#also this would be more based in tangible reality as the show has been until now

[will80sbyers]

Something similar to the shadow theory is so real and "Vecna knows the future" because his conscience will be sent back during the last battle in s5 when he "dies" and he will become part of the shadow in the Dimension X (but the shadow was initially just a neutral alien with powers imo) that later on will possess himself and make him become Vecna guiding him to that without him knowing, so he split his conscience and Henry was fighting against a part of himself... Until he became "ONE" again.

It makes so much sense and it's like a time loop, it probably will get started by Will that's using his own powers after he gained them when Vecna put that vine in his throat in S1 changing his whole DNA + he's gonna use the light to do it because if it's true that the light works as a gate maybe this gate connects past and present easily... maybe that's why it allows people to talk through the dimensions 🤔

It would be a simple time loop & obviously inspired by Arrival too, perfect conclusion without all the mess of sorting out real time travel or many timelines stuff in one season

[yeyinde]

Haha, I also spoil myself intentionally, but for the plot of movies, tv shows, and games I’m not super invested in. If I accidentally spoil myself (especially if I learn a character dies) I’ll cope by telling myself “I don’t know how/when it happened though”

Anyways Major Character Death!!

I’m SO disappointed in them killing off Soap and especially in how they did it! No buildup or anything! To me it was disrespectful to the character and to Neil Ellice. And then the 141 don’t even say anything and it cuts to them spreading his ashes with a simple goodbye! They could have at least made them a little more upset 🥲 also I hate how abruptly the game ended. Makarov gets away, but no mention to that at the end.

I had also initially requested what would become infinity in the palm of your hand (eternity in an hour) as a way to “cope” with 2009 Soap’s death because it’s always been on the back of my mind for years (weird, I know). But now after playing the new MW3 campaign I look like boo boo the fool because of who went and got killed off 😭 now every time I go back to reread it, it will be painful knowing what’s in store for reader for their current reincarnation of Soap.

Tldr I’m kinda not okay with MW3.

From what I've seen, it feels like they pulled it out of a hat. All names went in, but his (amongst others) came out. And I guess it's safe because he died in the OG, so the backlash can easily be deflected from within their own community when other fans come to their defence over this choice. But idk.

I agree with everything you said. It doesn't make any sense. It's jarring and misplaced, and canonically pointless. I'm not against character death. Grief is a powerful thing. But I just hate when it's so contrived and needless. It was definitely done for shock value over plot/character growth and I think they were trying to re-create the massive storm that happened when OG Soap died because they know they don't have much else going for them. It just massively missed the mark because: a) Price and Gaz had no tangible in-game relationship with Soap the same way Ghost did; and b) what does his death really amount to in the end? Nothing. It feels cobbled together and poorly thought out. It's sad when Portal 2 has better writing than your whole remake combined. Honestly, it's kind of impressive how little thought they put into this. I'm getting flash backs to DGG's Halloween.

If it's any consolation, the mythology I based the reincarnation off of in infinity would essentially just be neverending. An ouroboros. The events would happen much the same way. A knock on the door. Spiral of grief. A bog. A deal. Restart. So, you'd just wake up again and live life until whatever the old you made a deal with decides it's time to collect. You're forever stuck in a loop with your soulmate until you get it right.

The rest is just how I kinda wish it went, but this was getting very long because I have more thoughts on this than I anticipated lmao 😅

Personally, I think it would have been much more interesting if they brought in a new passel of characters and slowly chipped off the main cast in a series of horrible decisions that slowly begin to feel hollow and empty. That leave you, the player, feeling emotionally gutted with each new chapter because the choices previously are absolutely impacting the way they move forward, but they're too deep into their own revenge fantasy to see it until the very end when it's too late. Give me actions have consequences and every choice you make is directly responsible for someone's death. The realities of war. And what happens when you give a group of people the power to play god in countries they know nothing about. It would have matched the gritty tone they tried to go for with the trailers and actually served as an interesting conversation about war and how we tend to deify the military when they're just men with too much power in their hands. Instead, we have a death that means nothing. That arguably happened much too early in the series so the payoff is solely meant for clicks and reaction channels. Pointless.

And Makarov. A Russian Ultra Nationalist. I feel like that title alone says everything for me, and yet. They still somehow managed to give a Russian War Criminal so many wins. I'm just so irritated by it all.

[radlymona]

Most of this is word salad that ignores material reality, but let's try break it down.

a) "If the sex binary is just biology pure and simple then how, prey tell, do intersex people fit into the equation?"

Sex is still binary because there are only two gametes, the ova and the sperm regardless of whether individuals with DSDs have exterior phenotypes that don't match their biological sex.

Whether or not Intersex people constitute as a "grey area", they have nothing to do with biological males identifying as women and being in women's spaces. A biological male without a DSD is different from a biological male with a female phenotype who has been raised as a woman. This whole conversation doesn't really matter, because at the end of day, vulnerable women have a right to decide who they get to be around. You can write all the drivel you want, and it won't matter to female rape victims who don't want to be around biological males. Because their concerns are tangible, not pseudo-philosophical.

b) "Sex is actually just a social relation subject to development in the same way as every other social relationship. And that is precisely what sex is. It did not appear at the dawn of time as some sort of all encompassing law in the same sense class or morality did not appear at the creation of the universe, these things were developed under subject to material forces."

These are really stupidly worded sentences. Any academic worth a cent would tell you off for writing such atrocious structured and meaningless words.

"Sex is just a social relationship subject", but it's also material reality perceived in 99% of human beings. We know that the people with penises are different from the people with vaginas. We know that the people with penises can inseminate the people with vaginas and that those people gestate children and that's how the human race continues. We know that there are further differences between the people with penises and people with vaginas, such as the former growing taller on average and the latter being able to menstruate. We know that just because not everyone ascribes to these common characteristics, that doesn't mean they aren't important identifying factors.

“Man” and “Woman” developed at the same point that the state was created and for the same reason; to protect ownership of private property.

This is patently false. Whether or not you mean this in the sense of ancient state-empries, or modern states post-treaty of westphalis, this is false. Regardless of whether their understanding of sex roles were different, our hunter-gather ancestors knew what the difference between the people with penises and people with vaginas were even if you don't know it in the year 2024. You could feasibly argue te that the institution of the patriarchy didn't exist until the development of more advanced societies (though I'd argue that as long as rape of women by men has existed, so has some form of the patriarchy) but that doesn't mean pre-state peoples didn't know the difference between the sexes. The fact that ritualised rape still occurs in tribal societies, shows that sex based oppression occurs regardless of the political-economic system in place. Because it's adult men who are doing the raping of women/girls and occassionally young boys (who often fulfill a "female role").

Okay but what measure was used to decide which category (male) could be the one to own property and oppress the other category (female). What tangible division was used when the development of male and female categories occurred. This wasn't an arbitrary decision. And if you argue that it was completely arbitrary and that the two categories didn't have hard, visible differences, it doesn't matter. Because there were tangible impacts on those identified as female. What matters is those considered female couldn't own property, were sold in marriage, faced mass sexual violence, didn't have access to education and employment opportunities, couldn't vote etc. etc. And this was decided by those considered male.

"But yes sex is biological because you have decided so. Idealism at its finest indeed."

How is this "idealism". There is nothing idealistic about a politically neutral fact. Sex is biological because we can observe differences in the people with vaginas and people with penises. It's biological becaue 99% of the population can either produce an ova or a sperm. This type of pseudo-philosphical thinking is what happens when you can only analyse oppression from a class-based angle, rather than looking at the violence women face regardless of their political-economic system they're in.

All of this to say, once again that it really doesn't matter who's right from an academic standpoint. Women don't need to be "technically correct" about biological sex, to receive the services they want. The whole point is they don't have to justify their requests. No ifs, no buts, no astericks.

One of the only things I want to push back about the Edinburgh Rape Crisis Case case, is that rape victims who request female-only workers aren't "gender critical". Women in hospitals who ask for female nurses aren't being gender critical. Elderly women who request female carers aren't being gender critical.

They're just requesting a basic, single-sex service that is apolitical and has no ideology attached to it. This used to be like an ordinary thing women and girls could ask for without question.

[econ23econlive]

Biden's 2022 Inflation Reduction Act: An economic victory for climate change

I want to talk about one of the most important bills that has been passed recently, and I will share how it has directly affected me as well as explain just how important that step has been in fighting against disastrous effects of climate change. The conversation around climate change has always been difficult especially due to the insane controversy that has been manufactured from big businesses and political interests, so I would like to talk about the small victories while also modeling what exactly is happening on a microeconomic level. 

I am a mechanical engineer hoping to one day work on environmentally friendly technologies and contribute to protecting the planet, but for now I really hope that the government has done enough to help the environment. Luckily, I have an anecdote that sort of relates to the tangible benefits. For context, instead of buying gas cars so that my siblings and I could drive to college, we were more than incentivized to buy EVs. Although the EV market has already been on the rise since 2021, my family personally could not afford it until only recently. We actually used a California CarMax trade in program so we got rid of the gas-powered car as well and will no longer be contributing to pollution as much. Along with California’s Clean Vehicle Rebate Project which ensures a rebate up to $4,500 and under Internal Revenue Code Section 30D from the Inflation Reduction Act, we could get up to $7,500 in clean vehicle tax credit, so my family was more than willing and able to purchase low to no emission electric vehicles.

In the above pictures, I have drawn a series of microeconomic models of the things I have been talking about. The first of which shows that the increasing ownership of electric vehicles is displaying a market shift of the demand curve to the right with much greater quantities being bought. The supply curve is shifting to the right as well because the bill also ensured that industries had incentives by effectively lowering the overall costs with tax credits into transitioning to lower emissions (overall much higher quantities produced and consumed). Now in the global market we can see that demand has dropped for emission-based vehicles as a product of the intervention with an incentive of the government effectively lowering the price of a substitute good so that the consumption of gas-powered cars are now more in line with the socially optimal quantity that corresponds to a more healthy environment (noting that by 2021, 16% of greenhouse gas emission came from tailpipes).

I also want to include the impact on the negative externality from bonuses and credits to manufacturing in wind, solar, and geothermal as a graphical analysis of overall production of clean energy. The policy change will lower the price of producing new energy infrastructure therefore incentivizing greater production while also incentivizing demand through similar incentives. Keep in mind, the socially optimal amount of clean energy infrastructure has been long demanded to be much higher to be able to provide enough for much of the country and to offset and get rid of the reliance on emission based technology. Regardless, the social benefit is not always factored into the private market so the above model is showing that to be able to have a net positive benefit, we as a society need to invest more into clean energy (and which the bill helps make into a reality).

Name: Jackson Luong

ID : 71545149

Discussion: Tuesday 7-7:50 pm

Sources: https://www.woodmac.com/news/opinion/us-inflation-reduction-act-set-to-make-climate-history/

[hysteriium]

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth​ they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them. 

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think. 

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader. 

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence. 

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief. 

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice. 

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.  

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–” 

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running. 

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper. 

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.” 

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he? 

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“No,” he smirked, petting your head. 

Curse his height. 

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?” 

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.” 

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.” 

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.” 

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath. 

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?” 

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars. 

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.   

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so. 

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!” 

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well… 

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it. 

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word– 

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you. 

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first. 

“Will this make you, uh, happy?” 

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?” 

“My being with you.” 

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’. 

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted. 

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm. 

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.  

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion. 

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–” 

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks. 

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning. 

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling. 

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady. 

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips. 

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold. 

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk. 

“Peach,” he cooed. 

You were going to have to reapply later. 

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him. 

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself. 

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him. 

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!” 

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with. 

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work. 

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.” 

“Hmm,” he trailed off. 

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green. 

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.  

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!” 

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed. 

“All done!” 

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.” 

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention. 

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.” 

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.” 

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.” 

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach. 

It would have to do, though.  

“Okay,” you whispered. 

He stood up now, towering over you. 

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips. 

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact. 

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed. 

“What are you–” 

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed. 

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring. 

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days. 

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving. 

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting. 

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust. 

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.” 

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.” 

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.  

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.  

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism. 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him. 

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’ 

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly. 

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth. 

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago. 

You fought the urge to run. 

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath. 

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand. 

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?” 

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.  

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.  

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–” 

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.” 

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out. 

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision. 

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology. 

Your stomach turned. 

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.  

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm. 

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt. 

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him. 

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset. 

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier. 

Pee-yew. 

Everyone here sucked. 

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her. 

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement. 

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.” 

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?” 

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear: 

I’m new to this. 

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation. 

Something had changed. 

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him. 

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response. 

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain. 

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment. 

“So what? What are you doing?” 

“What does it – ah – look like?” 

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away. 

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo. 

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but. 

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right. 

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it. 

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles. 

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt. 

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash. 

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.  

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean. 

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that. 

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good. 

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you. 

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth. 

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.” 

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade. 

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.” 

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.” 

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.” 

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth. 

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation. 

Yeesh. 

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming. 

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here. 

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom. 

He smacked his lips. 

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse. 

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?” 

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side. 

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye. 

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her. 

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation. 

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?” 

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.  

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?” 

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.  

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing. 

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer. 

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut. 

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance. 

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed. 

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms. 

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.” 

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly. 

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again. 

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale. 

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.  

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.” 

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected. 

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–” 

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic. 

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”  

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness. 

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady. 

“Mine,” you whispered. 

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete. 

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand. 

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song. 

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice. 

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 2: A Tale of Punches and Pancakes

AO3 Link

Words: 9389

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Alex POV

...

The jet ride was nice from a glance, but insufferable for Alex. His wish to leave his anxieties in Tambor? Yeah, he knew that was bullshit. As the miles passed, his stomach bubbled and knotted more and more until he had no room for the small wrapped chocolates in the dish at the back of the plane. The fluffy clouds seemed to taunt him with their serenity, making him feel out of place with his disgust, anxiety, and anger. 

Why, why, did he have to be put in an arranged goddamn marriage when he was nineteen? The gods hated him, for sure. 

He was back to considering options in his fake-your-death-to-get-out-of-it plan when Luke finally broke the silence.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Have a guess.” The sarcasm in his voice was tangible. 

“Yes?”

“Have another guess.” Alex barely smiled at Luke’s laugh. “I just… I hate this. Julie’s awesome, dude, she’s one of my best friends. But I don’t want to marry her.”

“I feel you,” Luke responded. “I really, really want to get you out of it.”

“Thanks.” Alex went back to staring at the clouds.

…

As the plane touched down, the rumbling shook up the nerves in Alex’s stomach, and he had to shut his eyes and focus on his breathing and the feeling of Luke’s hand on his. He did his best not to crease his vest as he leaned over, holding on tight. 

When he felt the motion in his ears stop, he carefully opened his eyes, relieved when he wasn’t nauseous. Of course, he couldn’t get rid of the anxiety. 

They’d landed in the runway behind the Dahlia palace, and thankfully, the small amount of vision he had out his plane window only showed the back of the palace and, on the other side, the tall, forested mountains in which he and Julie had run around in many times when they were younger. The scene was calming, and settled his nerves. 

As the doors opened, sending a crisp blast of cold Dahlian air in his face, the familiar smell of petrichor and honey reminded him of when he and Julie would run for hours, climbing trees as high as they could, despite Ray’s constant warnings and pleas for them to be careful. How simple it would be, really, to run out the plane door and across the runway until he was back, surrounded by the branches. It would be a nightmare, of course; he barely knew how to make a fire, which was definitely a skill he would need if he were to survive on his own in the cool Dahlian climate. Surely he could figure it out, though. It couldn’t be that hard. And the motivation of not having to act straight for the rest of his life would certainly help. He wondered just how fast he could run-

He was jolted back to reality by Luke excitedly hitting his shoulder. 

“Your highness, as your Royal Best Dude™ I am legally required to get you up and moving so that you don’t start spiraling. Plus, I’m hungry.” Alex rolled his eyes and laughed despite himself. 

He wasn’t going through this alone.  

…

He should’ve expected the cameras, really. But the bright flashes startled him as soon as he stepped out of the plane, and he had to quickly struggle to compose himself. He gave small smiles and respectful waves, walking across the long runway to the limousine waiting for him. He would be making a round past the palace gates before formally entering the palace from the front. So he climbed into the lush leather seats, with Erik and Luke right behind him, and sat down, squeezing his hands into fists and then running his fingertips over the indents from his nails. 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as he tapped his foot. He wouldn’t admit it, but the feeling of Luke’s and Erik’s hands on his shoulders helped. A lot. Tension melted away from him, and while he was still nervous, he somehow managed to stand and steadily walk out of the limo, a smile breaking out on his face as he saw Julie. 

