#postcards from the high seas

[soracities]

Corsino Fortes, from "Postcards from the High Seas" (trans. Sean O'Brien & Daniel Hahn), My Voice: A Decade of Poems from the Poetry Translation Centre (ed. Sarah Maguire)

[papenathys]

"It is an odd dichotomy we have set for ourselves, between loving people and loving land. We know that loving a person has agency and power—we know it can change everything. Yet we act as if loving the land is an internal affair that has no energy outside the confines of our head and heart. On the high prairie at Cascade Head another truth is revealed, the active force of love for land is made visible. Here the ritual burning of the headland cemented the people’s connection to salmon, to each other, and to the spirit world, but it also created biodiversity. The ceremonial fires converted forests to fingers of seaside prairie, islands of open habitat in a matrix of fog-dark trees.

Likewise, the First Salmon Ceremony... [and] the feasts of love and gratitude were not just internal emotional expressions but actually aided the upstream passage of the fish by releasing them from predation for a critical time. Laying salmon bones back in the streams returned nutrients to the system. These are ceremonies of practical reverence. The burning beacon is a beautiful poem, but it is a poem written physically, deeply on the land.

People loved the salmon the way fire loves grass and the blaze loves the darkness of the sea.

Today we only write it on postcards (“Terrific view from Cascade Head—wish you were here”) and grocery lists ( “Pick up salmon, 1½ pounds”)."

- Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants, 2013

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Alright, let's do it: let's talk about the grunkles dying.

Not how they die--- it doesn't really matter. Illness, heart attack, monster battle on the high seas. Death is death is death--- and the grunkles have caught it. Stan and Ford meant it post-Weirdmaggedon when they said they'd never again be apart: one goes not even a minute after the other. Together. Maybe hand-in-hand, all bittersweet-like. They don't care too much about the details--- they're dead! Both have been in far worse spots.

What comes after is harder.

Stan was already legally dead and Ford was a criminal in most conceivable dimensions. They had avoided the issue by sailing the world on a non-registered sailboat and paying entirely in cash and fraudulent credit cards--- and had skirted the issue of a will by derailing the conversation with jokes about immortality. When they gave anything close to a "real" answer, they were... at best incomprehensible. Stan said he wanted to be cremated and put in a Pitt Cola bottle. Ford wanted his body donated to science. Stan wanted to be swung around on a rope outside the Mystery Shack as an attraction. Ford wanted to be set adrift at sea to terrify cargo ships. Each wish was more contradictory than the last, and while it was funny while they were alive, the remaining Mystery Crew were left clueless. It felt impossible to make any decisions, each of them worried about doing the wrong thing. Grief is a thick, unnavigable thing, ebbing and flooding like the tide, blurry like fog over winter water, and they can't turn to the two men that always gave them the best advice. They keep waiting for Ford and Stan to pop back up, say it was all a prank, and outlive them all by decades. That, of course, never happens; Stanford and Stanley Pines are dead. There is no avoiding this.

Mabel and Dipper find the journal one afternoon by the helm of the Stan o' War II, tucked haphazardly under a coffee cup long evaporated dry and perhaps never washed. It's blue, with no symbol on the front, and within in there's no research: just every single letter and postcard and artifact Stan and Ford's family have sent them over the years. Dipper's research papers, Mabel's magazine spreads, incorrect tax forms from Soos, Wendy's many trade certificates. On the back cover is a picture taken at the twins' 21st birthday: all of them crammed together, wearing those ridiculous accessories that come with rented photo booths, grinning ear to ear.

It's not hard to get the Stan o' War II anchored off the coast of Oregon, pull a couple strings and call in a few favors to make sure no one will remove it or destroy it or sink it. It becomes legend: a sailboat filled with evidence of creatures unimaginable, haunted jovially by two brothers who won't stop messing with you, even after death. Coming here gives you good luck in treasure hunting and helps you pass your thesis defense, if you've got one coming up.

An eclectic collection of people maintain the boat, but it's usually Dipper, Mabel, and Soos. They like to look over all the memories again, tell people ghost stories, and hand out bumper stickers for the Mystery Shack. One question they'll never answer, however, is what actually happened to the brothers' bodies. They leave that up to their enraptured audience.

Some say the brothers were buried, and some say they were cremated and ashes spread at sea. Some say their bodies are within the hull of the boat, some say they're still alive, and this is all a publicity stunt. Some say they're in a lab somewhere being experimented on, some day they've been broken into so many pieces from organ donation you wouldn't recognize them. Some say they did die but were brought back to life; some say they're in outer space, or another dimension.

Some say they never existed at all... but that's the only theory nobody actually believes.

[kathlare]

this view

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie finally gets a rare day off with her closest friends—and one certain boy who can't seem to take his eyes off her.

Wordcount: 3.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

July 21st, 2020 - Maui, Hawaii

The sun was ruthless in that perfect Maui way—hot but not suffocating, golden and thick in the sky. The guys had finally scored an entire day with Amelie, no call times, no scenes, no producer breathing down her neck. Just them, towels sprawled across the soft, warm sand, half-finished coconut drinks sweating into the breeze.

George was laying starfished, arms out like he was auditioning to become part of the beach. Charles was half-asleep in his chair, sunglasses sliding down his nose. Alex Albom had a book resting on his stomach, eyes closed but definitely not reading. Amelie was tucked between them, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes, hair piled in a messy braid on top of her head. Her sarong was knotted loosely around her waist, hiding the high-cut bikini she’d thrown on in a rush earlier.

—We are literally ten feet from the ocean,— George groaned dramatically. —It’s a crime not to go in.—

—We’re tanning,— Amelie replied, without opening her eyes. —This is essential work.—

—No, no, no,— Charles said, suddenly sitting up, grinning with dangerous intent. —You promised me yesterday. Ocean swim. That was a promise.—

—I was delusional from heat stroke.—

Charles reached over and started poking her side like a ten-year-old. —You. Promised.—

—Char. Stop.—

—You’re going in.—

George joined in, tapping her arm. —We’ll carry you if we have to.—

—Okay, okay, fine! Jesus Christ! You two are worse than my nephews.—

Lando, lying a few feet away in the shade of a palm, looked up from his phone as Amelie sat up, stretching her arms over her head. She reached down and untied the sarong, standing slowly, brushing the sand off her legs.

And the world—Lando’s world—fucking tilted.

Her bikini was black and simple, the kind of thing that showed off the freckles dotting her chest, her smooth tan lines, her hips, her legs, the tiny scar near her ribs he’d only noticed once before when she fell asleep on him mid-movie. She didn’t do anything dramatic—no hair flip, no pose—but when she walked toward the water, every muscle in Lando’s body snapped to attention like he’d just walked into an ambush.

Holy. Shit.

—Bro,— Alex whispered, like it physically pained him to hold it in. He leaned over on his elbow, catching Lando with that slow, infuriating smirk. —You’re so fucked.—

Lando didn’t answer right away. His mouth had gone dry. His sunglasses did absolutely nothing to shield him from that. From her. From the way Amelie’s back curved as she moved, easy and effortless, hips swaying with each step through the sand. The sun hit her skin like it knew it was doing something sinful, like it was part of the crime. Her braid swung lightly across her shoulder blades, loose strands curling with the sea breeze.

