Valley would also participate in these activities.

Lilia: Many people become one entity, and by performing a seamless gymnastics routine together, it can showcase strong leadership…

Lilia: And completely overwhelm any person who witnesses it!

Silver: Father… I don't believe we're looking to overwhelm anyone here…

Lilia: Ah. You're right.

Malleus: …How troubling, we aren't getting anywhere. We are simply inexperienced with the proper knowledge on gatherings such as this.

Malleus: If only we could receive advice from someone well-versed in these matters…

[knocking]

Azul: Pardon me.

Malleus: Oh, if it isn't Ashengrotto. Is something the matter?

Azul: I received word from the Headmaster that you are joining the participants traveling to the cultural exchange.

Azul: In order to coordinate the groups for the field trip, I thought it would be more efficient to meet with you in person.

Malleus: That's right, you were attending as well. Thank you for coming all this way to inform us.

Lilia: These guys don't have much experience with travelling, you know. I hope you'll take care of the three of them!

Azul: Of course. I will assist in whatever way I can.

Azul: …In any case, it seems you've all been discussing something here with grave expressions. Whatever could possibly be the matter?

Azul: If there is something troubling you, I can absolutely be of assistance!!

Sebek: HUMPH! AS IF WE WOULD REQUEST HELP FROM SOMEONE FROM OCTAVINELLE!!

Lilia: Now, now, it wouldn't hurt to just chat about it with him.

Lilia: To tell you the truth, we've been talking about how we'd like to show our gratitude to Noble Bell College for the invitation.

Lilia: We're still hashing out the details.

Azul: Show your gratitude? To Noble Belle College? Malleus-san would?

Azul: …How wonderful! I won't charge a consultation fee, so please allow me to get in on this action… Er, rather, allow me to be of assistance!

Malleus: You mean to say you'll cooperate with us? I, of course, do not mind, but… Are you truly willing?

Azul: Why, yes, of course. I actually was intending on bring along with me a gift of my own in order to win over our hosts.

Azul: But if I am able to prepare something alongside the illustrious Malleus-san, it is sure to be worth even more. I am quite reassured by that thought.

Sebek: Heh… So you seem to understand just how amazing Malleus-sama is, then!

Silver: If someone as thoughtful as you are ordinarily joined us, this may be a more promising venture.

Silver: Do you have any thoughts as to what we should present to Noble Bell College?

Azul: Why, yes. The most ideal gift for this sort of event would be…

Azul: A song.

Malleus: A song?

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by @twsttrashqueen.

[gmariam19]

I once started a post-TROS story where Finn and Poe went to a very intolerant planet to negotiate a treaty, but they were rejected and sent away because the ambassador assumed they were a couple. I thought it was interesting to explore, that a galaxy as big as theirs can't possibly be all friendly and accepting. How does one create a galactic alliance with so many different species with so many different beliefs? I don't know, and the story got stuck. In part because I wasn't sure how Poe would feel about it--would he understand the need to still work with them, or would he be too angry to set aside their differences? I'm still not sure. But it was also a way to get Finn and Poe to talk and admit their feelings for each other. I mean, if a bunch of strangers saw it, how could they avoid finally facing it?

I've left off the first part as it was a bit much, and I've made Poe more unsure about how he feels about it, but I still sort of like Finn and Poe's conversation and would like to finish it. So here's the beginning in hopes that sharing it kicks a bolt loose in my brain and I can wrap it up this week. Thanks for reading!