Alex wasn’t sure why he was surprised at how beautiful Julie was, there really was no paralleling her beauty. And yet, his heart swelled with pride at seeing her elegant violet dress, embroidered with dahlias. 

“Alex, why the hell do you walk so fast?” asked Luke, breathing heavily and trying to keep up. 

“I’m gay. Next question.” 

“That’s fair.” 

As he ran to Julie, Alex was so caught up in the euphoria of seeing his friend in person that, for a moment, he lived in a world where the paparazzi wasn’t a thing. But he didn’t care. Julie saw him and ran through the gardens, a huge grin visible from hundreds of feet away. She ran to him, her gown flowing in the breeze, and as soon as they were within a few feet of each other, Julie jumped and Alex let out an “oof” as he caught her in a hug, spinning around and laughing.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, and Alex nodded.

“Yeah, you too! Even though we, you know, FaceTimed last night.”

“Eh, details. Besides, the press wants a happy reunion.”

“Fair.”

“How was the plane ride?” 

“Amazing,” Alex said. “Nothing better than being on the edge of a panic attack while you’re thousands of feet in the air.”

“I’ll fight your anxiety,” Julie decided. “Tell it to meet me behind the Denny’s tonight.” Alex snorted. 

“I’d rather you didn’t punch my brain. I kinda need it.”

“Do you?” Alex gasped in mock offense.

“Okay, rudeness aside, I think this is the part where we walk around the garden and pretend we don’t know there are photojournalists hiding behind the bushes.” Julie nodded and took his arm.

As they strolled around the gardens, the aroma of flowers settled some of Alex’s nerves. He never turned around to make sure Luke was there, but he somehow knew. It was the Royal Best Dude™ telepathy, probably. And Erik was probably bringing his suitcase up to wherever he would be staying. So, Alex did his best to relax and hang out with his friend.

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” he noted. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, and Alex soon followed. 

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” Julie said. “It has a nice ring to it.” Alex nodded. 

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.”

A few moments passed, including Julie gently picking a rose from the garden, one with a pale pink coloring, and sticking it behind Alex’s ear. When it wouldn’t stay, she scrunched her nose and carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of his vest. 

“You look absolutely dashing, your highness,” she said with a fake, posh accent. Alex giggled and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a dork.”

“I know.” 

…

His room was really something. 

After he and Julie had finished their walk around the gardens, they’d given each other cordial bows (of course tied with a friendly wink, because they were just Like That), and Erik had shown him up to his quarters. Luke followed, and Alex noticed his cheeks were considerably red. 

It was chillier in Dahlia than it was in Tambor, though, and Luke had never been Plus, a breeze had flown in during the last ten minutes of their walk, on which Luke was shadowing. He was probably flushed from the cold air. 

He was down the hall from Julie’s room, in one of the guest rooms he’d used when playing hide-and-seek with Julie when they were kids. But it had been completely refurbished, since he would be staying there for a few months.

The soft carpet was a creamy tan, and the large, full-length mirrors let in sunlight that cast gentle shadows from the posters on the giant bed, which was adorned with blue sheets and pillows, with gold and pink accents. The dark, forest green walls gave the room a soothing effect, and the twinkling fairy lights were like fireflies in a meadow. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, glittering with diamonds and gold. A mahogany record player sat on a media table, along with wireless chargers for his phone and laptop, next to the sliding door that led to a huge bathroom. The tiles were light tan and grey, peppered with flecks of quartz that shimmered in the light. A giant tub sat near a tinted window, as well as a vanity with a majestic painted mirror. The shower could’ve fit his entire bed.

Even though he wasn’t keen on marrying Julie, he wouldn’t dislike his stay here. 

“Dude,” Luke whispered. “Your room is awesome.” 

“I know, right? Definitely nicer than my room in Tambor.” 

As Alex went to his giant suitcase full of neatly folded clothes, beginning to tuck them into drawers and onto hangers, Luke helped out. 

“So,” Alex began, breaking the silence. “How are you liking Dahlia so far?”

“It’s great! Kinda cold, but I’ll get used to it. And… Julie seems really nice.”

Alex definitely didn’t miss Luke’s blush when he mentioned the princess, and his lips raised into a smirk.

“Yeah, she is. You should get to know her at dinner tonight.” Luke cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

“You good?”

“Totally,” he insisted, though his voice rose an octave and Alex couldn’t suppress his laugh. 

“Sure.”

…

The dinner was incredible. Platters of roast beef sat next to giant bowls of mashed potatoes, and the bread appetizers were soft and delicious. And, even though he was legally allowed to have alcohol based on Dahlian laws, he thought better of it, instead filling his glass with water. He noticed that Julie did the same. 

“Not a fan of wine?” he asked. 

“Nah, not really. It always gives me a stomachache.” 

“Same.”

Alex went back to his food, before noticing a man around his age eyeing him. He had dark hair and was dressed in a red vest and dark grey shirt. He seemed quite kind, if the small smile on his face had any say.

“That’s your brother, Reggie, right? I think I’ve only met him once.”

Julie followed Alex’s gaze. “Oh yeah! You would get along great, I think.”

“Cool.”

…

Before dessert was brought up, everyone in the grand hall got to mingle for about twenty minutes and let their food settle. Alex let Julie introduce him to Reggie, with whom he immediately hit it off. 

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!”

“That’s awesome, dude.”

Their conversation lasted a bit longer, and Alex felt confident that he and Reggie would be good friends, especially because of his lighthearted demeanor, and their bro-hug before Alex was pulled away to talk to another nobleman. 

He was bounced around like a ping-pong ball, being chatted up by guest after guest. Soon, though, he needed some air, so he searched to room for King Ray.

“Your majesty?” he asked, jogging over. Ray turned to him and gave a warm smile, shaking his hand.

“Hello, Alex. You can call me Ray. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. I was just wondering if I could sneak out the back for a moment? I need some air.” Ray laughed.

“Of course, son. I told them to give you some space,” he noted, guestering to the nobles, “but I doubt they were able to contain their excitement.” Alex nodded, grateful for Ray’s chill vibes. “Try to be back in ten minutes?”

“Of course.”

Ray nodded and patted his shoulder, and Alex stepped through the back door of the grand hall, grateful when he didn’t see anyone. He took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his vest. 

A voice caught his ear. 

“-yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa. The mousse is in the refrigerator-” 

Alex whirled around, searching for whoever had spoken, but before he could…

WHAM. 

A cold rush of air blew from behind him as a door opened, and someone ran into him.

Hard.

Alex stumbled forward, trying to catch himself but to no avail. His momentum swung him forward, leaving him on the ground. 

“Whoa!” he started, looking at the person who’d ran him over, and…

Oh fuck, he thought. He’s hot. 

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” the man cut off, his cheeks flushing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and Alex blushed. 

“No, you’re good, bro.” 

Alex got a good look at him, and felt his cheeks flush. He had long, silky brown hair that fell over his shoulders in waves, and smooth brown skin that had darkened in a blush. His dark eyes were kind and playful, adorned with long eyelashes. 

Alex inhaled slowly, trying to ignore the rising gay panic. 

“Are you okay?” the man asked. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” To Alex’s surprise, the man giggled, and holy fuck, if he wasn’t already adorable, that would’ve been the tipping point. Creases folded at the corners of his eyes, and his perfect smile turned lopsided as he laughed. 

“I did pancake you, huh?” Alex tried to laugh, and the man cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alex reached for his hand. “Alex,” he greeted, still hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. 

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert. But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie said with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens. Alex nodded, even though he was already gone. 

-----

Julie POV

...

As soon as Alex’s plane touched down, Julie couldn’t hide her excitement. She rushed through her photos, and as soon as she could see him, she took off running, a huge grin on her face. The silky fabric of her dress flapped against her shins, and she sprinted even faster, ignoring the goosebumps on her arms. 

As soon as she reached him, she jumped into the hug, laughing as he spun her around. They might have FaceTimed the day before, but it just wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. He was one of her best friends, and the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in so long was frankly biphobic. 

But as she spun around, finally opening her eyes, Julie caught sight of Alex’s guard. She’d never formally met him, and she’d always thought he was cute, but wow. 

He had deep hazel eyes and pale skin, cheeks flushed from the cold, his wavy brown hair neatly styled, with a touch of personal flair. His chiseled jawline cast a shadow on his neck, and his biceps were visible through his dark jacket. Julie tried to look away and focus on her friend, because now was the literal worst time to develop a crush on someone she barely knew. 

Not that she had a crush on him, or anything. 

Julie forced those thoughts out of her head, and scolded her stupid heart for fluttering when she caught his gaze. She turned back to Alex, laughing when he insinuated that photojournalists would be hiding behind the bushes. 

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” Alex told her. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed, silently agreeing.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, soon followed by Alex.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” she said, letting the words flow off her tongue. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.” There wasn’t a doubt in her voice, either. 

Julie had met Ava when she was eight. Ava had been thirteen, and was the coolest thirteen-year-old ever, in little Julie’s opinion. She vaguely remembered hanging out in her room with her, and thinking she was just the coolest ever. Then again, she was an eight year old. To an eight year old, all thirteen-year-olds are cool (or gross, but we don’t talk about that).

Julie walked with Alex, chatting about random things, including plans to get out of the arranged marriage, each more complicated than the next. Julie couldn’t stop herself from laughing when Alex brought up his temptation to just run into the woods with no supplies or survival skills, and just be a gay forest cryptid. She was quite fond of it, to be honest. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any plans that didn’t involve either faking their deaths, or something treasonous, neither of which would be good. At least, not in anyone else’s opinions. 

…

After Alex went up to his room, Julie did the same, and immediately flopped on her bed, finally allowing herself to process her thoughts about, well, everything.

God, she wanted out of this marriage. She knew Alex did as well. They’d talked about it endlessly over FaceTime, texting, and just now, in person. But neither of them could come up with an actual plan or a good enough reason to halt it. Because, you know, the people actually getting married never get a say. 

Plus, it did not help that Alex’s guard, who she’d learned was named Luke, was really cute. She furrowed her brow. She’d never even had a real conversation with the guy. Not that it mattered, of course. She remembered when she was fifteen and had already decided that Nick Danforth-Evans was a sweetheart, even though she’d only had one real conversation with him. 

But this felt different somehow. She couldn’t help but feel like Luke was actually really nice. She just got those vibes from him. She cursed her stupid heart for making her feel things. No, Molina. There’s no such thing as liking a cute guard. 

It didn’t work. 

She stared at her ceiling, watching flecks of dust float around the air, and jumped when Flynn and Carrie walked into her room without knocking. It wasn’t like she actually expected them to knock, but she’d zoned out and the sudden sound took her by surprise. 

“I know that look,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. “What’s the crisis about?”

“What isn’t it about?”

“Uh uh, don’t try to deflect by answering my question with another question,” Flynn scolded, and Carrie bit back a laugh. 

“I just…” she searched for an excuse. “I love that Alex is here, but I don’t want to marry him,” she said, remembering that the best lies were based on the truth. “And he’s gay, so I know for a fact he doesn’t want to marry me. Plus, you know. We’ve expressed that multiple times. And I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, because it’s all arranged, and bitching about it does nothing to help, but honestly? I’m just feeling bitchy.” 

“As you should,” Carrie agreed, to Julie’s surprise. “If anyone deserves to be a little bitchy, it’s you. I mean, come on. You’re a teenage girl who never actually got a normal life because you’re frickin’ Princess Julie Molina, heiress to the throne of Dahlia. And you’re stuck in an arranged marriage with one of your best friends, and neither of you want it, but you can’t actually change it. I’d be bitchy too.”

“Thank you for summing that up,” Julie deadpanned. “But… it helps. Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“She’s right, Jules,” Flynn agreed. “Be the bitchy bisexual you deserve to be.” That elicited a laugh, and Julie couldn’t help but leave the smile resting on her face. 

“Alright,” she decided. “We have self-defense in half an hour, so we should get ready.” Flynn nodded and pulled Julie off of her bed, leading her to the giant walk-in closet, searching the hundreds of options, but steering clear from the gowns. 

Flynn and Carrie must’ve known she needed cheering up, because they sarcastically suggested the biggest, poofiest gowns Julie owned, tied with a tight shawl and the wobbliest heels imaginable. Julie laughed despite herself, especially since she could barely walk in the shoes they’d picked. She was also taller than six feet, which was a plus, but she would pick stability over height any day, especially when she was going to practice kicking people’s asses. 

Eventually, she settled on flexible black leggings with a purple stripe going down the outside of each leg, and a simple white tunic that starkly contrasted her dark skin. It was fitted but she could move easily in it, stretching into a backbend to make sure. 

She sighed and allowed Flynn and Carrie to take either arm and lead her downstairs to the training arena. 

…

The training arena was a huge room, the floors completely covered in mats, aside from the giant gymnastic trampolines at the far corner and the running track that traversed the perimeter. On the far side opposite the trampolines were sets of weights and treadmills, as well as other equipment like bars and benches. Punching bags were hung sporadically around the martial arts area, which was also used for tumbling and floor routines. 

Lady Athena gave a smile as they walked in, soon followed by Reggie and Mira. Lady Athena was a tall, muscular woman with silky black hair that was always in a high ponytail. Her bronze skin glittered with sweat, and her two-piece athleisure outfit left her chiseled abs on display. 

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “Reggie, since you’re bigger, you’re with me. You four, pair up and practice your hand-to-hand skills. Remember the blocks we learned last week.” Julie nodded and paired with Flynn, immediately getting into position.

“Head’s up,” she warned with a smirk, before lunging with a punch that would’ve hit Flynn square in the chest if not for her catlike reflexes. She knocked Julie’s hand out of the way, and Julie had to twist to avoid Flynn’s counterattack, letting herself lean backwards. But when she almost fell, she used it to her advantage, hopping backwards onto one hand and spinning, tripping Flynn by kicking her feet out from under her. Before Flynn could recover, Julie pounced over her, grabbing her shirt collar and pulling her fist back, ready to attack. She didn’t follow through, obviously, but she knew she had good form. 

“Well done, your highness,” praised Lady Athena. Julie blushed.

“Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Flynn grumbled, and Julie laughed. “Rematch?”

“You’re on.”

…

Julie had defeated Flynn four times to two, and was feeling very confident. It must’ve helped, exercising, because her worries about Alex and Luke were far away as she battled Carrie and then Mira. Or, they were until a certain brunette guard walked in the room in a sleeveless shirt and shorts that showed off his muscles. 

She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted, though, because in her haze, Mira managed to throw her off balance and win their round. 

“Hah! That’s two each!” She outstretched her hand, which Julie gratefully accepted, pulling her up. 

“Good job,” she said, still distracted but keeping her eyes far away from Luke. 

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” Luke asked, and Julie could no longer ignore him. 

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin that was so adorable it made Julie flush. By some miracle, nobody noticed. 

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” With that, Lady Athena stalked off, her ponytail swaying behind her. 

Luke walked over to Reggie, and Julie did her best not to stare as Reggie guided Luke, and they began sparring. Luke was surprisingly agile, but he was too enthusiastic, reaching for every possible blow, not realizing where he left himself vulnerable. But his puppy eyes when Reggie defeated him were too cute. 

Julie cleared her throat and turned away. 

“Tiebreaker?” Mira nodded, and they went to sparring. Julie ducked and dodged every hit of Mira’s, even getting in a few herself, but she was thrown off when she heard Luke laugh, a musical, joyful sound, and Mira took advantage of her momentary slip, finally beating her. 

“Yes!” Mira jumped and pumped her fist, then helped Julie up. 

“Nice job!” Julie grinned with the words, high-fiving Mira. 

“Alright, break time.”

Julie walked to the edge of the wall where she’d left her water bottle and towel, almost choking on her water when she heard Luke’s voice behind her. 

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Julie smiled and outstretched her hand, shaking Luke’s. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.”

“Oh, that’s Flynn.”

“Cool. But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” 

Well.

If Julie hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now. At least Luke’s cheeks were only red because of the intense workouts. 

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented. And oh, his smile really was a beautiful thing. 

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Julie’s stomach dropped, and she inhaled, a denial already on her tongue, before she realized that her coach was looking at Flynn and Carrie, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. 

She practiced a bit more with Carrie, doing her best to ignore the boy next to her. When the class finally ended, she hurriedly thanked Lady Athena before rushing up to shower.

Letting the hot water wash over her, she pondered how the hell Luke had wiggled his way into her heart so quickly within one conversation. 

Was she being brainwashed into liking a guy she barely knew?

Was this some elaborate trick that whatever higher being existed had orchestrated as a ploy to get her out of the arranged marriage?

�� And more importantly, would it work? 

The thought made her laugh. Not that she didn’t slightly believe this was all some sort of elaborate trick to get her to commit treason and fall in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to, but it was funny nonetheless.