She looked like a goddamn postcard.

A problem.

His problem.

Lando swallowed. Blinked. Then looked at Alex.

—Shut the fuck up.—

—You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.—

—I don’t have to hide anything. I’m over it.—

Alex snorted, flipping a page in his book without looking at it. —You wish. You wish you were over that. God, the look on your face right now. I should’ve taken a picture.—

Lando reached over and shoved him half-heartedly, but didn’t argue again. What was the point?

Because he wasn’t over it. Not even close.

Amelie squealed as a wave touched her ankles and ran back a step, laughing. Charles and George whooped behind her, bolting into the water like lunatics. She hesitated for a second, toes digging into the wet sand, and turned to shout something back at them, laughing so hard she doubled over.

It hit Lando right in the chest.

There was something about seeing her like this—unguarded, laughing like she didn’t have a dozen eyes on her every time she breathed. No stylists, no managers, no makeup team fussing with her face. Just her. Just Amelie.

She turned back toward the water and ran in, kicking up little splashes as she went, arms out, a blur of tan skin and that black bikini that made Lando want to throw himself into the ocean just to cool off. Charles grabbed her hand as a wave came in and pulled her deeper, the two of them disappearing under a crash of white foam, both shouting nonsense as they surfaced.

Lando dropped his head back against the towel and exhaled, trying to act like he hadn’t just experienced a full physiological meltdown over his best friend walking twenty feet away from him.

—You’re fucked,— Alex said again, now openly grinning like a bastard. —Like… clinically. You should be studied. I bet your heart rate doubled. Wait, no—tripled. Your face went full 'eighth grader seeing boobs for the first time.'—

—Oh my God, shut up.—

—What’s your plan, huh? Just sit there and combust every time she walks past you? What happens when she gets a boyfriend, mate? What’re you gonna do then? Watch her make out with some guy in that bikini and have an aneurysm?—

Lando gave him a dry look. —You done?—

Alex flipped a page. —I’m just saying, one day she’s gonna notice you looking at her like that, and when she does? It’s game over. For both of you.—

He wasn’t wrong. And Lando hated that.

Because Amelie wasn’t just hot—yeah, obviously, anyone with eyes knew that. But it wasn’t about the way her hips swayed or the way the curve of her waist fit so fucking perfectly into her bikini. It was the way she laughed. That stupid, gorgeous, completely unfiltered laugh that always came out when she was with them, when she was free. It was the way she made fun of George’s accent and never let Charles get away with his cocky bullshit. It was the way she’d told Lando once—quietly, offhandedly—that she didn’t like looking in mirrors too long because it messed with her head.

It was everything.

Lando hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until Amelie vanished under another wave.

The image of her—tan shoulders glinting, hands wiping water from her face, eyes squinting in the sun—was seared into his fucking brain like a permanent tattoo. She looked... happy. Not just surface-level happy. Real happy. Loose and warm and alive. And somehow that made it so much worse. Because he wanted to be the reason she looked like that.

He sat up, brushing sand from his chest. The ocean shimmered in the distance, loud with laughter and splashing. Charles had picked Amelie up and was spinning her, both of them screaming, her arms flailing like she was trying to swim midair.

—You should go in,— Alex said casually. —Cool off. You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.—

—Shut it, Albon.—

But Lando stood anyway. Walked down the beach toward the water, slow, dragging it out like he wasn’t just trying to get closer. His chest felt weirdly tight. He couldn’t stop replaying it—her untying the sarong, standing, brushing off the sand like she didn’t even realize she was burning a hole in the center of his chest.

She had no idea what she did to people. What she did to him.

She never had.

—LAN!— her voice cracked like a firecracker across the beach. He looked up just in time to see a wave collide with her and knock her sideways. She came up sputtering, blinking water out of her lashes. —Help me, I'm literally drowning!—

—You’re standing,— he shouted back.

—Exactly! It's pathetic! Come drown with me!—

God, she made everything feel easy. Even the impossible stuff. Like not falling in love with her.

He waded in, the water cool against his legs. Charles whooped and splashed him instantly. George grinned like he’d won a bet. Amelie stood waist-deep, arms crossed, smirking like she could see through him.

—Took you long enough,— she teased.

—Peer pressure. It’s a disease.—

—Uh-huh. You just missed me.—

He rolled his eyes, but his heart did something dumb in his chest.

—You wish.—

She splashed him full in the chest before he could retaliate. A war broke out. Water flying, bodies diving, someone screaming—probably Charles. Amelie squealed and ducked underwater, popping up behind George like a sea sprite and pulling him under with her. It was all limbs and laughter and chaos.

Later, they lay floating on their backs, letting the tide carry them just a little. Charles and George were farther down, wrestling each other like overgrown toddlers. Alex had stayed on shore, probably taking a nap or judging them from afar. Lando drifted beside Amelie, both of them quiet for once.

—You’re staring again,— she said softly.

He blinked. —What?—

—You always look at me like you’re thinking about something really heavy.—

Lando turned his head, eyes meeting hers. Her hair floated around her like ink in the water, skin glowing in the afternoon sun.

—I think you’re imagining things.—

She smiled, soft and knowing. —Maybe.—

But he knew she wasn’t. Not really.

A beat of silence. Then she said, —Cam used to do that.—

Lando’s chest tightened.

—Do what?—

—Stare like he was afraid he was gonna miss something if he blinked.— She wasn’t looking at him now. Just the sky. —I never got it. Not really.—

He said nothing. Just floated beside her, watching her breathe.

Then, softly, —I think I get it now.—

Her head turned sharply. Eyes wide. But before she could say anything, Charles cannonballed between them, sending a wave crashing over their heads.

The moment broke.

But not completely.

Back on the shore, hours later, with towels wrapped around their bodies and hair still wet, Amelie was curled up beside him, shivering a little from the breeze. Her head leaned against his shoulder like it belonged there. And maybe it did.

Alex passed by and tossed a coconut at Lando with a smirk. —Still think you’re over it?—

Lando didn’t even bother answering this time.

Because no, he wasn’t over it.

He didn’t think he ever would be.

And deep down, some traitorous part of him hoped she’d never be over it either.

Even if they didn’t know it yet.

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

liked by charleslemonade, lanmelieproof, and others

charliexamelieupdates: Charles and Amelie were spotted enjoying the beach together in Maui today! Between the sun, sand, and their matching vibes… are we witnessing a soft summer situationship?