The meeting had been a disaster – he’s been kicked out off plenty of planets, though never as a general - yet it is Finn’s question that stops Poe in his tracks as soon as they walk through the door of their room. "Why aren't we a couple?" Poe feels like he's been kicked in the chest. He steps back, mouth working soundlessly until he finally manages words. "What are you talking about?" Finn shakes his head, waves his hands in that way he has when he’s agitated. "What I said. A bunch of strangers from another planet thought we were together and told us to leave. Half the people we know wonder why we're not and have placed bets on us. So why not?” He's right, and Poe is one of the people who’s wondered the same thing; maybe he should get in on the betting pool. "Is this really the time to talk about this?" he asks instead. "I don't know!" Finn exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “I barely know what just happened!” He's clearly frustrated, but Poe is more confused. What is really bothering Finn—the failed negotiations on Allu, or Poe? "Look," Poe says, trying to stay calm even though his heart is pounding in his chest. It's not the time, and definitely not the place. "I think we should probably head out and talk about this somewhere else, once we're not still upset about the negotiations. But you have to believe me, it doesn't bother me that they thought they were together, not one bit. It's…flattering, really, an honor, that they would think…" He stops himself before he goes too far. "That they would see that in our relationship," he finishes. Finn narrows his eyes and points his finger at Poe. "Except for the part about it mortally offending them. Pack up, then. We're not finished." Poe nods, a nervous feeling settling into his gut. He feels like they are about to hit the tipping point, whether they are ready or not, and honestly, Poe's not sure he’s ready. He's known Finn for over a year and known for months that he has feelings for the other man. He's not nervous or ashamed of them; though his serious relationships have been very limited, they've involved both men and women. He's…cautious. Worried. And maybe more than a little scared. It’s the depth of his feelings for Finn that scares him. Finn has an amazing future—he's already started some Jedi training—and it will, inevitably, pull him away from Poe one day. The old Jedi didn't have relationships, and Poe doesn't want to hold Finn back. If Finn even felt the same way, which most of the time Poe has no idea. Sometimes there's a spark, a moment, and he thinks Finn might feel the same, but most of the time…most of the time they are friends. Best friends, and co-generals. And Poe is not sure what Finn might want from life, what growing up as a Stormtrooper has given him in terms of how Finn sees things like sex, relationships, family. The few times they've talked about it, in general terms, Finn admitted he’s not sure what he wants, what’ss normal, what’s even possible in a galaxy that is free. Poe has always tried to let Finn figure things out for himself, and would never pressure him to do something, or be someone, that he wasn't. So they pack quickly and leave, and the tension is thick, though Poe still isn't sure where it's coming from: their failure with the negotiations on Allu, or something more personal. Maybe a little bit of both. He can't help but feel like he's let Finn down in some way, and half dreads the conversation they need to have. He dreads it so much he suddenly wants to get it over with, and starts with an apology.

[bb-editing]

ROXANA (Chapter 73)

*E/N: We’re like four chapters away from them making out, I think. Patience…

–––

“This isn’t exactly a proper meal- we are camping, after all- but it tastes decent enough.”

“Thank you.” Roxana felt the woman’s attitude shift towards a more polite one; it didn’t seem like she was a prisoner after all. Perhaps they don’t know I’m an Agriche. “What’s your name?” Roxana questioned.

“You may call me Olin.”

Though Roxana had asked for her name, ‘Olin’ seemed to be a last name. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected for us to be on such friendly terms so quickly.

Roxana accepted the bowl Olin was handing her, but when their fingers inadvertently made contact during the exchange, Olin’s countenance sunk; she immediately withdrew her arm.

Come to think of it, besides being overly polite, Olin’s attitude towards me is strange.

It wasn’t that Roxana felt Olin to be reluctant, moreso… Olin’s afraid to touch me.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to enjoy this meal.”

Olin studied Roxana’s face briefly before quietly exiting and closing the door.

Now that Roxana was alone again, she let out a hefty sigh. If she hadn’t been unconscious for three days, she would have had trouble controlling the poison emanating from her body. Thanks to her small bout of unconsciousness, it had now become possible for people to approach her.

Still, she was careful not to let people accidentally touch her. Oh, maybe that’s why Cassis was so worried and clingy.

From what she could recall, Cassis never seemed to have trouble approaching her. Roxana thought about the three days that Cassis had spent taking care of her- what had happened to make her body so much… cleaner?

I wonder if it’s part of his powers… After all, he had maintained a healthy body despite being captive at House Agriche.

Roxana set her meal down only after a few bites. Her appetite was minimal, and while the food was quite delicious, her body seemed to be rejecting it.

She called Olin back with a heavy heart, and refused Olin’s offer to bring back another meal that might suit Roxana’s tastes better.

Closing the door, Roxana looked out the window only to see the a familiar figure approaching- Cassis, with Isidor at his heels.

Cassis entered the carriage. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

He asked, glancing briefly at Olin, who was guarding the carriage. Olin caught his eye, and shook her head gently.

“Do you need anything? In the future, if you need something while I’m not here, feel free to ask Olin.”

Roxana stretched her neck. “It’s stuffy in here. I want to get some fresh air.”

“The temperature has dropped since you last went out.”

Roxana wordlessly dressed herself in the cloak he had previously given her, as well as the marten fur blanket. Cassis was silent for a while, but yielded and gave an arm to support her out of the carriage.

Outside, he guided her to the warmest looking bonfire. The people occupying it immediately shifted, leaving the two alone.

Roxana watched the modest and comfortable atmosphere surrounding the Pedelian camp- compared to them, the Agriche soldiers looked like a bunch of gallivanting pirates.

“Eat.” Cassis handed her a bowl of steaming soup.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat, even if you don’t have an appetite. You’ve starved for three days.” Again, Roxana refused, but unlike Olin, Cassis didn’t back down.