…

After she’d done her best to set the record for hottest, soapiest shower possible, Julie wrapped herself in a towel, massaging peach lotion into her skin, the scent matching her shampoo. As she rubbed it into her hands, she imagined what it would feel like holding Luke’s hand, before quickly banishing the thought away to the depths of simpy hell.

This was worse than she thought. 

She changed into her evening gown for the dinner, allowing Mira to lace up the back. It was all navy blue, a long strapless dress that reached her ankles, with a see-through tulle layer over top that went up to a sleeveless halter neckline, leaving the rest of the tulle layer to flow down neatly over the rest of the silky dress, which tightened at the waist. Tiny diamonds had been sewn into the tulle at her waist, high in concentration before gently tapering off the lower in the skirt they went.

“Okay,” Carrie said, walking in with Flynn beside her. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, damn. That dress is fine.” Flynn nodded enthusiastically. 

“I know, right?” Mira said excitedly. “I actually helped tailor this one! It was one of my favorites to make.”

“And for a good reason,” Julie agreed. “Mira, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Not quite,” she said, turning Julie towards the vanity. “I’m thinking we do something simple but elegant for your hair?”

“I vote for that,” Flynn interjected. 

“Sure!”

Mira set to work, combing through Julie’s hair with her fingers. Julie closed her eyes. She’d always loved the feeling of people playing with her hair, and as Mira wove her dark locks into two thick braids that soon joined together, letting the rest of her hair poof at the base of her neck, Julie was transported back to her mother’s room when she was five. She remembered the feeling of her mother braiding her hair like it was yesterday, the gentle tugs and nimble fingers on her scalp. It wasn’t the same with Mira, of course, but it was refreshing and comforting at the same time. 

“Hey, Jules?” Flynn called from her closet.

“Mm?”

“Mind if I steal that asymmetrical dress for tonight? The jade one,” she clarified. 

“Feel free!”

The dress in mind was a slim-fitting jade green dress that reached her knees, but the hem was cut asymmetrically, leaving one side longer than the other. It had golden ribbon-like threads spun around it with no particular rhyme or reason, and a built-in sash made of pale, spring green tulle roses. The thin straps showed off her shoulders, and when Flynn walked out with it on, Julie noticed Carrie blush.

“Dude, you look awesome,” Julie complimented. Flynn twirled, letting the light play off of the shimmery fabric.

“Thanks!”

Mira finished doing Julie’s hair, and held up a mirror for her to see. Julie admired the thick, smooth braids that gently rejoined at the base of her neck, letting the rest of her dark curls loose in an elegant fashion.

“It’s amazing, Mira! Thank you so much.”

“Of course! And thank you for letting me do it,” she said with a giggle. “Your hair is so fun to style.” Julie blushed. 

…

The dinner was rather uneventful, thankfully. Julie wasn’t sure if she would’ve had the energy to constantly be answering questions. Instead, though, she got to introduce people to each other, and relax and eat, and try to keep her eyes away from a certain hazel-eyed guard.

She was grateful for the relatively simple task.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke had heard about the self-defense classes in the training arena, and he was itching to get moving, so he changed into workout clothes and headed down there. 

The spiral staircase was wide and glittered with colored glass, the silver banisters gleaming in the light. He trailed his hand down it as he made his way down.

When he reached the training arena, he closed the door behind him and went to set down his water bottle and towel- but not before noticing Julie.

At the self-defense class.

Thankfully, she didn’t see him. He hung back for a moment, watching as she sparred with another girl with long braids. The way she moved was incredible, like water flowing in a current, unpredictable and smooth. Of course, if anyone asked, he was most certainly not admiring it. He could silently appreciate her skills, though.

As she dodged hit after hit, throwing her own blocks and blows, it looked like the girl with braids had gotten the better of her, but as Julie leaned backwards, she hopped and - holy fuck - caught herself on one hand, spinning around in the air like some sort of ethereal breakdancer, and knocking the other girl’s feet out from under her, before pouncing, grabbing her shirt collar, and pulling back her fist, before freezing and laughing. 

Whoa. 

So not only was she a wicked beauty, Luke realized, she was a human wrecking ball, too. 

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful badass in front of him, tuning out Lady Athena’s praise in favor of clearing his head before approaching to join. Not that it worked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Julie. The other three girls (and the guy, if he was being honest) were all stunningly fit and agile, but there was something about Julie that enchanted him. The way she was always smiling even in the middle of a training fight, how, even when she was defeated, she brushed it off with a laugh, how she was light on her feet like a cat as she dodged and spun, how she was needlessly extravagant with her self-defense and yet somehow always made it work. Maybe that’s just what princesses were like; even when defending themselves against possible attackers, they had to be as beautiful as ever. 

Of course, right now, Luke knew she didn’t look how she normally would, in her silky gowns and expertly styled hair. Now, she wore matching athletic clothes and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with some strands coming out in a sweaty frizz. And yet, that somehow just made her even more breathtaking. Even when she was sweaty and working out, she managed to look like an angel.

An angel who could easily kick his ass, he remembered as she pulled the upside-down-one-handed-breakdancer move again, this time on a redheaded girl he didn’t recognize. 

Before he could stop himself, he approached Lady Athena. 

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” He asked the woman.  

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed, and he nodded.. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin. He would never let go of that title.

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” Luke nodded again as Lady Athena walked away.

He walked over to Reggie, shaking his hand.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” he introduced with a smile. Reggie shot one back.

“Reggie!”

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight? I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. 

“Yeah, pretty much. You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad,” he admitted. “But I’m no expert.” He couldn’t help looking at Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” Reggie followed his eyes to Julie. 

“Pretty much,” he said with a laugh, and Luke dearly hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” He asked it with a smile and a joking tone, but he was actually a bit nervous. But, you know, just because he now knew that she could kick his ass seven ways to Sunday.

No other reason.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained. Luke nodded, grateful for the reassurance.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” 

…

By “let’s get cracking,” he was hoping he wouldn’t be cracking his ego, but he was sorely mistaken. Reggie didn’t seem like it, but he was really strong, and really good at fighting. Luke was more agile than him, and strength-wise he could compare, but the Dahlian style of fighting was so different from the Tamborian style. They were similar in many ways, of course; they had the same moves and strategies. But the ways they moved were so different, the ways they executed their moves had an uncanny grace and deadliness.

He did his best, reaching for every blow he could, trying to get the upper hand. And, to his credit, he won a few rounds. But he accidentally left himself vulnerable most of the time, leaving perfect opportunities for his opponent to strike, because Of Course He Did. 

When they called for a break, Luke wiped his forehead with a towel, grabbing a drink of water. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat and approached Julie.

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Luke tried not to blush when she smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a gorgeous grin, and Luke knew he was a goner. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he mentally kicked himself. Not smooth, Patterson. What if she thought he was creepy? 

Thankfully, though, she smiled.

“Oh, that’s Flynn!”

“Cool,” he said, relieved. Nice and smooth, Patterson. “But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck nervously, and he couldn’t help but feel accomplished when Julie’s cheeks flushed. Of course, his were probably just as red, but hopefully he could blame it on the workout.

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented with a smile. And it wasn’t a lie, either. 

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Luke cleared his throat, getting ready to insist that he wasn’t flirting, before he realized that Lady Athen was looking at Flynn and another redheaded girl, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. He sighed in relief. 

As he went back to sparring with Reggie, zoned out but fighting just as well as he was before, maybe even better, he pondered Julie’s abilities. How did she manage to be so beautiful, so graceful, and yet so kind and badass? It shouldn’t have been possible for any one human to do that all, much less a teenage girl who was already juggling the responsibilities of being a princess. 

Julie was, Luke realized, even more incredible than he’d ever thought possible.

…

All throughout the dinner, he was trying not to stare at Julie. Her dress was absolutely gorgeous, and the way she flitted around the room like a butterfly was absolutely ethereal. Tie that with the diamonds sewn into her navy blue dress that looked like fading stars and twinkled in the light, and she looked like she was wrapped in starlight. He knew it was appropriate for that star of a woman, but still, he thought it should’ve been illegal for anyone to have that effect on him. 

His cheeks were red, and he stared at his plate, inhaling the scent of roast beef and mashed potatoes, along with the aroma of warm bread from his appetizer. 

Even with the cool air of Dahlia and his thin shirt and suit vest, he was still sweating. He was absolutely gone for a girl he’d only had one conversation with, a girl he’d only known for a maximum of five hours. 

A girl who his best friend was being forced to marry. 

That was the worst part of all of this. His best friend, who would never be in love with Julie no matter how good of friends they were, had to marry her because of goddamn international relations, and there was nothing he could do about it. And, a selfish part of him thought, it means you never had a chance. He shoved the thoughts out of his head, hating the lingering ache they left in his heart. 

Not that he would’ve ever had a chance anyway. She was a beautiful, badass princess, and he was just a guard she didn’t even know. 

-----

Reggie POV

...

As soon as the plane landed on the runway behind the palace, Reggie smiled at Julie, letting go of her hand as she readied herself.

He understood her worry. No matter how close you are with someone, being set to marry them - especially when you didn’t want to - was daunting. Of course, he’d never been through the same thing, but he was always an empathetic person, and he could practically feel his own sister’s worry and ache.

He saw Prince Alexander walking to the gardens, and smiled when Julie broke into a grin, running to him. He twirled rose petals between his fingers, letting out a small laugh when she jumped into Alex’s arms. He didn’t want to seem like a helicopter brother, though, so he went back inside, leaving Jules with Prince Alexander. 

When he stepped inside, he nearly ran into Ray.

“Whoa, sorry!” Ray laughed. 

“You’re perfectly fine, mijo. Everything okay?” Reggie sighed.

“I’m just worried for Julie. I’ve never really gotten to know Prince Alexander, and-”

“I’ll stop you there,” Ray said. “Believe me, I know what you mean, and if I could stop it without huge consequences, I would. But Alex isn’t someone you need to worry about. That boy is one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever met,” he assured him. “And while I know neither of them want to get married, I know that they’re both mature, and good friends.”

“Thanks,” Reggie sighed. “I just wish I could get her out of it, you know? I mean, that’s my little sister.”

“I understand,” the king agreed. “But unfortunately, there isn’t anything to be done other than let Alex settle in.” Reggie nodded glumly. “Hey, wasn’t there a progression you wanted to show me? On your bass?” Ray clarified. Reggie immediately lit up. 

“Yeah! Julie and I have been working on a song called Icarus, and she’s got a killer piano melody worked out. I went off of some of her chords and found a super cool progression on my bass that adds a really nice line underneath hers, and it sounds-” he did the chef’s kiss thing with his hand- “divine.”

“Alright, well now I’ve gotta see it!” Reggie’s grin lit up even more and he ran to his room, followed by Ray, who was jogging behind him. 

Reggie’s room was huge, the walls painted dark blue. He’d always found the color soothing. He snatched his red and white bass guitar from its stand, spinning on his heel as he ducked under the strap, letting it settle by his waist. 

When Ray met him there, Reggie grinned, plucking the strings animatedly until he remembered the notes. He didn’t bother grabbing his phone to try and find them from wherever he’d written them down in the endless scrolling of his notes app. Soon, though, his chaotic ADHD brain remembered, and he began excitedly plucking specific notes in a rhythmic pattern, his fingers stretching to reach each fret as he hopped from the E string to A, then G back to E and D. He smiled even brighter when he saw Ray grinning and tapping his foot to the beat.

“So, it kinda just goes like that, until we get to the chorus. Then, I come in with a little…” he slid his finger down the string, letting the note slide down before he hopped back into the rhythm, the same notes as before, but ordered differently, giving a new feel to the music. 

He hopped around, spinning as he played his bass, humming the lyrics under his breath.

“That sounds super cool, mijo!” Ray exclaimed, one eyebrow furrowed, as was custom for him whenever he was excited. Reggie hopped up and down happily, fixing the cuff of one of his sleeves. 

“Thanks! Julie and I are gonna try to record it. I’m trying to learn how to play the drums, to add a steady beat, but I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it soon.” Reggie beamed. “I’m so sorry, mijo, I have to go. I’d love to hear more later or tomorrow, though!”

“Okay,” Reggie said. “Bye!” He continued playing marking down cool progressions he found, and just hopping around to get out his wiggles. 

…

At the self-defense class, he sparred with Lady Athena. Sometimes he would spar with Julie or Flynn, but even though she was no doubt better at fighting, he was also bigger, and she was paired with Flynn. 

Lady Athena was amazing at fighting, and Reggie got his ass kicked most of the time, but he was able to win a couple rounds, which he was quite proud of. Lady Athena complimented his form, and he had no doubt that he would be gathering serotonin from that compliment for weeks. Even then, though, he got plenty from seeing his badass little sister master her insane breakdance-style move, with which she completely demolished Flynn in a few seconds. His chest swelled with pride when she won.

Soon, though, a man named Luke entered the studio, and Reggie definitely didn’t miss Julie’s blush when she looked at him. She might’ve been supposed to marry Alex, but it wasn’t like either of them wanted it. Plus, he was always down for a little treason, especially if it was with Julie. 

Lady Athena paired Luke with Reggie, perfect timing for her to go check on some of the other people in the arena. 

“Hey, I’m Luke,” the man introduced with a smile. Reggie gave his trademark grin.

“Reggie!” He outstretched his hand, and Luke shook it. 

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight?” Luke asked. “I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. He’d never sparred with anyone from Tambor before, so this would be fun.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad, but I’m no expert.” Reggie followed his gaze as it shifted over to Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” He asked, clearly in awe.

“Pretty much,” Reggie replied with a laugh, grinning at Luke’s blush.

Simp.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” Luke was fiddling with the hem of his shirt by that point. 

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” Reggie grinned and reciprocated, taking the first strike. 

The first thing he learned was that Luke was very opportunistic in his fighting style. He went for nearly every possible blow, even if it meant leaving himself vulnerable. Reggie, of course, took advantage of this. He had to make sure his new friend (and sister’s possible future treasonous boyfriend) knew he could protect people. 

Luke pouted, and Reggie couldn’t help but admit that he had adorable puppy eyes. 

He helped him up, laughing. A few more sparring rounds passed, and Luke turned out to be quite adaptable. He found ways to get past Reggie’s blocks, and even put some up himself. Soon, they were evenly matched, and Reggie was impressed. Although, he soon found that he could get in another blow by telling a horrible joke, then striking when Luke laughed.

He thought it was pretty genius.

…

The dinner was rather uneventful. He did, however, get to meet Prince Alexander, which he was very happy about - even more so now that he was confident in Ray’s assurance that he was a good person. They’d chatted about politics and whatnot, before both admitting that they were bored. Somehow, the conversation strayed to music.

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!” He beamed, making a mental note to ask if he wanted to see, sometime later.

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Thanks!” 

They talked for a little while longer, before Alex was pulled away to talk to some other Dahlian nobleman whose name Reggie kept forgetting. Plus, Alex seemed tired; unsurprising, given the long day he must’ve had. 

Reggie eventually settled down and ran through his thoughts.

He knew he couldn’t protect Julie, not like he wanted to. Plus, she didn’t need protecting, he’d come to realize after Luke’s “badass” comment at the training arena. Julie Molina wasn’t just a badass in self-defense, she was also a badass in every other sense of the word. She was a teenage girl, the heiress to the Dahlian throne, juggling her academic lessons and royal lessons, along with making time for her friends, free time, and she managed to (usually) get enough sleep. She was a complete badass who didn’t need protecting. 

She needed support, instead. That was something Reggie could do. He could be by her side every step of the way, no matter how hard it got. He was her brother, and he loved her more than life itself, loved every crooked smile, every curl of hair, every eye roll after one of his famously bad jokes. She didn’t deserve any of this, but by God, he’d do his best to make it bearable for her. 

-----

Willie POV

...

After lunch, the burn on Willie’s hand had calmed. Rather than the angry red mark it was earlier, it had shrunk into an annoyed red streak. Still a nuisance, but he didn’t really care.

As Willie whipped the mousse, his mind strayed to Prince Alexander. 

What was he like? Was he as cute in person as he was in photos? Probably, Willie decided. Photos never fully captured someone’s beauty unless they knew what they were looking for, and that was always more of an emotion. Photojournalists aimed for lighting and composition. There were always emotion in the photos, yes, but they never actually got to see the people in the photo. 

He wondered if he would get to meet him. Would it go well? Would he like the bread he’d so carefully baked? Would he enjoy the mousse cake he was whipping up right now? All of these questions whirled around in Willie’s brain as he whipped the mousse, letting it become airy and fluffy. Sprinkles of cocoa powder dusted the counter next to his mixing bowl, but it was fine. It would all get wiped up later. 

He grabbed a tub of fine cinnamon, sprinkling in a pinch for a little bit of kick. It was barely noticeable, but it gave the mousse an extra depth that it normally would’ve lacked. He’d never told anyone his secret, despite prying from Lilian. 