View all 64,012 comments

gridsidegossip: not the entire twitch quintet turning Maui into a content farm → mclarenmartini: @gridsidegossip bro it’s giving Love Island: paddock edition → lanfanclub94: @gridsidegossip where was lando in these beach pics tho.

lanmelieproof: okay but lando being there too and still letting the charles rumors breathe??? softest man alive → maxedoutlaughs: @lanmelieproof man’s playing the long game. he’s letting her cook → danisdog: @lanmelieproof or he’s just pretending not to care while crying in the club

charlesisforchefs: y’all need to chill they’ve been besties since they were literal toddlers

papayacrushie: imagine being at the beach and turning around to see the twitch boys and AMELIE like??? → gridgoggles: @papayacrushie i’d pass out on sight → ferrarifairy: @papayacrushie i’d fake drown just for george to save me

charliexamelie4life: idc what y’all say… they looked GOOD together → ameliesfilmcam: @charliexamelie4life the height difference?? the matching towels?? hollywood pls do something → mclarensbabe: @charliexamelie4life the only triangle i support is this one

lanmeliesupportgroup: charles and amelie? cute. but lando and amelie? history → f1burnerhoe: @lanmeliesupportgroup “he’s known her forever” okay but lando loved her in silence for YEARS be serious

sunburnedsimp: hawaii isn’t ready for this much power in one friendship circle → twitchofftrack: @sunburnedsimp someone keep alex away from jet skis this time → quadrantdrama: @sunburnedsimp if we don’t get a vlog from this weekend i’m suing

amelieupdatesdaily: she’s the center of the grid and everyone else is just in orbit → checoscousinbylaw: @amelieupdatesdaily she is the paddock’s main character and that’s that on that.

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

The sun had long since sunk behind the waves, leaving a pink bruise on the horizon as the group stumbled back to Amelie’s private villa—skin kissed by salt, hair tousled, sand still clinging to their ankles. They were all high off the perfect beach day, buzzed on sunshine and laughter and whatever ridiculous frozen drinks George had kept ordering.

Amelie had disappeared into her bedroom the moment they got back, cheeks still flushed, humming some Taylor Swift song as she flitted around in a towel. She had exactly twenty minutes to pull herself together before dinner, which was apparently "a no-shorts, no-flip-flops, real grown-up clothes" kind of situation. A resort rule Charles was outraged by.

She’d already done her makeup—bronzed and glowing, a little highlighter on her collarbones, soft pink lips. Her dress lay draped across the bed: a silky, navy number with delicate straps and a low back that dipped just above her tailbone. It clung to her curves in all the right places, and once she slipped it over her head, it felt like liquid. She turned to the mirror, pleased with the effect—until she realized the zipper was stuck halfway up her back.

—Shit,— she muttered, contorting her arm like a Cirque du Soleil performer. The zipper refused to budge.

She tried again. And again. Nothing.

Groaning, she grabbed the fabric at her chest to keep it from slipping and padded barefoot to the door. She cracked it open and poked her head out into the hallway.

—Guys?— she called, voice a little strained. —Anyone still getting ready? I need help... like, fashion emergency help.—

No answer.

Figures.

Still holding the top of her dress in place with one hand and her dignity with the other, she tiptoed down the hallway, muttering a string of soft curses. She passed Charles’s room. Empty. George’s? Also empty. Albon’s door was wide open, his shoes gone.

She sighed and rounded the corner toward the balcony, where a soft ocean breeze was slipping in through the open glass doors. And there—backlit by the glow of the sunset, drink in hand—was Lando.

He hadn’t heard her yet, leaning on the railing, hair still wet, curls sticking to his forehead. He looked… stupidly good. Just a simple white linen shirt and black trousers, sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned. Tan skin, gold chain catching the light.

She hesitated for a moment—because this felt dangerous. Then stepped outside.

—Lan?—

He turned, brows lifting in surprise, then lowering when he took her in.

—Whoa,— he said. —You okay?—

—I, um... can you help me?— she said quickly, gesturing vaguely to her back. —Zipper emergency. I can’t reach and everyone’s mysteriously vanished. This dress is defying gravity at this point.—

Lando blinked. Once. Then nodded slowly, setting his glass down.

—Yeah. Sure. Turn around.—

Amelie stepped closer, heart thudding too loudly in her chest. The air between them shifted—something sharp and charged crackling beneath the surface. She could feel the heat of him even before he touched her.

He lifted a hand and gently pinched the zipper. His knuckles brushed her spine. She sucked in a quiet breath.

—This is… fancy,— he murmured, tugging the zipper upward, slow and deliberate. The fabric slid into place, gliding up her back until it closed snugly behind her neck.

Amelie exhaled shakily. His fingers lingered a second too long.

She turned around.

And stopped breathing.

They were so close. Closer than they should’ve been. Her eyes locked with his, wide and dark and searching. Her lips parted slightly, chest rising with every breath. And Lando… God, he was looking at her like she was some forbidden thing he wanted to worship anyway.

His eyes didn’t move—not from hers, not for a single second.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She could smell the sea salt on his skin, the faint trace of the cologne he always wore. Her hand was still clutching the top of the dress even though it was fully zipped now, and her brain screamed at her to step back, say thank you, walk away—but her feet weren’t listening.

Lando’s gaze dropped, flicking—almost imperceptibly—to her lips.

And like an idiot, hers followed.

She stared at his mouth for half a beat too long. Realized what she was doing.

Looked back up—just in time to catch him doing the exact same thing.

Shit.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a heartbeat—just one long, stretched-out second—it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to this tiny space between them. The heat, the longing, the almost.

He leaned in just a fraction.

She swayed toward him.

And then...

—Oi! Lovebirds! Let’s go, dinner’s in five and I refuse to let Charles order for me again.—

George.

Of course it was George.

They sprang apart like guilty teenagers, the moment snapping like a rubber band between them.

Amelie laughed—too quickly, too brightly—and stepped back, smoothing her hands over her now-secure dress. —Coming!— she called over her shoulder.

George squinted at them through the sliding glass door, suspicious. —What’s going on out here?—

—Nothing,— Amelie said, grabbing the closest pair of heels and slipping them on in record time. Her heart was still racing as she gave Lando one last glance—his hands now shoved in his pockets, jaw clenched, eyes still burning—and breezed past George like she wasn’t seconds away from kissing her best friend in full view of the Pacific Ocean.

She didn’t say anything else. Just followed George down the hallway, his voice rambling about wine lists and appetizers.

But her head?

Her head was screaming.

Fuck. That was close.

She didn’t dare look back.

Because if she did—she knew she’d see him still standing there, watching her like she was the storm he wouldn’t survive.

[thethirdromana]

Visiting Whitby with Mina Murray

Last year I illustrated Mina's description of Whitby a selection of modern photos. This year, I thought I might go one better, so here are some views of Whitby as Mina might have seen it in the 1890s*.

[*or as close as I could manage.]

"This is a lovely place. The little river, the Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near the harbour."

"A great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which the view seems somehow further away than it really is."

[I don't actually know the age of this photo, but it looks about right.]

"The valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you are on the high land on either side you look right across it, unless you are near enough to see down."

"The houses of the old town—the side away from us—are all red-roofed, and seem piled up one over the other anyhow..."

"... like the pictures we see of Nuremberg."

[this is Nuremberg sometime between 1890 and 1906]

"Right over the town is the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked by the Danes, and which is the scene of part of "Marmion," where the girl was built up in the wall."