“I don’t think any living being only consumes water.” Roxana sighed; it appeared she had no choice.

Roxana stirred the soup absentmindedly; it was the first time someone was forcing her to do something against her will- something that for her own good. It was a strange feeling, and she tried to distract herself from it by latching onto his previous words.

“Hmm… but you haven’t eaten anything at all. Have you been drinking water?” At that instant, violent spurts of coughing erupted from several people seated beside them. Roxana narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Cassis, though he seemed completely unaffected.

(*E/N: Have no fucking idea what the MTL was on about… I’m just as confused as you.)

“Eat. The soup tastes worse when cold.”

Then Cassis looked to his surroundings. Everyone who had been watching the pair suddenly directed their gazes elsewhere, hurriedly finishing their meals and leaving. It seemed everyone was trying to distance themselves the couple.

The sound of a large, weeping worm slipped through the crackling of the bonfire.

Indigo, blue, red, orange- the sun was beginning to set, and different, brilliant hues were spreading over the horizon.

“You said we were in the Frederika plateau… isn’t this within monster territory?”

“The monster’s habitat is located to the end of the plateau- the side facing Emerald Lake. This is a safe zone. We’ll be passing the habitat tomorrow around noon, but I’ll be on watch, so nothing dangerous will happen.”

Cassis glanced at Roxana as if ready to answer more of her questions.

She gazed at the roaring bonfire, and after some time, opened her mouth.

“What happened to Lanche Agriche?”

[semper-legens]

8. Crumbs, by Danie Stirling

Owned: No, library Page count: 383 My summary: Ray has a favourite order at her local bakery - tea with a side of Romance. When she catches the eye of Laurie, the musician-turned-barista behind the bar, there’s a spark between them instantly. But it’s never that simple when magic is on the cards. Ray is a seer, aiming for a job on the Council; the Council who must erase themselves from the memories of anyone they used to know. And Laurie wants to get serious with his music. Will they be able to make it work, or is love not possible for someone with ambitions? My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

Well, this was absolutely delightful. I picked this up from the graphic novels section at work, but apparently it’s an adaption of a webtoon, which you can read here! I was very much enamoured with it, I read it all in one sitting on the bus on the way home the other day, and it was so hard to extricate myself from its world to actually, you know, get home. The art is really nice, it’s soft and round and bright and evocative in all the right ways, and its themes and ideas hit hard for me. I really like it, and if anything in this post sounds good to you, click the link above to read it for yourself!

So this one sort of hit me straight in the insecurities, and the way it managed that is with Laurie. He’s a sweet kid, but he tries to be all things to all people at all times and that ends up backfiring on his relationships. He treats everyone like they’re the most important person in the universe, at the cost of his own wellbeing and mental health. Which...is something I also have a problem with, sometimes. Seeing it reflected back to me wasn’t necessarily what I was expecting, but it was good, and very well-handled. Poor Laurie. He just needs a bunch of magical therapy.

Which leads me onto the other way this comic hit me straight in the feelings, and that’s the overall theme of achieving your dreams, and finding out that those dreams aren’t exactly how you imagined. Ray wants to be on the Council, but in her normal life she can’t remember anything she did inside, just a vague feeling of dissatisfaction. She knows she’s powerful, she knows her skills and talent will basically guarantee her a place, but she isn’t sure if this really is something she wants - especially because her unique talent as a seer of the present isn’t what she wants to do, she wants to see the future. Laurie, too, finds his dreams of being a musician aren’t actually that great in reality, being rejected from auditions and finding that people devalue his work. Reality sucks, but I like seeing them both reconcile with that fact and managing not just to get what they wanted, but to shape their dreams and ambitions into something they actually want, as opposed to something they think they want, or something they think other people want for them.

The worldbuilding for this comic is amazing. I really like worldbuilding that doesn’t rely on dumps of exposition, more like weaving a tapestry of worldbuilding elements and ideas, dropping them into the narrative without necessarily sitting down to explain them. I’ve said so many times that I love this style of worldbuilding, it somehow manages to make the world feel that much bigger, and keeps the narrow focus on our protagonists and their specific place in the world, as opposed to the world in general. I like it!

Next up, a man trapped in a labyrinth, and the secrets that dog his footsteps.

[vertical-elevation]

Why Technology Won’t Solve Your Recruiting Problems?

With the vast amount of available technology today, it’s not surprising that recruiters are relying on tech to streamline the hiring process. As someone who’s spent 30 years working primarily with tech firms, I get it: Technology is valuable and useful. It’s brought success to many companies and helped them save time and money. But when it comes to recruiting, technology is not the save-all answer to your problems.