Sprinkling in a tiny bit more to account for the large batch, his thoughts wandered again.

How was Princess Julie dealing with all of this? Willie had never had a real conversation with her, but she seemed to be very well put-together. She managed everything so well, at least from the outside. Though he knew better than anyone that, no matter how organized someone may seem, there’s always a storm underneath. 

Willie finished up, putting plastic wrap over the mousse and sticking it in the giant refrigerator, before taking off his apron, washing his hands, and heading for the door.

“Willie?” Called Alyssa from behind him. He turned around, walking backwards. 

“Yeah? I’m just going on break.”

“Did you finish making the mousse?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa,” he said, walking out the door. The mousse is in the refrigerator-” 

WHAM. 

Willie let out a slight “oof” as he ran into the person in the hallway.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, though not as gracefully as he would’ve liked. He’d fared better than the other person, though. 

“Whoa!” The man said.

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” Willie cut himself off, his cheeks flushing as he realized he’d just ran into Prince Alexander.

Well, so much for making a good impression.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and blushed. 

“No, you’re good, bro.” Willie was taken aback by the casual response, but he wasn’t complaining. 

Willie finally got a good look at him, and wasn’t at all surprised when he found that he was even more stunning in person.Of course, it made it a whole lot harder to hide his gay panic.

He had blonde hair that was expertly styled, and a crisp, blue suit vest with minimalistic gold embroidery that brought out flecks of blue in his eyes and highlights in his hair. His muscles were defined and visible through the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and even when he was frazzled after just having been knocked over, he still looked as handsome as ever.

“Are you okay?” Willie asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” Willie couldn’t help himself from laughing, and dearly hoped it wasn’t the wrong move. But the prince had a small smile on his face and pink dusting his cheeks, so he had a feeling it was okay.

“I did pancake you, huh?” He tried to laugh, and Willie nervously cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Willie outstretched his hand, delighted when the other man shook it. “Alex,” he greeted, still blushing a little bit, which could be chalked up to the embarrassment of being plowed over. Willie was worried things would get awkward soon, so he searched for an excuse, hating that he had to leave.

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert,” he said. “But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie added with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens, hoping Alex hadn’t noticed his internal gay panic.

…

“Well, that was a quick break,” Alyssa pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Willie agreed, not fully listening. 

He’d fucking pancaked the prince. Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor. And Willie, despite his constant hoping for a good impression, ran him over because he wasn’t even watching where he was going. 

How the hell was he such a mess? And even more, how would he ever be accepted by literal royalty who was way too cute to even exist? 

Willie shook his head, letting his hair fall over his shoulders, ignoring the feeling of Alyssa’s eyes on him as he walked into the giant refrigerated room, grabbing the huge bowl of chocolate mousse and scooping it into a piping bag, grabbing some of the chilled cakes.

His hands were steady and meticulous as he gently piped the mousse onto the cakes, making a thick layer on top of each, then lifting into a swirl that peaked in the center, adorning each cake with a bit of wafer and chocolate. He set each one on a tray, waiting for Alyssa to pick it up. Plating was her specialty, because according to Lilian, any time Willie did plating, it ended up “chaotic” and “messy” and “unorthodox.” Personally, he thought it was cool. But, not everyone could have taste, he supposed. 

…

Later that night, as he wandered into his small room in the chefs’ quarters, laying down on the soft bed, his mind wandered to Alex. Despite constantly being on the news, he was a mystery, an enigma, a puzzle Willie had the urge to solve. What were his interests? His desires? His hopes, his dreams? 

Of course, he would never be able to act on his feelings about the prince, how adorably awkward he was, how gorgeous he was in any outfit, no matter the style, how even in one simple conversation, Willie had become so enamoured that he wanted to know everything about him. Not in a creepy way, of course, but in the way one wishes to know someone they’ve just met, who intrigues them to no end. 

That night, his dreams were haunted by a familiar face, a shy smile, and a piercing set of bluish eyes.

[onyourzeus]

all alone | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: all alone pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you  genre: heavy angst, fictional universe words: 3.7k

inspired by: 50 proof by eaJ (give it a listen if you please, here)  author’s note: this is my first fic in years, feedback appreciated.

content warning: alcohol use, swearing, description of anxiety and loneliness

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

It’s not a matter of when, but of how you’re going to stop yourself. They keep saying it heals with time, but no one ever tells you how much time you need to feel completely fine again. 

So, instead of waiting for that moment, you take it upon yourself to numb the pain inside. It’s easier to keep it bottled up, then pretend to wash it away with age-old whiskey taken from a nearly empty cabinet. 

Your friend reminded you to buy anything other than 50 proof alcohol, but that’s what’s left on your grocery list nowadays. 

She’d come by to keep you company, but there’s always an excuse. An emergency meeting, a family gathering, a blind date across town. 

It’s okay, you text her repeatedly. At this point, you’d rather she focus on herself than judge you for decisions affecting your life. 

The moment they get angry at you, it is time to push them away. 

You’re not about to be the reason for another falling out; another heartbreak; another memory turned sour and hard to swallow. 

A big gulp of fiery hot liquid comes into contact with your throat, and you exhale with a wince. Ah, just the way you think you like it. 

But no one’s stopping you, so why not keep going? You haven’t reached your limit yet, even though you’re not sure what that would look like. It’s no matter, though, it’s your apartment— your bathroom floor, your money, and your own fate decided. 

Once the tears trail down your cheek, you have a moment of self-awareness. What are you doing? Glancing at your slippers, sweaty oversized shirt, and frizzy strands of hair sticking out of your head— when exactly did you start looking like this and decided, “Yeah, I feel comfortable in my own skin.”?

You dart your tongue out slightly, tasting salt on the corner of your mouth. It’s wet as the tears keep coming. Tonight’s one of those nights, you laugh sarcastically. 

You’re probably going to play russian roulette with your medicine cabinet tomorrow; you’ll either be lucky and find a couple of painkillers lying around or be reminded of the emptiness that surrounds you. Usually it’s the latter, but maybe you’ll be lucky this time?

You scoff loudly at the idea. Another gulp of alcohol, and it stops the tears momentarily. Just so you can indulge in the sound of your heavy breathing, vision blurring the sight of your kitchen. 

Your phone lights up on the couch, buzzing and emitting a soft light that disturbs the dimness of the room. It can’t be your friend, it was a double date night with her co-worker, or some shit you don’t really care for. Although you remember pieces of memories that include you being in the same exact situation a few months prior;  it’s a bit hazy now, probably due to the alcohol. 

But also because you use what coordinated strength you have to approach the ringing sound. You can’t make up the caller ID which should be the first red flag that you shouldn’t answer the phone. 

You never do when you’re like this, but something inside you just doesn’t care anymore. 

You slide your finger across the screen, fumble through the circles you can make out until a static hum goes off louder than usual. Finally on speaker mode, you put the phone back on the couch as your body drops down on the floor. 

Resting the bottle on your side, you cradle your heavy head against the palm of your hand and exhale a long drawn out, “Heyyyyyyy, who’s this?”

God, you sound horrible. 

You hear nothing but static, and wonder if there never was a call at all. “Is anyone there? Hello? Hello?” You’re starting to get annoyed, grabbing hold of the bottle’s neck and taking a short swig. It causes you to cough, your fist pounding helplessly against your chest.

“What are you doing?” He sounds sad, disappointed, and concerned on the other end. You don’t know who it is, but the knots in his voice deem familiar to you, somehow. 

“Who is this? I’m gonna call the cops on you,” you drawl out, not understanding your own logic. “Why are you calling me at—” you try and check for a watch on your wrist to no avail, so you leave the question at that. 

Hiccuping, you blurt out, “I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s Younghyun. Leehi keeps calling me, asking to check up on you. Did you receive her messages?” 

Frankly, you understood at least two words with his reply. Leehi and messages, immediately you seethe with anger once again. Your friend on the double date texted you? With droopy eyes, you check your notifications, and the caller is telling the truth. 

10 text messages left unread, and none of those words she sent mean shit. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“I won’t do that. Where are you? At the bar or in your apartment?” He keeps asking all these questions he doesn’t have the right to in the first place. You feel your face scrunch up in frustration, figuring out who’s so concerned at your well-being so randomly on a Thursday night. 

“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know you! Please stop bothering me, sir,” your voice cracks in the end, a semblance of fear creeping up onto you. This is why you never answer calls with alcohol controlling your system. 

“It sounds quiet in there, so you’re in your apartment,” he continues, ignoring your nonsensical pleas. “I’m nearby, can you please stay put for another 20 minutes or so? I’m coming to check up on you.” 

“I told you I’m calling the police if you even come near my doorstep!” Your frantic tone causes your body to shiver, welled up tears leaving eyes that start to sting.

 No one has been at your apartment for months; it’s not that they don’t ask. You don’t want them to come in. You don’t want anyone to see how you’ve been when you’re all alone. 

He calls your name on the other end, and again, and again he whispers it like a gentle reminder. A song to soothe your anxious mind, and it works. For a moment, you remember the feeling of comfort and security in the form of arms wrapped around you, and this very same voice to calm you down. 

“It’s Younghyun, okay? Please take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’ll be okay. I’m on my way very soon,” Younghyun instructs. His hushed voice contrasts your shaking whimpers, yet you follow what he says with relative ease. It’s so familiar, fragments of flashbacks filling your mind one after the other. 

“Please unlock the door soon so I can come inside. I don’t have a spare key anymore,” he continues. That’s weird, he always had it to access your apartment whenever he wanted. You were the one to insist on that, too, since he basically lived with you for… a while. 

Reality tries to get in the way of the memories, you block it off for just a little bit more with the last drop of alcohol. It should last you throughout the night. 

In a daze, you do what Younghyun told you: unlock the door, and take deep breaths. You don’t want to be completely sober, so you refrain from drinking water even if your throat has been begging you to. 

A lucky soju bottle hides itself from an empty carton of milk inside the fridge, so you grab it hastily. No shot glasses needed, you go straight for it.

Younghyun didn’t tell you to stop, so why should you? But something in your stomach suggests you do. It’s a wincing pain you’ve had before, but this time it digs deeper than that. A liver concern, dehydration, or perhaps guilt? 

You couldn’t think any longer as you heard a soft knock against the front door. Followed by Younghyun coming in quietly, his steps barely audible. As if he’s never set foot in your apartment before. Or at least, maybe it feels different this time. 

As if you haven’t seen him and remember his presence anymore. 

“Hey,” he greets you quietly, and his voice is so much better in person. “It’s dark in here.” 

You’re not sure how to move forward from here. You’re back on the floor, head laying weirdly on the couch that your neck has started to hurt. Your hands hold tight onto the soju bottle as if it’s about to be taken away from you. It’s the one tangible thing keeping you grounded. Your mind begins to float away again upon seeing Younghyun’s face. 

He has that effect on you, but you didn’t consider it ever happening in months. 

You think you’re sleepy, but really you become hyper aware of his every move. It’s just hard to see with droopy eyes, and the silent steps he takes on the hardwood floor. 

He turns the light on the hallway to the bathroom, and even with its faintness you squint at the source of any kind of brightness in the room. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to step on anything,” Younghyun apologizes. He places a plastic bag on the kitchen counter and takes out what looks to be a bottle. 

Definitely not alcohol, you frown.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” you tell him first, the croak of your voice so heavily dissimilar to the friendliness of his. Yours sound guarded, unsure of yourself. “I have this,” you add as you sway the soju bottle in the air. The liquid spills on top of your head, and Younghyun is quick to take it away from you. 

“H-hey—” you argue, but the cold bottle of water has now replaced your source of alcohol, and your lips continue to curl downard. Younghyun shortly laughs at your reaction, but you don’t find it funny. 

“That was mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Give it back.”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Prick,” you mutter under your breath. “Don’t let it go to waste, then, drink.” 

Younghyun sighs, shaking his head while meeting your figure on the floor. The soju bottle remains on the counter, out of your reach. His slanted eyes point towards the neglected bottle around your grasp. 

You find yourself staring mindlessly, his face showing smooth textures and a hint of base make up doning his features. You’re in awe, just like before, of the beauty in front of you. So close to touch, just the tip of your fingertips to graze against his skin. 

If only you didn’t feel so guilty and looked like shit. 

“Staring at me won’t make you sober up any sooner,” he chastises you, sitting with his legs crossed. He looks dapper, a fine suit without a tie and two buttons opened up. Was he at a photoshoot? A company dinner? A date? 

That last thought shoots a strange numbing sensation on your chest. 

“Why are you here?” 

Younghyun looks taken aback at your bluntness. It doesn’t seem like you’re drinking that water anytime soon as your focus shifts at his presence in your apartment. He lets it go this time, then, entertains your question for the sake of your satisfaction. 

“I told you. Leehi called me. She’s been worried about you recently.”

“Oh, has she?” You sass him just for the sake of it. 

“Yes,” Younghyun doesn’t give in to your bluff, his voice suddenly firm and unnerving. “She cares about you a lot, and I understand if she hasn’t had the time to come see you very often anymore, but she works long hours and—”

“Why are you defending her? Did you just come here to lecture me like a little kid? I know how the world works, Younghyun. I know people can be busy, and that they have their own fucking problems to deal with. I know, okay? Fuck, I know that!” 

The words just leave your mouth like poison, it was ready to spill out of your guts all of a sudden. It just needed an opportunity to. 

You didn’t expect it to come tonight— in front of Younghyun, out of everyone. 

Maybe that would slap him cold and hard with what’s going on. Maybe that’s the final straw with you, not the uninviting welcome to your apartment, not the refusal to drink the water he’s bought you, but the words you have spoken. It’s always been the most hurtful. 

You avoid his gaze, suddenly feeling small and even more guilty of how you’re acting. You know you’re not supposed to lash out like this, you hate angry confrontations that can be avoided. But this is why you drink alone, cry alone, and fall asleep when the sun goes up— alone.

Younghyun was never supposed to be here witnessing this. 

Just like how you predicted, you see him stand up and walk away. It’s what you deserve, right? No one ever wanted to stay. 

But you don’t hear the door slam shut following his departure. You don’t hear his footsteps trudge their way out of the door, out of your life once again.  

Younghyun approaches the corner of the living room where the heater is, and turns it on.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I won’t be able to stand the cold like this,” he says with the same gentle, knowing tone of his. “I hope you don’t mind me turning the heat on a little bit. Are you warm, though?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on. 

Yes, it’s been a chilly autumn season but not that you cared. The alcohol hits you from within, igniting unfound frustration, anger, and desperation in every corner of your soul then almost instantly numbs it all for you. 

With parted, dry lips you manage a meek shake of the head. The sweat on your shirt dried up, and your shorts aren’t doing any better making you feel cozy either. You compensate by hugging yourself, the condensation of the bottled water touching the goosebumps on your skin. 

“You should probably drink that before it gets lukewarm,” Younghyun suggests, walking three steps forward to sit next to your figure. He gives you space, almost like a shield in between your bodies in which either of you are afraid of breaking. 

Finally, you relent to his wish and chug the water in seconds. It cools your throat along with your state of mind. A bit more stable now, with the way you see things, and process your surroundings. Your conscious eyes land on Younghyun’s worried gaze, and you struggle not to fall back into them. 

“I’m… not really mad at Leehi, I hope she knows that,” you quip quietly. The haziness drifts away from your consciousness and floats midair. It clings to the barrier in between you and Younghyun, frosting up unseen glass as Younghyun studies your features carefully. And he waits for more of what you have to say. 

You don’t follow through anymore, so he adds to the conversation. “I’m sure she knows. She’s just concerned about you.”

You reply with a subtle nod, wishing you had more water to drink. 

“I’m worried about you, too.” 

And he says the magic words that start the first broken piece of glass stopping you from seeing him eye to eye. You turn your figure away from his sitting one, knowing that the more you attempt to find the answers in his eyes the harsher the tears will come from your own. 

“You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” What a massive fucking lie, you think bitterly. It’s not like you to lie out loud, You say what’s on your mind when needed. And if it isn’t, then you know best not to bother others and keep it to yourself. 

“C’mon, we both know that’s not true,” Younghyun disagrees— in the most polite way he can that it hurts. It hurts to hear him pander to your childish behavior right now, to have him tiptoe his way around your insecurities. 

This is what you didn’t want to happen, and yet in the end you meet your own demise this way. 

“How can I help?” He urges on.

He can’t.

“I want you to feel better.”

You won’t. 

“Please tell me how.” 

You don’t even know the answer to that. 

He sighs, but he tries hard not to let it bother you. Younghyun’s always been like that, so perfect and so accommodating. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sweet gesture from a lover? To know your needs, and meet you in the middle. You basically met a match made in heaven with him years ago. 

What went wrong?