"It is a most noble ruin, of immense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits; there is a legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows."

"Between it and the town there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones."

"This is to my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay to where the headland called Kettleness stretches out into the sea."

"It descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have been destroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside them, through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day long looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze."

[this painting by William Lionel Wyllie is from 1922, so a bit later, but I thought it was too pretty not to include. St Mary's and the graveyard are at the top left, and you can see the steep descent below.]

"The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long granite wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea-wall runs along outside of it. On the near side, the sea-wall makes an elbow crooked inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is a narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens."

"It is nice at high water; but when the tide is out it shoals away to nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between banks of sand, with rocks here and there."

[from Horne's Guide to Whitby, 1897]

"Outside the harbour on this side there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge of which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea." 

"The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead from the town up to the church, there are hundreds of them—I do not know how many—and they wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is so gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them."

And a bonus - might Mina have bought one of these postcards for Jonathan?

[they are from 1903, so the answer to this is "no", but again I thought they were too pretty not to include.]

[mapetitefeedeslilas]

I love Hangster as the next person, Cylock/Warclone are my sweet babies, but hear me out I am very sleep deprived so just indulge into my madness pls

What if Cyclone despises Maverick that much because he loves Bradley with his whole heart?

Freshly out of high school, Bradley feels like he has nothing in his life after he finds himself barred from the Academy and NROTC and signs up to enlist in the Marines out of spite and as a way to prove himself that he is in fact ready. At barely eighteen Bradley graduates brilliantly from boot camp only for 9/11 to happen and he finds himself thrown into a war before he knows it.

Young Bradley that with his team helps to rescue Commander Simpson, a thirty-year-old hotshot naval aviator that got shot down and was badly injured and captured, whom he soothes on the MedEVAC talking about planes (of which he knows a lot about because he grew up listening to plane talks) to distract him from the pain. And in his beaten up and barely conscious state, all Cyclone sees is this sort of brown-eyed angel talking to him.

Months later Cyclone is out of the hospital with a depressing sentence: he is done with flying, his body cannot sustain those Gs and that pressure anymore. There he meet the brown-eyed angel again, with the side of the face scarred and a sling around his left arm, injured right before his four-years contract with the Marines was over.

They talk for a long time and they are both so gone for each other it's not even funny. But there's DADT, the decade in age difference, the issue of the ranks and neither dares to make a move, too scared of rejection and having their lives turned upside down.

Cyclone, barred from flying, dives into the 'desk job' and starts climbing the ranks fast. Bradley goes to university to get the degree he needs, then to OCS and finally he gets admitted to flight school. They stay in touch, exchange long letters and texts and postcards and they talk, often and about everything aside from their feelings, baby dumbasses and Cyclone even manages to sneak in a few times to see him flying and hell, that is exactly what Bradley is meant to do.

Rooster gets his wings and in 2013 he wins the plaque at Top Gun and after the ceremony he drives straight, still in his dress whites, to Cyclone's house near Lemoore, nine years from when they first met and just kisses the now rear admiral, who enthusiastically reciprocates because y e s, finally

They hide, because they know the relationship might be an issue with their careers, but they are so madly in love they don't care, so long as they have each other even hiding out on the couch is fine. Only Warlock (who has known Cyclone since the Academy days) and Payback (who bonded with Rooster at the OFC on the accounts of being the oldest people there who had a lot to prove and little time to do it) know. And Payback shovel-talks Cyclone very seriously dropping the 'you might outrank me, but if I bury your body at sea, the halibuts will not care about your stars', because Rooster deserves to be treated right.

Rooster finally tells Cyclone the whole story about his papers and has to physically stop Beau from hunting down Maverick; Bradley could have easily denounced Maverick, because what he did was totally illegal, but he doesn't want to risk ruining his career. He hates what he has done, but he still loves his godfather too much to do that

And then poor Cyclone is already shitting bricks because he had to put Rooster's name in the roster of the mission, because the best of the best were required and his love is the damn best and whoopsie whoops, Iceman sends Maverick his way. Which Cyclone definitely hadn't asked for.

So now he has to juggle having to potentially send Rooster to a deathly mission and trying to be cold and have an unbothered façade and resist the impulse to strangle Maverick himself every time he sees him, thinking about the many times he had to comfort Bradley, because the guy was panicking, riddled with self-doubts. But both seeing Maverick fail and watch him defy orders and succeed pain him because he knows he has to send him, he is the guy for the job, he proved it, but he also cannot trust him fully.

And then the mission arrives and Cyclone has the front seat to that shitshow and has to forcefully stop himself to just about launch half of the Pacific Fleet the the rescue, because he is still a vice admiral and he has a job to do and needs to be objective, even if his heart is shattered.

After they make it home, Beau begrudgingly accepts Maverick into their lives, making it clear to the captain he better not mess up, but he is secretly over the moon as he watches Bradley finally being truly, completely happy, with his godfather back by his side and all the reassurances he needed about his capabilities.

Somewhere in this (you can insert it wherever you fancy) they adopt a friendly giant stray dog and a feral tiny cat Bradley finds in a bush and get a cute house full of books, plants and flowers that Beau protects from Bradley's bad botanic streak and the cat's rampages, pictures and with a piano.

And they live happily ever after, of course.

[mjrtaurus]

(Screaming crying and throwing up over this so I must now make this about Dragon.)

Up until this point he had only dealt with minor injuries of cadets and skinned knees of children, important work but still not all that daunting.

Before he knew what was happening he was being ushered off the boat by a hysterical couple who begged him to help. The man's mother, elderly but still lively, had a terrible affliction but was refusing any kind of medical assistance or relocation to an old folks home. She insisted on living out her remaining days in her home. Dragon's task was to make her see reason.

The old woman was sat in the middle of the living room, humming along to an oldies track on the snail-dio.

“Excuse my interruption Mrs Helena. I’ve been asked to speak with you about…well about the end of your life Ma'am.”

Helena sunk into her chair. “What is there to talk about? I’m dying dear, I knew it was coming better than anyone.”

“Yes but it doesn’t have to be this way Mrs Helena. We can put you on a treatment plan and-.”

“Dear, I didn’t live so long just to be all tied in up in wires and tubes. I’ll die where I like, in my nice chair.”

Dragon blinked in confusion. There was no training or protocol for this! What in the world was he supposed to say..

“Your son and daughter-in-law asked me here Ma'am. They want you to stick around a little longer.”

Helena's smile turned sorrowful, the wrinkles on her face seemed to triple.

“I know that. Don’t you go trying to make me feel bad too.”

Dragon tried to explain he didn’t mean to before the woman sighed.

“I’ve tried everything they’ve given me: pills, lotions, serums and sprays. A different diet every week and more pillows than even an old lady would know what to do with! I’ve explained it to them every way I can, I’m not broken, I’m just leaving.”

Loss isn’t easy on the living, Dragon knew that well and good. He had just never considered how much harder it must be to the one losing everything. He didn’t understand (and selfishly, he hoped he never would).