Tech Tools That Won’t Be Game-Changers

Many tech companies will try to sell you on the idea that technology is a panacea for every recruiting woe. But that’s just not the case. Here are some widely used digital tools that are touted as recruiting “game-changers” and why they won’t make that big of a difference:

One-Way Video Interviewing Apps

Video is big in the recruiting world. Talent acquisition thinks they can save valuable time by having candidates complete a one-way video interview. The way this works is the applicants log into the program from a computer with camera capabilities. They’re then presented with one question on the screen at a time, which they answer verbally using the camera. In some cases, candidates can “redo” their answer, but in other instances, the first recorded answer is automatically saved. The prospective candidates have a window of time to answer each question.

Why is this tool unhelpful for recruiters? The recruiters and interviewees have no opportunity to talk back and forth about any of the questions. In “real life,” these one-way conversations don’t exist.

In limited circumstances, an interactive questionnaire or a printed application may be appropriate. Still, when hiring someone, you need to communicate with the person face-to-face. One-way video interviewing stifles the natural, free flow of thought and communication. Also, not everyone will excel in these types of interviews. A candidate might be the perfect fit but feel awkward talking to a blank screen. So, you might miss out on the opportunity to make a great hire.

Bulk Messages

In the recruiting world, it’s common for recruiters to blast out mass messages to individuals on LinkedIn. Some use e-mail marketing programs to curate targeted lists and send mass mailings to candidates. But these methods tend to fall flat. Most people will sniff out the message’s generic language because it sounds impersonal. These messages often end up in the trash — and rightfully so!

Applicant Tracking Systems

An applicant tracking system (ATS) is a program recruiters use to help narrow down a pool of candidates and improve the search workflow. The more applicants a company has, the more heavily it tends to lean on ATSs.

ATSs scan a candidate’s résumé for keywords that match what the recruiter has plugged into the system, which could include key terms, specific phrases, and more. The ATS then scans the database and rejects all the résumés that don’t include the keywords the recruiter seeks.

The problem with this approach is that good candidates easily slip through the cracks simply because they didn’t use the recruiter’s exact phrasing or a specific keyword. This is why good recruiters don’t rely solely on this technology; they incorporate old-fashioned headhunting to complete the job.

Recruiting Tips That Never Fail

While tech tools may assist recruiters in some ways, you shouldn’t rely on them as a panacea. Instead, incorporate these proven tips into your recruiting workflow:

Pick Up the Phone

It might sound old-fashioned, but talking on the phone is a tried-and-true way to know whether you’ll “click” with a candidate. Give every candidate a call. Take time to get to know them and find out what their goals are for the future. This is what I like to call a “get to know each other” call because that’s really what you want to do. You can ask them about what worked (or didn’t work) at previous jobs. You’ll also determine whether it makes sense from their perspective (and yours) to move forward. Is a particular candidate someone who would be a good fit for a position you’re working on?

Build a Relationship

While you’re talking with a prospective candidate, you’ll be building a relationship. This may seem novel these days, but it’s essential to operating a successful business.

We are human beings and thrive on human connections with one another. Besides, even if you decide you don’t need the person for this position or don’t need the person right now, you may need this candidate later. Build that relationship now.

Ask Questions

Research every candidate, and look for information you might not see on a résumé. What are these candidates’ values and career vision? Where do they see themselves in the future? You want to ensure there’s a cultural fit right from the very beginning. You need to dig deeper than a list of skills and abilities.

Next Steps

Many tech tools help recruiters do their jobs more efficiently and effectively, but none replaces good old relationship-building and communication. As an old partner of mine told me many years ago, “If sales were so easy, they’d give a dog a note.” Recruiting is sales; the sooner you see it this way, the better off you’ll be. You have two ears and one mouth for a reason. Utilize this approach.

[songsandsophism]

An issue I see when talking about philosophy is the idea that one school of thought it inherently true, that multitudes can be seen in a single concept. I don't think that's inherently UNTRUE, but I also believe it's near impossible to address the root of human suffering (even the mental or spiritual) by submitting to a single school of thought. Particularly when they're misunderstood by many, such as me! So I want to take a look at how I've seen them and how I've understood others to see them.

I'm no actual philosopher or academician. In fact, I'm just someone who spouts subjective thoughts with a very narrow and often lacking education. And so, it's hard for me to properly analyse any given philosophy relating to the mind and actions best taken for such issues. However, I do think I'm qualified to say one thing; Humans are deeply complex and contradictory, even if we say we're a optimist, or a sceptic, or a hedonist, it's impossible for us to be without pessimism, faith, or even asceticism.

That's not to say no one is more inclined to one than another, simply that prescribing absolute truth to one ignores the fact that neglecting its other side leaves a person lacking.