“I can’t believe you still have that shirt,” Younghyun points out. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. He’s trying to look so small, innocent. 

It’s funny, you think, and recall the nights he convinces you to be the big spoon for once. His sturdy frame was difficult for your arms to gather in one warm embrace, but whenever you tried he never complained. And it was nice. 

You try to regain focus, and look down at the shirt you’re wearing. The print has faded so much that anyone who didn’t know its history wouldn’t have guessed what words were imprinted on it originally. But you do, and for a moment you thought you had forgotten— or at least, actively erased from your mind.

But this shirt has always made you feel like you have a sense of connection to this world, to a person you once held in your arms. 

“I can’t believe we had Dowoon design that logo before. Nobody really told us how it really looked,” Younghyun chuckles in the night air, temperature going up a few degrees. 

It wasn’t hot, you weren’t bothered, it was just… right. 

And suddenly, you remember what he’s talking about. Because you were there, and you were this close to dropping the truth onto them that yes, it’s hideous, no one will buy your merch, but the grin on their faces and the spark of excitement in the room was too huge to disrupt. You then convinced yourself that yes, their fans won’t mind, they love you for your music. They love you for you.

You were supposed to love Younghyun for who he is. 

“I liked it— eventually,” you admit and Younghyun raises an eyebrow. Defending yourself before he gets a say, you add, “It’s a sort of charm you and the others had. Up and coming in the scene, innocent boys singing their hearts out because you have nothing better to do.” 

“Hey now, I was in college with you. I had midterms literally the day after our first official gig,” Younghyun corrects you lightly, and you do remember that. You’re starting to remember it all, like a kaleidoscope of days, weeks, and years through Younghyun’s starry eyes.

You don’t realize the barrier has begun to shatter until you feel the heat of his hands hovering over yours. 

“What is it? Tell me, please. Tell me what’s on your mind,” you hear him say repeatedly. He has even moved so much closer to you, his hands grasping yours the way you held the bottle of whisky for nights on end. 

He holds you like he cares, like he doesn’t want for you to disappear. For a second time. 

“I let you go. I let you go, and now I’m left with nothing but haunted memories of you. Of us,” you sob into him, the sturdiness of his body keeping you from shaking terribly. 

Younghyun wraps his arms around you, the way he would when you fell asleep waiting for him late at night on the weekends. Younghyun cradles your fragile figure within his tight embrace, the same way he’d tuck you in bed when fatigue overcomes your system. Even when he’s tired himself, even when he’s on a tightrope of his own priorities— he made you his first. 

But you didn’t want that, you knew that wasn’t good for him, his career. The peak of his fame alongside friends he’s known as family for so long would be right around the time you decided to move to a different city and pursue your own passion. 

There was no way it’d work. You’d be too far away from their studio, his and his bandmates’ apartment, the company building, everything. Everything Younghyun built from the ground up with his talent, his opportunistic mind, his own purpose in life. 

The visits happened less often, the calls coming in at hours you couldn’t accommodate for anymore. People flock to him, and it’s the sort of crowd you flinch at, disassociate yourself with, it’s not who you want to be. 

But it was Younghyun’s, and you loved him so much to take that away from him. 

And yet, in the place you’ve buried yourself deep; hours away from where you once lived with Younghyun, months after the dreaded decision you falsely stood your ground for. He’s here, with you. 

Does he still love you now?

“Don’t think too much right now, okay? You worry your pretty face with all your troubled thoughts like that,” Younghyun reassures you softly. If you had the strength to react to his superfluous words, you’d do so just like before. But exhaustion overcomes you— from the drinking, the sobbing, and the weight of your guilt draping over Younghyun’s shoulders as he embraces you even further. 

You don’t deserve such warmth, such tender love, you hurt him. He can’t love you after that. 

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” Younghyun shakes his head, ruffling your hair next to his face. He lets you go for half a second, and before you know it his hands are secured around your waist again. You don’t protest, but your eyes seem mesmerized by the way his demand you to see him. 

“I’m sorry,” he shares your words, “for not coming sooner.” 

The next sunrise doesn’t sting you in the eyes this time. This time, you fall asleep without nightmares accompanying you in bed. And this time, you wake up to what seems like a beloved past of yours. But it’s not, it’s the next day, and Younghyun stayed. 

You let him. 

[blueskymovies]

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The world is stunned when a group of time travelers arrive from the year 2051 to deliver an urgent message: Thirty years in the future, mankind is losing a global war against a deadly alien species. The only hope for survival is for soldiers and civilians from the present to be transported to the future and join the fight. Among those recruited is high school teacher and family man Dan Forester. Determined to save the world for his young daughter, Dan teams up with a brilliant scientist and his estranged father in a desperate quest to rewrite the fate of the planet.

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A film, also called a movie, motion picture or moving picture, is a work of visual art used to simulate experiences that communicate ideas, stories, perceptions, feelings, beauty, or atmosphere through the use of moving images. These images are generally accompanied by sound, and more rarely, other sensory stimulations.[1] The word """"cinema"""", short for cinematography, is often used to refer to filmmaking and the film industry, and to the art form that is the result of it.

❏ Movies Online ❏

Its and Jeremy Camp (K.J. Apa) is a youthful and hopeful performer who might want just to respect his God through the intensity of music. Leaving his Indiana home for the hotter atmosphere of California and a school or college training, Jeremy before long comes Bookmark this site across one Melissa Heing (Britt Robertson), an individual college understudy that he takes sees in the crowd at a nearby show. Bookmark this site Falling for cupid’s bolt promptly, he acquaints himself with her and rapidly finds that she really is pulled in to him as well. Notwithstanding, Melissa keeps away from shaping a sprouting relationship as she fears it’ll make an abnormal circumstance among Jeremy and their common companion, Jean-Luc (Nathan Parson), an individual artist and who additionally offers feeling for Melissa. In any case, Jeremy is persevering as he continued looking for her until they in the long run cut off up in a caring dating association. In any case, their energetic romance Bookmark this sitewith the other individual includes a stop when life-threating updates on Melissa having malignant growth becomes the dominant focal point. The determination never really discourage Jeremey’s affection for her and the couple inevitably weds presently. Howsoever, they before long wind up strolling a brilliant line between a coexistence and enduring by her Bookmark this siteillness; with Jeremy scrutinizing his confidence in music, himself, and with God himself.

A television program that shows food introduction in a kitchen TV studio. During the time of this program, the show’s host, who is regularly a big name gourmet expert, plans at least one dishes during the time of the scene. The gourmet expert takes the review crowd through the food’s motivation, readiness, and phases of cooking. likewise called “cel (short for celluloid) movement”, this is among the most established liveliness subgenres. Essentially, it is a method of energizing an animation by drawing and painting envisions yourself. Each drawing or painting is an alternate edge of activity, so when they are flipped or placed in arrangement at the correct speed, they give the fantasy of development. Models are Beauty and the Beast and Spirited Away. A story with respect to a beast, animal or freak that threatens individuals. Generally, it fits in to the repulsiveness kind, for instance, Mary Shelley’s epic Frankenstein. Shelley’s Frankenstein is ordinarily additionally considered the main sci-fi story (organic science reviving the dead), yet it presents an immense “animal”. Other clear Monster stories are of the animals of legends and tale: the Vampire, the Ghoul, the Werewolf, the Zombie, and so on Creatures, for example, that portrayed in Karloff’s The Mummy would likewise qualify.

❏ COPYRIGHT CONTENT ❏

Copyright is a type of intellectual property that gives its owner the exclusive right to make copies of a creative work, usually for a limited time.[1][2][3][4][5] The creative work may be in a literary, artistic, educational, or musical form. Copyright is intended to protect the original expression of an idea in the form of a creative work, but not the idea itself.[6][7][8] A copyright is subject to limitations based on public interest considerations, such as the fair use doctrine in the United States.

Some jurisdictions require “fixing” copyrighted works in a tangible form. It is often shared among multiple authors, each of whom holds a set of rights to use or license the work, and who are commonly referred to as rights holders.[citation needed][9][10][11][12] These rights frequently include reproduction, control over derivative works, distribution, public performance, and moral rights such as attribution.[13]

Copyrights can be granted by public law and are in that case considered “territorial rights”. This means that copyrights granted by the law of a certain state, do not extend beyond the territory of that specific jurisdiction. Copyrights of this type vary by country; many countries, and sometimes a large group of countries, have made agreements with other countries on procedures applicable when works “cross” national borders or national rights are inconsistent.[14]

Typically, the public law duration of a copyright expires 50 to 100 years after the creator dies, depending on the jurisdiction. Some countries require certain copyright formalities[5] to establishing copyright, others recognize copyright in any completed work, without a formal registration.

It is widely believed that copyrights are a must to foster cultural diversity and creativity. However, Parc argues that contrary to prevailing beliefs, imitation and copying do not restrict cultural creativity or diversity but in fact support them further. This argument has been supported

by many examples such as Millet and Van Gogh, Picasso, Manet, and Monet, etc.[15]

❏ ADAPTATION ❏

As referenced, I Still Believe is coordinated by the Erwin Brothers (Andrew and Jon), whose past executive works incorporate such Movies like Moms’ PARTICULAR DATE, Woodlawn, and I COULD Only Imagine. Given their partiality fascination strict based Christian films, the Erwin Brothers appear to be much the same as an appropriate decision in presenting to Jeremy Camp’s story to a realistic portrayal; moving toward the material with a specific sort of gentBookmark this siteleness and truthfulness to the procedures. Much like I COULD Only Imagine, the Erwin Brothers shape the component around the life of a well known Christian artist; introducing his humble begiings and the entirety of the hardships that he should look en route, while melodic tunes/performaBookmark this sitence mulling over significance of the film’s account story movement. Saying this doesn’t imply that that the film isn’t without its heavier minutes, with the Erwin, who (once more) know about strict hints topics inside their undertakings, outline I Still Believe convincing messages of adoration, misfortune, and recovery, which (as usual) are very crucial to watch and experience throBookmark this siteugh misfortune.

This even addresses the film’s content, which was peed by Erwin siblings playing twofold obligation on the undertaking, which has a lot of sincere emotional minutes that may surely pull on the heartstrings of certain watchers out there along with give to be a significant drawing in story of going directly through misfortune and difficulty and finding a reclamation circular segment to get away from it. That is particularly made bounteously clear when working with a deadly ailment that is like what Melissa goes through in the film, which is pretty all inclusive and intelligent in everybody’s reality, with the Erwin Brothers painting the agonizing excursion that Melissa brings with Jeremy close by, who must sort out some way to adapt to agony of a friend or family member. There is a “twofold edge” blade to the film’s content, yet I’ll specify that underneath. Get the job done to express, the film settles rapidly in to the recognizable example of a strict religious component that, while not actually cleaned or unique, could be the “comfort food” to a few; anticipating a healthy message of confidence, expectation, and love. By and by, I didn’t know about Jeremy Camp and the account of he and Melissa Heing, so it was a significant impactful excursion that was contributed unfurling through the whole film’s procedures. As a side-note, the film is a lttle bit a “tragedy”, so for people who inclined to crying during these emotional ardent motion pictures… .get your tissues out."

[random-esfp]

YOONGI BTS MBTI - INTJ

“Ni doms need a sense of deeper purpose and direction in life” (@mbti-notes)

Ni (Introverted intuition): To me, Ni is even more obvious in Yoongi than in Namjoon (INFJ). It’s true that Ni doms are rare but maybe that’s the reason why Namjoon and Yoongi connected that well in the 1st place. Ni doms need a sense of deeper purpose and direction in life, and I can see them having that in common. Ni doms are usually intense, and INTJs especially need to observe situations for a long time before taking action, they wait until the bigger picture becomes more clear, and that’s why they are labelled as “procrastinators” or “lazy” when in reality INTJs prove to be hard-working, tenacious and ambitious. Yoongi explores and expects more about future. His life has been based in envisioning himself doing something and then following a structured path to achieve his goal (Ni + Te).  For example, people who use Ne can’t be limited to thinking of a goal and following the path upstream, they always have open options bubbling in their head, while INTJs feel the most confident when possessing a strong sense of purpose to guide their long-term direction.

Te (Extroverted intuition): xxTJs want tangible results of their efforts and to maximize good results, and that’s his working method. Yoongi's story of becoming an idol defines Ni + Te very well. I personally believe that if Yoongi weren’t a Te user, with all the difficulties he had to go through, physically, economically and mentally before debuting, he wouldn’t have made it. It was because of their tenacious and ambitious personality (Te) and the clear vision he had of what he wanted to be (Ni). His “predictions” didn't end when he debuted, or when BTS won daesangs, he always follows one step ahead. He can’t stop working. Lately, we have seen a more relaxed Yoongi. With all his life-purposes mainly met (how lucky), now he’s drawn to “learn to be happy”, and although it seems beautiful, Yoongi’s mind works with goals, and he fears not having them. That’s why he has to LEARN to be content and happy now that he’s at the top. Despite being apparently more relaxed, recently he has said he has “a lot of problems” and the song Shadow is the song that best expresses his current state of mind. As I will explain now.

Fi (Introverted Feeling): Because of Fi, INTJs are way more emotional, intense and passionate than what they would like to admit. Whenever I read Yoongi's lyrics and the passion with which he raps I only see either an individualistic suffering or an arrogant ambition of "this is me, here I am", while Namjoon is super obvious Fe user. Namjoon is much more subservient, people-oriented, and Yoongi only says what he thinks without being in the service of anyone. It's like Namjoon wants to bond with people while Yoongi wants to show himself how he is and you don’t like it, then fine. Despite being a huge introvert, I don't find him struggling with inferior Fe as Jungkook, who is so obvious when he's uncomfortable with feelings and emotional situations, Yoongi doesn't seem uncomfortable, but rather he prefers to get rid of emotions to continue his work and move on, but he knows he has them and has no trouble expressing them when necessary. 

His message to be true of oneself is so recurrent. Shadow talks about how he wanted to be everything that he has finally been able to be: a successful world star. But then, why does it feel so dark up here? Why does it feel so lonely and empty? Did I choose right? 

Once, I made a research of MBTI as fictional villains and INTJs made the perfect villain except for one thing: they see a straight tunnel, the perfect path to achieve their goals, step by step and usually only count on themselves to do so, discrediting most unpredictable events and factors that eventually end up with the (most likely bold and improviser ESxP) hero winning. 

What I mean is that, because of Ni+Te, Yoongi saw clearly that tunnel and eventually reached where he wanted to end up. But, once he got there, he didn’t feel like he thought he would (maybe because he didn’t want to be an idol. An underground rapper would’ve fitted him better but it would probably mean he would had not been even half as famous, successful and admired as he is). So there’s the inner conflict Yoongi has. His songs Her, Tear, Seesaw and Shadow are quite revealing oh this. His ambition (Te) vs. his inner self well-being (Fi). And the need of spiting this out that much is such a Fi behaviour. If he isn’t able to be whoever he wants to be, there must be a way to express himself: the music. 

He said this recently: “I don’t ever think of my slumps as slumps. But when it hits, I try to stay extremely busy and bombard myself with things to get done. And as I bustle around to get those done, I overcome. If you’re feeling stuck, try to concentrate on figuring out who you are. You are the most important thing in this all.”

Se (Extroverted sensing): Yoongi always tries to avoid any type of activity that forces him to be aware of any external stimuli. Specially WATER GAMES. It's beyond laziness, it's a weakness of Inferior Se. And he is selective about it becasue do y’all remember he likes basket? Yoongi likes to be engaged with himself and his thoughts, the motionless he is, the better he feels. Sometimes I think that the "extreme patience" they say he has when everyone touches, teases and annoys him and he stands there literally doing nothing is because it is very easy for him to disconnect and detach of the world and its stimuli, like any Ni-dom. But, beyond that, I really see him embracing Se (okay who hasn’t seen the Just Dance vlive party I mean). His job as a performer, not only musician, has strengthened his Se a lot. Yoongi can go from 0 to 100 real quick, he has sudden bursts of fun-loving person but he gets easily drained also, and although he can be spontaneous, especially since he is at the music industry, his core is not to improvise. He isn’t impulsive at all. Yoongi wouldn’t put his feet out of his comfort zone impulsively at all. (x)

Anyway, stan Yoongi he’s the best man alive. 

[primasveraas-writing]

Rey x Mando!Reader Headcanons

Request: Rey x Mandalorian reader headcanons? Maybe with sum slow burn enemies to friends to lovers? 👀👀👀

Thank you!