“There must be something, anything I can say or do-.”

“No dear. And that’s alright.” She patted his arm. “I know you doctors make a promise. I’m letting you off the hook.”

In a daze, Dragon took the seat closest to Helena. He almost didn’t register her tapping his shoulder.

“You wanna know something dearie?”

He didn’t answer, just staring at her incredulously as her conspiratorial grin turned to laughter.

“It was all so much fun. I had so much fun.”

Dragon stayed a while longer after that, just letting the older woman speak her mind without judgment of her choice. She said she wished or be reborn as bumblebee since she loved flowers and honey. He said he’d want to be a snail.

He passed by the couple as he left who didn’t seem all that surprised he wasn’t victorious. They thanked him and saw him off as Dragon got back on the boat bound for Marineford.

A week later Dragon went to pick up his mail. A care package from Mamay, a copy of his favourite show Dadan had taped for him and a ‘Wish You Were Here!’ postcard with a ‘N'T’ added to the Were.

He flipped it over to find a shakily drawn bee and snail, with the bee floating high amongst the clouds.

It’s… strange.

He could always sense when someone was drifting away, be it from wounds or from illness or whatever other tool Fate passed into Death’s hand. It’s something that went beyond the fading of life’s kaleidoscopic, synesthete lantern-flame that Mantra has opened his heart to.

It’s like… seas, how can he even put it to words…

It’s like when the sun sets on a clear day. Radiance before the uncertainty of the night. A parting kiss before the end.

There’s something sacred in it. No pain, misery, or despair can play heretic to it. No amount of suffering this world has to offer can wash out the brilliance of those last rays disappearing below the watery horizon.

To the Shandia- as per what his mother has taught him- there is no god of the seas, only the Rain God. A downpour connects the white sea to the blue, and it’s beneath the blue where the Underworld is said to be. All are His dominion.

Dragon often wonders if it’s the mantling of the Amaru- the Rain God’s chimeric arrow-child, born and sent forth from His many colored bow- that gives him this sense.

A life-light sinking beneath the waves, to be born anew after a long and peaceful sleep…

He hopes the elder’s next dawn sees her among the flowers in black and yellow stripes and latticework wings.

[hughungrybear]

Got tagged by @miss0atae to post 4 non-selfie pictures 😊

(Edit: Forgot to link her post here 😅)

It looks fun so, why not? But since I regularly wipe my phone's gallery clean (else, it will be full of screenshots and what-nots 😅), I just extracted these photos from my cloud storage 😁

The show that brought me here.

I was a silent browser in this website until BBS came along and I can no longer hold my thoughts. I needed to share them with somebody or I'll prolly combust lol.

2. Arrivals and departures

I love travelling - doesn't matter if it's by road, sea, or air. I just wanna go somewhere I have never been before 😊

3. Life in a giant island

Honestly, go anywhere in Australia and you would find places and things that looked like it came straight from a postcard.

3. The goalkeeper

Australia is also the only place I've been where animals shoo you away - not the other way around lol ��

4. Shoe collection

Because I have an unhealthy love for Converse high-tops. These are the shoes that I use for daily wear 😅

Tagging: @telomeke, @heretherebedork, @lost-my-sanity1, @dribs-and-drabbles and anyone who wants to play along 😊

[imhereformr]

S3E5 The Sea of Fear

Her parents have taken shelter in the palace, which is great cause her parents are safe. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PEOPLE?

Miss Faragonda will never give us permission to leave Alfea. Unless of course it's her choice to send us to our potential deaths ofc

Why does Stella need a scarf and hat to fake sick? Not once in every time I've been sick have I put a scarf and hat on.

Oh, Tecna and Timmy have desicgned some program that allows for interdimensional travel. I see we've once again forgotten about Stella's staff and that little postcard thing Stella had in the first season

Valtor's goal is to have the magical dimension at his feet. The Trix's goal... To get rid of the Winx. How are they some of the world's most dangerous criminals, but they're still stuck holding high school grudges 😂

Did Aisha's parents actually okay 5 teenagers going to fight Valtor with NO BACKUP??

Oh look, another villain that's magically able to spy on the Winx. How not at all creepy.

They've got the flu, but they're standing there, fine as can be, laughing when Griselda comes in. Stella is putting zero effort into this.

And Griselda bought it? How??

"That girl Bloom, she's very powerful. She's not like the others." Gross.

"Bloom, don't be afraid of me" the fully grown man who separated you from your friends, unconscious, and sat here waiting for you to wake up. Not at all creepy.

"Four against one, that's hardly a fair fight" No one is forcing you to be there, Icy. You can leave 🤷🏻‍♀️

Oh nevermind, he didn't isolate her that much. All the other winx had to do was look down 😂

Oh and now Aishas blind and Bloom is doing the shocked Pikachu face

[zomkenski]

S.S Scurvy

I am built from wood not stone.

I am created to sink yet cursed to roam.

The waves collide,

The mermaids taunt and call.

The sailors sway, then tumble and fall.

The captain yells and the bells won't ring.

The barnacles bite, the parasites cling.

My figurehead shares my weep.

She hates the sirens; they tease and sting.

My wailing women-built to sing.

It’s fun to be, forever at sea.

Yet the sights, they bore me.

The stars are dim, the waves feel harsh, winds hollowing,

and yet I have no heart.

The captains ship, I’m not my own.

My only friend, I want to carry her home.

Though the sailors come and go, they meet their end.

All get their stories closed.

Always with scurvy, never truly alone.

Never on a mountain,

Never on land,

Never send a postcard,

Never see my dad.

Tales of Pinocchio, Tales of Peter Pan.

I am never lost at sea,

Just never where I want to land.

My hull aches.

My beams grow brittle.

The women will cheer, we will be fragile.

Waterlogged, the wind will whistle.

Soon to find peace, bells of isle shall circle.

I will go to the places from my dreams. My stories. My acquittal.

When we sink and when we fly.

My sails will open, my flags will raise high.

We will be buried in heaven, or perhaps on sand.

We shall smell the lemons, the fruits, the hearts of the dammed.

Scurvy is cured in the treasured neverland.

[direwombat]

long time no wip wednesday

tagged by various people over the past few weeks, but most recently by @ivymarquis to share some a piece of a wip!

been having a creative dry spell recently, so technically this is a super old piece of writing, but i'm returning to this character study of a fictional mafioso (portrayed by luca martinelli (of the old guard fame)) in FX's 2018 historical drama, Trust, which is about the kidnapping and ransom of John Paul Getty III. I defs recommend it if you haven't watched it. Brendan Fraser plays a cowboy who breaks the 4th wall and also Hillary Swank is in it and she's very good. this is super niche so no pressure to read if you don't want to. i'll go back to the regularly scheduled fc5 fic eventually.

Reggio Calabria, 1982

“I thought you were in Rome,” Leonardo says to Primo in lieu of a proper hello. 