How to you mourn if you're an optimist, sure you can see all the days they've had, and all the days you have yet to have, and find comfort in those. But without the echoes of pain, without resigning yourself to the fact the world is often cruel beyond measure, I don't think it's possible to internalise that revelation in a way that helps you grow. An optimist sees a fruitful harvest, but it's the pessimism that teaches you to expect the harsh winter.

Scepticism is a favourite of many, especially those who fit the title of armchair [insert political affiliation here]. It allows for the filtering of information, the ability to question authority, and to find painful truth inside simple lies. But the life of someone dependent on their scepticism, who sees their ability to reject faith as crucial, often lacks in perspective. While science is an institution filled with lies and assumptions, approaching science with the eyes of a true sceptic often leaves one without any knowledge gained. Although many things can be definitively proven with objective facts, Most science requires at least some faith; The best deductions, made with the best information, are rarely conclusive facts, new information comes to light constantly, and deductions can change wildly. If you require a medicine to be researched so deeply that there is no potential for the unknown, you will likely find yourself dying waiting.

Hedonism is a seductive school of thought. The greatest pleasure being the greatest good is admirable, particularly when that extends to others. It, to me, is a school of thought best enjoyed in times of peace and prosperity for most (though preferably all) as it assigns priority not to the building or repair of structures that allow hedonistic individuals to enjoy thay pleasure. Of course, the actual philosophy goes deeper than simply pleasure is good so have all the pleasure. It's often misunderstood as that. So it is important for those who find the concept in that form appealing to consider something like asceticism in times of war, famine, and other social issues. Such issues can leave pleasure seeking, even when focused on extending that to as many people as possible, irresponsible. Tempering the desire for pleasure and turning your focus to advocating peace, tackling starvation, and tearing down or reforming the systems that bring about social injustice can allow for many more to experience that pleasure.

I don't pretend to have a deep understanding of the real concepts, only a minor understanding of how people simplify those schools of thought either for comfort, or gain, or simply because they enjoy it. What I hope is that one day we can imagine ourselves and our future actions as more complex than we do now, just as we should other people.

This morning, I've been listening to Death Cab for Cutie (they have a concert coming up I'll be attending, so I'm quite excited). A song that always stands out to me on listens is Grapevine Fires, the first song of theirs I listened to. That song turned out to be a bit of a turning point for me, moving from songs I listened to in movies or TV I liked, to bands I adored and would listen to the entire discography on. I don't think it's their best song, but it's incredibly important to me for that reason, silly as it might sound.

[ear-worthy]

Pod-Alization: Second Season Of “Stuck With Damon Young”; “Hard Fork” Examines Google’s AI Disaster

Stuck With Damon Young releases trailer ahead of second season premiere

There are so many people talking on podcasts these days. Almost all the time, these conversations are characterized or marketed as being culturally relevant and intellectually stimulating. All too often, this dialogue is feckless and frivolous babbling about future tattoos, “a personal search for meaning,” and going green by purchasing a Tesla Roadster.

Thankfully for listeners and for the culture, Damon Young doesn’t do superficial in his podcast, Stuck With Damon Young.

Last week, Spotify and Gimlet announced that their podcast, Stuck with Damon Young, will be returning for its second season on February 16, 2023.

The trailer for season two is available, and you can check it out HERE.

If you don’t know, Damon Young is a writer, critic, and satirist whose debut memoir What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Blacker: A Memoir In Essays won the 2020 Thurber Prize for American Humor and Barnes & Noble’s 2019 Discover Award.

In season two, Young returns with more off-the-cuff conversations, and with round ups of Damon-approved listener-submitted questions. In season two, Young will be joined by special guests Kiese Laymon, Roy Wood Jr., Elaine Welteroth, Nikole Hannah-Jones and others. With weekly episodes dropping each Thursday, listeners can explore the uncomfortable, hideous, and hilarious absurdity of human behavior.

NYT’s Hard Fork podcast examines how Google’s response to Bing was such a disaster In the most recent episode of The New York Times’s podcast, Hard Fork, hosts Kevin Roose and Casey Newton speak with OpenAI’s CEO Sam Altman and Microsoft’s CTO Kevin Scott on why Microsoft’s release of a ChatGPT-powered Bing signifies a new era in search.

Then, they discuss how a disastrous preview of Bard — Google’s answer to ChatGPT — caused the company’s stocks to slide 7 percent.

The full transcript of the episode is available here, with highlights below.

Kevin Roose: Sam, there are people, including some at OpenAI, who are worried about the pace of all of this deployment of AI into tools that are used by billions of people, people who worry that maybe it’s going too fast, that corners may be getting cut, that some of the safety work is not as robust as maybe it should be. So what do you say to those people who worry that this is all going too fast for society to adjust or for the necessary guardrails to be put in?