XXX

As a Mandalorian, you are nothing if not independent

The First Order clearly stands in the way of everything you believe. Their iron first of control is a direct threat to your independence, your way of life, and the galaxy as you know it

So once you realize that standing on your own against their regime is ineffective for the most part, you offer your services to the Resistance

You don’t wish to be a fighter on the ground, or “one of them,” per se. But you have a unique set of skills that they can use as they so wish

It’s here, of course, that you meet the hero of the movement, Rey. Between the two of you, there is a mighty skill set and you are often paired together for this reason

 Part of you had still hoped that you’d be able to work alone, even as a representative of the Resistance, so you don’t plan to make friends with Rey

She’s too happy. You don’t have anything against happiness, but as a general rule, you’ve found that people who are overjoyed all the time don’t have a tangible grip on reality

Not to mention she doesn’t seem to realize that you can take care of yourself. Or, for that matter, that you don’t want to hug her any time something goes right

She’s simply a presence that you tolerate, you tell yourself. And certainly nothing more

Even so, you make a deadly team. Despite the fact that Rey seems to pull punches more than you ever would, your precision and efficiency together is unmatched

But one day, Rey crosses a line. In her attempt to save someone, she entirely undermines you, using the Force to pull your target out of the way. As a result, your blaster bolt misses, hitting a fuel tank and altering everyone in the vicinity as to your location

You take on more fire than you should, and Rey still doesn’t manage to save the Imperial she was trying to spare

When you make it back to the base, you finally vent your true feelings. Rey hardly lets you yell at her for long; before you know it, you’re in a screaming match on the tarmac with everyone around you staring

You both stalk off angrily, and when Rey manages to talk to Leia in the hopes of finding comfort, the general tells her that you’ve already requested to work alone or with someone else from now on

For the sake of maintaining some calm in the Resistance, Leia obliges

You hardly see Rey from then on. Occasionally you’ll brush by each other, but your helmet disallows any true eye contact, and for that, you’re very grateful

However, her closest friends try and convince you to apologize or make peace. Finn is particularly defensive, and Commander Dameron attempts to make you see that working with Rey again is what’s best for the Resistance

Yet you refuse outright and begin working with whoever Leia assigns you with

Maybe Dameron has a point, you admit reluctantly, because missions are never the same after that

No one matches Rey’s brilliance or skill. No one is as intuitive or perfectly matched to your fighting style

And maybe, just maybe, you miss the way she could make you smile underneath your helmet, where you could safely enjoy moments of her presence with the safety of her never knowing this fact

So you complain less than expected when weeks later, the general tells you that out of necessity, you and Rey will be paired once more for at least one mission

You’re working together perfectly again without a second thought, even if Rey refuses to talk to you for the duration of the journey to the planet you’re operating on

And on the way back, your heart aches. Nothing has come close to this feeling since you last parted- the adrenaline from a thrilling and successful mission, the excellent cohesion of your combative strategy, the way that Rey seems to make the whole universe come alive in the heat of battle

Finally, you open your mouth to apologize. Rey is silent throughout, but you promise to give her a better chance, and she nods and smiles

Your friendship begins that day. The two of you are paired on missions again, and you're even more unstoppable than before

This is, in part due to the genuine connection that quickly forms between you. In accepting her friendship, you actually deign to spend time with Rey and her friends

It's the first time Rey hears you laugh

She won't admit it until months later, but she loves the sound

You even allow some of her hugs, but it's a boundary that's slowly broached

You see for the first time that Rey's positivity and happiness comes from triumphing over hardship and seeing the best in others rather than naivety and ignorance

This is one of her most admirable qualities. As a Mandalorian, you've been taught your whole life to view the galaxy cynically, to expect little from others and keep what's yours close to your chest

Rey breaks that mold ingrained deeply within you. It's like the sun shining through the darkness, and you realize that you enjoy this change more than you could have ever imagined

And in turn, your opening up to Rey about Mandalorian culture gives her an understanding of your perspective. Your realism seems close to pessimism, but it's not without reason. After all, Mandalore has a long history of hurt, violence, and betrayal. Even after generations of change, it's a hard thing to shake

It's a quick fall after that. Rey opens your universe to so much light, and although you'll never be quite the same as each other, you both relish the balance you bring to your relationship

Rey is irresistible. From her laugh and smile to her true and pervasive kindness, her beauty shows, and your affection deepens by the day

You're pretty sure she feels the same way. Her hugs become longer and more constant, and she squeezes your hand whenever you're near

Plus, making her blush and laugh is a favorite pastime. Your bravery in battle also happens to translate to courage with flirting

It's enough that people roll their eyes when you turn on the charm for Rey. You're witty but not subtle, and that's what makes your tactics so effective

It works. You're alone together, having meandered as you talked to outside of the base. It's just you and the trees and the hum of life around you

You take off your helmet, and Rey beams. It's not unusual for you to reveal yourself like this, but it's a sure sign of your comfort anyways

You reach out to grab Rey's hand, and she offers a lovely smile in turn, not objecting when you pull her close to your chest

She responds enthusiastically when you lean in and kiss her at last

[scoundrels-in-love]

I've dreamt about you (nearly) every night this week

The hour is too late, Jaime is too shirtless much on their videocall and Brienne's fantasies run away from her at mention of 'pillowtalk'. Also on AO3. Part of Braime Monthly Madness/Mutual Pining March.

She misses Jaime.

It’s frustrating to admit, but true nonetheless. While Brienne does enjoy the vibrating, ever-changing air of her profession, she discovered early that she needs at least a few reliable things in her life to keep her sanity and happiness. Working out on specific days, a call to her father at least once every two weeks, even if she has to keep it brief, a lengthy brunch with Sansa and (or) Margaery once a month or more often if their schedules allow it though they text and call each other plenty, are part of her subtle routine. 

Somehow, Jaime has become one such pillar of stability. Snuck his way deeper and deeper into her weeks with a wink and takeout box as he comes over for a movie night, with surprise visits to her set when they don’t share it. Embedded himself in countless ways that leave tiny holes through which blankness presses through, now that he’s gone for the third month, doing promotions for his newest movie and shooting a reality show in Dorne. 

It’s not the first time they’ve not seen each other for a while, but this is certainly the longest in the last two years. And so, she is lying in her bed, staring at her ceiling and trying not to think of how much she misses his voice and laughter, and definitely not about the photos of him shirtless on beach that had been plastered all over yellow pages and Weirnet that he had the gall to forward to her with a cheeky comment how he can’t let her forget how handsome he is.

(As if she could, as if her dreams aren’t often invaded by his smile, the warm light in his eyes that’s one spark from incinerating, his breathy laughter in her ear, his hand slipping lower ... )

She finally wrestles all the images away and feels sleep beginning to blur the edges of her thoughts when her phone begins buzzing. Her sleepy frown dissolves at Jaime would like to start a videocall.

It’s a little later than their usual calls, but she accepts. If she’s got to end it soon, at least she can do so after smothering some of her insatiable longing. “Hey Jaime,” she starts, but whatever was meant to follow dies on Brienne’s lips.

Jaime’s reclined on a pillow and he must be holding the phone with extended hand, as she can see most of his exposed chest, almost glowing in the warm light of lamps. Because he’s shirtless. And grinning at her in a way that’s a mix of faux innocence and glee, as if he knows exactly how her stomach leaped or maybe knotted up - she’s not exactly sure but it definitely did something. 

“It’s hot in here,” he offers as an explanation and she hopes she hasn’t been silent for as long as she thinks she’s been. She’s also utterly unconvinced and drops the phone to the side, much to his immediate protest, to shift her pillows so she can do this more comfortably and with less double chin inducing angles. Like seeing her face in the corner of the screen, compared to all, well, that, isn’t enough of a reminder that her fluttering longings aren’t meant to survive the frost of reality. But the one time she tried to turn off her camera, Jaime protested so loudly it almost convinced her he misses her face, too.

“It’s 11pm, Jaime, don’t you have early filming tomorrow?” she asks when she’s settled, trying to avoid looking at anything but his face, though it’s hard when the screen is comparatively small. Isn’t his arm getting tired?

“No. Besides, I just need to tell you what nonsense Lysa Tully pulled today - you know there’s no one else I’d rather complain to.”

She wants to joke that it’s because he has no other options anyway, but doesn’t because it’s true. Jaime cannot call his siblings to joke about the latest nonsense on set, Bronn would only ask for dirty parts, Addam’s probably predisposed with something of his own. Even Elia and Lyanna are not exactly available these days, enjoying their family holiday. Though he has found tentative friendship with some of her friends and co-workers, it’s not the sort for such late night talks. And in truth, there’s no one else she’d rather speak with after a long day, either. 

So, how can she deny him this? “Fine, I’ll bite. What did she do now?” 

One story turns into another and an hour later, they both have shifted to be laying down more comfortably (thank the gods, now she can lie to herself that she’s unaware how he’s shirtless beyond the frame). The conversation putters out bit by bit, replaced by warmth and sleepiness. Or perhaps it’s the first, the sense of safety, that brings about the second. 

“We should do pillow talks like these more often. In real life, too.” 

Suddenly, she feels quite awake. And thankful the dim light hides the blush burning across her face. 

There is no way his word choice is deliberate, but the want goes from thawed and simmering on low fire, to molten steel in a flash. It’s not just the images of him sweaty and mussed up that her brain unhelpfully provides based on his post-training looks, it’s also basking in warmth of his grin, discovering if she likes to be genuinely held afterward, the softness of his voice and his hair as she would brush it out of his face, trace hand down his stubbled jaw that has left a pleasant burn across her--

The word holds too much promise, if only in her mind’s definition. And not one she can clarify with Jaime.

Especially since he loves to tease her, has outright told her he loves to make her flustered. Flirts only to see her fumbling reaction, just as Margaery does (even now, that she has proclaimed Brienne to be ‘tragically straight’). 

So, Brienne grasps at something safe instead. “You fell asleep on my shoulder last time you were over,” she reminds him, smiling a little at the memory. One of the reasons why they don’t R.aven movies together when they’re separated like this is because nodding off at end of second or third movie individually just isn’t the same, compared to the way they slowly gravitate toward each other when sharing a couch until someone (usually Jaime) is falling asleep on the other. The other is that reading his typo riddled, rushed commentary and responding to it is incredibly distracting and makes Brienne miss half the movie. 

“Speaking of which, we both should go to sleep.” It’s past midnight and he might not have an early morning (which Brienne doesn’t entirely believe), she actually does.

“Five more minutes,” he asks, not unlike a petulant child, but she doesn’t have the heart to deny this mutual indulgence.

Brienne doesn’t know when the five minutes turn into maybe twenty or thirty and when they dissolve into dreamless sleep, but she wakes up trying to nuzzle her face into the phone which definitely does not compare to the comfort of her pillow. The clock informs her it is almost 4am and upon unlock, the videocall goes fullscreen once more.

She can’t tell if Jaime propped his phone up quite so right before she fell asleep or after, which would mean he didn’t end the call when she nodded off. The thought should be uncomfortable, and there are definitely twinges of embarrassment as she had had to wipe drool away from the screen, instead she feels detached from anything but a tender longing that cocoons her thoughts, tangles them up and drags them away from any logic. 

Perhaps this sleepy, slow warmth is poison that will kill her, but Brienne is willing to risk it, just to stay in this kind of liminal, magical space in which their lives cross with the impossible reality where their pillowtalks adhere to her wistful definition. 

He has twisted away from the phone some, she can mostly only see the pillow, stump and his profile at an angle. For a while, she feels content just to watch him, taking in his relaxed features and the calm rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes, she has indulged in looking when he falls asleep next to or on her, but the urge to touch becomes too much quickly. (Work is where the best of both worlds cross paths and she has cover easily available, but at the same time her mind is occupied with the task at hand.)

Here, she doesn’t have to cover the reason her touch lingers, is safe from waking the man with a finger tracing his lips or skirting down his neck to rest on his exposed chest. The thought of pressing kiss below his ear, to his collarbone, scraping teeth across the hollow of his throat doesn’t pull her closer to him like the world's most powerful magnet drags a huge, crude iron rod. (Merely because he isn’t tangibly there.) She can risk-freely think of the little noise he would probably make before opening eyes, pupils blown wide for more than the low light. “I thought we were supposed to sleep,” Jaime would say, voice husky like it sometimes dips when they’re alone in the makeup trailer, even lower still, but he would already be reaching for her. “Well, there is more than one meaning to the word,” she would say and -- 

Brienne pushes the end call button with speed that outraces her heart. 

There are things that can be squinted at until they grow blurry enough to be seen as ‘we are friends and he is a very attractive man, a stray thought or two is bound to happen’. (Though she has been with a friend, and it wasn’t even starlight during the day compared to the scorching sun that is Jaime.) And then there are moments that cross any and all borders of appropriate, of what she can afford. This is definitely of the second sort. Worse, not only it is the indulgence of the highest degree, it also skirts too close to being a creep. Shame washes away last threads of desire. 

Jaime deserves better than to be ogled while asleep and groped at in her fantasies. He is her friend, with his confusing comments and heated gazes and face she cannot get tired of in or outside work, and a smile that can fill her with dread just as much as bone melting gladness. And she can’t, can’t erase it from her life just because he is so lovable and so beautiful there is ache behind her breastbone, trickling all the way into her fingertips. 

She double checks if her alarm is on and then puts the phone on the bedside table. Tosses and turns in the dark, as if heaviness in her has somehow slipped into the mattress and made it all lumpy. But eventually, sleep reclaims her and when she wakes, a text from Jaime already waits for her (so much for not having an early morning): What happened to call

I guess it timed out or something. Maybe WiFi got temporarily disconnected. she responds after a respectable amount of time, right before she drives to the studio. It’s only a white lie, far more innocent than the real reason. But that doesn't help her rapidly growing guilt, at all. 

He texts back almost immediately: Shame wanted u to be the first thing I see when I wake up

And if she replies only hours later, with a random update of her day, it’s definitely not because me too rang so loudly in her chest that she forgot all other words. 

[honeylikewords]

*pounds on table rhythmically* Give us Finn (please)! Give us Finn (please)! Preferably C, F, and U! C, F, and U (please)!

*pounds on table to the same rhythm* You may have Finn! You may have Finn! C, F, and U it is!

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?):

Finn is a real big cuddle bug! He’s very physically affectionate with his sweetheart, always ready to pull her in for a tight, cheek-squishing hug, or to take her hand in his and entwine their fingers, or to brush her hair aside and plant a loving kiss on her forehead.

And while all those forms of affection are great, nothing brings Finn greater happiness than being able to spend an evening with his beloved, snuggled up under a warm blanket, her chest to his back, their arms looped, her hands rubbing up and down his chest and tummy. Finn is absolutely a fan of being the little spoon (he loves the feeling of being cradled so gently, and of being protected in a bubble of love and intimacy!), but he’s also really in love with how it feels to cuddle face-to-face, hugged to one another, faces inches apart, smiling at one another and talking quietly.

He adores when his sweetheart traces his face, and especially when she takes the time to rub at his tight, knotted shoulders and ease the aches there. Finn makes the happiest sighs of relief and comfort when she massages the back of his neck or gently scritches her nails along the base of his head, delicately tingling the short hairs that reside just along the nape of his neck, sending soothing electricity all up and down his spine.

In turn, he likes to enfold her in his arms-- which have grown strong and muscular from his exercise and combat, as well as from his Force training with Rey-- and squeeze her to him, almost like a teddy bear, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and breathing in the warm, fluttery scent of her, as if he can’t quite believe he’s able to really have this, a love so real and strong and tangible.

However, because of his exhausting duties as a general, Finn often can only enjoy the cuddles for so long before the comfort lulls him into a deep, well-earned sleep, and the two of them often naturally assume their preferred sleeping positions; her on her back, arms encircling Finn’s shoulders, and Finn resting his head on her chest, ear pressed to her heart, one of his hands atop her belly and the other under her back. It’s utterly adorable.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?):

For Finn, that’s a complex answer, because he feels strong, intense attachments very quickly, and his emotional connections to people define him. So when he met the woman who would one day be his beloved, he had an instantaneous, immediate reaction to her: a positive, affectionate, longing feeling took root in him and was unshakeable ever since.

He likes to think of that as love at first sight, but, in reality, Finn really has no personal experience with romantic attraction, as Stormtroopers were discouraged from forming emotional attachments to their cohorts and were expressly forbidden from pursuing romantic relationships. He knew about love and attraction only theoretically, and didn’t quite know what to expect if-slash-when he felt it himself; all he knew was he liked this girl. He liked her a lot. He liked her so much that when he thought about being away from her, it made him anxious and frustrated and unwilling to part, and, if he did have to be away from her, would be left feeling constantly concerned over her and her welfare. And, god, he thinks she’s beautiful.

Is that love? He’s not sure. Part of him, inexperienced and adoring, absolutely believes it is. He knows he feels for her; he senses her, is aware of her even when they’re separated, thinks of her constantly. But the other part, pragmatic and frustrated, isn’t willing to risk his heart by saying that he loves her if such a feeling is merely an unreturned affection, or if he’s just too juvenile to know the difference between “like” and “love”.