You’re always in Rome, goes unsaid, and the exasperated flash of abject terror across poor Leo’s face makes silent questions of What happened? and Why are you here? louder than the blaring horns and ambient noise of the docks. Leonardo never was good at concealing his emotions. Wore his thoughts on his face like a book to be read.

Primo pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pockets. “Everything’s fine,” he says. Then, he lights the cigarette and brings it to his mouth to take a drag. “It’s good to see you too.”

It’s a gorgeous day in late May. The temperature lazes in the high twenties, and the sun shines like a motherfucker over the Port of Gioia Tauro. Just beyond the influx of ships, the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea are capped with glittering diamonds, rich enough to fill a jewelry store a thousand times over. It’s picturesque and beautiful, something right off the shitty postcards that tourists buy.

If Primo were a more sentimental man, he might have missed it here. But the scenery wasn’t what brought him back to Calabria. The metaphorical diamonds he’s interested in lie not atop the lapping waves, but hidden within the freight and cargo of the metal monsters that came to berth in the harbor. 

His harbor. 

Well, his and Leonardo’s. 

Mostly Leonardo’s. 

The Nizzuto name isn’t anywhere to be found on the official paperwork, but the strings gently -- and other times not so gently -- being plucked and pulled in the shadows were moved by Primo’s skilled hands. 

Leonardo had wanted to go as legitimate as possible to allow his son a life that wasn’t blood, death, and violence. Primo, who knows no other way to live, doesn’t pretend to understand the reasoning behind Leo’s decision, but he does appreciate a good cover operation and knows an opportunity when he sees one. The best way to get away with illegal business is to hide it behind perfectly fair and good trade. 

Leo is still looking at him with an expression that’s waiting for a shoe to drop. From anyone else, the look would have been insulting. Doubting Primo’s abilities so boldly in front of him would get most people a broken jaw. But he’s known Leo long enough that it’s just fun to watch the old man stress himself out. 

Primo sniffs, raises a shoulder in a slight shrug. “There’s a shipment coming in today. I want to be there when it arrives.”

The sigh that escapes Leonardo is one of pure relief and Primo rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses as the tension immediately dissolves from the other man’s shoulders. “So you’re here on business, then,” Leonardo says. 

“Here on business,” Primo nods. 

“I see,” Leo says. There’s no mention that “business” means drugs and guns and other things illegally obtained to be sold on the streets and back alleys of Rome. No mention that the drugs and guns were bought illegally as well. Business is vague and nebulous, not to be talked about in public and only to be discussed behind closed doors, preferably with a bottle of wine, much like most other parts of Primo’s life. 

Leonardo lights his own cigarette and the two stand there in amicable, but somewhat awkward silence. He wants to say more; wants Primo to say more, but they both know that Primo has nothing else to say. He’s here on business. That’s all there is. They stand at arms length, never any closer, and watch the bustle of the dock workers and sailors as they haul cargo to and fro.

Eventually, Leo says, “You should come for dinner. Francesco has graduated from University. Business. He wishes to see you again.”

This catches Primo’s attention. It’s subtle: his head cocked to the side, a slight straightening of his spine. “Is he here?” Primo asks.

tagging: @marivenah, @florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @poetikat, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else wanting to share a wip! (taglist opt in/out)

[gracie-bird]

Princess Grace's handwritten signed postcard written during a sailing voyage in Norway, to her friend, Father Peter Jacobs (aka Father Jake) from New York in 1982, less than two months before her death after a fatal car accident on September 12. She writes: "The ship is very comfortable & the weather fine with calm seas - Thank Heaven! It is really a delightful & relaxing trip. Sorry you are not with us. Warmest regards, G." 

Accompanied by another postcard featuring the greens of the Monte-Carlo golf club, addressed in Princess Grace's hand in black ink marker pen to Father Jacobs' New York City address. Also includes another postcard (unsigned) featuring glacial views of the Bragger Peninsula, Norway. Together with a colour brochure of the July and August 1981 concert performances of the Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte-Carlo.

About Father Peter Jacobs:

Father Peter a high-profile and controversial Catholic priest. Fr. "Jake" Jacobs was born on February 10, 1926, to a Jewish father and an Irish Catholic mother. Father Jacobs developed a lifelong affinity for Jewish religious thought and advocated for better relations between Catholics and Jews. His 53 years as a priest were marked by limitless generosity and dedication toward the youth, firefighters, prisoners, politicians and royalty.

In 1960, he moved to NYC, where he continued his true service of a much more unorthodox nature. He dedicated his life to serving prisoners, the sick, and the indigent, often taking confessions in bars and other non-traditional locations.

In 1982 Fr. Jacobs opened a restaurant in NYC called The Palatine, which became an instant hit. In the early 1990's he resided in Italy, maintaining close ties with the Vatican in Rome, and living in Venice near close friend Arrigo Cipriani. In March 1996 he received the D'Oro Award from the Boy's Town of Italy. In 2005, a party was held at Da Silvano to honour his 50th anniversary as a priest. His 80th birthday was attended by many of his longtime associates, including Dr Alan Kessler, Mr Walter Cronkite, Mr Edgar Bronfman Jr. and Yoko Ono.

Father Jacobs passed away on September 7th, 2008 in Rome. The cause of death was a heart attack. He is sorely missed by those whose lives he touched so deeply and unconditionally

Source: https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/nytimes/name/peter-jacobs-obituary?id=14161453

[taneraltan]

His eyes were the same color as the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they love you, but not enough to stay.

  — full biography.

ABOUT

Full Name/Nickname: Taner Altan.

Age/DOB: 35 / January 5th, 1990.

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn.

Gender: Cis man.

Place of Birth: İstanbul, Türkiye.

Neighborhood: Beach Front.

Sexual/Romantic Orientations: Heterosexual / Heteromantic.

Religion: Still figuring that out.

Occupation: Deep sea welder.

PERSONALITY:

Goals/Desires: To figure out his life. Make amends with his past. Especially with Leyla. To be a father to the daughter he only saw grow up through social media. To find his birth parents and learn about his culture.

Fears: To miss out on anymore of Billie's life. To never find out where he came from.

Hobbies: Swimming, surfing, playing the guitar, reading, video games, chess, hiking, off roading, to be continued...

Likes & Dislikes: Likes listening to live music, moody weather, bluntly honest people, black coffee, waffles over pancakes, sarcasm, people who listen rather than wait for their turn to speak, mysteries, deep conversations, using his hands, conspiracy theories, and the smell of the woods. Dislikes being underestimated, small talk, feeling lost, assumptions, when people are chronically late, those that judge those that turn down a drink, bland food, and being told to smile more.

FAMILY:

Birth Parents: Yet unknown.

Adoptive Parents: Paul & Liz Coleridge.

Biological Sibling(s): None.

Adoptive Siblings: 2 older brothers & 1 older sister.

Ex-Girlfriend/Baby Mama: Leyla Yilmaz.

Child: Billie Yilmaz.

Pet(s): None but likely eventually a dog.