Sam Altman: I also share a concern about the speed of this and the pace. You know, we make a lot of decisions to hold things back, slow them down. You know, you can believe whatever you want or not believe about rumors, but, you know, maybe we’ve had some powerful models ready for a long time that, for these reasons, we have not yet released. But I feel two things very strongly.

Number one, everyone has got to have the opportunity to understand these tools. The pluses and minuses, the upsides and downsides, how they’re going to be used, decide what this future looks like, co-create it together. And the idea that this technology should be kept in like a narrow slice of the tech industry because those are the people who we can trust, and the other people just aren’t ready for it — you hear different versions of this in corners of the community, but I like I deeply reject that. That is like not a world that I think we should be excited about. And given how strongly I believe this is going to change many, maybe the great majority of aspects of society, people need to be included early and they need to see it, you know, imperfections at all as we get better, and participate in the conversation about where it should go, what we should change, what we should improve, what we shouldn’t do. And keeping it hidden in a lab bench and only showing it to like, you know, the people that like, we think are ready for it or whatever, that feels wrong.

The second is, in all the history of technology I have seen, you cannot predict all the wonderful things that will happen and the misuse without contact with reality. And so by deploying these systems and by learning and by, you know, getting the human feedback to improve, we have made models that are much, much better. And what I hope is that everything we deploy gets to a higher and higher level of alignment. We are not — at Microsoft and OpenAI — we are not the companies that are rushing these things out. We’ve been working on this and studying this for years and years, and we have, I think, a very responsible approach. But we do believe society has got to be brought into the tent early. […]

Casey Newton: We’ve been hitting you pretty hard on the the safety and responsibility questions, but I wonder if you want to sketch out a little bit more of a utopian vision here for once you get this stuff into the hands of hundreds of millions of people and this does become part of their everyday life. What is the brighter future that you’re hoping to see this stuff create?

Sam Altman: I think Kevin and I both very deeply believe that if you give people better tools, if you make them more creative, if you help them think better, faster, be able to do more, like build technology that extends human will, people will change the world in unbelievably positive ways, and there will be a big handful of advanced A.I. efforts in the world. […] And that tool, […] will be as big of a deal as any of the great technological revolutions that have come before it in terms of what it means for enabling human potential and the economic empowerment, the kind of creative and fulfillment empowerment that will happen. I think it’s going to be jaw-droppingly positive. We could hit a wall in the technology, you know, don’t want to promise we’ve got everything figured out. We certainly don’t. But the trajectory looks really good.

Kevin Scott: And the trajectory is towards more accessibility. Like the thing that I come to over and over again is the first machine learning code that I wrote 20 years ago, took, you know, a graduate degree and a bunch of grad textbooks and a bunch of research papers and six months worth of work. And like that same effect that I produced back then, a motivated high school student could do in a few hours on a weekend. And so, like, the tools are putting more power in the hands of people.

Check out Hard Fork here.

FYI: This article was written by a real person, not an AI intelligence.

[nectar-cellar]

matthias :3

i’ve used him as a model a few times but have rarely taken any solo pics of him.

i made him to be the protagonist of a royal simblr story i had thought of, but then i ran into some obstacles such as: major writer’s block, distracted by cc-making, the fact that the dronningslund world lags like hell on my computer, etc.

i was heavily inspired by the royal simblrs i follow on here.

some random plot points i thought of:

he is consistently ranked at the top of the “hottest royals” lists in tabloids. at the start, his public image is perfect and he is adored by the media. young, stylish, progressive, and movie-star handsome, he is the perfect bachelor and “the people’s prince” or at least that’s what his PR team wants you to believe. however, his presence in pop culture makes some people not take him seriously as a political figure and leader.

he has a younger brother who is the ~wild one~ of the family. since matthias is the crown prince, he faces strong pressure to keep up the facade of perfection, and he envies the freedom and relative lack of scrutiny his younger brother has. black sheep/golden child family dynamic. however they are still close and are each other’s confidantes since they have no one else who “gets it”.

he starts a controversial relationship with a simerican pop star after a visit to simerica for a fancy event. the relationship gets serious fast as they are both infatuated with each other, but it also becomes toxic the more serious it gets. the uneven power dynamic of the relationship brings out the worst in him as he struggles to cope with the pressure of having this highly publicized, polarizing, “forbidden” relationship and the uncertainty of what his future life would look like with her in it since she is an outsider to his high-society social circle.