He went back and forth like this, constantly tormenting himself-- were her friendly greetings just that, or were they more? Were her smiles at him flirtatious, or was he just reading between nonexistent lines?-- until it drove him to vexation. He couldn’t last much longer like this.

Part of his Force training with Rey was meditation, and as the two of them sat in a distant corner of the forest on Ajan Kloss, he was instructed to close his eyes and focus his thoughts, allowing them to slip away until he’d reached a state of transcendent emptiness in order to open himself to the ebb and flow of the energies around him, past and present.

Rey was already cross-legged, eyes shut tightly, and Finn drew in a deep breath, sighing it back out as he closed his own eyes and tried to be mindful of his thoughts. He thought of empty, black space, of a vacuum of silence, of--

A smile. Glittering eyes. A friendly, warm voice. The brush of a hand against his, passing in the hallway. A wave from across the mess hall.

Try as he might, Finn couldn’t push the thoughts of her away. He shook his head and sucked in another calming breath, but then he imagined the way her scent lingered after she’d walked by him, or the funny way she fidgeted with her sleeves during meetings, and then he was lost, far-flung from the psychic emptiness Rey had been trying to guide him to.

Just as his thoughts wandered to what she might be doing at the moment, and a sort of fuzzy, blurry premonition of her current status was beginning to form for him, as it sometimes did when he was thinking of her, Finn heard Rey begin to chuckle, her laughter light and airy. He cracked one eye open and gazed at her incredulously.

“I can hear you from over here,” Rey said, her own eyes still closed. Finn noted that she hovered a few inches off the ground; show-off. 

“I’m not saying anything,” he remarked. “I’m quiet. See? Quiet.”

“Finn, please. You’re thinking so loud it’s practically rattling the trees.”

Finn felt his face go hot; could she read his thoughts?

“She’s very pretty, by the way,” Rey added, opening one eye to glance at him with a playful, teasing mirth. “I can see why you’re having a hard time tuning her out.”

“Oh, that’s--,” he stammered, “I’m-- That is not what is going-- How dare you!-- If Leia were here--”

“Oh, come on, don’t be a big baby,” she snorted, rolling her eyes at Finn’s indignation as she floated back down to the ground. “There’s a reason you can’t get her out of your mind. It’s completely natural.”

He grumbled something indistinct and crossed his arms, unwilling to meet his friend’s eye as he burned up in red-hot shame.

“The Force guides us,” Rey said as she picked at a loose strand of grass. “It binds us as much to what we fear as to what we love. And for those of us particularly sensitive to those bonds, it can show us what-- and who-- we are most connected to.”

She looked up from the grass and smiled at Finn, her brows knit in bemusement.

“So, maybe, if you’re thinking about her, and you’re sensitive to her, and you can, you know, feel her around you... maybe you ought to consider that what binds you together might be important. For both of you.”

Finn hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward conspiratorially, voice lowered.

“Do you do this to everyone, or just me? Like, can you read minds? Am I gonna be able to do that?”

Rey laughed again and once more rolled her eyes, tossing her handful of grass scraps at Finn and leaning back on her elbows as he swatted the grass away.

“You’ll be fine, Finn,” she sighed, gazing up at the sky. “Just be open to the reality of your feelings. You know what you feel.”

As Finn followed her gaze up into the clouds and paused to think, he felt a tentative, hesitant smile begin to creep across his features, a sheepish, fluttering sensation building in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes and took in a breath-- this one actually serving to calm him-- and let it back out, freeing himself from a weight on his chest that he hadn’t even been aware of.

In the sunlight filtering through his lids, Finn could see her; the distant outline of his beloved, coming softly into focus. His smile widened.

He knew.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?):

Finn has a lot of stressors in his life. 

He is constantly a little high-strung, between his naturally energetic personality and the difficulty of his work as one of the active generals of the Resistance, so he doesn’t always manage to find time for himself, especially since he can often get so lost in his work that he almost forgets his own physical needs and limitations.

So, when he needs a little relaxation, he’s not often the one to realize it. His sweetheart is. She’ll see his taut posture and rigid face, the dark circles under his eyes, the sweat of his brow, and she’ll take him aside and gently run her hands up and down his face, trailing her fingers along his neck in that tantalizingly soothing way, and will whisper in his ear in a concerned but loving tone that he needs to take a rest.

“Baby,” he’ll whine, casting an anxious glance back at whatever room she’ll have pulled him from, “They need me!”

“I know,” she’ll coo back as she takes his face in her hands, “But I need you, too. And you’ll be of no help to anyone if you run yourself ragged. You don’t make your best decisions when you’re exhausted, do you, honey?”

He’ll let out a tired groan and put his face in her shoulder, allowing her to carefully card her fingers up and down his back and into the base of his hair, rubbing in just the way that melts him every time, and, after a few moments, he’ll acquiesce and let her take him back to their quarters.

A good, long cuddle and a nap are often employed to help him relax and take a load off, but he also loves it when she draws a bath for him and sits by his side, talking to him and massaging his hands as they chat, or gently working out the kinks and knots in his shoulders as he lays in the water. 

Finn also, surprisingly, takes a great deal of pleasure in “fantasy vacation planning”. He loves to dream of life after the war-- once the planets have justice restored and the Republic takes back political control, reestablishing democracy throughout the Galaxy-- and, specifically, where the two of them will travel to and what they’ll do when they get there. 

He hasn’t been able to see the Galaxy’s wonders, yet, much less in times of peace, so he likes to look up tour guides and vacation documents, guides to planets with beautiful beaches or thriving city lives, resorts and destinations not to be missed. Finn takes particular pleasure in planning these vacations as honeymoons, too; he looks at hotels packages for couples or what their honeymoon suites are like, and talks to his beloved about where she’d like to go and what she’d like to do.

“Coruscant has a thriving vacation district,” he says, holding his sweetheart on his lap as they scroll through the data. “That might be nice.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to Bar Neth?,” she teases as she plants a kiss on his cheek, watching him squint to glare at her. “That Dude Ranch package sounded mighty tempting!”

“No desert planets,” Finn reiterates. “Never again.”

She smooches his lips as he continues scrolling, and he can’t help but break a smile; even just the act of fantasizing about where they can go once this is all over helps him feel more at ease, more hopeful, more ready to take on whatever life can throw at him. If he has her by his side (and the back-pocketed hope of visiting one of the very upscale resorts located in one of those beautiful Core systems), he can handle anything.

Thank you!

[peachymess]

He chose friendship

After finally having visited the final exhibition in Tokyo myself, I’m left with a lot of thoughts. First of all: the exhibition was amazing! All the coverage of it does not do it justice! The videos made for this event, were stunning! And they have several important artifacts from the story on display in 1:1 scale that just gave me all the feels. Armin’s book, pages open, was lying less than two meters away from me, for instance! I wasn’t even aware they had his book until a few days beforehand, when I saw an image of it by pure chance! I went 4 times, and I could go again. A+!

Anyways, I’ll gush about my trip later. Right now, I want to tell you guys about something I picked up on that I really want to share. You see, I didn’t expect a lot of answers going in; the coverage had already show and told us what the exhibition was all about. And no, I still have no clue what that ending sound is… But I – quite surprisingly  – think I found the answer to the question posed on Armin’s wall. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Red background, seashell in hand. The nerve wrecking words: “is it truth or friendship that he has chosen to believe in?” like the truth is now in opposition with his personal relationships…

Well, I’m here to tell you I know the answer. Let’s just skip right to it: Armin chose friendship.

Here’s why:  

Truth is fleeting. It changes from person to person, based on the deciphering key we use to read the world around us. Truth is a construct. It is what we decide it is. Take Armin’s speech to Annie about good and bad people; it’s the same thing: one person’s action is in truth, both a good thing and a bad thing – depending on who’s looking. If Annie had chosen not to help Armin, she would – in truth – have made a non-beneficial choice. To Armin. However, that same choice, was a beneficial one – to Annie. Her choice is both beneficial, and not – but not both. Just either or, equally, depending on point of view. Two realities, both true. Truth is truly fleeting.

…That’s one way of seeing it anyways. I’m not here to start a philosophical discussion with you. I do, personally, largely subscribe to the abovementioned way of seeing it. However, whether you do or not, is irrelevant here. Because, the exhibition (and the story of SNK) very clearly, tells its visitors that this is how truth works in SNK. The notion of truth being fleeting, is explicitly confirmed as (ironically enough) true, for the SNK universe. As a matter of fact, the entire exhibition seems to have as objective to make you understand just how amputated your understanding of life is, if you lead your life with “one truth” as your compass. The exhibition fronts the duality of reality seen from “growing up inside the walls” vs “growing up outside the walls” almost to an awkwardly spoon-feeding degree. “Truth” is the weakest card, we get it.

As you enter the “paths room”, this is literally the writing on the wall:

By now you know,

that the “truth” is not the only one

in this world.

 But one thing that is for sure

Is that you were born here

 So, you can continue

to choose your own reality.

So, you can carry on progressing

until you burn out the life

you’ve been born with.

What I’m trying to say here, is that after setting Armin’s dilemma up in a way that’s supposed to sound difficult, the exhibition gives the answer away by thoroughly deconstructing “truth” to the degree that it’s barely tangible enough to “choose”.  

Listen, when you read the question, you wondered, didn't you? What the answer would be? Or if you didn’t, didn’t you at least entertain the idea that both “truth” and “friendship” are strong contenders for Armin’s core? Because they are. Almost; Armin is soft for his friends and for general kindness. He has a very human, very gentle side to him. The same side that dreams of far away places where lights dance in the sky and where you can walk on miles and miles of sand and ice – and much, much more. But he also has a cynical side to him, one that says the end justifies the means and that he should throw anything way (including love and kindness) on a personal level if that’s what’s required for the greater good. This side shoots women in the face without hesitation when, in the grand scheme of things, it is beneficial. The same side sees the benefit in having his friend eaten if he poses a threat to all mankind (sidenote: just because he can see such a benefit does not mean he wishes for it; I can see the benefit in going to the gym but it doesn’t mean I want to go). Basically, there is a duality in Armin: he is both full of love for life and people, and simultaneously ready to throw it away and turn cynical in order to pursue what’s “right”. So when those two sides are set up against each other, which side comes out on top?

That’s basically what the question at the exhibition is trying to make you think; that the current events of the story is making it impossible to hold on to both – that the “truth” is that he has to oppose Eren in order to achieve a positive outcome – or that the only way to hold on to Eren is by directly acting against his better judgment.

However, it’s easy to poke holes in this supposed problem: for starters, “truth” is not a strong representative for Armin’s cynical side at all. If there’s one character who’s explicitly opposed a fixed truth, it’s Armin (read: his speech to Annie). His strong desire to communicate with others also tell us that he’s open to the idea that things may look different from others’ point of view. Armin isn’t pursuing truth, because he doesn’t believe it’s fixed. Actually, it’s almost the opposite: he already knows his own truth, so he keeps trying to seek out others’ in order to expand/change his own. Basically, Armin already know the lesson that the final exhibition is trying to teach us: that “the truth” is a weak concept. So between “truth” and “friendship”, Armin will have no problem picking actual human relations with high chances of a positive outcome (based on context), over… something that can’t even really be pinpointed; truth. Hell, it even changes from person to person, so what truth would he be choosing?

 “Ok, so maybe they phrased that badly. The point is he has to choose mankind or Eren, right? That’s still the issue.” Nope. They worded it exactly right. Because the “truth” is, Armin doesn’t know where Eren stands. He can’t choose to go against Eren for the greater good, before he knows that the two are even opposites to begin with. Armin’s theme for this arc has been that he doesn’t feel like he understand Eren any more. We see him struggle to try to figure out precisely if Eren IS opposing the greater good or not. As of chapter 120, he has yet to know the answer to that. In other words, the “truth” option is NOT “I have to go against Eren”; it’s “I still don’t know exactly where he stands and thus what is the best action to take for the greater god. I will have to keep digging until I know enough to make a choice on what to do”. It’s still possible that his search would lead him to the fact that Eren needs to be opposed, eventually, but at this point in time, he doesn’t know that, and thus – since he has already “chosen to believe in” either – it cannot mean “opposing Eren”, as neither “friendship” nor specifically “truth” contains “Eren is bad”. Thus, the only one of the two option that opens up for decisive action, is “friendship”; ultimately, “truth” vs “friendship” looks like this: either Armin chooses to trust and back Eren, or he chooses to keep wondering where Eren stands. If not for any other reason than good story telling, it’s time Isayama put Armin on a decisive path, to push the narrative along.  

As a digression, I’d like to say that I’m aware that the last two or three chapters seem to lean so heavily towards Armin trusting Eren that I’d almost say we’ve been shown the answer already – but I see a lot of you are still worried, and that’s why I’m adding in my two cents on the matter. I already beforehand wanted to believe he chose friendship, but it was only once I experienced the exhibition myself that I saw just how obvious it was.

Anyways, back on track: that’s why I say they worded it exactly right; Armin’s dilemma is not “opposing Eren fore the greater good” vs “discarding his better judgment to prioritize his personal relationship with Eren”. Armin’s two core personalities are not being put up against each other, so they can’t say they are. They (and by “they” I mean Isa/editors/those that worked on the exhibition) are simply playing off the theme of the arc: the fear that Armin has had – and that many EMA fans have had – which is that the truth about Eren will turn out to be that he’s gone off the deep end and needs to be opposed by the two people who love him the most. For a while, it also was made to look like it was likely the case (all to scare us, mind you). “The truth” sounds scary on its own – but even more so when they’ve built up a contextually contained denotation that it means something bad. By saying “truth”, they are using the decoy of fear to distract us from the fact that it’s an empty threat – for all the reasons listed above.

Another digression to make the dilemma sound even less scary: every major character whom had a wall dedicated to them, got an equally ominous rhetorical question written next to them. Look at it like the splash text at the end of each chapter; it’s just there to quicken your pulse, remind you of the stakes and make you want to keep reading to find the answer. Also, the color red is used to identify the Eldian side throughout the exhibition and is used to singnal “belonging to Eldia” - it’s not there to ask you scary questions you don’t wanna answer (while I’m sure it IS there to make you feel nervous about the fate and righteousness of their side vs Marley - again, to blow the “right and wrong” out of the water). 

Anyways, if Armin’s two cores were set up against each other, it’d be an interesting match for sure… but that’s not what’s happening here. Truth has got nothing on friendship in this context. Armin chose friendship. Because friendship… is magic.

[ashdoescomics]

alright tumblr let’s get theorizing

Chase. #1 trending on YouTube currently, and one of the biggest things the JSE community has been waiting for. Evident from some asks, Sean himself said that this is the most information put out about Chase and it’s jam packed with background hidden in plot points and setups. Now, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but my AP English classes have taught me how to write so you bet I’m gonna put that knowledge to use. (cue Ryan Bergara BFU voiceover) With that being said, let’s get into some theories. ((hey!! scroll all the way down to the bottom of this long ass post for the TL;DR if you don’t wanna read it all!!))

We open with Chase entering the scene of what is presumably his house/apartment. An eviction notice is taped on his door, which states that he must vacate the premises no later than September of 2019. Eviction notices are only given to a a judgment debtor (which is specified in the notice itself), meaning that Chase probably hasn’t paid his rent in full, or at all for that matter. This can be further backed up by the fact that in the very first video where we were introduced to Chase Brody, he seemed to be making his “Bro Average” videos as a way of not only coping with his failed marriage, but for coming up with a paycheck. Videos can possibly be his source of income, and it would make sense that as a struggling content creator, Chase is only living by scraping up what he has left (which I think explains the excited facade he puts up throughout the “Bro Average” vids despite his true depressed nature).

Chase then goes to his car and opens the driver’s side door, from which garbage spills out. This could be symbolic of the cluttered headspace Chase Brody has been in ever since the events of “Bro Average”, or it could also show that Chase has been evicted for some time now and spends his time living in his car (or both! We are theorizing after all!)

In this shot, where he rummages through his glove box, we catch a glimpse of the same whiskey bottle present in the end of the video “Tie- A Game About Depression”. This can be attributed to his coping mechanism of drinking, which is obviously a common theme surrounding Mr. Brody.

As he’s looking in the glove box, we see “another Sean” in the back seat, staring at Chase. As of right now, this scene can be totally up in the air as to what it means or if it’s real or not, but I just have a few thoughts on this. First, this could be a dreamlike sequence (which I’ll get back to later) in which Chase (or another ego) is looking back on the past and what happened to see what went wrong. Second, this could be taking place in real time, in which Chase’s manifestation of his inner demon is tangibly symbolized by another “him”. Seeing double usually symbolizes the duality of man or duality of a certain character, and Chase is no exception. Considering the mental state Chase must be in at this moment, it’s possible that this scene symbolizes the inner turmoil or torn feelings he has.

He pulls out a photo from his glove box, which we can assume to be of his wife Stacey and his unnamed kid, and proceeds to have a mental breakdown in his car, yelling and hitting his wheel. In most movies, this is a breaking point similar to a character punching a mirror or trashing up a room. Bottled up emotions from his past being triggered by one photo further solidifies Chase’s unstable mental state.

Fast forward a bit, and Chase decides to drive up to the woods, which seems to be a place that he holds dearly (more on that later). As previously mentioned, I just want to bring back up the possibility that this entire thing could be a dream or fantasy sequence, because of the strange use of a fish eye lens when Chase enters the woods. Fisheye lenses are used to make the photographed scene appear more panoramic and it’s typically a wide shot lens used for photos, but for some reason it stuck out to me when it was used in this video. Now, I could just be overanalyzing things here, but distortion lenses, when used in videos or movies, can be symbolic of a dreamlike sequence. This could mean that the woods section of this video is all just happening in his head, and the “extra Sean” we saw in the backseat of the car is just Chase reliving what happened in the past (implying that this entire video, up until the end where Chase is in the parking lot, happened in the past). BUT I DIGRESS

Chase walks through the woods and settles on a spot where a tower of rocks are balanced and thIS MY FRIENDS is where I found my most compelling piece of evidence. He pulls out the polaroid photo, kisses it, and sets it down at the base of the rock structure, and this was SUCH A BIG THING I had to google it. What I came up with was an article with the quote about balanced rocks: “These piles aren’t true cairns, the official term for deliberately stacked rocks. From middle Gaelic, the word means “mound of stones built as a memorial or landmark.” There are plenty of those in Celtic territories, that's for sure, as well as in other cultures; indigenous peoples in the United States often used cairns to cover and bury their dead. Those of us who like to hike through wilderness areas are glad to see the occasional cairn, as long as it's indicating the right way to go at critical junctions in the backcountry.” 

WELL WELL WELL look what we have HERE! These balanced rocks, aka cairns, act almost like headstones for the deceased and a path guide in the wilderness. Which, funny enough, is what we’re probably looking at right here in this shot! Chase putting the photo at the base of the cairn most likely means that his wife and child are unfortunately deceased, which may or may not be due to his own actions (reference back to Chase’s mental breakdown at the sight of the polaroid photo-- he doesn’t seem to take even just looking at the photo well). This cairn is also in a spot that Chase seems very familiar with, especially because he settles down fairly quickly, taking a swig of his whiskey on a boulder nearby. Chances are, there’s some history in this neck o’ the woods and it could be the spot of cherished memories with Chase’s family. I’d also like to point out that there is a certain scene at the end of one of Sean’s videos titled “Dark Silence”, in which we hear children’s screams and presumably Chase yelling, “What did you do to them?”. Could the death of his family and the ending of “Dark Silence” be tied together? POSSIBLY SO!! Am I implying that Anti might have some foul play involved with the Brody family?? MaYbEE!!! 

Finally, we reach the end of the 4 minute video, in which Chase is seemingly teleported to the top of a parking lot complex. He looks around confused and a little nervous or worried, and he checks over the edge of the railing and feels himself as if to make sure he’s in one piece. I think this is a strange detail to add in, especially since it’s the one we end on and are therefore stuck with. Personally, I think that the transition out of the woods sequence was Chase snapping back into reality, realizing that there’s something he has to do. Let me elaborate: the woods sequence sandwiched in between the beginning and the end of this short stuck out like a sore thumb to me. Unlike the start (where Chase is greeted with the eviction notice and he enters his car) and the end (where he ends up on the parking lot complex), the woods sequence in between is clearly different; taking place away from the city, nature is clearly evident and more dominant, and it’s taken in a warmer color. Now this might just be me and my “so-you’re-tryna-be-smart” ass, but the woods sequence seemed to be in a warmer light than the cooler ones in the beginning and end. Warmer tones usually have an underlying dream feel. What I’m tryna get at here is that the woods sequence we saw-- regardless of whether or not it actually happened-- might be a dream, and Chase “teleporting” to the parking lot was him snapping out of it. He seems dazed for a moment, which looks to me like he was planning to take his own life (we know he has a tendency for doing things like this from the “Bro Average” video), but appears surprised to snap out of it and remaining in one piece-- alive. Maybe he thought he jumped off, but snaps out to realize he didn’t??

This shit’s already getting too long so TL;DR, Chase was evicted from his home, gets depressed that he has to deal with not only this, but his broken family, decides that the only way to resolve his issues is to take his life by jumping off a parking lot complex, has a dream about his family’s resting place, then snaps out of it only to realize that jumping off isn’t his last hurrah, because there’s something else he has to do first.

JESUS CHRIST i hope you liked that entire thing! these are just my thoughts and surprisingly enough, my first theorizing contribution for the JSE community! i hope it makes sense,, my eyes hurt and i’m really tired and this took me 2 hours pls enjoy :,) 

@therealjacksepticeye

[everyaccentthesame]

Infinities are stupid. There I said it. I’m not talking about mathematical infinities, however. They’re fine, even if I don’t really understand them. Ignorance is bliss and all that. No, today I’m talking about the only sort of infinity that I remotely feel somewhat confident talking about: infinities in worldbuilding and how they’re used in D&D.

 Let me define infinity as  far as I understand it in terms that will be useful for this discussion. Infinity, outside of mathematics, means something that is boundless and endless. The description of universe (or in the case of d&d, a plane) as infinite typically means that something is infinite in terms of spatial dimensions but can also refer to the contents of that universe. An infinitely large universe may well contain finite amounts of ‘stuff’ (people, material, energy) within it, though if a finite universe contained infinite amounts of ‘stuff’, that stuff would be infinitely compressed within the finite bounds of that universe.

 D&D has had a long, convoluted, and collaborative history, and this is true for both its ruleset and its worldbuilding. The settings of D&D have been created to act as a basis or a baseline for DM’s to work off as a reference for their stories. Whether they set their games within these settings is up to the DM, but D&D has always released extensive setting books describing the settings endorsed by the creators of D&D. Often these settings have had little impact on one another- Dragonlance, Greyhawk and the Forgotten-realms have changed little about each other over years, each holding to different pantheons, and with little crossover except in a number of niche products. Some settings have sought to create a setting that ‘connects’ other settings- the Spelljammer setting, for example, and references to Spelljammer have percolated through 2nd to 5th edition. Many editions like to imply that all settings are connected in some way through a shared cosmology of connected dimensions or ‘planes’, though this cosmology is interpreted by different folks in those settings in different ways.

 Many of the core concepts of this shared D&D universe were created in its early days by Gary Gygax, Jeff Grubb and others. Each edition of D&D has liked to change the way that the so-called D&D multiverse has worked, switching it up a bit, or in the case of 4th edition, scrapping it completely to create something new. One thing that has remained consistent through each edition up until the 5th, is the description of all planes except Demiplanes as being ‘infinite’ in extent, including the material plane. Indeed, the 5th edition has dropped all mentions of absolute infinity, except in regards to the Astral- a plane defined by not having anything in it, except for that which is brought in from outside it.

 There are more than a couple of problems with the use of the term ‘infinite’ to describe a planes size, or the number of planes in existence. For a start, its lazy. Its shorthand for, ‘I don’t want to go into details, or restrict my creative space’. It allows an author to say ‘very big, bigger than you think, unimaginably big’ in an impressive manner, without saying very much. The issue is that infinities, while fine as a concept, and even interesting to deal with as an idea, if the stories you tell are designed around that- anyone who’s seen the TV show Rick and Morty will appreciate the difficult implications of dealing with our own insignificance in an infinite multiverse where our actions have little to no actual consequences- in traditional storytelling, they don’t help us achieve anything. I don’t know about you, but most of my adventures are not based around telling my players how insignificant their actions are and that they should embrace nihilism, and I don’t think my players would appreciate it if I started doing that. Traditional stories require tangible, achievable goals, meaningful stakes and plots that emotionally resonate with those appreciating them. Infinities as a cosmological concept, depreciate from my ability to tell stories with those in mind.

 Why do I think that? The universe we live in is so large it might as well be infinite to us and indeed may well be, but we don’t consider stories told about the real world to be lacking in stakes. The counterargument there is that humans have a special attachment to their specific little blue and green rock that they happen to live on that your players won’t, and by virtue of experience and the significance we attach to those experiences, we place value in stories told about it. Furthermore, Earth is the only planet in the known universe which contains life, no-less technologically developed life, and thus hold an importance to us who live on it and value that sort of thing. However, many people do struggle to find meaning in the real world, and if you have the option of preventing that sort of existential dread, I would take it.  If your D&D setting never interacts with the other planes or wider multiverse then fair enough, you have effectively dealt with the problem by ignoring it. But sooner or later, you might engage with the wider D&D cosmology, and you’ll want to make sense of it. And infinity will get in the way.

 Infinity could be dealt with in a way that kept the above critique valid but didn’t add any additional difficulty. Infinite planes of material reality could combine with every other plane being infinite to create areas of ‘planar continuity’, carving out finite areas of each plane that only interact with finite areas of other planes. Instead, up until 4th edition, in general terms, anywhere in a plane was equally accessible and if you ‘plane-shifted’ the area which you ‘plane-shifted’ from would rarely matter. This has a number of cosmological implications- for example, Sigil, supposed centre of the multiverse, is a set finite plane interacting with an infinite multiverse, and thus would immediately explode with an infinite number of planar travellers, if there were an infinite number of planar travellers. That it does not implies one of 3 things:

 1. There are not infinite planar travellers.

2. Something prevents all but a finite number travelling to Sigil.

3. The designers didn’t think this through terribly well.

 While the first two options are what I would see as the ‘in-universe’ reason, in our universe the official published material mentions neither option, indicating that it is likely to be the third option which is correct.

 In addition, there is the issue of having finite gods in infinite planes, and in infinitely large planes. Assuming an infinite number of beings reside across infinite material planes, a finite number of gods would be constantly be dogpiled by infinite mortals and petitioners (petitioner is a fancy word for dead souls that go to their gods side when they die). The material that established much of the ‘great wheel’ setting, ‘Planescape’ discussed a great many gods, but nowhere mentioned that there were infinite numbers of these beings. This does not happen, so either we:

 1. Assume that gods are ‘infinite’ in their nature (which is not stated in the official material but does make for good theological worldbuilding material) and thus able to deal with infinite petitioners, planar travellers and godly duties at once.

2. Assume there are not infinite travellers, and thus a finite number of planes inhabited by those capable of planar travel.

3. Assume that the designers, once again, did not think this through.

 The assumption that gods are ‘infinite’ in nature has consequences for our abilities to tell stories in a planar sense- many players love the idea of challenging the god to combat and defeating them, or become gods themselves, which is impossible with gods that are infinite. Now some DM’s may like the idea of infinite gods that can’t be challenged too, and that’s their prerogative, buuuut, that is complicated by the fact that every single D&D edition has, at some point, provided stats for their gods.

 It also doesn’t help that the authors of many supplementary materials seem to forget that the planes have been defined as infinite many times. Modrons, for example, have been given a hard cap on their numbers, which should, by the nature of infinities, make them infinitely irrelevant in the scheme of things. Yet they are not, and the march of the Modrons is an event that can make ‘the planes go crazy’. In reference to the ‘Blood war’, a massive plane-spanning war between the forces of Evil Law and Evil Chaos, numbers are discussed in a very, very, finite manner, as are battlefields and distances. This has been the case in all materials in every edition since AD&D’s Planescape.

 All this suggests that the concepts of infinities as mentioned have been routinely ignored, largely because it assists with the telling of compelling narratives. And if the presence of infinities gets in the way of telling compelling narratives, as a game about creating compelling narratives with your players, D&D and it’s settings would be better served by ignoring infinities, and instead choosing to deal with the far more comforting finities. Thankfully, as of 5th edition, this seems to be what has been done, and the lore of D&D is better off for it.

[hypeaccording2theiza]

Whereby Have the Real Estate Investors Gone?

Real estate professionals have been urging property investors to get in quick to purchase investment building and beat the rush as cashed up middle-agers transfer their wealth from the stock market to the real estate market. It may seem like a reasonable claim as many Australians; especially those all-around retirement age feel that they understand real estate as in investment. It will be something that they can see and touch where as the stock game is something that works in mysterious ways that they do not understand that. The decline in share prices across the globe over the last 1 . 5 years has entrenched this position and there is a desire to take care of what is left of their retirement savings rather than being burnt by further declines in the stock market. However based on the most recently released lending data the anticipated increase in property ventures is yet to materialise. Rather than real estate investors it will be first time owner occupiers who are racing into the market made it easier in part by government stimulus spending. So why are properties investors not doing the same? There are a number of reasons why purchasers may not be entering the property market. Tougher lending criteria By means of the Global Financial Crisis (GFC) banks have been setting more significant hurdles for investors (and owner occupiers) to receive a mortgage. No deposit loans which are in part blamed just for causing the sub-prime crisis are increasingly rare through many lenders looking for a minimum 20% deposit and verified lending history before providing mortgage finance. With finances harder to come by there will be investors who wish to purchase place but are unable to do so. It has been suggested that these more tough lending standards will help protect the Australian real estate market as a result of suffering the kind of falls that have been seen in the US and BRITAIN property markets. In reality it will be the banks providing any mortgage finance that are protected by the tougher lending specifications not the real estate investors. If an investor or possibly owner occupier finds they are unable to meet mortgage loan reimbursements because of unemployment or rising interest rates a gearing place (percentage of debt compared to the value of the property) within 80% or lower is not going to provide any assistance. The particular tougher lending criteria will mean that should the bank need to market the property to recover the amount it had lent in home finance loan finance they will still be able to recover the full loan amount of money even if they need to sell at a large discount to the first purchase price, either because the real-estate market has fallen and / or they want to recover their money quickly. Loss of equity Typically the magnitude and speed of the downturn in equity economies has wiped out trillions of dollars in shareholder collateral (The ASX All Ords index fell more than 40% in 12 months). Until the start of the Global Recession keep markets around the world had enjoyed significant gains year regarding year back as far as the tech wreck of the early on 2000s. Investors had been able to invest in the share advertise and take profits to fund real estate acquisitions. In a personal double whammy these investors now find themselves not only without getting a source of investment income but have also having to provide hard cash to cover margin calls on loans secured on their reveal portfolio. With many shares at rock bottom fire selling prices many investors would be reluctant to sell and may for this reason look to sell their investment property to raise funds, boosting the possibility of a falling real estate market. Job security fears Regardless of record low interest rates and rising rents many investment real estate are still negatively geared (net rental income after real estate professional fees does not cover mortgage repayments and other costs meaning that the particular investor has to cover the shortfall in the hope the will be repaid in the form of capital growth). With rising being out of work some real-estate investors may have already lost their tasks and finding themselves unable to cover their existing property loan shortfall they are forced to sell the property, again raising the likelihood of a falling real estate market. Other investors may not have forfeited their jobs but the possibility of being out of work may make individuals hesitant about taking on additional liabilities that will need to be maintained. Uncertain profits Most real estate investors are investing to make a capital gain (i. e. to sell the property at a turn a profit at some time in the future). In the last 12 months the property markets has at best been flat or has been cascading. The real estate industry has been quick to call the actual of the market but as real estate agents have a vested fascination with this being true many investors are sceptical concerning this advice especially as these claims have been made often times before. It is true that there has been an increase in demand end of it end of the market driven in part by government obama's stimulus payments to first home buyers however this impression is likely to be temporary. Other evidence such as rising unemployment as well as reduced availability of mortgage finance suggests that the real estate current market is likely to head lower Potentially larger gains elsewhere A lot more durable worsening economic outlook some forecasters are claiming typically the equity markets have bottomed. Share markets around the globe experience rallied in recent weeks with many more than 10% up off their lows. Not all investors have been terrified away from investing their money. Some heed Warren Buffett's advice to be "fearful when others are greedy and stay greedy when others are fearful" Any cashed " up " investors with a strong appetite for risk will be lured by gains that may be larger than the lacklustre performance thought from the real estate market. Over the last decade it seemed that all one particular needed to do was borrow money and buy shares or perhaps property to make a profit, many were fooled into convinced that they were wise investors by these easy gains. The fact is that this debt fuelled spending could not last and including any bubble it had to burst resulting in the market melt down and Global Recession that we see in these days. The GFC has both reduced investor's ability to order new investments and their appetite for risk. A large number of will prefer to hold cash or bonds until the trading markets become less volatile and a capital gain looks further assured. Worldwide investors have lost billions of dollars through placing their money in investments that they did not fully understand. It has an expectation that investors would switch to realty as an investment that is tangible and easily understood. However latest data shows that the rush of real estate buyers is yet to materialise. Why?