AN INTRODUCTION:

trigger warnings: child neglect, death & alcoholism

yet again i am unprepared with a full bio but i will be working on it when that magical thing of spare time sheds a little light on me.

taner was born in istanbul and was adopted to an american couple, paul and liz, when he was just over a year old. naturally, that young, he has no recollection of his mother nor türkiye but that will eventually be a road he ventures down when his need for self discovery becomes too great to ignore any longer.

raised in briar ridge he was always drawn to the sand, the beach, the ocean. as a child he ran around like tarzan with just a pair of shorts on, his hair flying in the wind as he ran around barefoot, and with an endless sense of adventure.

looks were deceiving when it came to his adoptive parents. on paper they were great, had a good reputation with the children they'd adopted before taner, but they were neglectful to their children's needs. whether that was emotional, physical, or mental it was all in short supply.

often they would forget to go grocery shopping or make a meal yet they never seemed to go to bed hungry. this would eventually put taner in a position to snatch a baked good or a piece of fruit, even conceal stolen goods from the grocery store under clothing as he aimlessly walked the aisles, and most of the time if he was seen people would look the other way.

his father was usually not around and when he was he would often be a bit belligerent.

the older siblings were a source of income, his parents collected those checks and used very little of the money on the children, but they found out too late they couldn't make an income off of taner in the same way as his siblings given he was not apart of the american foster system. so what little his siblings were given taner was given even less.

by the time he'd reached high school he'd gained something of a bad boy reputation. known for being the guy that hardly attended school, his leather jacket in the colder parts of the year, his bare feet the rest of the time, and his motorcycle or muscle car he raced around town in.

after graduation he nearly signed himself into the military but an older buddy had told him about a solid job that paid really well. it was working as a roughneck on an offshore rig and for someone who had nothing at the time it seemed the perfect escape out.

it was grueling and the toughest work imaginable. especially when his skills grew and they understood how good he was in the water. taner moved into more difficult, more dangerous, and more demanding positions but hey the money was amazing.

the work was remote and lonely but there was something beautiful about the fact that any day out there on the job could be his last.

when taner was off or got some leave time he would hit the cities with his buddies and one of those times being in new york, well, that would change his life. in new york he'd run into an old acquaintance, leyla yilmaz, and they'd bond and have an incredible time together. it was a connection he'd never felt before and has been absent of since. the partying, the adventure, the whirlwind romance would come to a screeching halt when leyla would one day turn up pregnant.

with the childhood he'd had, trauma he hadn't faced down, taner panicked and couldn't accept becoming a father. he'd promised himself he wouldn't bring a child into the world because it terrified him that he'd ruin their life with his shortcomings. he walked away from his pregnant girlfriend and regretted it every step of the way.

not only had he forced himself into a position of watching his daughter grow up on social media, he'd also ruined any chances of staying close to leyla. for years he carried on and let his bad habits like drinking a little too much, going a little too hard on the freedom, and letting loneliness eat him alive.

but then he finally decided to make a change. it came about through tragedy but the wakeup call was louder than anything he'd ever heard. one of his closest friends was lost to the sea during a shift one night. swept right off the deck and never recovered. taner filed for leave not long after and came back home to briar ridge even more broken than when he left.

only now he wants to change all of that.

POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

SWEET THING: Taner's high school sweetheart. Even as a teenager he was tough to really tie down to anything but he was as serious about her as he was about anything. It was young and fun and full of firsts. She was someone he was able to lean on and he was protective of her. I don't think they had a future mapped out because he had no direction after high school and maybe she did or maybe they were both living on a whim. I think reconnecting could be really good development.

ADOPTED SIBLINGS: In my head when I was putting Taner together I had imagined them as older, so 35+, but through plotting anything is possible. Since they're all adopted ethnicity doesn't matter but I did envision 2 brothers and 1 sister. Which, again, I'm totally open to changing. They had it rough, their adoptive parents were phony and only in it to collect the money. But I did see them as having banded and bonded together. They made a family for themselves and survived together.

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS: A bit of a wild child and super adventurous, maybe a bit of a troublemaker, I'd love friends for him that he's known longterm. Kids he ran around with and went through all the stages with. They could all vary in closeness but if I can snag a bestie for Taner out of it that would be amazing. Maybe they knew of his situation and would help in ways that weren't obvious to Taner and I imagine Taner always having their back as well.

AROUND THE WORLD: This man has been many places so it would be really cool for him to have connections with those that he may have met and spent some time with away from Briar Ridge. I'm super flexible on locations and durations of the time they might've had together. Big plus would be anyone in New York the same time he was there with Leyla.

TURKISH DELIGHTS: A huge plot I have for Taner that I 1000% want to develop is him discovering his past. The whole of him looking into his adoption and finding out about his birth parents and his Turkish culture and heritage. With this I would love a connection or several that is something of a catalyst into Taner going down this path of finding his roots. The character would have to be Turkish as well. I see them as having pointed out that he Turkish and surprised he doesn't know the culture and customs so they kind of teach and guide him along the way.

[for-yoongi0309]

[NOTICE] BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE US Release announcement

We are excited to announce the release of BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE U.S.

BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE U.S. filled two cities – Los Angeles in 2021 and Las Vegas in 2022 - with a sea of purple lights and thunderous cheers. We’ve compiled these special memories between BTS and ARMY, with the first show in LA’s SoFi Stadium and the last show in LV’s Allegiant Stadium. As a token of appreciation for the unwavering love from ARMY worldwide and the long two-year wait, We present you with stunning 4K resolution videos that showcase BTS’s passionate performances and the incredible energy of the audience. And that’s not all – get ready dive deeper with behind-the-scenes footage from studio practices and rehearsals in both cities, d-day sketches, and heartfelt interviews with the members in LA. The renewed digital code, designed to let you relive these cherished memories, are made with recycled materials as a reflection of our commitment to sustainability. Also, don’t miss out on an array of special items that connect the purple wave and the orange passion, including a photobook set, a photo card set, a fold card, a postcard frame holder set, and a photo charm set! The pre-order for ‘BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE US’ begins on November 17, with the official release on January 05, 2024.

For those who want to enjoy the LA show to the fullest– The concert film for “Permission to Dance on Stage – LA” Day 2 is available for streaming on Disney+. [Weverse Shop-US] • PRE-ORDER DATE : From 11 AM, Friday, November 17, 2023 (KST) *WHILE SUPPLIES LAST* • RELEASE DATE : January 5, 2024 (PST)

- OUT BOX Size : 152x206x38mm Note: This outbox is designed to protect the product during distribution. Exchanges or refunds due to stains or damage during distribution is not available. [SPEC] 1. DIGITAL CODE+PHOTO CHARM SET DIGITAL CODE Size : 27x85mm [144p], [270p], [360p], [480p SD], [720p HD], [1080p FHD], 1440P[FHD] 2160P[UHD] KOREAN, ENGLISH, JAPANESE, CHINESE ABOUT 511 MINS *This product is made of recycled plastics, so the marbling pattern varies for all products. Furthermore, natural phenomena such as tiny spots and parting lines may occur naturally as part of the manufacturing process in some products, and they are not considered defects. PHOTO CHARM SET PHOTO CHARM Size : 50x78mmㅣ1EA (RANDOM 1EA OF 7EA) FRAME CHARM Size : 50x78mmㅣ1EA 2. PHOTOBOOK SET Size : 148x189mmㅣ2EA 1SET Los Angeles - 132P Las Vegas - 132P 3. PHOTOCARD SET Size : 54x86mmㅣ7EA 1SET 4. FOLDING CARD Size : 720x90mmㅣ1EA 5. POSTCARD+FRAME STAND SET POSTCARD Size : 152x102mmㅣ1EA FRAME STAND Size : 185x132mmㅣ1EA [CONTENTS] MAKING-OF FILM PTD Los Angeles PRACTICE & REHEARSAL SKETCH PTD Los Angeles D-DAY SKETCH PTD Los Angeles INTERVIEW PTD Las Vegas PRACTICE & REHEARSAL SKETCH PTD Las Vegas D-DAY SKETCH BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE US : 1st Concert @ Los Angeles ON Burning Up (FIRE) Dope DNA Blue & Grey Black Swan Blood Sweat & Tears + FAKE LOVE Life Goes On Boy With Luv Dynamite Butter Airplane pt.2 + Silver Spoon + Dis-ease Telepathy Stay So What I Need U + SAVE ME IDOL We Are Bulletproof : the Eternal Permission to Dance

BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE US : Last Concert @ Las Vegas ON Burning Up (FIRE) Dope DNA Blue & Grey Black Swan Blood Sweat & Tears + FAKE LOVE Life Goes On Boy With Luv Dynamite Butter Telepathy Wings Stay + So What IDOL Anpanman + Go Go Permission to Dance How To Watch “BTS PERMISSION TO DANCE ON STAGE in THE US” Watch the high definition VODs on Weverse by registering/verifying the digital code on the product enclosed with the merchandise. [How To Use The Digital Code] - MOBILE * QR code: Using the smartphone camera, scan the QR code to visit m.weverse.io/code/dc. Redeem the digital code and enjoy the video on the Weverse app!

※ This product is made of paper certified by Forest Stewardship Council and printed with biodegradable soy ink.

※ Please be aware that sizes and content are subject to change depending on production company circumstances.

※ Due to the nature of the materials, there may be cracks, discoloration or color bleeding in the product.

※ Please note that the perforations on the outbox may show signs of cracking due to the nature of the material.

ⓟ&ⓒ 2023 BIGHIT MUSIC & HYBE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

MADE IN KOREA.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Beyond glass-bottom boats, if you ask me

Soon after that last diving sensation, it was thought interesting to picture as much yours truly as Huckleberry Hound doing some see-through kayaking around Catalina, giving a new perspective to the whole underwater schtick.

And it happened, as a matter of fact, during a recent weekend afternoon as turned out dry, though hazy. Two such see-through kayaks, lashed together, carried Jayne of the Diving Clowder and yours truly in the lead such ... and in the other, Lola and Huck. ("Which," Huckleberry admitted, "is something new and at once fascinating on me! How could I admit to being able to see underwater and still stay dry?")

Basically, the plan would be to have both of us kayaking out between Casino Point and Toyon Bay close to shore, taking stock of the near-shore glories underwater--particularly past Hamilton Cove. A little high-end for our tastes, mind you, but then again ... it was rather stunning to not only see such spectacle underwater (especially the likes of sea lions and harbor seals swimming underneath our sea kayaks, but then, it was difficult trying to contain our arousals at such fascination over the underwater sights!

Which had Jayne, for her part, admitting that "with us gals in the Diving Clowder, we can't help but feel delighted around our vaginal regions when we're diving!"

"So," asked I, "is such arousal something of a diver thing?"

"It's been known to ensue in some of us ... and there can be times when we're out diving, the delight is such that we can't help but go into genital rubbing to help relax underwater!"

"Heavens to Cousteau!"

Huckleberry, for his part, couldn't help but be surprised when he noticed (and directed Lola's attention to) a pair of spotted dolphins in lovemaking from his clear kayak barely below the water surface, prompting Lola to note that "dolphins can't help but use mating as their way of earning friendships, and I shouldn't knock them down for that."

"Of course," Huck was quick to note, "you know marine life parks were fond of using rather dubious means for training dolphins in performance and human interaction, excusing such as 'entertainment' all along."

"The Clowder," Lola noted, "once had Squiddly Diddly over in discussion and dinner, and he recalled from when he was at Bubbleland--since closed, I assume you know--such 'conditioning' the dolphin trainers used, especially such which sought to prevent them from showing a little too much or even using sex as one with greeting the trainers every morning. One time, Squiddly recalled that Chief Winchley had to cut short the dolphin show when an overly frisky male dolphin approached the female star, who turned out being on heat herself, early in the performance, and an outright orgy ensued in the dolphin pool!"

"And you can imagine how upset many of the visitors were," Huck observed.

"For some reason, a rather new dolphin handler thought it would be good fun to bring out a rather frisky male into the dolphin show to see how the audience would react ... and bring out the aroused female when she normally should be in isolation for breeding, replaced with another female not in such a condition for the performance."

"That new handler must've wanted the attention as much as try and get a rise from the dolphin show crowd," Huck remarked, "to see how they'd react ... let alone wonder how he got the idea, to begin with, and get such past Chief Winchley."

"You can imagine the crowd was practically unprepared for such a show becoming a sex carnival ... and at any rate, the handler was fired, it later emerging that he didn't have proper experience with dolphins to begin with, and what's more, he was 'hired off the street' because he was facing the risk of going to prison for 'leading a wasteful, immoral, idle or dissolute life.'"

"Such must be the pitfalls of dolphin shows...."

"Though Peter Potamus, for his part," Lola concluded, "will tell you that in such parts of the uncharted parts of Polynesia he's been in, the dolphin shows, so to speak, are a little more spontaneous--and intimate."

Things couldn't get more fascinating underwater, especially considering where your see-through kayak is bound to have more excitement than the glass-bottom boats Catalina was known for way back when ...

[fallouttboy]

sinking as a metaphor for love: a weave of fall out boy and panic at the disco.

i am an anchor, save her or feel it sinking in (trade mistakes, panic at the disco) -> being anchored aboard just feels like a curse (27, fall out boy)

we are a hurricane (hurricane, panic at the disco) -> loose lips sink ships (xo, fall out boy)

tempest in a teacup, get unique(headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet, fall out boy) -> baptized in the river of you (stall me, panic at the disco)

i’ve seen sinking ships go down with more grace than you (sending postcards from a plane crash (wish you were here), fall out boy)-> the views so pretty from the deck of a sinking ship (what a time to be alive, fall out boy)->we were wrecked on every rock (stall me, panic at the disco)

when the world gets too heavy, put it on my back, i’ll be your levee (always, panic at the disco)-> throw an old line out to sea to see if i can catch a dream (she had the world, panic at the disco)

even the tide gets high at night (dangerous blues, the young veins)->those watermelon smiles just can’t ripen underwater (behind the sea, panic at the disco)