at some point he ends up having this homoerotic enemies-to-lovers thing with a childhood rival that confuses both of them. a part of matthias is secretly pleased to discover this fact about himself, that he might not be 100% straight after all. he knows it would piss a lot of people off if they knew. another fuck-you to their narrow-minded expectations of who he ought to be. the icing on the cake: their steamy secret encounter shuts his rival’s slick mouth up. not sure where in the timeline i would include this but i really want it to happen lol

the story is really more about the pop star’s journey through fame. she goes from an unknown singer stuck with a shitty music label to a worldwide sensation overnight due to her new relationship with matthias. she thinks she’s been rescued from her troubles, but really she has just traded one gilded cage for another. the story would be told from both of their perspectives. how she realizes that she is still trapped by the people around her. how the fame feels hollow because it is only due to her relationship, not because of her music which nobody seems to care about. how she eventually gathers the courage to say no to this crown prince who everyone thinks is perfect, and reject the fairytale life of royalty so many women would kill to have. how matthias struggles with his conflicting feelings about his future that has been decided for him since birth. how the relationship makes him realize his own flaws and bitterness and cynicism and desperate need to feel in control. how their relationship makes him question what he really wants out of life. how he grows into the next version of who he needs to be. how they both have to find their own ways forward after their whirlwind romance and messy breakup.

i need to create this pop star character!! i already have her name picked out i just need a face claim. 😩 

as i create the rest of the supporting cast i think i’ll have more ideas for how to stir up drama and shape the plot.

[wri0thesley]

Nat😫😫😫 I'm just reading your naoya posts and I cant😫😫😫 why do I love this arrogant man😫 is it possible to write something of a connected fic to your arrangement story about how he feels jealous over a similarly docile reader (doesnt have to be connected if you dont want tho!!). like he hears about how the reader has been getting marriage proposals from other men since naoya hasnt given an affirmative to your family,,,, and now the reader is forced to consider other candidates (although she still cant atop thinking about our favourite princely asshole) and naoya cant handle this thought lol he deserves to know what angst and the pain of yearning tastes like😌 I hope this wasn't too confusing aaaa😭😭 I love your writing, and im glad youre in this jjk brain rot too🤧

patience - naoya x fem!reader (1.5k)

arrangement // patience // my jjk masterlist

warnings: naoya remains an asshole. submissive reader, arranged marriages, mentions of murder, talk of adultery. pining/angst. not sfw, minors dni!

naoya hates that he can’t stop thinking about you.

Naoya hates that he can’t stop thinking about you.

Oh, he’d meant it when he’d spat ‘pathetic’ and ‘useless’ and ‘worthless’ at you – your bloodline was unimpressive, your lack of cursed technique tragic, your clan elders absolutely idiotic for sending a nobody like you to tempt him. But . . . something about the look in your eyes, the meek little bow of your head, the way you’d listened to every one of his orders with a soft little gasp and a desire to follow them to the latter . . .

He hasn’t told your family that he’s not interested in you, but word gets around the jujutsu community when someone is looking for a spouse. After all, they’re determined to retain blood purity, to keep techniques in the bloodline – your family soon hear that Naoya is still considering all of his options. That other pretty young daughters from other bloodlines have been to see him.

(Naoya rejects them all, for frivolous reasons that he doesn’t want to admit are frivolous. He hadn’t liked the look in that one’s eyes. He didn’t want his children to inherit the colour of that one’s hair. That one had walked two steps behind him, not three--).

You haunt his thoughts. You and the bow of your head, the bite of your lip, the way you’d looked with tears brimming in your eyes. The suggestive curve of you beneath your kimono.

Ugh.

He hears, too, that your family have been exploring their other options. They’d seemed thrilled, at first, that Naoya hadn’t utterly swept you off the table – but six months have passed, and they want their daughter married and out of the house and fulfilling her duties.

He hears about your marriage proposals through that same grapevine. He hears that other men say you are pretty and quiet and obedient, that you will make a fine wife, that you will listen to commands and give soft smiles and raise children like you ought to--

And once, he smashes a glass from gripping it too hard as some nobody in the Kamo clan mentions that he’s going to ask your family for your hand in marriage.

You say no. He hears, too, that your elders are growing frustrated with your dismissals of proposals. They have left behind the thought of marrying you into the Zenin clan, but clearly you’re still clinging to the idea that Naoya might want you despite what he’d said.

He doesn’t, he tells himself, when he wraps his fist around his cock and pumps it and thinks about your look of surprise as his come splatters across your face.

He doesn’t, he tells himself, when he compares a young lady sent to entice him with you. When she looks him in the eye and he thinks that you would never do that, that you would keep your head bowed, that you’d be deferential as he needs you to be.

He doesn’t, he tells himself, as a servant cleans up the shards of glass that he shatters and he asks the Kamo clan member if perhaps he would like to spar, and he hits him just a little bit too hard so he ends up wheezing and doubled over on the training mats as Naoya stalks out of the room.

It’s not his style to pine. He has the pick of every eligible young lady in jujutsu society; he should not be hung up on such a worthless, pathetic little thing.

He hears of another proposal. This one, apparently, hasn’t been rejected straight-out – this one, you seem to be considering. Other members of the Zenin clan don’t understand why his jaw sets at the news.

“You didn’t want her, did you?” He asks. “You didn’t seem keen after the meeting.”

One of his other distant cousins, an upstart too big for his boots, grins.

“That was before she was hot property, though,” he leers at Naoya. “Our golden boy doesn’t like the idea of people coveting his trash--”

Naoya has struck him before he can think and stalked out of that room, too. Something about you has truly opened the can of worms that is Naoya’s violence, and he refuses to admit to himself that it’s because he wants you.

It’s not because you’re hot property – though, certainly, the way other men talk and laugh about you and the knowledge that you’re wanted serves to set a fire within him. It’s because he can’t stop thinking about you.

He tries courtesans. He chooses pretty, well-mannered ones who look a little like you – but their eyes when they look at him are glassy. They’re not the same as yours, brimming with life and want and confusion at the position you’ve found yourself in and the way your body responds to Naoya.

He doesn’t admit to his mistakes. He doesn’t think ‘I should have accepted the proposal, I should have joined the clans’ – instead, he thinks ‘I should have fucked them then and there. I should have made them scream my name until their reputation was ruined and everybody knew they came apart on my cock. It’s their fault that I can’t get them out of my brain.’

He walks with fists and teeth clenched and snaps at every servant who dare looks his way. Naoya has always been unpleasant, but he’s downright impossible with his spine in knots and his eyes narrowed.

He’s going to have to do it. He’s going to have to contact your family, ask for another audience, if only to get your fucking face out of his mind--

He’s not expecting to come across you before he’s even made the call, standing in one of the gardens of the Zenin estate. You’re wearing the same kimono you had first visited him in, and he hates that the sight of it makes a throb low in his belly as he remembers seeing it crumpled on his bedroom floor. He swallows as he stalks towards you and you turn, your pretty eyes widening – he sees the flash of memory, the flash of desire. He wonders if anybody would dare speak to him if he took you right here, in the garden--

An older man opens a door behind you.

Naoya recognises him only vaguely. The Zenin estate is swarming with various, less important Zenins; this one’s a great-uncle, perhaps? Or a cousin thrice removed? He’s someone unimportant in the grand scheme of things, save for the way that he walks up to you and wraps an arm around your waist.

“Ah,” the man with his hands on Naoya’s property says. “I see you’ve met my betrothed.”

His heart stops cold. He’s nobody. Unimportant. Nothing.

He’d called you the same thing; an ‘act of charity’. So why does the sight of an arm around you attached to a man too old and not powerful enough to be a threat make Naoya feel like he’s chewing rocks? Naoya manages to spit out a;

“Congratulations.”

“Yes,” the old man (great cousin? Naoya doesn’t make a habit to remember people he can’t use later on) says, pulling you closer, groping at your hip through the kimono as you keep a sedate, smile on your face without looking directly into Naoya’s eyes. “You’ll be seeing her around a lot. I hope she didn’t bother you.” A squeeze to your ass, this time, shameless. “Say hello to the future leader of the clan, sweetheart.”

(At least this man’s on Naoya’s side, he tries to console himself, but it doesn’t work.)

“H-hello, sir,” you say, and your voice is as tremulous as he remembers it. His cock stirs. He hates this.

“Sorry to bother you,” he inclines his head politely and tugs on your arm, pulling you away, leaving Naoya kissing his teeth and trying to not simply slit the man’s throat with the knife in his hakama and take you for his own.

What had the scum said? ‘You’ll be seeing her around a lot’. He supposes, then, that you’ll be sequestered in one of the other chambers in the Zenin estate--

A slow smile spreads across his face.

You wouldn’t say ‘no’ to your clan leader, would you? And . . . your future husband is old. Any Zenin is a Zenin, is it not? Even if a son is born with Naoya’s features, Naoya’s technique . . . nobody would say anything to him about it. And you’re in reach. Close to him.

He only needs to get you alone before the wedding to make sure he gets to take your maidenhead. He hates the thought of another man’s filthy hands on you, but accidents happen all of the time--

And then you’ll be a widow. You won’t be expected to marry for a while. And if you’ve already borne fruit and proved yourself – perhaps Naoya will even play the chivalrous leader and lower himself to take you for his own.

Yes. Just a little patience.

This is an arrangement he can get behind.

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic.