#tragic loss of family and friends but of COOLER FAMILY AND FRIENDS

[ganondoodle]

i talked about why i find the argument people love to use as an excuse as to why shiekah tech is all gone in totk that "they destroyed it bc they were afraid of it" dumb before many times so i wont go over my past points in detail again

- i was just reminded of that and thought of new points to rant about going from that, no evil intentions in mind just when sth is mentioned again after some time i think about it again and can come up with more stuff-

(past points being- how?? shiekah tech seemed pretty indestructable, especialyl the big structures; it seemed like it was a literal holy thing for alot of people in the game; that it would be pretty damn stupid to spend so much energy and probably endanger people to dismanlte it since that time and energy would be better used rebuilding important infrastrucutre instead; if it stopped working why wouldnt you just kinda .. leave it there; why in hells name would you get rid of the shrine of life .. and i guess monk miz kyoshia with it???; shouldnt they be MORE afraid of sonau tech then??)

new thoughts

wouldnt it be logical to research and develope shiekah tech MORE so you can make sure it cant get corrupted again, like a security measure idk anti virus if you will lol

on the specific idea of zelda using it ... shouldnt she be the BEST person to use it bc she could, if it somehow got corrupted again, cleanse it/instantly deactivate it more easily than anyone else??

on the point of people not beign afraid of sonau tech ... that is still like the biggest problem for me with that argument bc .. i get beign afraid of shiekah stuff going haywire again, but then if suddendly alien tech from a literally fully unknown group of people started to appear out of nowhere at the sAME TIME AS MALICE COMES BACK BUT WORSE in the form of miasma shoudlnt that ring your alarm bells and make you flee for your life?? i wouldnt trust that shit after knowing what happened to the tech that we DID know shit about

i know theres like researchers for it but also they really all meddle and play with it immediately like its for them just as much a toy as it is for us the players (also a point that made me feel weird about it ngl), they build businesses around it, made minigames out of it with civilians, use it for transportation with no thought or concern about it, its really weird when this is supposedly takign palce after BOTW where FAMOUSLY ancient barely reasaearched tech got corrupted by evil goo and nearly destroyed the entire land of hyrule (man are they LUCKY gan suddendly has zero interest in ANY tech)

(and i know theres the possibilty that sonau tech is somehow not able to be corrupted but it just seems so dumb anyway bc the people cant KNOW that for sure right of the bat??? and it DOES get possessed with the broken construct too, like .. wouldnt the possibility alone .. esepcialyl with waht had happened in botw make you NOT want to use that alien tech like a toy?? especially with WORSE malice being around suddendly too?? that just smells like a recipy for disaster)

(... man totk realyl is just botw but worse ... the more i think about it the more it feels like that)

[thedeadhandofseldon]

The Anti-Mercer Effect

On the Accessibility of D&D, Why Unprepared Casters is so Fun, and Why Haley Whipjack is possibly the greatest DM of our generation.

(Apologies to my mutuals who aren’t in this fandom for the length of this, but as you all know I have never in my life shut up about anything so… we’ll call it even for the number of posts about Destiel I see every day.

To fellow UC fans - I haven’t listened to arc 4 yet, I started drafting this in early August, and I promise I will write a nice post about how great Gus the Bard is once I get the chance to listen to more of his DMing).

Structure - Or, “This is not the finale, there will be more podding cast”

So, first of all, let’s just talk about how Unprepared Casters works. Because it’s kind of unusual! Most of the other big-name D&D podcasts favor this long, grand arcs; UC has about 10 hours of podcast per each arc. And that’s a major strength in a lot of ways: it makes it really accessible to new listeners, because you can just start with the current arc and understand what’s going on!

And by starting new arcs every six or seven episodes, they can explore lots of ways to play D&D! Classic dungeon delve arc! Heist arc! Epic heroes save the world arc! Sportsball arc! They can touch on all sorts of things!

And while I’m talking about that: Dragons in Dungeons, the first arc, makes it incredibly accessible as a show - because it lets the unfamiliar listener get a sense of what D&D actually is. (It’s about telling stories and making your friends feel heroic and laugh and cry, for the record). If I had to pick a way to introduce someone to the game without actually playing it with them, that arc would definitely be it.

And I’d be remise not to note one very important thing: Haley Whipjack and Gus the Bard are just very funny, very charismatic people. Look. Episode 0s tend to be about 50%(?) those two just talking to each other about their own podcast. It shouldn’t work. And yet it DOES, its one of my favorite parts, because Haley and Gus are just cool.

And a side note that doesn’t fit anywhere else: I throw my soul at him! I throw a scone at him - that’s it, that’s the vibe. The whole podcast alternates between laughing with your friends and brooding alone in a dark tavern corner - but the laughs never forced and the dark corner is never too dark for too long.

Whipjack the Great - Or, the DM is Also a Player!

I think Haley Whipjack is one of the greatest Dungeon Masters alive. The plots and characters! The mechanical shenanigans! The descriptions!

Actually, let’s start there: with the descriptions. (Both Haley and Gus do this really fucking well). As we know, Episode 0 of each arc sees the DM reading a description - of a small town, or the Up North, or the recent history of a great party. And Haley always strikes this tricky balance - one I think a lot of us who DM struggle with - between giving too much description and  worldbuilding, and not telling us anything at all. She describes people and events in just enough detail to imagine them, but never so much they seem static and unreal - just clear enough to envision, but with enough vagueness left to let your imagination begin to run wild.

While I’m thinking about arc 3’s party, let’s talk about a really bold move she made in that arc: letting the players have ongoing control of their history. Loser Lars! She didn’t try to spell out every detail of this high-level party’s history, or restrict their past to only what she decided to allow - she gave them the broad outlines, and let them embellish it. And that made for a much more alive story than any attempt to create it by herself would have - but I think it takes a lot of courage to let your players have that agency. Most Dungeon Masters (myself included) tend to struggle with being control freaks.

And the plots! Yeah, arc one is built of classic tropes - but she actually uses them, she doesn’t get caught up in subverting everything or laughing at the cliches. And it’s fun! In arc 3, there really isn’t a straight line for the players to follow, either - which makes the game much more interesting and much trickier to run. And her NPCs are fantastic and I will talk about them in the next section.

Above all, though, I think what is really impressive is how Haley balances mechanics, and rules as written, with the narrative and rule of cool - and puts both rules and story in the service of playing a fun game. And the secret to that? She’s the DM, but the DM is a player, and the DM is clearly having fun. Hope Lovejoy mechanically shouldn’t get that spellslot back, but she does, and it’s fun. The changeling merchant in Thymore doesn’t really make some Grand Artistic Narrative better, but wow is it fun. And she never tries to force it one way or the other - the story might be more dramatic if Annie didn’t manage to banish the demon from the vault, but it’s a lot cooler and a lot more fun for the players if Annie gets to be a badass instead - and the rules and the dice say that Annie managed it.

Settings feel like places, NPCs feel like people, and the narrative plot feels like a real villainous plot.

Anyway. I could go on about the various ways in which Whipjack is awesome for quite a while - she’s right, first place in D&D is when your friends laugh and super first place is when they cry - but I’m going to stop here and just. Make another post about it some other time. For now, for the record I hold her opinions about the game in higher esteem than I do several official sourcebooks; that is all.

Characters - Or, Bombyx Mori Is Not an Asshole, And That Matters

Okay, I said I would talk about characters! And I will!

Just a general place to start: the party! All of the first three parties are interesting to me, because they all care about each other. Not even necessarily in a Found Family Trope sort of way, though often that too. But they generally aren’t assholes to each other. The players create characters that actually work together, that are interesting; even when there’s internal divisions like SK-73 v. Sir Mr. Person, they aren’t just unpleasant and antagonistic all the time. Listening to the podcast, we’re “with” these people for a couple hours - and it isn’t unpleasant. That matters a lot. (To take a counter-example: I love Critical Role, but the episode when Vox Machina pranked Scanlan after he died and was resurrected wasn’t fun to listen to, it was just uncomfortable and angering and vaguely cruel).

All of the PCs are amazing, and the players in each arc did a great job. If you disagree with me about that, well, you have the right to be incorrect and I am sorry for your loss. Annie Wintersummer, for one example: tragic and sad and I want to give her a hug, but also Fuck Yeah Wintersummer, and also her familiar Charles the Owl is the cutest and funniest and I love him. And we understand what’s going on with Annie, she isn’t some infinite pool of hidden depths because this arc is 7 episodes and we don’t have time for that, but she also has enough complexity to be interesting. Same with Fey Moss: yeah, a lot of her is a silly pun about fame that carries into how she behaves, but a lot of how she behaves is also down to some good classic half-elven angst about parenthood and wanting to be known and seen and important. (Side note: if your half-elf character doesn’t have angst, well, that’s impressive and also I don’t think I believe you).

There are multiple lesbian cat-people in a 4-person party and they both have requited romantic interests who aren’t each other. This is the future liberals want and I am glad for it.

Sir Mister Person, the human fighter! Thavius, the edge lord! Even when a character is “simple,” they’re interesting, because of how they’re played as people and not action-figures. And that matters a lot.

In the same way: the NPCs. There really aren’t a lot of them! And some of them come from Patreon submissions, so uh good work gang, you’re part of the awesomeness and I’m proud of you! The point being, the NPCs work because enough of them are interesting to matter. It’s not just a servant who opens Count Michael’s door, it’s a character with a name (Oleandra!) and a personality and history. They’re interesting. Penny Lovejoy didn’t need to be interesting, the merchant outside the Laughing Mausoleum didn’t need to be interesting, but they ARE! And Haley and Gus EXCEL at making the NPCs matter, not just to the story but to us as viewers. I agree with Sir Mister Person, actually, I would die for the princesses of the kingdom. I actually care about Gem Lovejoy of all people - that wouldn’t happen in an ordinary campaign! That’s the thing that makes Unprepared Casters spectacular - and, frankly, it’s especially impressive because D&D does not tend to be good at making a lot of interesting compared to a lot of other sorts of stories.

And, just as an exemplar of all this: Bombyx Mori. Immortal, reincarnating(?), and described as the incarnation of the player’s ADHD. I expected to hate Bombyx, because as the mom friend both in and out of my friend-group’s campaigns, the chaos-causer is always exhausting to me. And yeah, Bombyx causes problems on purpose! But! She is not an asshole.

And that’s important. Bombyx goes and sits with the queen and comforts her. Bombyx gives Annie emotional support. Bombyx isn’t just a vehicle to jerk around the DM and other players; Bombyx really is a character we can care about. To compare with another case - in the first couple episodes of The Adventure Zone, the PCs are just dicks. Funny, but dicks. Bombyx holds out an arm “covered in larva” to shake with a count, and robs him of magical items, but she also cares about her friends and other people! She uses a powerful magical gem to save her fertilizer guy from death! Yeah, Bombyx is ridiculous, but she’s not just an asshole the party has to keep around for plot reasons; you can see why her party would keep her around. And one layer of meta up, she’s the perfect example of how to make a chaotic character like that while still being fun for everyone you’re playing with, which is often not the case. And I love her.

The Anti-Mercer Effect - Or, “I think we proved it can be fun, you can have a good time with your friends. And it doesn’t have to be scary, you can just work with what you know”

The Mercer Effect basically constitutes this: Matthew Mercer, Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is incredible (as are all of his players). They’re all professional story-tellers in a way, remember, and so Critical Role treats D&D like a narrative art-form, and it’s inspiring. Seeing that on Critical Role sets impossible standards - and people go into their own home games imagining that their campaigns will be like Critical Role, and the burden of that expectation tends to fall disproportionately on the DM. And the end result, I think, of the Mercer Effect is that we get discouraged or intimidated, because our game isn’t “as good as” theirs. (And I should note - Matt certainly doesn’t want that to be our reaction).

So the Anti-Mercer Effect is two things: it’s D&D treated like a game, and it’s inspiring but not intimidating. And Unprepared Casters manages both of those really freaking well. Because they play it like a game! A UC arc looks just like a good campaign in anyone’s home game. They have the vibes of 20-somethings and college students playing D&D for fun because that’s who they are (as a 20-something college student who plays a lot of D&D, watching it felt like watching my friends play an especially good campaign). They’re trying to tell a good story, sure, and they always do. But first and foremost, they’re trying to have fun, and it shows, and I love the UC cast for it.

And that’s the other half of it: it’s inspiring! It’s approachable; you can see that Haley and Gus put plenty of work into preparing the game but it also doesn’t make you feel like you need hundreds of pages of worldbuilding to run a game. Sometimes a cleric makes Haley cry and she gives them back a spell-slot from their deity! That’s fantastic! It’s just inspiring - listening to this over the summer, when my last campaign had fallen apart under the strain of graduation, is why I decided to plan and run my new one!

That quote from Haley Whipjack that I used as the title for this section? That’s the whole core of this idea, and really, I think, the core of the podcast.

The Mercer Effect is when you go “that’s really cool, I could never do that.” But Unprepared Casters makes you look at D&D and go “wow, that looks really fun. I bet I can do that!” And I love the show for it.

And I bet a lot of you do too.

[ownworldresident]

We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter 7: Cassandra

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

Content Warning: flashbacks (signposted) include violence

The Master Masterlist (link)|  Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Cassandra

Cassie messaged Liam before she got in her car. It was tempting to arrive unannounced and surprise them but given the levels of guards, labyrinthine palace halls, and fact they might not be home, she judged it best to let him know. It was a good hunch, too; she wasn’t able to visit until much later in the day. The result, it seemed, was the guard readily allowing her through the gates, the valet taking her keys without question, and the palace doors being opened before she had even retrieved what she had brought.

Only when her car had been driven away and she saw the impressions on the grass where the press and podium had stood, and the marks on the gravel where the news vans had parked, did the reality of where she was settle in. The surreal sensation of standing outside the ruling monarch’s residence was broken by a polite cough by the palace entrance.

Cassie turned to face an older, formally attired man standing in the open doorway. He nodded to her, then stepped back to welcome her inside. She had seen him before somewhere but couldn’t quite place him.

With bag and boxes in hand, she entered the palace, and without Liam and Emily to focus on was immediately taken by the rich décor of the huge front hall, which separated into four passages before and beside her. Tall paintings, stone busts, ornate furnishings and a heavy red rug leading up the wide staircase. On the high landing it split in two, one staircase reaching up left, the other right.

“Allow me,” the older man said when the door was closed. He held out a hand for the large bag, which she handed to him with a timid thank you.

Gesturing for her to follow, the older man started up the staircase. Relieved to focus on something other than the elegance of the palace, Cassie climbed the stairs with three boxes in hand, careful to keep them flat and so she focused on her steps. They took the left stair and wove through enough beautiful halls for Cassie to be certain she would not find her way back unaided.

The older man didn’t seem to be very talkative, and Cassie was more concerned with her intention than conversation, so was happy to let him maintain that silence. She registered light footsteps approaching and was grinning well before Emily sped into view.

“Cassie!” she called before she pulled up in front of her.

“Hey, Emily.” She smiled, but Emily’s attention was already on the boxes. “Hungry?”

Emily nodded enthusiastically. “You brought dinner?”

“I absolutely did.” She started forward again, glancing at the older man, who couldn’t suppress a smile at the excitement of the nine year old. Emily led them along the halls until Liam came into sight. He leant against the frame of an open door, arms folded over his chest with a small, tired smile.

“You can move now, dad!” Emily grinned, bouncing around them, then passing her father through the open door.

“Thanks, Panda.” Liam straightened. “It’s good to see you,” he said to Cassie, retrieving the bag from the other man before dismissing him. His voice was completely altered from the conference that morning. More natural, no strain.

“I hope you like pizza and ice cream,” Cassie said, lifting the boxes. Liam smiled, raising his free hand for her to enter before him.

This room was not so overtly grand, but even in its warmth couldn’t disguise the elegant fittings or rich furnishings. Emily was already pushing piles of things aside on a low table before a long couch.

“We were doing a puzzle,” she announced as Liam closed the door. “Dad is terrible at puzzles. Can you help?”

“Of course.” Cassie set down the boxes as Liam put down the cooler bag. “Do you have a fridge for that?” She nodded to the bag.

“We do.” Liam nodded, and left the room to one beside the large TV, emerging a minute later with plates and napkins for the three of them and a smirk.

“So sophisticated,” Cassie said, grinning. Liam shook his head as he joined them. Emily already had a huge slice in her hands, mouth full of pizza and sauce on her face.

“Comes with the territory.” His eyes fell on Emily, who was pointedly not looking at him, and he added, “most of the time.” Cassie laughed, then slid the open box toward him.

After a short discussion between Liam and Emily, a movie was chosen, and they fell back on the couch to watch it. Liam turned to Cassie as Emily’s attention was absorbed by the TV and food.

“Thank you,” he said gently. Not wanting to send the wrong message, despite their proximity, Cassie refrained from any contact in response, instead nodding.

“Any opportunity for pizza and a movie.”

Liam’s eyes crinkled as he glanced at Emily, engrossed by the animated movie. He sighed. “I’m still grateful.”

“I know.”

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the movie, with Liam and Cassie exchanging the occasional smirk at the jokes written for adults. This was easy, Cassie reflected, even relaxing, and it didn’t take long to quiet the awe at her surroundings.

When the movie ended and the puzzle was half done, Emily started drifting off, and Liam encouraged her to go to bed, leaving several minutes later to say good night. Cassie piled the empty ice cream bowls and remaining pizza out of the way and curled up on the couch, closing her eyes and way too comfortable to move.

“I thought she would be up all night,” Cassie said when she heard Liam coming back. She opened her eyes when he collapsed on the couch as well.

“Hit a wall.” He smiled, and the room was quiet again. After a while, Liam spoke again.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he said. “I really needed this.”

“That was clear enough from the TV.” Cassie turned her body to face him. “That question caught you off-guard.”

“Not off-guard, exactly.” Liam pressed his palms briefly against his eyes. “It’s not the first time, but it never gets easier. I don’t have much control over what they speculate on, but this was the one thing I hoped to…” He sighed. “It’s not fair on her. As for the rest of it…”

His expression darkened, but he didn’t continue, and Cassie’s curiosity won out. “The rest of it?”

“I had a difficult choice to make,” he paused, then the tension released. “But I found another option. It’s dealt with.”

“Good.” Cassie answered, hoping that was the correct response. She hugged herself tighter. “I wished there was something I could do to help.” As fruitless as it was to try control the media.

Liam turned to her. “Cassie, you are already doing so much. This…” he gestured to the low table, with the remnants of their dinner. “This is perfect.”

“Whenever I was a kid, and I was upset or hurt myself,” Cassie explained, “my mother would bring pizza and ice cream, and we’d watch a movie together. It worked every time.”

“That’s a good tradition.” Liam folded his arms across his chest and stared at the ceiling. “Does she live in the capital?”

“In Portavira. Where I’m from.” Cassie felt herself drifting off, and blinked back. “So you’re going to Spain next week?”

“For a few days, yes. If it was much longer I probably would have asked Emily if she wanted to come, but as it is I’ll have a full schedule and wouldn’t have much time free.”

Cassie bit her lip, wondering whether they were close enough for this, then asked anyway. “Did you want me to keep her company?”

Liam frowned, focusing on Cassie again. “Would you mind? Just for a while during the days. She loves spending time with you.”

Cassie beamed. “I would love to. I can bring her to my studio, and show her a few more things than those easels we used the other day.”

Liam reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

A little taken aback by the contact, but not discomforted, Cassie only smiled, and drew back after a moment. If Liam suspected it was a wrong move, he didn’t show it.

The two talked for a while after that, about nothing profound, and eventually Cassie departed, with a plan for the following week and a shot of coffee to keep her alert on the drive home

Cassandra

“Alright, Em. Show me what you’ve got.”

Cassie sat cross-legged on the floor of her studio apartment, drenched in the sunlight that flowed through the window. Beside her was a limerick and two rough verses quickly written on lined paper. Emily sat in front of her, similarly in the light. She knelt, frowning, pencil between her teeth as she stared at the lined page she held. They had been sitting with the exercise for about half an hour, after talking about limericks over lunch when Emily arrived.

“I don’t think I like it.” Emily glanced from her poem to Cassie’s. “It doesn’t rhyme properly.”

“Every word you write is practise. You’ve improved your writing by writing that poem. That means it can’t be bad.” Cassie grinned, then softened. “You don’t have to, but would you like to show me?”

Emily seemed to deliberate for a moment, then handed it over. She sat back and pulled her knees to her chest as she waited for Cassie’s response.

“Thank you,” Cassie smiled, then turned her attention to the page, keenly aware of Emily’s focus on her, and read the words:

There wasn’t much things in the room I can’t see outside or the moon I think I saw mom She was crying then And she never came back from the room

Cassie looked up at the young girl, who seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible, and met her frightened, tear filled eyes. For a moment she couldn’t think of what to say. A lump rose in her throat, but there was a vulnerable child in front of her, who needed her. Her own reaction could wait.

“Is this…” Cassie cleared her throat. “Emily, is this one of your memories?”

Emily didn’t confirm it, but didn’t deny it either. Cassie put down the poem and moved onto her knees, reaching her arms forward.

“Come here, Em.” She smiled, swallowing the lump. After some hesitation, Emily rocked forward and approached her, and Cassie wrapped her arms around her. For a while she just rubbed the girl’s back gently, holding her securely and drawing in long, even breaths. Emily’s small hands balled the fabric at the back of Cassie’s shirt.

“That was very brave,” she said softly, stroking Emily’s hair. “Showing me your poem. You’re very brave.”

Still the girl said nothing, but Cassie registered the growing dampness on her shirt where Emily’s face pressed against her chest.

“Please don’t tell dad.” The girl whispered. Cassie frowned.

“Are you sure? He would want to know.”

Emily shook her head. “He’s too busy, and he gets sad when he remembers.”

One Year Ago

Cassie threw her bag on the back seat and slammed the door, jumping into the front passenger seat a second later and dramatically putting on her sunglasses.

“Gods Cass, is driving really that terrible?”

“Pfft,” Cassie turned to Lucy and shrugged, lowering her sunglasses to peer over the top of them. “If it was terrible, I probably wouldn’t have got us all the way to Portavira and half the way back.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, smirking and strapping herself in on the drivers seat. “Fair enough. Would the lady like to decide on the soundtrack?”

“Oh generous one, I would be honoured.” Cassie fiddled with the radio and turned the volume dial up as Lucy pointedly checked the mirrors and adjusted the seat, then pulled out of the small car park alongside the spectacular ocean view and started back toward the city.

“Can’t fault your choice,” Lucy said as she moved her shoulders in time with the music.

They chatted and sung most of the journey back to the capital. Cassie expressed her excitement at the full sketchbook in her pack, and Lucy teased her about extending their journey over an hour to draw a tree.

It was peak traffic when they got back to the city, and the journey had been long enough that their conversation wasn’t so lively. The music had been turned down, the trees had thinned, and the buildings rose around them. Cassandra sighed, closing her eyes as they reached an intersection, just too late to squeeze across before the red light.

“Gonna have energy to come out tomorrow night?” Lucy asked as they pulled up.

“You know I—”

A screech of braking tyres cut her off and the car jerked forward. The dash flew at her, Cassie’s seatbelt strained, and they were no longer behind the light

---

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[salmonthestoryteller]

The Old Guard

Spoilers abound in this, so if you haven't watched the movie, be aware of that.

This post isn't so much headcanons or meta, though I have so many thoughts about that too, it's more of a - I can't believe I got all this in one movie. Because I feel like someone took all these things I've been writing rants about over the years, put them all in one movie and said - Here you go.

Found family is one of those tropes I can never have enough of, and that is one of the main things The Old Guard gives you right from the start. Nile is the new addition, and part of her character journey is realizing that despite of the life she's losing with her newfound immortality, one thing she does gain is this new family who will always be there for her. And, for once, that includes platonic male/female bonds! Where most "new addition" science fiction/fantasy stories always have the new addition be the main romance of the show, that isn't the case with The Old Guard. And it isn't just Nile who has a platonic bond - it already exists between Andy and her boys as well.

And if that's not awesome enough, if there is one subject I have probably written thousands of words on - it's Committed Relationships in Fiction and their disuse in Science Fiction and Fantasy Genres specifically. I'm always on about that subject, how you can have committed relationships, they aren't less romantic, you can have all the same dramatic moments a new romance has and even moments a new romance doesn't, etc etc. Everyone who follows me is probably familiar with all my rants on the subject.

And The Old Guard is like, hm, what if we make the main romance in the movie a couple who have been together for literal centuries? And not just some throw away reference to them being together, we'll have them captured and Joe make the type of impassioned romantic speech that is usually only given to new romances in other films. And, we'll make it a gay romance to boot.

That's like, here, have your cake and eat it too. Though, frankly, that's the entire damn film to me. Because, wait, we're not finished.

I wrote a rant fairly recently about how if there's a past tragic loss of a female character and the connected character is male, nobody questions that he had romantic feelings for her. But if the connected character is female, oh no, it's always, "She was her sister/mentor/best friend."

Except The Old Guard, which is like - oh, hell no Quynh was the love of Andy's life and they made an oath to be together forever that Andy feels she has broken because she wasn't able to find her and save her.

And, wait, still not done because I also ranted how the male character's loss is always romantic, but the Old Guard is like - yeah, no again. The loss that haunts Booker and is the reason he betrays his dearest friends isn't romantic - it's the death of his youngest son, and his accusations he didn't love him because he couldn't share his immortality.

And to top all of this off, I like to rant about how happy endings aren't boring and killing characters doesn't make your story cooler, edgier, or more realistic. (I like my Greek Tragedies, too, ngl, but sometimes I honestly just get tired of character deaths because it doesn't feel truly necessary to the telling of the story itself.)

So, from the moment Andy's loss of immortality was revealed, I was waiting for her character death. That's how this goes, right? It's the work around - let's introduce immortals, but let's have it come to an end eventually. So if you have that happen to one of your characters, clearly it's so they can tragically die.

I have never been happier to be wrong. The fact that we end the movie with not one of the main characters dying is icing on the cake, and I can't even explain how happy it makes me.

So basically the whole film is everything I've been ranting we don't get in Fantasy/Science Fiction shows for years.

And I absolutely adore it.

[brigade-claire-opinions]

Day 9: The Haunting of Hill House

Let's talk about this novel and this show.

I already posted a quick review of the novel last year, so I'll briefly plagiarize myself. Please note, however, that I'm adding some significant elaboration to this review, including spoilers. I won't spoil the show once I get to that portion, but if you plan on reading this book, all you need to know is that I absolutely love it - it's my favorite novel about a haunted house and one of the best examples of classic horror literature.

Anyways, onto the review:

The Haunting of Hill House was written by Shirley Jackson and released in 1959. I've been trying and failing to read this book for the better part of two years now. It's always shown up on lists of the scariest books ever written, alongside the likes of The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson and Ghost Story by Peter Straub.

Having finally read (and, ultimately, been severely let down by) Straub's Ghost Story, I picked this one back up. I'm not sure if it's that something changed in me in the past year, or if it's because I was no longer trying to read it before the release of the Netflix "adaptation," but I became enamored with the novel in my third reading and finally, blessedly finished it.

In this novel, Shirley Jackson successfully captured the psychology of living in a haunted house. I fell in love with our central cast: Eleanor Vance, our protagonist who has a history with poltergeist activity, likely stemming from caring for her invalid mother until the latter's passing; Dr. John Montague, a psychologist bent on investigating the scientific angle of the occult and the man responsible for bringing together our ragtag band of misfits; Luke Sanderson, the thieving and charming black sheep of the Hill family and heir to Hill House; and Theodora (or Theo, who intentionally does not have a provided surname), a childish, flamboyant, and likely queer psychic who naively craves the excitement of staying in a haunted place.

Together, these four must brave the throes of Hill House and face whatever remnants of its terrifying history await them. This party is to experience total isolation during their stay, as cell phones weren't common in 1959. They are also to face conditions of "absolute reality," or reality completely unaffected by the subjective perceptions of the human mind. I believe that this is ultimately the narrative's way of explaining that the human mind cannot fathom paranormal activity without prior framework to quantify it, but 1959 was a different time.

What really struck me about The Haunting of Hill House was its lack of empirical ghostly encounters. Yes, the characters have spooky experiences and things happen, but the novel doesn't outright show us a ghost. Instead, it poses a question: is the house truly haunted? Or is the absolute reality that the house's troubled history is affecting the people staying there? Is it possible that Eleanor, with her history of Poltergeist activity, is causing the doors to slam and the writing on the wall? The ending only further adds to the mystery, and the reader is left to ponder.

The Haunting of Hill House has had a troubled history with screen adaptations. Two films based on the novel - both named "The Haunting," - released in 1963 and 1999 respectively, and neither had a particularly warm reception. The 1999 film in particular often appears on "worst of" lists of horror films. Prior to 2018, adaptations of Shirley Jackson's magnum opus seemed taboo, destined to fail.

And that, my friends, leads us to the show.

As you likely already know, the Netflix adaptation of The Haunting of Hill House has VERY little to do with the novel. The eponymous house and some characters are shared, but what we have here is a mostly original story about a family whose lives are still haunted by Hill House decades after they abandoned it.

Our showrunner Mike Flanagan (Oculus, Hush, Doctor Sleep) took Jackson's novel, deconstructed it, and crafted something brand new.

I am exceedingly pleased by what Flanagan and co made for us. The Haunting of Hill House is easily the best thing to come out of the novel since, well, the novel. It's also the only thing on the list so far to have legitimately scared me.

The show follows the Crain family, who move into Hill House in 1992. Olivia and Hugh Crain - the mother and father of the family - are house flippers, and Hill House seems to be their big break. As you'd expect, however, things go awry, and most of the family flees in terror in the middle of the night not long after their arrival.

Along with Olivia and Hugh, there are five Crain children who form our central cast: Steven, Shirley, Theodora, Luke, and Eleanor. The story is told between two eras - in 1992 during the family's summer at Hill House, and in 2018 as the family deals with a tragic loss.

Our cast in this story is absolutely incredible. With one exception, each member of the Crain family is portrayed by two different actors, and each gives it their all.

Michael Huisman and Paxton Singleton play Steven Crain, the eldest of Olivia and Hugh's children. Steven does not believe in the ghostly encounters that the family experienced in their time at Hill House, but that does not stop him from capitalizing on their trauma and writing a book about their experiences anyways, much to his siblings' disapproval. Due to circumstances, Steven is having marital troubles at the start of the series and is separated from his wife Leigh, played by Samantha Sloyan.

Elizabeth Reaser and Lulu Wilson play Shirley Crain, the next oldest, who was named for Shirley Jackson. Depending on how you look at it, Shirley grows up to either have the perfect or most baffling career, as she owns, lives in, and runs a funeral home along with her husband Kevin, played by Anthony Ruivivar.

Kate Siegel and McKenna Grace play Theo (this time with a surname!), the middle child. Theo has a touch empathy, allowing her to experience psychic phenomena when touching people or objects; she wears gloves to help circumvent this. She lives in a guest suite attached to Shirley's funeral home, where we occasionally see her girlfriend Trish, played by Levy Tran.

Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Julian Hilliard play Luke, the older of the twins who make up the two youngest members of the family. Luke, having been severely traumatized by his experiences at Hill House and the way his family was torn asunder afterwards, has a severe struggle with substance abuse. He has a "twin connection" with his younger twin sister, as the two of them have the tightest bond of the entire family.

Victoria Pedretti and Violet McGraw play Eleanor, the youngest of the family and the other half of Luke's twin empathy. Of all of the children, Nell and Luke each had the most traumatic experiences at Hill House; Nell still occasionally sees the ghost that haunted her the most as a child. Nell's story is the most tragic of all of the children as well; I won't say any more than that.

Timothy Hutton and Henry Thomas both put on fantastic performances for Hugh Crain, the father of the family. During the opening of the show, Hugh has to make the drastic decision of leaving Olivia behind as he and the children flee from Hill House in the middle of the night. This, of course, caused a massive rift to tear between him and the children, and they all become estranged.

Last but absolutely not least, Carla Gugino portrayed Olivia Crain, the mother of the family. Olivia has arguably the most tragic story, as a sensitive who becomes increasingly affected by whatever lurks in the walls of Hill House. She still lurks in the minds of the children and Hugh, even after that fateful night.

Flanagan and this wonderful cast knew exactly how to put on a fantastic show. Each role is played pitch perfectly, in both incarnations of the characters. Child actors are known to struggle with putting on strong performances, but none of these young cast members are ever overplayed to the point of being annoying. The stellar writing that these characters have to work with does a great job of bringing the audience in and making them feel like part of the Crain family. We care about these characters and don't want anything to happen to them, and thus we are horrified whenever they are hurt or scared, just as we would be if anything happened to our own loved ones.

The Haunting of Hill House has the some of the most effective scares I've seen in horror. Flanagan knows how to build up tension and when to release it. He knows exactly how to frame a shot and how to use subtlety to his advantage. There are a few jump scares sprinkled throughout the show, but unlike with most other horror pieces, the jump scares are meant for the characters and not for the audience. They have real meaning and serve a purpose and aren't just there as a cheap way to shock the audience.

The score for this show does a great job of underlining the tension, but aside from the opening theme, nothing quite stands out for me. I do want to take a moment to discuss the cinematography, however. Flanagan knows EXACTLY how to frame a shot, when to show something scary, and when to leave something to the audience's imagination. The juxtaposition between the two eras is masterful in its framing and use of colors. The happier childhood era in Hill House is shown in bright, warm colors with some nice bloom effect to display a more innocent time. Shots are more spacious and give the characters plenty of breathing room, and the score is light and almost playful.

In contrast, however, the scarier portions of the childhood era and most of the adult era are filmed with muted colors and cooler, darker tones. Shots are cramped and claustrophobic, and darkness fills corners and swims in rooms. The score for these shots is ominous and quiet, or even non-existant at times, leaving us to wonder what's going to happen.

The Haunting of Hill House is one of my favorite shows. It's fantastic, nearly perfect, in almost every way; I seriously have a hard time thinking of anything I'd change. Over the course of ten episodes, I felt myself moved and swayed and afraid for the members of this family. The show is not for everyone, of course, and I even hesitate to call it an adaptation of my favorite haunted house novel, but its strengths far outweigh anything negative I have to say. If you're looking for a long-form scary watch, I implore you to check this out. I even encourage you to read the novel, as it is interesting to compare the two and look at what few parallels Flanagan drew between them. As of today, the show has a second season. The Haunting of Bly Manor, which is based upon the works of Henry James, reuses much of the Hill House cast in new roles, marking The Haunting as an anthology show.

I'm almost done talking about adaptations for this month. Tomorrow, I return to a film I watched in my youth now that I've read the novel it's based upon...

[bubmyg]

a coastal cabaret - pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

warnings: very very loosely inspired by the movie footloose, fluff, angst, major character death (prior to the events in which the fic details), death mention, themes of grief and loss, hoseok is the lovable best friend (i based him off willard if you’ve seen the movie lol), probably incorrect boat terminology 

word count: 14,761

summary: sometimes an outside perspective is all that’s needed for the tragic events of the past to transform into something beautiful or the one where hoseok can’t dance and jimin is determined to keep the smile on your face.

a/n: six weeks in the making and she’s here...be gentle to me pls (also it’s definitely not necessary to have seen the movie to read this fic!!! i very loosely based the premise off the movie)

There was a tiny boat at the end of the dock, red with white stripes and a fanned awning suspended over the bench seats, five to a row, the sixth where the driver rests. The paint has been ruined over the years and seasons, bubbled in places, chipped in others, stained from the sun until it’s essentially burnt orange while the white becomes a dirty beige. There’s stickers altering the paint too, sponsorships and advertisers that both literally and figuratively keep the boat and business afloat. 

A bright yellow sticker for the surf shop up the coast even if the only viable surfing location is over an hour in the next town over. A cartoon shrimp with a speech bubble announcing the new chain seafood restaurant parked up the shore in, to the untrained eye, what looks like a sand dune. A years old logo for the tourist boat company taking the brunt of the aging, missing entire letters, not the same one screen printed on the limited edition t-shirts hanging off the rental barn or proudly pasted to the upgraded yachts parked as the boat’s neighbors.

Upgrades a last ditch effort to save the crippling effects of mass media on the town. The sea water seemed to swallow the efforts along with a few hundred thousand dollars and a few tacky letters pasted on the side of the last family owned boat. 

Se Bre ze Bo ts. 

Jimin noted the waxed sheen off the bobbing machinery, marveling how such a thing could float when he was led past it, two, three, until there was no room left on the dock (in theory, he could have tested the water proof quality of his new shoes) and he was left with the sad rock of Ang l. 

“And last but not least, the chariot,” Hoseok beamed, a wide sweeping move of his hand, palm up, presenting the boat and in the limited interaction Jimin had entertained with the red haired boy, he had every assumption to think he wasn’t being at all sarcastic. 

Jimin scuffed his toe into the dock, wary to the creaks that emitted from that boat alone and he mumbled to the tiny school of baby fish that crowded around the supports, “...so that’s it?”

Hoseok laughed, a loud sound in the otherwise serene coastline, clasping a cupped hand over Jimin’s shoulder. “Keep them clean and we shouldn’t have any issues. That’s the extent of your duties. I don’t expect you to take the first group out tomorrow morning or anything, of course—” He tottered onto one foot, leaning into Jimin with a wrinkled dimple pressed into his cheek, “—...now the five o’clock…”

“Scare him off and you can go back to cleaning my baby for me.”

 You paid no mind to the men in your path, cruising past their sandal clad feet to make it to your baby, otherwise known to Jimin as the saddest boat tethered to the dock. The bob of your head disappeared when you crossed onto the tiny paths jutting between the boats, a tiny rope in comparison to its tethered object your vice to drag it closer, legs stretching as you stepped and hoisted yourself until you were afloat with it, too. 

Hoseok smacked Jimin’s torso, gesturing toward your figure as you hobbled about the front of the boat, collecting the damp rope with you as you went, as if to say are you seeing this? A ludicrous expression saturated in amusement for Hoseok’s friend. 

Jimin didn’t have the pleasure of acquaintance.

“Jimin!” He called, an introduction in the way he formulated the words and offered a wave of his hand in greeting while the latter tucked into the pocket of his shorts. 

A grunt and then a name, yours he presumed, floated over the side of the boat until your head popped up again, holding entirely more rope in your grasp than before. 

“I’m about to do the nightly run,” You lifted your eyebrows, stance firm and even with the elevated stance the boat put you on in perspective to the two figures on the dock. “Are you two coming with?”

Another smack to his torso and Jimin audibly oofed this time, rubbing at the spot Hoseok’s knuckles had struck. “What do you say, new guy?” Hoseok chirped, smile only growing when the newcomer’s stanch gaze flickered to the corner of his eyes, “If not, you’re free to go. I have nothing else to show you—”

Jimin brushed past Hoseok, copying your movements, less gracefully albeit, to hoist himself up onto the side of the boat, dropping down with two feet into the depths of the machine. Hoseok came not long after, a purposeful scramble meant for comedic purposes that you nor Jimin laughed at but he smiled enough for everyone, anyway. You were elbow deep in reeling the anchor in, anyway, your stature giving away some mention between struggle and practiced ease but Jimin’s instinct went with the first, anyway, striding forward with outstretched palms. 

“Here, let me help you with that—”

There was a series of mechanical clicks in the same moment, a groaning of the same fashion, all while you’d pulled your labor away from the manual wheel to turn to him with a bemused expression. 

Amusement danced in the wave of your irises, the sea flickering in your expression as you nodded, “Thanks anyway.”

Somewhere among Hoseok’s monolog about the best breakfast cafe in the town and the adjustment to being out on the calm evening sea, Jimin found himself focusing on the silhouette of your figure, black outline detached like the clench of your jaw and the rigidity of your first impression. Jimin wasn’t much for those anyway, intrigued by what would commonly be seen as a negative “first”. 

He’d been so focused on the mundaneness that was the back and forth of your hands on a series of controls he couldn’t make out beyond a shaded sun screen that he’d missed when you’d idled the boat far off the shore, only jerking to reality when you stepped off the elevated platform with a raised eyebrow in his direction. 

The quirk of Jimin’s lips didn’t deter your prolonged stare, and neither did Hoseok’s loud announcement, your gaze only dropping when you plopped into a seat adjacent from him and accepted a condensation ridden can from Hoseok’s outstretched arm. Then it was a double take and scrunched confusion that met your expression, eyeing the logo on the aluminum before setting a glare on the side of Hoseok’s face. 

“Where the hell did you get these?”

Hoseok shrugged, already fingernail deep in popping the tab on his beer can and taking a generous swig. He placed his aside, reaching elbow deep in an under seat cooler to present Jimin with one as well, something the younger boy dismissed with a soft smile.  

“Up the coast. I have a life outside of saving your ass from the high tide, believe it or not.”

You were still fuming even as you opened it, “And how did you get these on my boat?”

Hoseok winked in Jimin’s direction, “On a whim that you’d be taking the boat out tonight. Like you do every night…”

Your sip was tiny in comparison to the swallow Hoseok had downed, gently placing the can aside, “You could have got us killed, you know that right? What if Namjoon had came down to the dock for a surprise inspection?—”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive but…” Jimin lounged forward in the seat he occupied, elbows pressing into his thighs, “It’s just beer?”

He caught you freeze in his peripheral, stature rigid where it was once relaxed and you coughed, casting your gaze aside to fingers that began to desperately fiddle with each other. 

Hoseok answered instead, quipped and short, “There’s an alcohol ban within the town limits.”

An awkward silence passed, one Jimin didn’t challenge in the gentle sway of sea water against the side of the boat, an echoing noise where the same motion lapped onto the shore, a gentle push and pull of sand that mirrored the swirl of questions in his conscious, none of which sounded proper on the press of his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he stayed silent to the waves and scratch of your fingernail against the leather of the seat you perched in. 

“So, new guy,” You spoke first, the slump of your stature inconsistent with the volume of your voice and he ignored the slight tremble in the upturn of your lips, “What brings you to this sleepy town?”

“After graduation, I decided to travel,” Jimin swallowed into picking at the hem of his shorts, “The easy answer is I ran out of money so I ended up here.”

Hoseok inquiry was straightforward this time, “What did you study?”

“Dance. Contemporary and modern mostly,” He laughed, unwillfully bitter, “A useless arts degree, I know.”

“Not useless,” You spoke again to the unraveled thread on the sewn edges of the leather seat you perched in.

Hoseok was louder, “Useless here, though.”

Jimin shrugged at the implication, shouldering the sentiment he’d had spoken much worse and with harsher insinuations than a virtual stranger teasing him on a boat in the middle of a coastal sea. Hoseok’s quick tone change from playful back to serious had Jimin quirking an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think you understand. You won’t ever be needing that here,” Hoseok flicked his index and middle fingers back and forth so that the friction was audible, “Alcohol ban goes hand in hand with a dance ban.”

Jimin laughed. Genuinely, a loud, single syllable sound that pitched him forward over his knees. He sobered when he straightened to two expressions, one glassier than the other. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Public, organized dancing,” You supplied, tight lipped to his ignorance, “Public organized events, mostly.”

Softer, Jimin amended this time, “But why?” 

You stiffened again, same as before but looser in a sense, one knee coming to curl to your chest as you turned away from him, supporting the lean of your torso into the back of the seat. His lips parted to dismiss his question, say it didn’t matter, but Hoseok jumped in with a short explanation that ran guilt into Jimin’s blood. 

“There was an accident a few years ago. On one of the boats,” Hoseok pressed his thumb and index finger into the sides of the can he held, gently popping the aluminum in and out while his chin pressed into his shoulder, “The town council members felt it would be best. Prevention of it ever happening again…”

Jimin swallowed the slew of questions on his tongue perfect for this silence to instead say, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Hoseok seemed to perk up a bit then, “I’m surprised Namjoon didn’t advertise it to you in a neon poster board when you arrived.” 

Your voice, softer, broke Jimin’s heart for a reason unknown to him but he decided that anything that saturated your spirit like that was worth protecting from you. 

“Nothing you could have done, anyway.”

Jimin felt silly on the seventh day of reckoning with himself, white wires haphazardly tangled in the cradle of his palm while bare feet paced away a trail of already chipped paint on the creaky front porch of his house. He wasn’t a one man festival complete with an organized dance floor. All he had in his fridge was water, refilled from the tap bottles because he hadn’t located a store to buy more, yet. 

Instead, he was one man with his favorite playlist and an itch in his muscles that he’d stretched but hadn’t sated. 

“It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong,” He told himself a bit too loudly to the tropical overhang of trees on the awning of his porch. He told the cusp of his earbuds next as he shoved them into his ears, still staring hard at the open playlist on his phone screen. 

“Fuck it.”

The curl of plump green leaves flicking against the roof of the house acted in accordance to the early morning breeze, one that brought gentle rains up off the sea and doused the concrete in a thin sheen a hue darker than normal but it wasn’t light enough yet to notice, anyway. Jimin turned his motions into more than mental productivity, twisting a cheap broom he’d found in a hall closet like some exotic mixture of a ballroom partner and a baton, cleaning away leaves and crumbs from the eggs he’d downed with a bent fork and the small puddles of water that had curled onto the edges where the awning didn’t protect. 

His dance turned inside, a shadow against the one light he left on while his senses guided the rest, a delicate story told against the half open shutters lining the far side of his house, the one that faced his only neighbor. His playlist carried him through the narrative just as the pointed step of his trained art elicited feeling, one that had him smiling by the time he shrugged the thick strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and all but skipped out onto the broken, cobblestone pathway to mount his bike. 

The quiet neighbor watched from their own porch, a fond smile plastered on their lips as Jimin’s figure descended into the rising shadows of dawn, a tear tracking their cheek in some sort of nostalgic longing that roused a smile just as joyful in their sorrow as Jimin’s. 

A debate on whether or not to play music through wire earbuds and dance to a beat that was most definitely not open for public gathering seemed silly when it had easily built itself into Jimin’s routine by the third day, never mind the seventh. He shuffled his playlist, a new crescendo carrying him down the length of the dock as he shimmied, stretched, polished his way into preparing the docks for the day ahead. His unsolicited crimes were hidden, boats gone like missing pieces of a Jenga puzzle that were never meant to fall by the time he repented his shift, striding back up the slowly busying dock with his phone and earbuds shoved in the depths of his shorts pocket. 

Perhaps he’d pondered over the ridiculous thought that he’d be thrown out of the town for good for dancing on the front porch of the house he, by all intents and purposes, owned by means of a security deposit that drained the last of his funds for a half second too long, but he’d failed to escape up the coast line to his tiny waiting station before someone had creaked gentle footsteps in his peripheral. 

Jimin jerked his headphones from his ears, leaving a searing pain in their wake but it was a soft giggle that soothed it, one that belonged to you where you stood a few yards away. The gold nameplate pinned over the embroidered logo of the boat service shop crinkled where your arms folded over your chest, one eyebrow cocked underneath the white visor perched on your forehead. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you,” You held up two hands as if to prove your point, the soft smile still there on your lips. 

He visibly relaxed but continued in his quest to ball the wires in a massive tangle and shove them in the depths of his pocket. He added, anyway, “Sorry.”

“For what? Having fun while you work?” You brushed past him to your boat, “It’s something a few people around here could and should take notice of.”

It was an unspoken dismissal but Jimin froze in place anyway, watching as you climbed aboard, a different set of procedures following your own routine as you busied about the inside of the boat, a different set than he’d witnessed when you’d taken him and Hoseok out on his first week. Week two and he had no greater grasp on you, only after sharing fleeting glances throughout the workday from where he sat and barely moved on the unoccupied area of the beach. 

“By the way—” You spoke right when Jimin moved to flee, freezing his muscles and he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, “—I’m sorry that I was so short with you the other night.”

He relaxed into a shrug, “S’alright.”

“It’s not something we, Hoseok or I...expect you to understand,” You seemed to ponder your own words, leaning against the railing of the boat, “After the...accident, the tourism went down drastically. The entire town nearly had to sellout. It was a really scary time.”

“I’m not saying the ‘rules’ aren’t stupid—” You shot him a look, “—because they are. Just...things are finally looking stable again. So it’s hard to want to...change that. I guess.”

“The annual town festival isn’t worth losing everything I have, you know,” You smiled, pushing yourself up off the railing, “Or...you know. Having a beer occasionally. Or having to get approval to have a DJ at weddings. Or literally anything fun.”

You laughed so Jimin laughed too, nodding simply to you. “Understood, it’s okay.”

There’s more to it that you’re not telling me. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong, by the way. Dance all you want. Play your music out loud. Bring a radio, if you want—” You winked at you tossed a thick, pleated rope over your shoulder, “—I’ll cover for you if they send Namjoon down here.”

Jimin laughed again, dropping his chin this time. “Well, thank you—” He squinted into the quickly rising sun, “Although I’m not entirely sure they make radios anymore, so that might be a bit difficult to find but...I’m up for the challenge.”

“Perfect,” You hesitated in your step backward on the boat, “I’ll see you later then?”

Later meant on his front porch, knuckles jostling the loose screen door that laid gently over the entrance to the house, never latched just like the heavier inside door was never shut. You were bent at the waist, squinting through the netted black when Jimin slid around the corner of the hallway, frantic confusion turning to amusement when his presence startled you and you nearly dropped the plate held delicately in one hand. 

“Hey neighbor,” You greeted, stepping back for him to push open the screen, “Brought a late housewarming gift.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow, gentle in letting you transfer the plate from your grasp to his. A pile of homemade cookies, stacked in a neat, crumpled pyramid about each other. “Neighbor, huh?”

You gestured for the house, the only one. “Correct, that would be my house…”

“Ah. Why haven’t I seen you until now?”

“We have different schedules, new guy,” You softened when he shot you an apologetic look, “I got off early today. Chance of storms later.”

“You can call me Jimin, you know,” He twisted, placing the plate on the rickety end table plopped between two lawn chairs, faded and unraveled threads dangling sadly from underneath. 

“New guy is more fun,” You perked up, taking a seat in one of the lawn chairs before he could offer, “Wait, I’ve got it. Ducky.” 

His cheeks pinked as he took a seat adjacent from you, “...Jimin will be just fine.”

You nodded, fingertips plucking into the plastic wrap over the cookies to retrieve one of the crumpled halves. You plopped a sizable bite onto your tongue, lifting an eyebrow, “...alright, ducky.”

Jimin watched you munch down the cookie half, watched you hesitate into grabbing it’s forgotten twin and nibble half of it before he blurted, “Would you, uh…like to stay for dinner?”

You took your time in finishing off the cookie, lawn chair creaking the porch when you turned toward him, ludicrous expression plastered firm to your features, “Hey! That’s not fair. I came over here with treats, I should be cooking you dinner. A...town warming dinner. Is that a thing?”

“Too late, I already asked.”

“Fine,” Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself up off the chair, eyes closing as you held out your wrists, palms up, “Lead me to the food.”

He let you stand there until your eyes opened to regard his sheepish expression, leaning forward to press his elbows into his thighs, “...one problem. I have close to no food.”

“Oh, that’s all that’s wrong?” Your rigid stance relaxed, reaching out to grab his wrist to haul him up, “Come on. I mean...if you think you can keep up with me?”

Jimin didn’t scoff until you were more than a dozen yards ahead of him on a gentle incline, coasting while he was struggling to the rotation on the petals of his bike. “Where are you taking me?” He labored when the ground finally evened out, allowing himself to collapse onto the tiny seat underneath him. 

“Farmer’s market,” You slowed to allow him to catch up, grinning at the slight sheen of sweat that had begun to form underneath black fringe, “You know. Fruits and vegetables.”

“Really? I thought it was entirely processed junk food.”

Jimin caught a glimpse of your eye roll before you were tired of humoring him, speeding off to the tune of his amused laughter. 

It appeared to be closing time at the miniature farmer’s market, a tiny collection of tents set up on the far side of the coast. A lanky, brown haired man with a crumpled apron tied haphazardly across his front worked at folding up one of the card tables, one that appeared to have previously held woven baskets filled with various colored apples. Those baskets sat in the weird mixture of sand and grass that encompassed the ground farther up from the seaside while a tiny, fluffy dog wove in and out of them, periodically yipping upward at the man who talked back in an equal tone, as if having a casual conversation about the winds gradually picking up over the water. 

“Tae!” You left your bike against a tree, jogging up to the startled man while Jimin, wobbling albeit, tried to control the tires of his bike as the terrain changed. He managed to hop off though, being intercepted by the tiny dog rather than you or the ever mysterious Tae. 

“Tannie!” A rich baritone scolded yet held no real authoritative power. The dog seemed to think so as well, barely flinching at the call when Jimin crouched, stretching gentle fingers out for the dog to butt his head against. 

“He’s alright,” Jimin soothed his owner quietly, scratching behind the boisterous Pomeranian's ears for a split second before a hand was thrust in the way. Jimin squinted at it, following the line of the exposed forearm up to the smiling eyes of the farmer, geometric smile pasted on the bottom half of his face as he nodded for his hand again. 

“Taehyung.”

Jimin shook his hand once, letting the momentum carry him to a standing position that had his knees cracking in protest. “Jimin.”

“Ah, the new guy down at the dock—” Taehyung glanced at you when you snorted, “—you’re renting that empty vacation house of the town’s, right?”

Jimin couldn’t help but think of the nest of spiders he’d found in the bottom drawer of the century old dresser in his room on the second day. Vacation house. 

Only then did he realize he was still gripping Taehyung’s hand, something he promptly dropped before coughing, “Uh. Yeah.”

“Neighbors then, huh?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, fulling looking at you where you were preoccupied fishing through a container of tomatoes.

“He’s supposed to be cooking for me tonight,” You jabbed an accusing finger, tomato, in Jimin’s direction, playful smile still on your lips, “But he has not a singular vegetable in his possession.”

“He’s cooking for you?” Taehyung accused while you bagged a few tomatoes, moving on to the greenery scattered about, “Shouldn’t you be cooking him a housewarming meal? Or like...a town warming meal?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Jimin provided softly, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Taehyung just laughed, starting out with a hand clasping his shoulder before moving to wrapping his entire arm around Jimin, leaning into him while you continued to gather supplies. “So what’s your story?” He said finally, letting some of his weight off of Jimin. 

Jimin shrugged, “Broke college student turned broke graduate decided to travel and ran out of money. Ended up here…”

“What’s your degree in?” 

Jimin considered a plethora of things as a masterful lie. One that would avoid a variety of stems in which the conversation could go. He could say something in technology and avoid the useless degree lecture. He could say something in writing and avoid the there’s no dancing here lecture. He could tell the truth and gauge the reaction that was generally more favorable from those who were around his age but still lived in a town that outlawed virtually all organized events on the basis of an elusive ‘accident’.  

Instinct made him answer quietly, “Dance. Contemporary mostly.”

An entire other limb, one that grew haphazardly from the trunk of the tree and threaded upward into a ridiculous, jagged shape, came from Taehyung’s mouth, not something that was even in the realm of what Jimin imagined. 

“Oh!” Taehyung called your name quietly, clapping his hands together, “Another dancer! That’s what you wanted to do! Contemporary too—”

Jimin’s moment of elation died into a nauseating sickness when your stature had froze much like it had those handful of nights ago, the hand not holding onto a bag of produce reaching out to dig your fingernails deep into the plastic of the table. 

When you turned around, Jimin tried gently, “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s because it’s in the past. Wanted, past tense,” You began tying a knot in the plastic bag in your grasp, frantic and jerky in your movements, “Not anymore.”

There was a similar sympathetic smile to Taehyung’s features as there had been one of stone on Hoseok’s, rolling his lips inward as his throat bobbed harshly. “Beautiful, nonetheless. I remember the showcases you used to put on down at the dock.”

“Muscles don’t quite move like that anymore,” You diverted this time with a tight lipped smile, one that didn’t even try to reach your eyes as you finished the knot, “How much do I owe you for this?”

Taehyung dropped it, squinting when the wind picked up in that moment, “You don’t owe me a thing if you help Tannie and I pack up before the storm rolls around.”

Jimin jumped into action to divert his thoughts away from the look you kept casting him, somewhere between regret, fear, and unadulterated sadness. 

He’d brushed his teeth three times since you’d descended the rickety steps of his porch to trek the short distance through the drizzling rain to your house yet, somehow, there was still bits of the seasoning fermented in the honey colored salad dressing you’d dollaped en mass over freshly washed lettuce leaves. The tiny black flecks on their own were foul, spreading in the back of his molars where he’d dug one out with the natural lay of his tongue, one that made him stop with rag in hand to grossly spit onto the dock. He smudged it with his shoe, wrist wiping at his lips while the disgust mulling on his facial features lingered, momentary pause causing his conscious to squint up the dock, thoughts scattered into the prior evening. 

So it was only fitting that you emerged in that moment, as if an apparition from the misted droplets clinging to the grasses on the shore. 

“Ducky! Slacking off?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to scramble because well, kind of, and if his routine was lacking so where you’d already appeared, he was most definitely behind. He jerked a singular headphone out as a first precaution. But the dramaticized mist cleared to reveal your soft smile, chin tucked into the zipper of your jacket as you paused in front of him. 

“Always,” He answered anyway, blackened taste of something burnt forgotten where it still festered underneath his tongue. 

You scuffed your foot into the dock, balled fists shoving into your jacket pockets. “I had a good time last night, by the way,” Another pass of your foot, toe heel, “You’re not a half bad cook.”

“Thank you. I had a good time too…” It was Jimin’s turn to duck his head, eyeing the frayed threads on the rag he clutched in increasingly white knuckles. His fist didn’t clench because he was lying but rather the bubbling question resting on the tip of his tongue, one he’d suppressed since leaving Taehyung with all his produce neatly packed into the shaded back of his truck right as the rain began. 

Kind of like media outlets who focus on one relatively small aspect of a much larger concept simply because it’s inherently negative. Jimin’s question was inherently negative, instead contextually negative based solely on the reaction you’d given Taehyung when he’d brought it up. 

And evidently, Jimin was a shitty reporter. 

“So you used to dance, huh?” He kept his tone soft, leaving infliction open for you to take. You could deny him. You could dismiss him. He really didn’t care if you ignored him. He just had to get it out. Quieter, he added, “I didn’t know that.”

You laughed, the opposite reaction that Jimin was preparing himself for, and he tracked your eyes as they swept over your feet. “You’d have no reason to know,” A sigh set your shoulders, allowing you to raise your gaze to his, “I quit not long after the...the accident.”

“It just seemed fitting you know,” You shrugged, arms lifting where your fists still sat deep in your pockets, “I mean you know what I’m talking about. Contemporary isn’t exactly the same thing elicited by a few beers and some fluorescent lights.”

Jimin laughed but stayed silent, nodding quietly for you to continue. 

“I had a scholarship. To get out of here...that’s what I was going to do after the tourist season ended. But after everything that happened here, from the incident itself—” You swallowed, tilting your head back slightly, “—from that, to the media coverage that made the town nearly desolate, to going into the off season with far less profit than we normally garnered. It didn’t feel right to leave my town like that.”

“I understand,” Jimin murmured.

“No, you don’t,” You laughed again, just as genuine, “You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“Far from it,” He assured. 

A lingering silence ensued, one that had you scuffing your opposite foot this time. “Well...that’s my sap story about why I don’t dance any longer, so…”

You trailed off when Jimin extended a hand in your direction. He wiggled his fingers when you gaped, free appendage working at yanking his headphones from his phone, attention focused to navigate to a different playlist while he regarding you with a lopsided smile and one quirked eyebrow. 

It was something instrumental that filtered from his phone speakers, a piece he’d done for an assignment in college yet still had stored away in the depths of his music library. It was just eerie enough to curl into the fog that slowly began to lift over the sea, opening up to the heat of the day that began to rouse coastal wildlife into action, singing in crescendo over the melodies. 

“You think you’ve still got it?” 

It was the first instance that Jimin hadn’t seen you hesitate in the face of something that seemed to scare you, immediate in sliding your palm to his and squeezing. 

“We’ll see I guess,” You taunted, gliding closer to him at the pull of his arm, a playful glint shining in dawned irises, “Won’t we?”

Jimin grinned as you began to move at the extent of his forearm, leg curling outward into a purposeful movement that elicited musicality he heard too in the rouse of the music curling outward from his phone in his pocket. You stayed connected until the last possible moment, falling at the contract of your muscles into a turned out squat, gliding in front of him and then straightening on the farthest side, arms connecting into the next movement as something trilled in the music. 

It was the same sort of improvisation that carried the remainder of your movements, leaving Jimin in awe of the way your body curled into the melody only for half an eight count more before he was moving with you, twisting in such a way that made his foot slide from the slip on shoes curled on his heels but he took no mind, foot connecting at his knee, torso arching the opposite direction, following the dying crescendo of movement. 

You connected your touch to him once more, curling two forearms over the flat of his back where he’d bent at the waist before trailing crawled fingertips up the expanse of his forearm, latching first to his wrist with a beat in the music and then taking his hand on another, harsher, beat. He tugged you closer at the contact, one hand gripping both your hands, the later sliding around your waist to press a stabilizing palm into the small of your back. The lull of your head came, falling away from the beat of the music as you rose to look at him, not quite a smile but bliss nonetheless plastered to the part of your mouth.  

Jimin smiled, though. 

He deposited one of your hands onto the round of his shoulder, keeping his tight grip on the later as he began to move you in gentle circles to whatever the next song on his playlist was, something slow and with words that he vaguely recognized from popular radio play a few years prior. 

“I think you’ve still got it,” Jimin softly encouraged when a laugh caused your gaze to fall away from him, forehead nearly pressing into his shoulder as you gripped harder to his hand. 

“Eh,” He saw you smile no matter how you tried to hide it, “You’re not a half bad partner, ducky.”

There were footsteps on the dock in the next moment, ones that overpowered the music Jimin had reached to turn down in his pocket, music he now rushed to silence. Instinctively, he held you closer, squinting up the wood path. The footsteps were simultaneously too loud and too quiet to be Hoseok. They were too purposeful as well, slapping and consistent with the sound of flip flops as it grew closer until Jimin finally froze at the familiar face approaching at a ridiculous pace. 

You glanced up from Jimin’s shoulder when there was a tripping sound, the front of Namjoon’s flip flop catching on a protruding wood board but it didn’t stall his advancements by much, pausing a safe distance in front of you with two hands perched on his hips. 

Namjoon was struggling to find the words for you, attention darting to you where he scuffed the tattered sole of his canvas shoes into the wood, one curled fist in his pocket and then back out, as if he weren’t even aware of Jimin’s presence. Hesitant leg movements brought him a few steps closer, before he said lowly, “You should probably get to work.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” You countered, making no movement to budge from Jimin’s hold. 

The older man held up two hands, taking an equal step back, “I didn’t say you were, love—”

“Then why did they send you down here?”

Namjoon stared hard now from underneath the cap of the white hat shoved onto messy black tendrils. His free hand joined the latter in the depths of his short pockets, rocking back onto his heels and Jimin could spy the surface of his tongue searching the tops of his molars for a response. 

“They didn’t,” He said finally, carefully, like he’d plucked the obvious lie like a piece of corn from between his teeth. 

“Joon,” You pushed yourself from Jimin, taking two steps in front of him and he couldn’t see your face any longer but your voice grew softer instead, “You—”

“Please, just...separate. They’ll come down here if you don’t and it’s almost opening time,” Namjoon looked frightened now, a far cry from the assured monologue that had informed Jimin of the basics on the steps of his front porch. 

You didn’t turn until Namjoon’s flip flops clacked safely off the deck into the sand pathway, solemn smile not quite meeting your eyes as you shrugged. 

“Guess party time is over.”

Jimin watched as you almost robotically moved for the boat, your boat, one foot bobbing in the sea when he called with clenched fists, “Who’s they?” 

There was a lack of filter in your voice, blunt as you snorted, “The town officials—” You hoisted yourself fully into the boat, speaking to your work rather than to him, “—the ones who created this whole mess.”

“...they’re watching us?”

You pointed haphazardly over your shoulder, shrugging as you began to curl a rope from out of the water, “Town hall building is up the shore—” A heave in your voice as you dragged the rest of the damp twine into a messy pile underneath your knees, “—you know, so they can watch their biggest source of income fail day in and day out.”

“Or they were just tired of seeing me move around like a dead fish,” You tried to lighten the mood when you turned to him, an easy smile on your lips, “...no one’s seen me do that in years so...it doesn’t surprise me that they got worried.”

Jimin stifled his worried about what? when you waved. “See you later?”

The man just nodded, watching as your smile grew fainter. 

“...see you.”

The incident with Namjoon lingered somewhere just on the inside of Jimin’s conscious the longer his work continued through the season, partially because of it’s implications, mostly because of your blunt yet empty words, words he didn’t quite have a grasp on. It was a topic everyone quite literally danced around, draping the unaware stranger like Jimin in a darkness that mirrored that coating the entire town. It was your lipped their biggest source of income that resonated the highest and the easiest with Jimin’s spinning conscious, something he acknowledged yet came to see as fact the longer he stationed himself on the shore throughout the day. 

Business was seemingly non existent, your boat trips, specifically designed to take tourists on extensive, historical journeys of the beautiful seasides, full but few and far between from the schedule of potential times hung from the front boat house; Hoseok’s boat trips, designed for fishing, to find the best pockets where men in cheap sun hats purchased from Taehyung’s day time flea market style stalls could take one coveted picture with a giant bass before eventually letting the creature free, barely making the cut to plausibly allow the boat to pull away from its tether. 

It was as though all the money went into paying the metaphorical security cameras, the lavish town building up the shore coated in a fine layer of fresh stone, paying the salary of the camera lens’ themselves, the three men Jimin had only garnered fleeting glimpses of as black blurs crossing to and from a small parking lot just outside the grey, hazed building. 

Because there certainly weren’t literal security cameras. There were barely rags for Jimin to use to clean that wouldn’t get the surfaces dirtier than they had been before touched by dirty soaked cloth. Maintenance arose daily, a piling list that the contractor repair man, Jeongguk, a lanky, tattooed twenty something fresh from trade school who was rarely seen with a shirt on, could barely handle. This left for various boats out of commission on the worst days, weekends and the dead center of the week when business seemed to grow the highest, when they could justify filling all the time slots and taking out the half dozen fleet of boats at the same time. Turning away the business they so desperately needed because the lack of funding otherwise to maintain what little resources they did have. 

Jimin confronted Hoseok about the issue one day while lounging on the shore, Hoseok’s very presence a product of the neverending cycle of a dying industry in the dead center of the day on a Sunday, generally one of their busiest days now desolate with the whir of your engine in the distance the only source of light in the shrinking wallet available to the business. 

“It’s been like this for a few years,” Hoseok shrugged, red hair splayed into the grassy patch they sat upon. His eyes fluttered shut, folded hands coming to rest across his forehead, “It’s not as bad as it seems from an outside perspective. We...make ends meet. But nothing more and we can’t afford anything less so…”

“Has anyone proposed an alternate business model?” Jimin cringed when Hoseok’s eyebrow cocked over where his hands shielded his face, “I just mean like...if this isn’t working, why not try something else?”

Hoseok groaned as he moved to sit up, links in his spine audibly cracking as he arched over knees bent in towards his chest. “We know what works,” He said finally, “They know what works.”

“What’s that?”

Hoseok smiled at Jimin from underneath his arm, “Lift the stupid dance ban.”

“Oh—”

The red haired man shook his head, uncurling from himself to correct his posture, arms straight behind him, knees stretching out into the grass, “Let me explain…”

“That was the appeal of our little town. Not the boats and some cool pictures of sea bass. There used to be a thriving festival business. We had a pamphlet made especially for the town, one that detailed all the weekends in which various themed things would be happening down at the shore. People who pay us to use our coastline, basically.”

Hoseok shrugged, “Now no one wants to pay us except like...the elderly to have their fifty year class reunions. And even then, they don’t want to fuck with our policies—” He flattened two dark eyebrows, “—do you know how many restrictions there are for what music can be played out loud in a public setting? At any public gathering? Too many. A whole book too many.”

Jimin started slow, a thought that formulated the same way in the forefront of his conscious and it didn’t pass through any filters as it crawled off his tongue. 

“...so why don’t we...throw our own festival?”

Silence. 

And then Hoseok laughed, cackled really, returning to his splayed out position on the grass with his limbs starfished outward so far his hair nudged into Jimin’s thigh. The younger watched quietly, letting the implications of his own suggestion soak in and he briefly thought to glance over his shoulder for some sort of microphone attached to the bee buzzing to a pretty pink wildflower vining upward from the loose sand granules.

Hoseok came to, straightened again next to Jimin and he nudged his side with his elbow, nodding simply. 

“Okay.”

Jimin started to sputter out an apology, one on a knotted tongue, the words equally tangled in his throat when he was whipping toward the smiling man next to him. His eyebrows met in a single line at the bridge of his nose, unconsciously leaning closer to Hoseok. 

“Wait, what? What do you mean okay?” 

The older man nudged Jimin again with one curt nod of his chin, “I mean...okay. Let’s do it.”

Jimin blinked, once, twice, four times in the dying silence of Hoseok’s giggles before he admitted quietly, “I didn’t think I’d get this far, honestly—”

“Listen, kid,” Hoseok slung a heavy arm across Jimin’s shoulders, tugging on the smaller man until he was curled against his side, “I don’t know what it is about you...but I like your enthusiasm. And your idea, of course.”

He glanced up from where he’d ducked into Hoseok’s shoulder, cocking an eyebrow, “...so you’re saying?”

Hoseok beamed again, an infectious giggle falling from his lips as he happily clapped at Jimin’s shoulder for a passing moment before springing to a standing position, presenting his palm for Jimin to take. He waited until Jimin had joined him on his feet, lowering his voice a half octave as he brought Jimin in by clasped fists between their chests.

“I’m saying, let’s plan a damn festival.”

Jimin expected Hoseok to take off at a dead sprint up the shore like any other cliche romantic comedy would, hurdling them into a montage of planning that involved highlighter marks etched into the pores of their skin and mountains of rejected flyer options with a dying laptop battery mocking the open document of logistics information, where, when, how the festival would occur. 

Instead, Hoseok stood still, eyes frozen on something in the distance and again Jimin jerked to look for a bee and his high tech audio visual equipment when Hoseok provided in a thick monotone. 

“One issue.”

Jimin with the bee in mind quipped, “I think there will be a little bit more than one issue but that’s fine, that’s...common knowledge—”

“No, like,” Hoseok’s lips formed a sheepish shape, “With me.”

An endless whir of possibilities stirred so much so that Jimin couldn’t consciously pluck out a few tangible options but among that strangled mess, Jimin certainly didn’t expect Hoseok to utter hoarsely, “I can’t dance.”

“I’m sorry you…” Jimin tried not to show amusement on his features, “You what?”

“I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance.”

“No, they can’t. Because I can’t.”

The chaotic scene came later, the montage Jimin had envisioned as the grooves of a DVD shoved into the ancient player tucked away in the closet of his newly acquired home. Hoseok’s arms were colored in at least four different colors of highlighter, hair frayed at the edges of the headband wrapped haphazardly on the high rise of his forehead. Jimin had nearly broke his toe twice in his quest to hurdle a dining room chair to plug in his dying laptop as the spreadsheet he’d worked so meticulously to format hung in the balance of the singular electrical outlet at the far end of the dining room. 

They had a date. They had a venue. They had a backup venue. They had a caterer. They had a playlist. They had a playlist that would survive policy inspection, if need be. They had a mock flyer. 

They didn’t have a confident Hoseok. 

“I don’t know,” He huffed finally, fingers stalling on his laptop keys as he studied Jimin from over the lid, “...will anyone even come? Like, on the off chance that we do get this approved—”

Jimin knew the answer was an ardent no, but he teased nonetheless, “Is this because you think you can’t dance?”

“I know, I can’t dance. That’s beside the point—”

The hollow floorboards underneath the peeling linoleum of Jimin’s kitchen floor croaked in protest when he shoved his chair back, rounding the table to collect Hoseok’s wrist and drag him with him out the front door. 

“Where are we going?” Hoseok complained at the extension of Jimin’s digits curled into his skin. 

Jimin didn’t answer as he dragged Hoseok up your porch steps and rapped on the loose dangle of your screen door. He waited until you half emerged from the wood door you pulled back, palm on the screen door and clearly confused as he stated, “Hoseok thinks he can’t dance.”

You tried to fight the smile that curled onto each corner of your mouth, addressing your friend first, “You can dance. Everyone can dance—” and then to Jimin’s triumphantly beaming figure, “Why would he need to know how to dance?”

“We’re planning a festival,” Jimin said absently, a grin morphing higher on his features when your expression flattened into slightly horrified confusion.

“You’re what—” 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok stepped up to be shoulder to shoulder with Jimin, squishing his presence into the tiny door frame, “Do you want to help?”

“I have no idea what’s fucking happening,” You blurted finally, lips fished, pupils dilated to the ambiant starlight that curled over the figures stationed in your doorway. 

Jimin’s smile turned sympathetic, a gentle hand on your waist guiding you safely away from the rustic contraption of doors at the front of your house. There was a catch in your breath for two reasons, allowing Jimin to lead you to the swing dangling off pillars screwed to the deck. You sat first, a series of concerning creaks following as Jimin took a seat next to you, Hoseok situating himself delicately to the railing circumventing your porch. 

“We’re going to try to revive the town,” Jimin started, simply albeit daunting in that stripped down sense. 

You blinked, realistic, to some sort of nocturnal worm that had weazled it’s way between the floorboards, “Just the two of you, huh ducky?”

“And you!” 

“It’s got to start somewhere,” Jimin curbed Hoseok’s enthusiasm with a gentle palm on your shoulder. 

More blinking. A threat of that shriveled up rigidity to your stature that Jimin loathed like the bile that curled onto the back of his tongue. And then it relaxed all at once, like a daunting wave that suddenly cut under itself, the current nothing but a gentle lap over some vague footprints in the sand. 

“...so who’s going to cater this thing?” It was a gradual build up in the rise of your cheeks but it was there, shining in Jimin’s direction once it had fully developed and he was unconscious of Hoseok’s happy hollering as his own smile began to stretch across his features. 

“We were thinking Taehyung,” Jimin said again in favor of Hoseok who was still violently fist pumping from his perch, “Unless you have another suggestion?”

You shifted, chin plopping onto a palm where fingers curled upward into your chin. The digits patted your lips for a few passing moments before you nodded, muffled a bit by your hand, “Taehyung and maybe one of the restaurants up the coast would be willing to provide. So that their affiliation isn’t biased, you know.”

There was a light ambiance that followed, a continuation of the chatter that had taken place across the lively chaos cluttering Jimin’s rickety kitchen table until Hoseok, silent for the vast majority of the conversation, shifted on the railing enough for a groaning creak that drew two attentions to it. 

“We’re forgetting one thing,” The red haired man beamed into the insinuation he knew was going to earn him grief, “I still can’t dance. And what’s a festival organizer who can’t dance? Useless—” 

The movement of the swing underneath his toes barely perched on the ground startled Jimin but it was your hand in his that had the air escaping from between his parted lips. He was useless, limp in letting you drag him up as you collected Hoseok in a similar fashion, fingers wrapped around his wrist as your drug the two men down the porch steps. 

Your houses resided on the up most part of the main road, leaving the nature beyond virtually untouched to human editing aside from a few decorative flower pots curled outward from a concrete slab out your back door and a singular ceramic frog chipped at it’s right eye that Jimin had found in his own garden. Your, loose term, backyard, was much larger in comparison to his simply because the clearing was larger, more space between curved trunks of tropical trees and centuries old stands by older oaks and maples. The grass was uncut by a few passing weeks, short enough to wade through, long enough to tickle ankles, dotted in various shades of wildflowers that hadn’t been cut by sharp metal blades of machinery. Rounded petals seemed to glow in the crescent moonlight that shaded through the expanse spaces left by soft, flicking leaves.

One white flower glowing a pale blue unintentionally squished under the sole of Jimin’s shoe, resilient in the way it sprung back to half of what it’s stem height had previously been. Jimin couldn’t say the same for the way his conscious was able to recover to the feeling of your hand in his palm to the pointed grip of your fingers at his waist, situating him to a similar position you’d been in all those weeks ago in the fog of the morning dock. 

“Dancing is easy,” You were chattering but Jimin was too focused on the color lens that coated the yellow flower itching into the bone at his ankle and how it cast across the adorable determination on your features. The very thing that had him in a trance, your touch, was what broke him out of it, grip jerking him closer so that he was forced to curl a stabilizing hand around the small of your back. 

“See,” You continued, dragging Jimin messily to the side and he recovered enough to correct his stumbled step, “Watch us.”

He allowed you to lead, entertaining the newborn deer act for a few moments, purposeful in squishing your toes in one instance and in flopping his stature around in a dramatic circle to prevent you from dipping him. When you were laughing, giggling to the stars that reflected on the scattered petals below your feet, he took miniscule steps to regain your faux control, tensing his muscles, holding you tighter, swinging you to the soundtrack of grasshopper titters. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok narrated dryly when Jimin spun you in a series of particularly dizzying circles, stopping only when you collapsed against his chest from fatigue, “Looks extremely simple.”

You exchanged a glance with Jimin, one that made his heart stop to swell within the cavity of his chest underneath your palms placed at the very spot and it was more than the cool evening breeze that made him shiver when you stepped away to offer your hand to Hoseok. 

It was a process to get Hoseok to fall in step with a simple slow dance guided by the music off Jimin’s phone tossed carelessly in the grass, squashing your toes and earning playful yelps as you adjusted his position. You beamed at Jimin in each instance, joy directed at the amused man who stood a few feet off with his eyebrows raised and arms folded to his chest.

Hoseok managed to shuffle in consecutive eight counts without breaking one of your smallest appendages with the clumpy sole of his tennis shoes, going as far to attempt a dip that nearly had you crashing backward into the wildflowers, one that had Jimin rushing forward to try to brace you while your laughter just let you carry your slow descent to the grass, two amused men curled over you. 

The lesson shifted to basic steps, a jazz square (“Jazz hands?” Hoseok had peered hopefully, long fingers elongated outward as they shook slightly), simple hip rolls which he proved to be quite, in your words, lethal at. He took a liking to a viral dance craze Jimin had the misfortune of seeing on the internet a few times, combining that rigid hip swivel with equally rigid arms, moving back and forth at a speed that had Hoseok exclaiming, “Hey! This is great!”

“Maybe that’s your signature move,” You teased, bumping shoulders with Jimin. 

“Really?” Hoseok sped up the movement, red hair bouncing over his eyelashes as he glanced toward Jimin, “What’s yours?”

Jimin tried to stay neutral in tone, “Not the floss—”

He adapted something called the shoot too, something that carried his descent down the dock one morning while Jimin just grinned and prepared music in the muffled confinement of his pocket, letting Hoseok wiggle around him until you appeared, stealing Jimin’s towel and smacking Hoseok’s ass with it, ordering both of you to get to work. 

Jimin lent him a spare pair of earbuds, logging him into his Spotify account so that he could navigate through Jimin’s meticulously put together playlists, something that proved to be quite distracting when there were three figures huddled in the dim light of Jimin’s dining room and Hoseok didn’t hear each of your called inquiries until at least the fourth time, too preoccupied with a shimmy neither you nor Jimin had taught him while he mouthed along to the song, notebook pressed to his nose. 

“I want to show you something—” proceeded the encapsulation of Jimin’s knee caps with Hoseok’s hands, pulling back with a full featured grin as some vaguely familiar tune began to blare down the otherwise serene coast line. Jimin watched as his older friend added arm movements to his hip swivels, a little bit of unintentional chest too, but most importantly a smile as he executed choreography he’d came up with himself. 

He stopped short of the entire routine when they’d spotted Namjoon’s bike descending the trail, instead presenting it to you and Jimin behind the curtains of your living room.

Final nights of preparation came with less anxious staring at completed outlines, typed documents, laminated folder fronts, but more dancing, silly twirls of Jimin’s hands on your waist as your bare feet sank into the couch cushions, Hoseok declaring the coffee table as his stage to show off his increasing footwork skills (watch this turn!), not so technical reviews of desired playlists, or in other words, the ones that most definitely wouldn’t pass through the town council meeting. 

“Will any of this pass, you think?” 

It was a grossly simplistic way of expressing the worry that stirred in the pits of your stomachs but spoken calmly to Jimin one evening after Hoseok had gone home, leaving your knees curled towards Jimin’s figure on your couch. 

“I have no idea,” He tried to smile, a soft encouragement as he shifted toward you, thighs bumping your knees, “You know them better than I do. I’m just the new guy…”

“You’re pretty intuitive, ducky,” You patted his thigh, “Don’t bullshit me. What do you think?”

“I think they’ll say no,” Jimin sucked the end of his tongue between his teeth, afraid his answer was too quick until you laughed, hand still on his leg as you leaned closer. 

You didn’t speak until your cheek had subconsciously shifted to his arm, glancing up at him through smiling eyelashes that expressed so much more, just as your expressions always seemed to contradict themselves. You were an open book, intuition told Jimin, and he smiled back in hopes it would amend the sad red lingering around the iris ring. 

“Me too,” You looked away from him, one leg stretching out to nudge a particularly battered piece of notebook paper, scrawled over in Hoseok’s messy handwriting and Jimin’s incessant color coding, “I don’t want to get my hopes up it’s just...been so long—”

Jimin shifted to accommodate your figure better, tentative in the hand that slid around the small of your back and when you didn’t react, he cupped your far hip, squeezing your curled figure against his side. 

“—it’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of joy at the prospect of anything,” Your fingertips were just as hesitant in touching his stomach, gradual in expanding to lay your palm just underneath his ribs, “I...I don’t want this feeling to go away.”

He bypassed the urge to kiss your forehead by nudging his nose into your hairline, squeezing you a bit tighter. “There are only two options to what they can say, you know,” When you let out a shuddering sigh, he continued, “Yes or no.”

“Fifty fifty shot,” You muffled from below him. 

“Exactly. Worst case scenario, they say no. We ask what we can do, if anything, to alter our plans. We regroup, and try again at the next meeting,” Jimin swallowed, “Best case scenario...they say yes and we’ll throw the best damn party this town has ever seen.”

There was a prolonged silence between your mumbles of acknowledgement, paired with the slump and lull of your stature further into Jimin. “You’re right…” You slurred last, cute in the stars that shined in Jimin’s eyes. He struggled not to jostle you, snatching a quilted throw blanket from where it was neatly folded over the back of your paisley upholstery. 

He curled the blanket around your stature, gentle in dragging pillows around you to gently pry himself off of you, laying you into the tiny fort he’d constructed on your couch. He blew out the years old birthday cake scented candle on one of your end tables, flicked off the stereo system in the corner, turned out all the lights aside from the one in the threshold. A last pass by your dozing figure, adjusting the blankets until your slumbering state curled the ends into fists near your face. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Jimin soothed, palm curling down the back of your head to your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your response was muffled but his heart heard it loud and clear. 

“Goodnight, ducky.”

Jimin didn’t realize the crushing weight of your fingers curled around his, knuckles anemic, pressure borderline painful, until he let out a breath when the stocky man at the head of the front podium glanced up. His thumb did gentle work at soothing over the back of your knuckles, releasing some of the tension as you let out a similar breath, gaze set forward on the mayor, a stark black nameplate with gold engraving advertising Moon Jaejin, head of council. 

“A festival, huh?” He spoke lowly but the quirk in his eyebrow suggested he was speaking to an elementary student. Condescending.  

Your mouth parted but nothing came out, Hoseok’s admission from the other side of you affirming, “Yes, sir. A sort of revival of the seasons end festival that we...used to have.”

Namjoon shifted from his position two chairs down, uncomfortable. The mayor drew out his rhetoric this time, “You’ve spent quite the time planning this, haven’t you?” He glanced up from the purple folder Jimin had meticulously fretted over the entire morning, “In secret, I presume?”

“We’re presenting it to you now,” Jimin challenged, letting you curl a death grip on his fingers this time, “Aren’t we?”

More of the council members shifted this time. One cleared his throat. Moon laughed. 

“Ah, so it was your idea then, young man?”

Jimin set his shoulders, “It was. I’d like to continue having a job here, and by the way the season is wrapping up, it’s seeing to it that none of us down at the dock will be employed by next year.”

Nervous tittering. Nail marks crescented into his palm as you shifted forward, crouching over your knees. 

“Quite the radical claim for a newcomer,” He seemed to take pride in the way he crumpled the front of the folder as he placed it to the table, effectively crumpling the cover Hoseok had spent hours editing. “Our economy here is doing just fine, particularly after—”

“For you.”

You spoke now, chin lifting as you still hunched into yourself. 

“What was that—”

“I said,” You straightened now, letting go of Jimin’s hand to flatten a clammy palm over your thigh, “That for you, the economy is doing just fine. We’re all aware, with the new pool you just had installed.”

Moon lifted his chin higher, a challenge, “What are you suggesting, dear?”

“You must have some idea. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

There was another uncomfortable pause in the exchange, silence filled with the ruffling of papers, Namjoon’s pointed cough into the crook of his elbow, Hoseok’s fingernails clacking against the chair he sat in. And for the careful consideration the mayor took of his words, it seemed that they were in preparation to grab his nearest dagger just to slice it through your heart. 

“You, dear, of everyone should be resentful of this idea,” He smiled as he lounged into his chair, “What would your late boyfriend think of you suggesting this, hmm? Reimplementing the various vices that led to his death.”

This silence was frightening, devoid of white noise aside from Hoseok moving for you, wide eyes curled like wallpaper around the perimeter of the meeting room and it seemed to drop an octave lower when you stood, shrugging out of Hoseok who reached for you. 

“You won’t even say his name,” You quipped and the sentence relayed over again, far less confident before, wavering into something higher pitched and painful, “You won’t even say his name and yet you continue to sensationalize the tragedy to further build the mountain you’ve created for yourself over the rest of us.”

“So continue to run this town into nothing if you want. Once we’re all gone, you’ll be nothing too,” A bitter smile twitched onto your lips, one now coated in a fine layer of tears that tracked in haphazard directions down the surface of your cheeks, “but don’t you dare continue to do it in Yoongi’s name.”

Jimin found himself frozen, numb to the call of your name from Hoseok that you’d ignored, needles pining their way into the clenched nature of his muscles, faced with a shade of grave he’d never imagined to see Hoseok wearing, something that rimmed red around his eyelids too and he blinked away from Jimin’s starkly different gaze to touch the back of his wrist at his eye. 

“Gentlemen—”

A silent exchange, a question, who was going to go after you, and when Hoseok didn’t move quick enough, Jimin forced the static and stars from his eyes to flee from the building.

Polished dress shoes unpacked specifically for the occasion became scuffed in a fine layer of dust as he took the winding path at elongated strides until he essentially broke into a run. Darkness didn’t help his any of his already jumbled senses but instinct carried him to the one place he did know, dust curling into the moisture clinging to the wood from the remnants of dusk as the moon began to sigh quietly over the water. 

He heard you before he saw you, a horribly muffled sobbing noise deep within the recesses of that tiny boat at the end of the dock. He barely used the ropes and ladders designed for the very thing, uncaring with how the boat rocked with the force in which he propelled himself inside. 

You were curled into the seat at the front, a jacket held around your shoulders with a harsh fist while your latter hand was firmly clasped over your nose and lips. Jimin took his trek to you gently compared to his frantic rush from the meeting hall, toeing over each of the bench seats until he made it to the front row, balancing gently on the edge of the tattered and splintered wood. 

The ambiance of crashing waves spurred by the sighing moon continued over the sound of your sobs and Jimin’s bated breathing for a dozen or so heartbeats, your raw tone cutting into the sound of receding water away from the shore. 

“You didn’t have to come after me, ducky.”

Jimin shared a look with your eyes that cut to the side, trying to smile on one side of his face. “If I didn’t come, Hoseok was going to.”

“Hmm,” You sniffled, straightening a bit to drag the jacket sleeve underneath your nose, “Only one of you doesn’t understand that mess back there, though.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“I should have told you a long time ago,” You shrugged, “I’m just as bad as them, if you think about it.”

Jimin’s eyes rolled so far back they could have touched some of the glittering stars in the dark night, “Don’t ever compare yourself to them.”

“I don’t talk about it because it’s hard. They talk only about it because it benefits their stupid—” An unwarranted sob cut you off, ripping your spine forward to cup your palm over your mouth and Jimin surged forward this time, moving closer on his knees to rub at your shoulders. 

His soft touches curled own your spine, fingertips brushing soft patterns into the small of your back until the tremors in your shoulders subsided, allowing you to rub at your nose again. He waited until you were looking at him, cry ridden eyes reflecting the angry curl of water around the collection of boats that sat idle in the darkness. Then you smiled, pitiful but there as a short, single syllable laugh escaped, dropping your gaze again. 

“I’m a mess.”

Jimin shook his head, fingertips never ceasing. His chin dropped searching for your gaze until you managed to maintain it for a few passing, deep breaths. Then, gently, he encouraged, “Tell me about Yoongi.”

You froze but unlike previously, you began to speak almost immediately, rigid into the genuinely joyful laughter that followed. “He was everything good in the world. Seriously,” Another laugh, one that punctuated the pick of your finger into your nail bed, “Like...litters of puppies and sweet vanilla candles and fresh baked cookies. But...as a person.”

“We had been dating for three years. We were going to get out of here. Same university. Dance for me, music for Yoongi,” You laughed again, making eye contact with him now, “Dancing wasn’t really his thing. He could do it, he was great at it but he preferred the music thing. Which worked perfectly, if you think about it.”

“We were going to leave after the season ended. Work one last summer just to save up a little extra,” Jimin saw the tears well before you scrunched your eyes shut, “Wish I would have just listened to him and left early.”

A moment to collect yourself. “Anyway, it was a great season for us. Yoongi had just gotten his hands on one of the newer boats. Believe it or not, we used to have nice tourist yachts that were equipped to travel miles down the coast. A whole fleet of them,” You affectionately plucked at the worn leather you sat on, “This was his old boat.”

“He had a particularly rowdy group one evening. Not anything out of the ordinary, definitely not something him and the staff on board couldn’t handle but a distraction when there was a horrible storm approaching,” You sucked in a breath, chest expanding where Jimin’s fingers had traveled back up, still rubbing soft patterns into your jacket, “You can...uhm. You can imagine what happened…”

“They blamed it on the party that was happening on the boat. Said that if we just took people on boat rides for an hour or so, none of that would have ever happened. That the dancing and the alcohol and the atmosphere cultivated here in our little town was to blame. He wouldn’t have been as distracted without all of it and he certainly wouldn’t have been out that late...”

“Press got ahold of the story, took things out of context, didn’t have all the information. The town became deserted for more reasons than just the ridiculous executive order the mayor signed the night of Yoongi’s funeral—” You grit your teeth, “—like he deserved some sort of reward while Yoongi was—”

Jimin wrapped an arm around you then, tugging until you placed your cheek on his shoulder. His knees burned but nothing like the pelt of his heart against his ribcage. 

“That’s why I couldn’t leave. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right. I didn’t want to listen to music. I didn’t want to dance. I didn’t want to look at the dock. I just wanted my Yoongi back…”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

His hand now rubbed up and down your arm, giving into the urge to press his lips against your hairline, letting softer sobs emit out of you now until the pass of his fingers to the jacket still clutched to your person was in time with your attempt at controlling your breathing. 

“I think you would have been friends,” You said suddenly, tears shining when you peeled your cheek off his shoulder to look up at him, “...and I’m really glad you came here.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, but you cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips. “I’m really glad you’re here for a lot of reasons, but that specifically. Hoseok’s my friend but Yoongi was his best friend,” You smiled sadly, “He’s just been kind of lost for a while. It’s...refreshing to see him like this again. A little bit of me feels normal seeing Hoseok be normal.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m still going to,” Your fingertip traced from his plump bottom lip to follow the line of his flushed cheekbone, “Thank you, ducky.”

“If anything, you’ve made the whole town think again. No one has played music out loud from their front porch in years. No one has danced on the dock in years,” You blinked suddenly, “But like fuck them. You’ve made me realize a lot too.”

“Stupid little things, like bike riding is fun and viral dance trends are cheesy but most importantly—” You inhaled through your nose, “—Yoongi would fucking hate everything about what they’ve done to our town.”

“You know what he’d love, though?”

Jimin shook his head, gentle in holding your waist. 

You grinned, genuine through the tears that wreaked havoc on your features as you cupped both Jimin’s cheeks, jacket slumping off your shoulders a bit as you nodded once, a curt pout on your lips. 

“A secret festival that oozes in...how would he put this,” A loud laugh, a sound Jimin hadn’t earned the pleasure of hearing before, “fuck the system.” 

“Taehyung!”

The farmer nearly dropped the neat pyramid of tomatoes curled into his chest when you hissed his name at an elevated whisper, high steps picking your way up to one of his tents. He deposited the tomatoes first, an ungraceful roll of the produce into a nearby bin before he braced his hands on the card table, leaning over it to repeat in the exact same whisper scream, “What?” 

You stripped one lapel of your jacket back to snatch a stack of the paperclipped, neatly cut flyers. One glance over your right shoulder, a prolonged glance over your left, and then you were shoving the stack of papers to Taehyung. “Take these.”

Jimin approached then, gentle in the index finger he prodded against the side of your head. “Subtle.”

Taehyung began speaking as you whipped around to glare at Jimin, “Oh? I thought this wasn’t happening—”

“It’s not supposed to.” “You can’t tell anyone,” You added, “Just...add these into bags of tourists. And the occasional trustworthy local, I guess. Just not Namjoon. Obviously.”

He pocketed the flyers into the front pouch of his forest green apron, hidden from view. “So...then this means you’ll need my catering?”

“You’re invited as a guest first. If you’d like to take a night off and come party with us, we’ll find something us. We already had a few ideas—”

“Who says I can’t serve food and party?” Taehyung beamed, lips all geometric edges as he cupped his hands over his lips, “I’ll be there. And your secret is safe with me.”

The look the broad man that stood before Jimin cast made his joints freeze in his pocket, name tag not blurred by the yellow lensed glasses perched on the edge of Jimin’s nose as he began to stutter over nothing in particular.

Seokjin. 

“Uhh…”

“Forgive my friend,” You touched Jimin’s elbow, reaching past him to snag the stack of flyers out of his jacket to slap them down on the counter. Jimin warily regarded the reaction, watching at Seokjin’s eyes traveled down to where your palm still covered the majority of the cover art. 

“We need a favor,” Hoseok added from Jimin’s opposite side, unabashed in slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Can you help us out, Jinnie?”

Seokjin’s expression remained stoic for a fraction longer before he was breaking into a series of wheezing giggles, bending at the waist to make his tie escape from his suit jacket and dangle to the floor below. He came to seconds later, holding a hand in Jimin’s direction.

“Of course, Hobi,” He beamed once Jimin deemed it safe to accept the handshake, giving one firm squeeze, “What can I do for you guys?”

“Can you hand these out to your guests?”

The suit clad man’s lips pursed into bloomed tulip as he fiddled with the clip on the stack, lifting one paper up to his eyes to squint at the font. Realization hit after a second and he nodded, “Oh? So we are having the festival?”

“Secretly,” You nudged the flyers a little bit until Seokjin got the hint and peeled them off the top part of the hotel counter to place them down near his desktop computer, “We want you to hand these out to guests.”

“Of course,” Another bellowing laughter, full of sweet eye crescents and a gentle shape to his mouth, “...I can’t give one to Mayor Moon, right?”

Hoseok moved to snatch the flyers back when Seokjin swatted at his hand, shaking his head with that same smile on his features, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I can even give you access to our valet services here, if you like. To get people down the shore, you know...”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok grunted when you placed two hands on his shoulder blades and pushed, “They’re going to catch us. The whole thing is going to be ruined!” 

You sighed, glancing at Jimin, “Think you can self teach yourself to drive a boat in five minutes?”

He beamed, “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Hobi,” You rolled onto your toes, squishing his cheeks between your thumb and index fingers until his panicked ramblings ceased, “They’re all out of town until the morning. Namjoon is with them. No one’s going to notice. We’re only taking two boats. We’ll move the rest around so it looks like nothing is missing.”

“Will that work?” 

“You spent hours photoshopping a party hat onto a boat,” You tweaked the pliable skin of his cheeks once more, “Do you really want to go back on the boat rides promised on the flyer?”

Miserable, Hoseok moaned, “No.” 

“Good. Take Jimin and let’s get this show on the road or else someone is going to catch us.”

All traces of whiny Hoseok were gone when the pair stood on the deck of the singular yacht the boat service still owned in front of an entire panel of controls that looked entirely too daunting for Jimin to even begin to comprehend. Hoseok, on the other hand, seemed like a kid in a candy store, some sort of high pitched giggle leaving his lips as he clapped his hands, turning to a series of switches and dials as the boat began to revv to life underneath them. 

“I haven’t done anything with these in years—” 

A third voice cut him off, followed by the soft whir of something through water as your boat began to poke by in front of them. “Are the two of you coming anytime soon or are you going to let it get daytime?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, a good natured gesture as he fiddled a bit more before the boat finally began to move. “Pretty cool though…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he turned to Jimin, “Right?”

Jimin nodded, tossing his arm around his friend’s shoulders, “So cool, Hobi.”

They’d chosen the area around an abandoned dock just outside of the town limits, beach area sufficient after a little tender love and care from the help of Jeongguk and the bed of his work truck, secret for the premise but technicalities making it so the town council members would have no grounds to shut it down. Taehyung provided the tents complete with various colored fairy lights and other lighting contraptions that Jimin couldn’t quite pinpoint the names of. Seokjin provided the transportation in the form of various high school aged children and golf carts, ones that were ordered to take the route down by the beach so that the ride was enjoyable in itself. 

Food had its own designated area, homemade from Taehyung’s garden recipes, a dance floor in another area sectioned off by multicolored streamers and party decorations Hoseok had raided his attic for. Music, certainly not approved by the town ordinance, played from speakers attached to Jimin’s laptop hidden underneath a black sheet, playlist set to shuffle different on each loop. Jimin had polished the boats after they’d successfully moved them, available until the hour that darkness would completely envelope the coast, leaving them available to take food and drinks and dancing to someplace other than the wooden panels pressed deep into the sand. 

You stood shoulder to shoulder with him as cool winds curled off the early evening waves, just at the entrance to the event. Taehyung had just declared The Coastal Cabaret open for business, lifting lids of expensive cooking contraptions that sent piles of steam billowing into the corners of the light lined tents, yet Seokjin was the only one who lingered around with a glass of champagne tucked delicately between his fingers. 

“Do you think anyone will come?” You spoke finally, words wisped into the wind. 

“I hope so.”

Taehyung called after ten minutes that the food was definitely edible, earning the attention of Seokjin who could be heard uttering ridiculous moans of approval with each new thing the farmer thrust toward him on a decoration paper plate. 

“This was stupid,” You concluded twenty minutes in when the breeze had picked more clouds over, rushing the night faster than first intended. “We shouldn’t have—”

There was a chatter, a voice that didn’t belong to either of the figures already tailored to the party. Some crunching, the sound of a soft engine, and then a loud hollering could be heard as Jeongguk steered the first golf cart into a makeshift parking space in the grass. 

“Here you go, have a wonderful time,” The younger man cheered, long curls stuck to his cheeks as he beamed at you and Jimin, offering a thumbs up over the steering wheel, “I bring you guests! And there’s plenty more where that came from so I have to go—”

It was an elderly couple, not unfamiliar to Jimin. He’d seen them around town, at the convenience store on the far corner from his house, roaming the shore hand in hand while he was doing his nightly closing duties at the dock. The woman touched his arm when she grew close enough, startling him out of his recognition as she softened, “We’re awful glad you arranged this, darling.”

“Oh it wasn’t just me. Hoseok and—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, shaking your head as you absently pointed toward the spot Jeongguk had just been before leading the couple down to the tents, explaining all the way what they had to offer. At the end of your point came Hoseok in the second golf cart, a group of teenagers this time that bolted from their seats the second the machine came to a stop, bypassing any sort of explanation as they went straight for the neon lights flashing to the dance floor. 

It continued like that for what seemed like hours, golf carts guiding people in, others parking their cars in messy rows just off the street to walk their way down to the coast. The unfamiliar face was few and far between, the majority of the festival goers residents of the town. The boats barely left their place at the dock on the far end of the happenings, people too preoccupied with the music and the dance and the atmosphere they’d been deprived of for what seemed like far longer than a handful of years. 

Jimin found you at the corner of the dance floor, stance wide as you watched people crowd the small area without a care to who they were near, taking the part off into the sand where the music could still be coherent enough to make out some sort of body movement to. He touched your shoulder in greeting, coming to copy your stance. 

“Awesome, isn’t it?” He mused, fondly watching as Hoseok slithered his way to the middle and returning with a toddler in hand, hoisting her up so that her pigtails bounced and her laughter rang in time with the beats of the music. 

You nodded, awestruck in the moment but that snapped when there was a figure in your peripheral, slinking in steps, stumbling more like, in trying to be stealth but hopelessly failing. Hoseok turned with you, eyes widening as Namjoon approached with a sheepish smile. 

He took both hands from the pockets of his jacket, holding them in solace to the protective step Jimin subconsciously shifted in front of you. 

“Did they send you down here?” You questioned anyway, negating the step Jimin had taken by moving around him. 

“Yes,” Namjoon answered truthfully, but rushed to amend when your gaze flattened, “but not for the reason you think!”

“What do I think, Joon?”

The taller man shifted from foot to sandal clad foot, fists curled back into his pockets. A smile graced his features, all dimples indented into his cheeks when he chuckled. “They told me to come have fun with you guys,” Bewildered, he continued to laugh, the sound growing in comical value, “Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t—”

You placed a palm on Jimin’s chest, soft again in a way he’d previously heard you speak to Namjoon. “Go have fun, Joon,” You nodded when he made curious eye contact with you, “You deserve it.”

It wasn’t until Namjoon had vanished into the mass of bodies that you whipped around, searching for Jimin’s hand. When you retrieved it, you tugged, an answer to your question, “Want to go somewhere?”

Somewhere turned out to be the boat, the boat, clambering aboard a bit harder on the unkempt sway of the abandoned dock but you made it with Jimin’s support on your waist, your hands turning to offer him a similar service until you were both safely inside. You paused halfway to clambering to the front, where the space was certainly much bigger to maneuver, legs caught between the rows of benches. 

You blurted, “Do you want to dance?”

He obliged, swaying you in a simple circle about yourselves that was complete with a few pained knocks of your legs against the benches but it didn’t much matter in the ambiance and you adjusted quickly. Your music became the white noise of the party happening down on the beach, high hats in the music punctuated by the sounds of laughter, accents the call of Taehyung to whoever was coming to retrieve a snack, a crescendo the whir of golf carts continuing to drag in late strays, eight counts of a part of your heart that slowly began to heal within itself, emitting such an intense beam that Jimin could feel it radiating off of you the tighter he held you. 

“You’re the best thing to happen to this town in a while,” Your voice curled across Jimin’s neck, eliciting goosebumps up into the short hairs at his nape, “You know that right, ducky?”

“It was all you. I didn’t—”

“Park Jimin,” The way you quipped his full name had him startling to your gaze, finding a fond smile creeping onto your teeth just underneath tears that seemed to have already existed, “Do you know how to take a compliment?”

Softly, he answered, “Not really.”

“You have helped me though. Immensely,” Assured, you nodded, “All of us.”

Bashfully, he shrugged, pink to his cheeks harsher in the low lighting off the battery powered fairy lights Hoseok had spent hours weaving through the railing of the boat. 

“Sometimes we all need a little push.”

You cocked your head, deciding albeit reluctantly, “Something like that.”

Jimin grinned. “By the way—” He began to fumble at the back pocket of his jeans, “—what music do you want?”

You shook your head, making grabby hands at him until he took you back into his embrace, holding you close as you mumbled into his chest, “Don’t want any music... 

“...I just want to dance.”

[minaminokyoko]

The Old Guard: A (Disappointed) Spoilertastic Review

I hate 2020.

For many reasons, of course, but there is this particular nastiness it seems to have, like it’s getting revenge on us for our past and current sins.

And the Old Guard feels like part of that revenge.

I haven’t read the graphic novel, so please understand the following review is based on the film alone. I was on board with getting to see my queen and girl crush Charlize Theron kick some ass and rock that bangin’ brunette pageboy haircut that only she can and yet what this movie gave me is a raging case of 2020. This concept isn’t anything new or original, but it should have been a walk in the park. It has solid actors and a simple premise.

So why was it total bullshit?

I’m so angry. I’ve said before how certain movies feel like someone had all the ingredients to make a hot, delicious pizza and yet when they combined them, they came up with Brussel sprouts somehow. This movie is a lazy mess. It has about a handful of decent moments, but overall, it’s negligent. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t care to show you its potential. It’s just a tired, by the numbers, dull action movie that’s wasting the talent that it managed to gather together. Maybe that’s why I’m so mad. It’s clear that this could have been fantastic, but the apathy in the writing turned into a grey, flavorless bore.

Sigh. Let’s swing the ax already and get this over with.

Overall Grade: C-/D+

Spoilers ahead.

Pros:

·         I signed on for Charlize Theron and at least I got what I wanted, which was her kicking ass but still giving us a few soft moments of vulnerability. This is why I will follow this woman to the grave. Charlize Theron is one of my favorite actresses because she’s so good at showing what women are capable of as characters. She has such a wide range of acting skills, giving us a cold, bitter woman but at the same time showing hints of inner kindness and strength and love. This movie barely has many redeeming qualities, but she’s by far one of the best parts. The movie knows it, as she is the only one we really get to “know” over the course of the film.

·         Joe and Nicky are the only other characters providing any warmth or emotion in the film. It’s badly needed. I was so let down that they didn’t show Nile’s introduction to the team because, to me, I got the sense that Joe and Nicky are the heart. They seem in touch with their emotions and not as cynical and hardened by their “immortality” as Andy. They seem to still care about helping people, even at the cost of themselves, and they could have been such a strong anchor if the movie invested more time in them. Both actors are solid and believable in the roles and it’s a pity they weren’t given more to do than to be the victims who needed rescuing.

·         The action, for the most part, is solid. It’s pretty average, though. Nothing surprising. It’s the moves you’ve seen if you watched John Wick or Atomic Blonde, so keep that in mind.

·         The effects are solid, particularly for their healing factor. It’s smooth and polished looking.

·         What little bits and pieces we see between teammates is likable. They seem genuinely fond and protective of each other and it’s not in focus enough, but when it is, it’s nice.

·         The soundtrack is pretty good.

Cons:

·         Lack of explanation. Look, I get it. You don’t want to load your entire movie up with exposition, but it’s very simple and easy to pace it out. You don’t have to dump it all in one spot, or if you do, then you can simply be strategic about it. Most good movies also know how and where to integrate the exposition and story into sequences where the characters are performing an action so that you don’t notice the exposition as you have something visual to distract you and keep your attention while you’re watching the movie. The Old Guard doesn’t care about all your questions. It just thinks you should accept whatever it jams down your throat, no matter how goddamn unbelievable it is. They explain so little of what’s going on to Nile that after the halfway point, you might as well throw up your arms and forget everything you wanted to know about the group. They answer nothing at all, yet expect Nile to throw in her lot with them for however long she’ll be alive. What’s frustrating is that you have solid actors who could pull off the emotional angles of the hard decisions they chose to make as semi-immortal beings. It pisses me off that they don’t explain anything because the motivations are what make us all care about the characters. For instance, why become soldiers? No one said they had to fight for humanity, especially since they JUST heal wounds. They aren’t super fast or super strong. They could have very easily simply acquired wealth over the centuries and used that wealth to invest in things that help people. Why do they have to be fighters? Oh, right, because it’s cooler.

·         Lazy writing. The number of plotholes in this thing, due in part to lack of explanation, is stunning. I mean, it’s just so goddamn fucking lazy. It doesn’t care about its own material. It just needs to get from Point A to Point B by taking the most shortcuts possible. I can’t handle how little the movie cares about its own content. I can go point by point for laziness. We can start with how no one wanted to ask Nile ANYTHING after she came back from the dead. They just got mad and scared, but they didn’t say anything when she was still on the military base. What the actual fuck is that? And they just left her alone afterward, expecting her to follow orders? Uh, that’s not how that works. Her friends would be asking her a billion questions and the medics would have asked her even more questions than that. She wouldn’t just be walking around of her own free will, especially not in this day and age where science is obsessed with figuring out the why of humanity. They’d have kept her locked up and started examining her the second she healed the neck wound. And that’s just right off the cuff. Don’t get me started on her five second “I don’t want to march in your parade” bullshit that is just so clearly the second act breakdown moment to have the hero come back and save them in the third act schtick. How is Nile somehow calling out Andy for killing those men in the church when she was LITERALLY a Marine, who is TRAINED TO KILL BAD PEOPLE???? That made NO sense. But again, this movie doesn’t care. It doesn’t care about fucking anything. Booker’s betrayal was painfully telegraphed and it was also another plothole, as Andy has been alive for thousands of years and would have felt that the weight of her gun would be off without its ammo. She also would’ve checked her rounds before going in hot. Then there’s even smaller details, like it being broad daylight when they’re brought into that lab and then they have a shootout but there’s NO ONE on the streets when they leave, but then they leave and THEN all the people magically reappear. Go fuck yourself. This movie is an insult to average intelligence. It just expects you to open up and swallow every bit of its bullshit over and over again, squandering its own potential. It’s so infuriating.

·         Cliché placeholder dialogue. The dialogue is so unimaginative that I’m pretty sure a bot wrote it. You can tell beat for beat what’s going to happen fifteen minutes before it happens on-screen. The movie really does not think much of its audience. It doesn’t have a unique take on pretty much anything at all, which is a crying shame, really. There are plenty of juicy angles for character and action that they could have gone for and didn’t.

·         Not enough time is spent getting to know anyone except for Andy, and even she is given drive-by characterization. Nile is a huge loss. As a black woman, I am always dying to see black women in science fiction/fantasy stories because there is a severe lack of representation. I was hoping Nile would get a bigger stake in everything, but she’s just a chess piece. The movie doesn’t delve into her life, her wants, her needs, basically anything at all. They mention her family repeatedly, but they don’t go into detail to make you care and understand what a loss it is to leave them behind. It’s especially shitty when her bonding with Booker could have been a great emotional moment. Their origins line up well. She could have had conversations with him, arguing that she should be allowed to tell her family or at least say goodbye, and Booker could share his own tragic backstory with her to explain why it’s better for them to remain solitary. Then his betrayal would have hit even harder. Then Nile would have felt personally betrayed. It’s so ridiculous that there is all this set up of pain and interesting backstories that the movie just flatout ignores. Especially Quynh. Quynh ’s story will haunt me for the rest of my days, personally, but even that was left as an untied thread. It’s clear from that pompous ending that there’s either already a sequel planned or in progress, but personally, this movie let me down so hard I hope it doesn’t happen. Not unless a much better filmmaker and writing team comes along. Quynh’s untied thread is a blatant show of how they still think they deserve your time after showing you how little they care about their own material. They introduced the idea and then abandoned it without fully exploring what it meant. It’s clear that her horrible fate is painful to them all, so not giving it the adequate time to be explored is just even more insulting to the audience.

·         Lack of imagination. For instance, we have some Mark Zuckerberg-looking villain spouting the same tired dialogue from the idiot villain in the Venom movie. There also is no creativity in the action. We could have done some fun things utilizing their healing factors during fight sequences, but there’s not much to them. Just standard punches and kicks and headshots. Then there’s the boring dead wife betrayer guy who is inexplicably left alive after accusing said cartoony villain of murdering them. He has ALL the information to take to the CIA or FBI or just ANYONE IN GENERAL IN INTELLIGENCE AGENCIES and they just bop him on the head and leave him there??? This movie doesn’t have a single original thought. It’s just regurgitating other clichés from much better movies.

I wanted this to be good. I wanted a break from 2020, but it’s clear that this year is unprecedented in how terrible it can get and how it doesn’t want us to enjoy anything. I wish I didn’t have to say these things about this movie, but I do. I honestly don’t think it’s worth a watch and that people should avoid it. It’ll inevitably do well because people don’t have anything better to do, but that’s still a shame. I’m so disappointed in all its wasted potential and I always will be.

Kyo out.

[derangedangel]

❤️❤️❤️ - Scott, Derek, & Stiles

Summary: Three mini love imagines about Scott McCall, Derek Hale, & Stilies Stilinski (emoji title because I didn’t know what to call it)

Word Count: 3,018

Author’s Note: I had the idea for this last month when I was coming up with Valentine’s Day captions for my job’s social media pages. I tried to keep them short but... also, on Valentine’s Day it’ll be two years since I started posting imagines AND this is my 50th post. Yay me!

And this where my masterlist would go if Tumblr wasn’t buggin about links

love 

/ləv/

noun

1.an intense feeling of deep affection."babies fill parents with feelings of love"synonyms:deep affection, fondness, tenderness, warmth, intimacy, attachment, endearment;More

.a great interest and pleasure in something."his love for football"synonyms:liking, weakness, partiality, bent, leaning, proclivity, inclination, disposition

verb

1.feel a deep romantic or sexual attachment to (someone)."do you love me?" synonyms:be in love with, be infatuated with, be smitten with, be besotted with, be passionate about

"He was Christmas morning, crimson fireworks, and birthday wishes." — Raquel Franco 

Before you even started dating Scott McCall, you knew he was perfect. He was what poems were written about. The type of guy Taylor Swift would fawn over in one of her songs when she was still considered a country artist. Cool lemonade on a hot day in the middle of July. He was... everything. 

Scott and you were friends because both your moms worked at the hospital in the emergency room together. After Scott’s dad left and Melissa had to start working double shifts, Scott would spend a lot of time at your house. Your dad would cook you both dinner and make sure all your homework was done, before Melissa would come over bone tired to take him home. 

There was a time in middle school where your aunt flow decided to make her first visit on your birthday, so your mom let you stay home from school. Of course, Scott texted you to make sure you were alright. You told him you were sick and staying home for the day, but you would be back tomorrow. Around 4 o’clock that evening, Scott McCall showed up to your house with balloons and a gift just for you. You were so shocked when your mom brought Scott to your room, the balloons hardly fitting through the door and Scott’s crooked jaw smile shining brightly. Scott spent the rest of the evening with you and your family. Your mom made your favorite food and bought your favorite cake. After you blew out your candles and looked around at all the people who loved you, your smile grew bigger at the sight of Scott.

Another time during Christmas, Scott’s mom was working the night shift on Christmas Eve. He was going to spend the night at your place, then his mom was going to come over in the morning after work and open presents with your family. You were super excited that Christmas because you got your mom a crystal figurine you accidently broke the year before. The only issue was you somehow broke it again and were gift-less for your mom. The store you bought the gift from didn’t have anymore. You told Scott about your problem a few days before and he went with you to find a new gift for your mom.

When Christmas morning came, you and Scott eagerly waited for Melissa to get off work and come over. You and Scott being the youngest go to open your presents first. You were thirteen and the magic of Santa was gone, but you still got a good amount of gifts. After, your parents exchanged gifts and Scott gave his mom hers. You knew your mom would like the gift you got her, but you felt bad for breaking her crystal figuring for a second time and she didn’t even know it.

“Y/N,” Scott said elbowing you in your side. “Don’t forget your gift for your mom.”

You crawled closer to the tree and reached for the spot where you put her gift, but the gift you wrapped wasn’t there. The card on the gift that was in its place was the same, but the wrapping was different. You looked at Scott confused but he waved his hands for you to give your mom the gift.

Her mouth dropped when she opened it. It was the crystal figurine you wanted to get her. You looked quickly at Scott knowing he had something to do with it from the slightly off wrapping, but you didn’t say anything yet. When it was just the two of you, he explained how he looked everywhere for the gift with his mom. You hugged him so tight, you pushed all the air out his lungs and he needed a puff of his inhaler afterwards. You had no idea how you got so lucky to have a friend like Scott.  

On the fourth of July your senior year, you and your friends decided to drive to the beach to celebrate. It felt like during the summer all the supernatural occurrences were taking a break just like you all were from school. The pack thought it would be alright to leave Beacon Hills for the day. All your beach towels and chairs were set up to give you guys your own little area. The cooler was packed to the brim with water and sodas. Lydia had her music playing from her portable speaker. Stiles had a mini grill with him, which you and Scott didn’t think was safe or legal for the beach. The day was perfect... well, except for the mini fire that Stiles started but thank God the beach patrol didn’t see it. 

At the end of the day, your fingers were all pruned up and you were stuffed with burgers and ice cream. The fireworks were going to shoot up from off the pier that was nearby. Malia was burring Liam in the sand with Mason. Lydia was cuddled up with Stiles in a beach chair. Scott and you were sitting in the sand while you buried and unburied your feet. 

“You wanna go for a walk,” Scott asked you.

You dusted the sand off your legs and stood up. The two of you started walking in the opposite direction of the pier since it was more crowded the closer you got. 

“I’ve got some really good news I just found out the other day, and I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you,” you said after the two of you walked for a few minutes.

“What is it,” Scott asked.

You were biting back the huge smile that wanted to take over your face. “I got off the wait list,” you said as calmly as you could muster. So calmly, Scott didn’t fully realize what you meant. “Scott, did you hear me? I got off the wait list,” you said louder.

It clicked in Scott’s head what you meant and he repeated what you said back to you. “You got off the wait list.” He grin spread wide across his face as he threw his arms around you and picked you up. “Oh my God, Y/N, that’s great!”

“I know! We’re going to the same college.”

Scott put you down but your arms were still on his shoulders and his around your waist. “Why did you wait to tell me?”

“I only found out a few days ago. I had to take it all in first. I didn’t believe it when I got the email.”

“Wow…,” Scott sighed looking down at you. “This is going to be amazing. I get to go to college with my best friend.”

“I know right,” you replied. Your teeth were shining like they were in a Colgate commercial and Scott’s mirrored yours right back.

Suddenly, you both heard a loud booming noise from behind you. Both of you turned your heads and saw the bright fireworks exploding over the ocean. You turned your head back to look at Scott, but he was already staring at you.

“This is amazing,” you said softly talking about the fireworks and the moment in general.

“It is,” Scott said in the same soft voice you used. You could see the sapphire, indigo, and crimson light up Scott’s chocolate eyes. Slowly, the two of you leaned into each other. Your hand slid up to his neck pulling him in. Both of you were hesitant, but you both wanted the kiss just as much as the other. Scott’s lips were better than you imagined when they finally touched yours. They were soft from all the SPF 25 Chapstick he had been applying all day. His breath was surpassingly minty despite the large amount of barbeque you saw him scarf down earlier. Scott’s arms tightened around your waist without pulling you too tightly stopping you from over analyzing every detail of the kiss.

The fireworks were still exploding overhead when you pulled away. You were at a loss for words. You just kissed your best friend.

“I’ve heard of seeing fireworks when you kiss, but… wow,” Scott said causing you to giggle as you laid your head on his chest. Freshman year of college just got a little more complicated, but Scott McCall was the perfect kind of complication.

"The real lover is the man that can thrill you by kissing your forehead." — Marilyn Monroe 

To everyone else, Derek Hale was the brooding werewolf with the tragic backstory. The troubled loner. Not to you. To you, he was sweet and caring. The two of you weren’t really together. Just friends who both wanted a little more. You were waiting for Derek to ask you on a date, and Derek was waiting for... the right time. There was always a supernatural issue in Beacon Hills, so to him, it was never a right time. 

You were sitting on the couch in your apartment watching Derek grab his belongings before he headed out. Derek stopped by when you told him you cooked way too much five cheese rigatoni. He didn’t normally get a lot of high quality home cooked meals at his loft, so he was quick to come over and fill up on your food. 

“I’ll see you later,” Derek said right before he kissed your forehead. The butterflies in your stomach rumbled a mile a minute from the simple jester. You didn’t understand it. Derek was a werewolf. You know he hears your heart rate speed up when he does things like that, or smells your chemosignals. Unless he doesn’t like you like that. You brain started to panic. Were you making up the shared feelings you thought were between you and Derek.

“Y/N,” Derek said staring down at you. Somewhere between all your overthinking, he walked back to you and was now standing in front of you. “Are you okay?”

“Oh umm...” you said fidgeting in your spot. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“Are you sure? You kind of went somewhere else for a minute, and I could smell the anxiousness on you.”

“Do you like me,” you asked suddenly looking up at him. You didn’t know where that burst of confidence came from but you couldn’t deal with all this will he won’t he tension anymore. “I mean like, as more than a friend.”

Derek’s eyes grew in shock as he moved back a little. “Y/N,” he said awkwardly as he was at a loss of words. “I- you’re my best friend-”

You quickly cut him off. “That’s not what I asked Derek. It’s a simple yes or no answer,” you said getting more nervous by the second which was making your response come out a little cranky. 

“Why are you suddenly asking me this,” Derek asked avoiding responding. He wasn’t sure why though. Of course he liked you. He was half way in love with you if he was being honest with himself. 

“You’re avoiding the question, Derek,” you said as you readjusted yourself on the couch, placing a pillow in front of yourself as some sort of protective barrier. “But if you must know, it because I know you know that I like you. You’re a werewolf, damn it! I just felt my heart pounding in my chest from when you kissed my forehead. I’m tired of ignoring my feelings or waiting for you to say something when you’re obviously not going to.”

“I was waiting-”

“For what,” you asked, the creases in your forehead getting bigger as you got more annoyed.

“For the right moment,” Derek yelled back at you tired of you interrupting him. “I’m a werewolf, Y/N. There’s always something or someone trying to kill me and I hate that you’re already involved in my mess as much as you are.” 

Derek cooled down the more he talked. He sat down next to you on the couch and your shoulders slumped while you began to fiddle with the edge of the pillow in your lap.

“I just wanted everything to be normal, or at least as normal as it could get for me,” Derek continued rubbing the back of his neck. 

“But fighting for your life is normal for you,” you pointed out.

“I don’t want it to be though. And I don’t want that for you. I don’t want to risk your life, because another werewolf wants to get to me.”

“We’re best friends, they would probably already do that,” you argued.

“I’m not going to put you at risk,” Derek said, his mind already made up.

“I’m already at risk,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “This is Beacon Hills,” you said gesturing around your apartment.

Derek sighed defeated in this debate he was having with you. The both of you were stubborn and had valid points but wouldn’t let up.

“Derek,” you said softly placing your hand on his forearm. “At the rate we’re going, if you wait til Beacon Hills is safe and doesn’t need protecting anymore, I’ll be waiting forever for you to make a move.”

Derek’s lips pulled tight into a straight line as he took in what you said. He was staring across the room instead of making eye contact with you.

“You’re right,” Derek agreed.

“What,” you asked not sure if you heard him right. You tilted your head trying to see the expression on his face better.

“You’re right,” Derek repeated looking at you now. “There’s always something going on here, or someone after me. If I want to be with you, then I should be with you.”

“Wait... are you serious,” you asked confused while you squinted your eyes at him. “My little speech actually worked?”

“Yeah,” Derek said chuckling. 

Your lips grew into a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t actually think that would work. You’re pretty stubborn when you think you know what’s right.”

“I’m going to attempt to not take offence to that.”

The lines around your eyes crinkled more as your smile grew bigger. “You can take it however you want as long as you take me out on Friday night.”

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. ― Jane Austen"

For some reason, you and your boyfriend Stiles were in a debate about who loved who first. He insisted he fell for you in the sixth grade before the two of you even started dating, but you argued at 12, he couldn’t possibly know what love was. Those were just puberty hormones. 

You were convinced you knew on your second date. He was going on and on about how Star Wars was better than Star Trek, and you thought you could listen to that boy blabber all day. 

Then you remembered it. It may not have been the exact moment, but it was probably the one that started all the others. 

“The third grade,” you said out of nowhere.

“What,” Stiles asked confused.

“It was the third grade,” you said getting up from the floor of your bedroom where you and Stiles were sitting and went over to your closet. You grabbed an old shoe box from the top shelf and sat back next down to Stiles with your legs crossed.

“In the third grade,” you continued, “on Valentine’s Day you gave me a card.” 

“I gave everyone cards, it was Valentine’s Day,” Stiles said. He was laying on his back before, but he rolled over to give you his full attention now. 

“Don’t be a smartass, I’m going somewhere with this.”

“Okay. Okay. Sorry, babe. Continue,” Stiles said gesturing to the box on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Anyway, you gave me a card with a poem on it. And I knew then and there, we were going to be together.”

“You knew that from a Valentine’s card written by a nine year old?”

“Don’t down play yourself, love. You may babble and get off topic now, but you had a way with words then.” You finally found what you were looking for in the box. “Ah, see,” you said handing the card to Stiles.

“You kept this,” Stiles asked looking at you in awe. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged smiling back at him. “That was the most genuine Valentine’s Card I had ever gotten. I just remember still being embarrassed from that history assignment we had to do it class. It wasn’t much because we were in the third grade, but everyone laughed at me and I was so self-conscious after that. But what you said in that card made me feel so much better.”

Stiles looked down at the handmade card. “I sort of remember making this. My dad was supposed to take me to the store to get some cards, but he was so stressed with work he forgot. I had to make them all by hand the night before.”

“And of course you did Star Wars themed ones,” you giggled taking the card back from him. You fiddled with the card in between your figures admiring his childhood handiwork. 

Stiles just watched you stare down at the card he made you all those years ago. Maybe it was sort of a cliche unrealistic love story. Not many people could say they met the love of their life in elementary school and got together in high school.  

“I love you,” Stiles said in a soft tone, his gaze leaving the card in your hands and landing back on your eyes.

You smiled lazily at him. No matter how many times you heard him say those words, they would never get old. “I love you, too.”

You edged closer to him, leaning down as he reached up and pressed his lips against your gently. It was a short kiss that wasn’t planning on turning into anything else. But the moment was definitely ruined when blew a raspberry into his mouth then cracked up laughing. 

“Real mature, Y/N,” Stiles said annoyed but still smiling at you ruining the moment. 

[keladara]

Fireheart Wedding Ceremony

Approaching the front of a large and excessive estate, one would notice the split from the main path that would lead around the side and to the back of the house. Up the main walkway was drapery of red and gold, but on this makeshift guide the drapery was a warm orange and yellow. This path would lead the guests past a massive pool and into the back gardens which were dressed and prepared for the ceremony. The patch of garden squared off seemed like it would fit the exact number of guests in attendance and hardly more. The same drapery was present over the ceremony area and, once entered, it was obvious of the enchantment: this sun-soaked patch was cooler than the path just prior to it. At the front of the ceremonial area, guests were being greeted by Ignitheus and Calithiëia Fireheart, as well as Faehdrel and Tasen Kela’dar. As the guests exited this greeting various drinks were offered by the servants. Various lemonades, alcoholic mixers, a couple of harder options and simply water. While the ceremony was the shortest part of it and surely the area in which it was hosted in was enchanted, it was still warm outside. By 10:30, all guests were present and both families moved to finish helping or to simply get in position.

At 11 on the dot, the Bishop Kela’dar, the groom and best man Etherious Fireheart, entered from a right hand entrance and took their positions at or beside the altar, followed then by the groomsmen Thanalos and Zan’themos, and finally the remaining Firehearts, Calithieia and Mysterica. After all of the groom’s party was settled, a young blonde mage led the Bridesmaid to the place on the left side of the altar; in order of further from the altar to closest was Dyandre Silentveil, Yeonna Snowhoof, Velatrois Verdeaux and finally Velanna Emberhearth. After them, Jovida Kela’dar strode in gracefully but quietly as the Maid of Honor and in her wake, orange lily blossoms floated down onto the aisle, and as she took her place, Melvaen Kela’dar followed in as ring bearer who took his place near the Best Man. After a pause, the bridal march started up and the guests were given a moment to rise before the bride entered, right arm linked with her mother’s left and with her mother’s hand atop her own. The Kela’dars bowed their heads briefly, knowing more personally of the tragic loss of Sahae’themar Kela’dar, the bride’s father, in the summer of last year. They walked to the first row of chairs, where the families of the engaged sat primarily. Lord Rai’themar Kela’dar and his fiance Lady Cassia Bloodwing were on the further end of the Kela’dar side with Xanadice and Tasen Kela’dar between them and the seats reserved for the former Highlady and late Highlord. On the right, both aisle chairs were left vacant in honor of the late Highlord Astarius and Highlady Aneleya Fireheart and then proceeded in order of oldest to youngest Firehearts who were not of the bridal party.

It was now that the music was halted and the Bishop Kela’dar spoke up, “Who gives the bride?”

“I do,” Faehdrel spoke up, voice wavering briefly. She beamed as Ignitheus stepped down to meet them. Faehdrel gave Aeleda one last hug before shaking Ignitheus’s hand; she’d then take Aeleda’s right hand and guide it to Ignitheus’ left before lifting Aeleda’s veil and allowing them to walk up to the altar as she seated herself next to Tasen.

“Thank you, please be seated,” the Bishop asked of the guests. “Firstly, thank you all for being in attendance of this summer festivity, I know many of us have evening plans, so hopefully we’ll be done in time for everyone to be where they need to be in time! Secondly, happy solstice! Who would’ve thought that two pyromancers would want to get married at noon on the summer solstice.” The Bishop mouthed ‘me’ very comically and pointed at himself, receiving a small chuckle from the guests for his efforts. “This is about the time that the officatior, in this case me, would share their thoughts and opinions of marriage, but I think we’ll hear enough of my voice today. Briefly, I suppose I could remark that marriage is not for everyone, nor is any sort of serious relationship, but I could not be happier for the bride and groom to have found each other and to have fulfilled such crucial roles in each other’s lives. I know the bride often yearned for marriage for the wrong reasons and it brings me joy to know she happened upon it out of love.” The eldest siblings shared a brief smile and Cay’den clapped Ignitheus on the shoulder, giving him a small squeeze before continuing on. “It is at this time that we will observe the exchanging of vows. Do you have them prepared?” Both parties nodded. “If you will, then, sir groom.”

Ignitheus cleared his throat and turned to Aeleda,

“From the moment our paths crossed,

You’ve surprised me,

Distracted me,

Captivated me,

And approached in such blunt force that no one ever has.

I’ve fallen in love with you again and again,

Countless times, without reservation,

What should not be, for Chaos and Order to intertwine,

Such a thing left any to question,

I still can’t believe that today I get to marry my best friend.

I promise to be true to you,

To be sure your spark doesn’t extinguish,

To frustrate and challenge you,

And to share with you the beautiful moments of this life.

Someday, when the stars align, I might even let you win an argument.

No matter what trials we encounter together or how much time has passed,

I know you will be by my side,

If not my side then in my heart,

That we will kindle our fires in one another,

And we will continue to burn alight side by side.

I believe in the truth of what we are,

And I will love you always,

With every flicker of my flame.”

Aeleda’s eyes glowed with such pure love and affection for him, but she managed her tears; her mother, not so much, and Aeleda offered her a bright smile and small giggle.

“When we met for the first time, I could not sate my curiosity long enough to avoid questioning you and the easiest way to throw a quiet person off guard is to be blunt,” she giggled a bit at the end of that, a sound that was echoed by Igni and many of the guests. “I had asked little of you and then made myself clear on my intentions. I’d asked you… “Sexuality, preference, status?” and you thought yourself clever by asking me to answer first; it was apparent, even without seeing your expression, you didn’t expect me to actually answer my own question, but I’m glad it worked. It’s been a long journey and it tickles me to know that my bluntness will never cease to amaze you or entice you. We’ve been through more than many people would think, having been together through much of this war, and I know that I can, would, and will trust my life and everything in your hands for as long as we are together. There’s absolutely no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with because of the unconditional love and support you’ve shown me through my troubled times. I love you more than I can ever express, my dear bonfire.” She gently dabbed tears off her cheek and giggled again when Igni offered his help, smiling.

The two exchanged another smile before taking each other’s hands and allowing the Bishop to speak after their vows. “I stand before this couple this day to unite them in the bonds of matrimony. If anyone present believes that two individuals should not be lawfully wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The peace was held. He turned to Ignitheus, “Do you, Ignitheus Astarius Fireheart, take this woman, Aeleda Tyonia Kela’dar, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Ignitheus answered.

“And do you, Aeleda Tyonia Kela’dar, take this man, Ignitheus Astarius Fireheart, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?"

“I do,” Aeleda answers, beaming at her beloved.

The Bishop offered a slight smile before continuing, “Ringbearer, please present the rings so that they may exchange a token of their unity.” Melvaen stepped up to the altar, offering the rings and allowing Ignitheus to take Aeleda’s ring and sliding it onto her left hand ring finger and then allowing her to do the same for him. “It is with my pleasure that I pronounce you as husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” With both grinning from ear to ear, the newly wed couple exchanged a short, chaste kiss as the guests rose with cheers and shouts.

The Bishop, smiling himself, then gestured for the guests to return to their seats. “Before we exit and enjoy the reception, the Fireheart couple has decided to perform a unity ceremony. Miss Calithiëia, if you would please present them with their candles.” She rose and offered both bride and groom a lone candle as the Bishop took up an oil lamp of his own and allowed it to levitate in front of him.

“Please, light your candles and allow me to speak before you join together in lighting this lamp.” Both pyromancers, they smirked at one another before lighting their candles simply. “Fire is what brought you two together, as it brings many of us together. We may gather around a campfire and share stories, enjoy a flame cooked snack and revel each other’s company. Fire is what brought you, oddly enough, in and out of dark times, like a torch doused and lit once more to lead a group out of the catacombs. Physical fire, or magical fire for that matter, may not keep you together forever, but the flames of love tended within your hearts by your partner will only continue to grow. It is on this day that these two fires no longer have to travel alone and be separate, but may now journey together, guiding each other through dark times. It is on this day that two fires, become one.” On queue, they both took their candles to the oil lamp and lit it before blowing out their own candles; the scenery darkened to mimic the night and visible only was the single flame of the oil lamp. The scenery returned to its near-noon brightness and the oil lamp was dismissed magically.

“I now present to you, Mister and Missus Ignitheus Fireheart! Thank you all, once again, for joining us for this ceremony. Once the cake is cut and the gifts presented, those who need to be elsewhere sooner rather than later, may do so,” the Bishop finished before the bride hooked her arm around Ignitheus’ and they exited, followed by Melvaen, the Best Man and Maid of Honor and the remaining bridal party: [names]. And finally, Faehdrel, Mystearica and the remaining family of the newlyweds. It was then that the guests were dismissed to the reception.

[meandmyechoes]

I'm SO Angry about Joran's finale

Look, I knew where I was heading, and I'm not even upset I invested a month's time to what any seasoned viewer can sniff a "14 and edgy" show. But boy, am I so ANGRY over something I haven't in a while (Giselle face)

Tell me why a show starts with four women in the cast somehow lets the only male character steals the spotlight in its own finale?

Who even is the fucking main character at this point. I'm so sorry Yuki and Rinko, they did you so dirty. The cool sword fight isn't even cooler than episode one. With a little thought, I do understand the narrative weight of Yuki confronting her family's killer(s), (and I think her explanation about closing the book is sound in her defense, albeit my disagreement), but the duel does not convey emotional weight. You either talk it out or fight it out and what we see, is someone who was fighting Wolverine bare-fisted last week, lost, in her transformed state. And these people essentially just, die?, to avoid therapy. I can excuse Sawa reserving fighting Jin since she still wants answers from him and she's been shown having a soft heart, but how do you explain her ebbing power level? Can't she beat Jin, talked it out, and agreed to let him go/him slipping away after an emotional revelation? AGENCY.

Kuzuhara Jin. I don't mind his story. But um… he's also the only character that had an entire episode of backstory, hmmm wonder why that is. I obviously do not pity him, or hold particular high praise for his tragic backstory. It was alright, it was believable, for his later actions as well. And I know I see relationships not default as romance unlike most outside people, but i'm not the only one a little lost on what he feels for Sawa. To me it's very simple, he sees Sawa as a vessel for his guilt and redemption. After the backstory, we have confirmation he does care for her as to repay her mother's kindness. And I think that would've been enough. Showing Jin more fatherly with Sawa would've been a nice echo with Sawa and Asahi, and clear up the confusion caused by ep9 where some sre led to believe he has romantic feelings for her. Therefore, I def. think his confession about Sawa's mother is an overkill. Like, we get that from the flashbacks, but it's still pretty iffy to hear it.

I'm already think of rewrites before I can even finish shouting about what's bad. I think in the original timeline where Sawa's brought to the Palace, had a brief alliance with Jim to take down Yoshinobu, then duels Jin for the truth and dies im her arms would've made me less angry, even though that's the most "traditional" route you can think of. In every arc she fights a big bad and in the last, cumulative masterpiece of a finale she just… dies? And Boy, there's isn't even a close-up of her beautiful face while the hopeful dialogue tortures the audience.

It doesn't make no fucking sense that Sawa died. And it doesn't make no fucking sense Rinko literally backstabbed her. It wasn't even a heroic departure. Rinko doesn't have enough personal beef to kill her which just make her seem petty and insensible. They wasted Rinko as a villain and tgey wadted a friends-to-enemies arc for her.

First off, Sawa didn't get the big hero vs boss fight; then she dies without a close-up for cinematics and— after all these hardships she still didn't get to live?? Also like, didn't you show her supernatrural healing abilities in ep 1??? She knows that right? Why doesn't she run straight to a doctor? (okay the stab would was probably more gruesome than shown given it's Rinko and she knew her time is running out so she'd rather stay with Asahi—) Even Jin, your big male saviour, asked her to live, and the show decides to kill her off?? What kind of lesson is it supposed to deliver? "Life is unpredictable" or "Finish the job or they'll finish you"? Do you just like negating your own characters??

I think it'd be better if Arc 2 and 3 switch places if they are to stay within a similar amount of plot. They could've introduced Rinko earlier and really give her the narrative foil antagonist (and duel) she deserves as man-made/orders/past vs Sawa's nature/choice/future. Heck might as well push back the Janome plot by two episodes, show more Nue's Angels bonding to warrant why Tsuki earns a namesake in Hana's daughter. (And please dwell into his/her queerness, and make his fall more convincing)

I wishfully wished Hana would fight but I know it's a long shot. At least she didn't die. Or so I thought. I can't help but read the reason her daughter is travelling with Asahi is because she and his cheerful editor husband are both murdered - while Sawatsuki is so young that their death doesn't seem to bother her? I fucking hate that implication, but I wouldn't be surprised if THIS show pulled this on us.

Are they suggesting Asahi is gonna become the new executioner or at least, seek revenge for her sister? Let's put aside if and how she finds out who murders her. But Why. Not why would Asahi want to avenge her sister, but why would you take a character established by hope and second chance, to take on an old path? To be haunted by the same ghost her sister suffered for a decade?

Why does the show decides "history repeats itself" is a good message to send? That one should always be confined by the past and revenge is the only way to seek solace? That a cycle of violence is "cooler" than recovery and honouring a loved one's legacy positively?

I called Asahi obtaining blue blood weeks ago, because they have to show her inheriting Sawa's legacy one way or another, and this is the simplest way. But like you could have the blue blood doing positive change?! Like rebuilding the Karasumori village to take in orphans?? The blue blood helping "find dragon veins" to sustain their own economy if we so follow thy own setting? I'm just, at a loss by the end of an episode. Granted, the epilogue is pretty open-ended to me, and it's obvious teasing the stage play. Objectively its sale and popularity in no way gurantees a second season, and I'm not sure what story they can tell either.

This show, is beautifully drawn, and beautifully orchestrated, yet it fell short in throwing in every wow factor a teenager's "edgy" debut story would have to pass for hooking the audience interest. They need to learn how to edit. I'd like it better if the scale just draws in a little and flesh out a personal story. In the end, I'm more disappointed in its lost potential if only it was handled more sophisticatedly than I can be bothered by how they did the characters dirty.

[lissadiane]

Penny and Dime, a gratuitous self-rec

Watched The Punisher? Craving some Derek and Stiles Punisher Action? Look no farther! 

Hello, friends. In honor of having watched The Punisher on Netflix, and mainly because this is my FAVOURITE Teen Wolf fic that I’ve written, and it’s tragically underappreciated (I get super excited on the odd occasion in which it gets a Kudo), I present: Penny and Dime, a gratuitous self-rec.

Penny and Dime

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinkski

Summary: After the loss of his last surviving family member and his alpha, Derek Hale goes on a quest for vengeance, systematically destroying every Argent hunter who had anything to do with her death, or the death of the rest of his family 15 years ago. The Hunters want him dead, the sheriff's department wants him brought to justice, Beacon Hills' resident superhero vigilante the True Alpha wants him stopped, and only Stiles Stilinski, Private Investigator, is interested in the reasons behind Derek's murderous rampage.A Punisher AU.

Rating: M

Word count: Like, just over 24,000-ish.

Reason why you should read it? I was proud enough of it that, after it was done, I sent the link to my BROTHER. My “I’m so much cooler than you, you have always been an awkward and unloveable peasant” brother, and he actually read it. He said it was “pretty good, but the romance sort of came out of nowhere.” Uh, no it didn’t. Okay, maybe it was less built up than it should have been, but in my defense, I was busy trying to figure out how to get Derek off the hook for having murdered so many people, okay? I didn’t have time for wooing! Anyway, on the upside, I have never forgotten those words of wisdom and now always put just a little bit more effort into building them up, on the off chance that my brother ever says, “Hey there, written any more Sterek lately?”

It hasn’t happened yet. But just in case.

Read Penny and Dime here! It has no baby goats, no kids, no ghost dogs or a/b/o or fae, but... like. It’s still fun. I think. I mean, I had fun writing it, so...

[hueydunbar]

Perdon me but ... That Fresh/hot of da grill/cheese’d n greased to perfection burger/that cold bottle/glistenin’wit droplets/fresh open’d from da cooler.... In ur backyard, that plate of food and drink/ you just handed to one of ur Family, one of your friends. Imagine for a second that as you hand it over, that person so dear to you were to disappear. The plate’n beer falls... Imagine remembering, it all coming back in a flash of how that person is no longer here with you, after having been such an important part of your life, that you forget that they are gone while doing the little things like handing over food during a bbq. Imagine instead for a moment, that it’s not the names Floyd , Taylor or Rice and Guillen but your Uncle, your Sister , your Son. Know that right now, today, all day and everyday after, real people are suffering that very real and very tragic loss. #Empathy can lead one to respect and understand the similarities of ones own “enemies” and diminish that ignorance. That Ignorant fear of a culture so rich, can eventually be replaced with #Respect in accepting our human similarities: Our Laughter , Our Love, our own Selves. #Justice #HappyJuly4th #Boppers , Enjoy those close to you but please leave a lil room ... #Repost @theshowmustbepaused https://www.instagram.com/p/CCO-EH6hg1Q/?igshid=19qhshzkas9bl

[dpinoycosmonaut]

BIGGER IN DEATH

by Bert A. Ramirez / February 02, 2020               

The shocking, tragic passing of Kobe Bryant last January 26 in a helicopter crash that also killed his 13-year-old daughter Gianna and seven others generated an outpouring of grief, anguish, sympathy and pathos worldwide the likes of which might have never been seen before.  Why, even my own daughter Tintin, previously so casual, if not apathetic, towards my love for basketball, suddenly became involved herself, posting even more material in the family chat group than I did.

               Obviously, the way Kobe died along with his daughter and the rest of their companions had something to do with such a universal reaction.  It was a case of being gone at a remarkably young age (41) that isn’t even approached by the death of another legend, pop music and entertainment icon Michael Jackson, as Kobe died in such a cruel manner while Jackson, whose own demise at 50 shocked the world in 2009, died of a natural cause, albeit induced by an external factor.

               What made Bryant’s death oh-so-tragic is the fact that he was just about beginning a second act just after a remarkable career that made him a pop culture icon in the mold of Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Lionel Messi and Roger Federer or Rafael Nadal, to name just a few sports figures who have reached iconic stature in this age of the Internet.

               “Kobe was a legend on the court and just getting started in what would have been just as meaningful a second act,” former US President Barack Obama, himself an avid basketball fan, said.

               “To think that Kobe was at the peak of his life, retired from basketball but capable of taking care of his family and doing charitable works with all the resources he had, is something anyone cannot comprehend with this tragic life ending,” my own brother Tony, a passionate basketball fan like me, told our Celtics chat group.

               “Oh man.  This is just so sad!” Ryan Mercado of the same Celtics chat group exclaimed.  “Kobe is not only a loss to basketball but he was an icon, an ambassador and a humanitarian as well.”

               “A true legend in the game of basketball and an inspiration to the world,” baseball great Barry Bonds tweeted of his friend as he mourned his passing and that of his young girl.

               “I guess sports fans all over the world are devastated by the tragic loss of a transcendent figure and his daughter,” my own kumpare and fellow roundball enthusiast Erick Reyes said.  “Kobe always played the old-fashioned way.  He didn't demand for (star) teammates.  He always believed that he could carry the team by being a good role model.  He played injured, didn't go for load management.  He didn't bring his talent elsewhere and could have won many more championships.  Instead, in the tradition of the greats like Jerry West, Elgin Baylor, and others who wore that purple-and-gold uniform, Kobe stayed with the Lakers until he retired.

               “I was in Negros when Kobe played his final game in the NBA.  I watched the game while having lunch and I thought this was one of the emotional farewell games.  Instead, we were treated to a feast.  He scored 60 points and led the Lakers to a 101-96 victory over the Utah Jazz.  That is Kobe for you.  He wanted the ball till the end.”

               Indeed, what made Kobe Bryant different from his peers was the way he approached his commitment to his sport and his profession, spawning what eventually became known as “mamba mentality” (in reference to his nickname “Black Mamba”), a kind of work ethic and passion that simply prescribes how one should approach an endeavor in order to be successful.

               “There was nothing inauthentic about Bryant’s intensity,” Bryan Armen Graham of The Guardian wrote in explaining Kobe’s commitment and approach to his job as a pro athlete.  “He was probably the hardest worker in sports. Often it is supporting players who are praised for getting the very most out of their talent, but Bryant was an example of a supremely gifted athlete hell-bent on squeezing every last drop from his natural gifts, propelled by a maniacal competitive streak that wouldn’t have been out of place on Wall Street in the ‘80s and often led to flare-ups with cooler-tempered teammates, most infamously with Shaq (O’Neal).

               “He appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated no fewer than 20 times (when such appearances still mattered) and became one of the rare sporting figures to genuinely transcend the sports pages in the US and become a household name.  His international popularity may have even exceeded his standing at home as he became a crucial figure in elevating the sport’s global profile.  Michael Phelps may have won a record eight gold medals at the (2008) Beijing Olympics, but Kobe was the star of those Games on the ground.”

               Kobe had game, all right, but this goes far more than his basketball stature. He was viewed as an inspirational figure who after his retirement became one of the greatest ambassadors of the game, if he still wasn’t one as an active professional.  As Kobe himself remarked, “The most important thing is to try and inspire people so that they can be great at whatever they want to do.”

               This is why even the staunchest Celtics fans like me cried (secretly of course) when I learned about Kobe’s and his companions’ tragic death.  Bryant, I told a friend who had met him personally in his basketball academy in Los Angeles, was one of my most hated rivals because of my lifelong affinity with the Celtics, but the tragedy that befell him and the rest of his companions that included his daughter Gigi knows no bounds.  We're all human, after all, and thus we cry with their followers and loved ones.

               As a member of Facebook page Celtics Nation said, “As Celtics fans we are taught one thing, hate the Lakers.  But this is bigger than basketball.  He was a husband, a father and an icon.  Loved by millions around the world.  The impact he made will never be matched.”

               Kobe Bryant’s persona that had gained worldwide fame because of modern technology has no doubt also contributed to the worldwide impact of his passing.  Many who had the privilege of having had personal encounters with him, from avowed Lakers fan and sports broadcaster Jinno Rufino to that friend of mine who used to work at the now-defunct RPN 9, Babette Pascual-Yllana, are all unanimous in saying that Bryant was a gentle human being, a humble and gentlemanly character who belied that sporting image of an arrogant competitor who had that undeniable swagger and confidence.

               “When I met him, there was not a tinge of yabang.  Very accommodating,” Babette said.  “During those times he was already planning for his retirement, that’s why he put up the Kobe Bryant Basketball Academy and, later, the Mamba Sports Academy.  At that time, he was already working on the legacy that he would leave behind.

               “He was a gentleman, it stood out.  Maybe perhaps he was raised in italy?  I noticed that in my travels, mas well-mannered sila kaysa Americans.  (Kobe, of course, partly grew up in Italy as his father, former NBA frontliner Joe “Jellybean” Bryant, played for a while in the Italian League, one of the top professional leagues in Europe.)  Even if they (the Italians) also have superiority complex, di sila entitled kung umasta.  You could see it in Kobe then that he had a good heart.”  

               Of course, that good heart knew no bounds when Kobe needed to mentor or to simply encourage fellow basketball players young and old alike when they needed some words of wisdom or encouragement, like what Kobe did to current and former Celtics Jayson Tatum, Gordon Hayward and Isaiah Thomas.  Bryant was one of the first to advise Hayward on what attitude to take when the then-first-year Celtic suffered that horrific ankle injury in 2017.

               Perhaps what also made people relate more with Bryant was the fact that they could identify with him despite his superstar image because of his own frailties and weaknesses, which he never hid from the public but eventually overcame with that single-minded purpose and determination for which he became noted. In 2003, for example, he was accused of raping a woman in his hotel room while he was in Denver for knee surgery.  While admitting having sex with the woman, he denied rape, and a judge eventually dropped the charges, although he had to eventually settle out of court when the woman went on to file a civil lawsuit.

               While issuing a public apology, stating that he was sincerely ashamed of what he had done, Bryant had to go through a turbulent phase in his life that culminated with wife Vanessa filing for a divorce in 2011.  Eventually though, the two reconciled, with Kobe turning to his Catholic faith and upbringing to overcome his personal crisis. Kobe and Vanessa later founded the Kobe and Vanessa Bryant Family Foundation that is dedicated to, among other things, helping young people in need, encouraging the development of physical and social skills through sports, and assisting the homeless.

               Asked about this commitment in 2013, Bryant said, “My career is winding down.  At the end of my career, I don’t want to look back and just say, ‘Well, I had a successful career because I won so many championships and scored so many points.’  There’s something else that you have to do with that.  (The homelessness) issue is one that kind of gets pushed on the back burner because it’s easy to point the blame at those who are homeless and say, ‘Well, you made that bad decision.  This is where you are.  It’s your fault.’  In life, we all make mistakes and to stand back and allow someone to live that way and kind of wash your hands of it… that’s not right.”

               Is it still surprising why Bryant achieved that iconic status of his?

               “An icon is the perfect word for him.  His impact was far more than basketball.  Unbelievable,” Brandon Goldberg of Celtics Nation said.

               “Kobe was an icon and a legend.  He was always driven and committed to his goals.  A man with vision,” said my own sister in the US, Kitchie Beltran, not especially a staunch sports fan like another younger sister, Lourdes Beltran is (they’re married to brothers, thus the similar surnames), but who knew Kobe through the extent his stature reached.  “The impact of his death was felt by almost everyone.  They say that the people’s reaction to Kobe’s passing could be compared to the way the world reacted to the death of JFK (former US President John Kennedy) and the loss of Princess Diana.”

               That’s true, of course.  And that's also due in part to the available technology nowadays, which really brings more intimacy to a worldwide public, providing infinitely more people much closer knowledge about a celebrity or icon, particularly a great basketball star like Kobe whose game has become a global sport much like football.  And this is why the impact of Kobe's death is felt more not only because of the circumstances of his death, but also because basketball is now in the world's cultural mainstream due to the technology available.

               Even then, all those factors wouldn’t have made a difference in making Kobe Bryant even bigger in death than he was in life perhaps without the element that counts most of all – his character and greatness as a human being. That element transcended race, sports and cultural boundaries for him to be universally mourned.

               As my favorite golfer of all time, Jack Nicklaus, said, “Kobe Bryant embodied excellence.  Legendary talent; inspirational athlete; great role model; American icon loved globally.  Sports lost a tremendous friend but (you) don’t have to be (a) sports fan for your heart to hurt.  Just have to be human!”

               “You inspired a generation,” my brother Raul’s inaanak Angel Espejo de Llana said in his own obituary for Kobe. “You were the example of hard work and determination.  You will always be remembered as an inspiration and a hero.”

               “Kobe was truly larger than life, a legend,” Hollywood star Leonardo DiCaprio tweeted.  “LA will never be the same.”

               Perhaps Bill Velasco, in his eloquent tribute to Bryant in The Philippine Star, put it best when he wrote, “I believe that the deepest, core reason why Kobe Bryant stirred us so is that he took us to places inside us that very few of us dared to go…  It was his fearlessness to look within, to face his weaknesses, to pile onto his strengths, to refuse to recognize limits, that is what we mourn…  Kobe Bryant ventured alone into the realm of what is possible more deeply than most of us ever will…  He showed us the light that leads inside of us, and faced his own demons and flaws to prove that it could be done.”

               Rest in peace, Kobe.  Yours was a life that was short by human standards, but it was a life well-lived, and a life that gave joy to millions of people.

[heroesandvillainsofmbti]

ISFP: Kira Nerys, “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine”

ISFP – the Composer, the Seeker, the Virtuoso

The leaders of Trek’s two previous incarnations were mostly Thinkers. Both shows could be campy and fun, but also intensely cerebral. So it figures that for the “dark, moody” version of Star Trek, we’d get a pair of commanding officers who are driven by Introverted Feeling.

Sisko and Kira don’t start off as best friends. Their Fi needs time to check the other out and make sure they measure up to their deeply held values and goals. In time, they see the same thing in each other—a very passionate, individualistic, sometimes emotionally broken leader with fierce inner moral codes fighting against a universe that wants to control them.

Dominant Function: (Fi) Introverted Feeling, “The Deep Well”

To say that Major Kira Nerys is uncompromising in her values would be like saying Superman is kinda good at lifting heavy stuff. Kira leads with a strong inner moral compass, forged from her years fighting for the Resistance against the Cardassian Occupation of her homeworld. Everything she does, every choice, every step, is to fight for the cause of her people. She acts only on what she believes is right.

While Sisko goes through his emotional healing in the first episode, Kira’s takes the entire series. She’s broken and raw after a childhood spent fighting as a terrorist to free her people, and her only reaction to most situations is anger. She’s quite certain that the Bajoran government only assigned her to DS9 to get her off the planet and out of their hair.

Her first big breakthrough is pouring her heart out to Kai Opaka. She’s desperate that the wise, spiritual woman see her as something other than an angry fighter, and Opaka lets her grieve her violent past. When she’s kidnapped by a Cardassian intent on exacting revenge for the deaths of the family he served, Kira is brutally unapologetic. She has no sympathy for any Cardassians, young or old, who died as a result of her crusade. None of them belonged on her planet, and all of them were guilty of the atrocities committed there.

Over the years, Kira learns that Sisko and the other Starfleet officers are authentically committed to her cause, and accepts them as friends and family. She finds love and romance in unexpected places. She sympathizes with Cardassians who are fighting for their own freedom, and joins their resistance to show them how it’s done. She never, ever believes that Dukat or Winn are anything less than pure evil (a position she shares with fellow Fi-dom Sisko).

Kira experiences great loss in her life—she sees a lot of death and pain during the Occupation, and continues to lose the ones she loves throughout the run of the show, culminating in Odo’s departure for the Great Link in the finale. She often has to retreat to meditate or process what she’s gone through. After she gives birth to the O’Briens’ baby, she also feels a sense of loss, more bittersweet than tragic, and rather than join the birthday celebration, asks Odo to go on a walk with her.

In the final moment of the final episode, she joins young Jake Sisko in staring silently out at the stars, pondering the fate and the whereabouts of the ones they’ve lost.

Auxiliary Function: (Se) Extraverted Sensing, “The Kitchens”

Because she’s emotionally on-edge when her story begins, Kira acts out much more often than the typical ISFP or other Introvert.

She doesn’t wait. She takes action. She confronts. She challenges. She fights.

Initially, she’s unreceptive to her Starfleet comrades’ scientific curiosity and zeal for discovery. It’s impractical, and distracts from the real work that needs to be done. Even later, when they’re more of a team, she’s the first to break down laughing at the idea that Dax and the others are about to get shrunk down to less than an inch high—for science!

Contrary to the ISFP stereotype of the “Artisan,” Kira claims no artistic skills or creativity. Her Extraverted Sensing is of the pragmatic kind, interested in real-world actions. She complains to her friend Jadzia that she has no imagination, and can’t enjoy their trips to the holosuite because it isn’t real. As her youthful rage cools off and heals, though, Kira learns to enjoy life and its pleasures, and even shows off a lovely fashion sense in her off-duty attire.

As Kira matures, she never loses her fiery nature, but she focuses her passion. As O’Brien comments in the first episode, after she bluffs a fleet of well-armed Cardassians, “Remind me never to get into a game of Roladan Wild Draw with you.” Seven years later, she’s staring down a Romulan armada and a Starfleet admiral and still coming out on top, all because she believes in her purpose.

Tertiary Function: (Ni) Introverted Intuition, “The Labyrinth”

Kira trusts her instincts, and paired with her strong Fi, her Intuition delivers instant judgments about most people she meets.

Though she regularly practices meditation, Kira has great difficulty with patience, with slowing down and considering options and outcomes when she’s decided it’s time to take action. She tries taking some R&R at a monastery, and the tranquility makes her crazy. Vedek Bariel encourages her to “Be useless, Nerys,” in an attempt to get her out of the moment and see the big picture of her life.

It takes a while, but her patience and foresight grows, as does her appreciation for the future that the Federation is helping Bajor build.

Kira enjoys a close platonic friendship with Odo, almost intimate in its own way, but she misses a lot of the cues that he’s in love with her. Once he reveals his feelings, she’s not sure what to do, as she’d never considered him any other way but a friend. Suddenly, she tells Dax that she’s had a moment of clarity, a once-in-a-lifetime insight, that changes her feelings and begins a new relationship.

Meanwhile, Kira holds her spirituality and religious beliefs close. It’s part of what got her through the Occupation, and sustains her afterwards. Even though faith in the Prophets is her people’s tradition, Kira’s faith remains personal, often inexplicable. She understands that Starfleet sees the Prophets only as wormhole aliens, but it doesn’t matter to her. She tells Odo that if you don’t have faith you can’t explain it, and if you do, no explanation is necessary.

Inferior Function: (Te) Extraverted Thinking, “The Workshop”

Kira’s prone to going off to do her own thing without permission, and without much of a plan. She hates authority structures, whether it’s the Cardassian Union, the Dominion, Starfleet, or her own people’s petty and bureaucratic Provisional Government. She hates that she has to become part of the establishment just to help Bajor rebuild. She’s constantly fighting within herself to be her own person while doing her job as First Officer of Deep Space Nine.

In only the second episode of the series, she has to stop a fellow former Resistance fighter from destroying the progress Bajor is building with the Federation, and she surprises herself by explaining to him that the Starfleet people are doing some good. Years later, she’s disgusted with herself for passively acting as a collaborator when the Cardassian/Dominon alliance takes over the station, so she starts a new Resistance to fight back. Once the Cardassians begin rising up against the Dominion, Kira takes the ironic position of helping her former oppressors organize for their own freedom.

She’s commanding and assertive in her role, and insists on proper organization to make the resistance work. It’s obvious that her years of growth have allowed her to lead with a cooler confidence and less impulsive anger. She’s promoted to Colonel in the Bajoran Militia, and takes command of Deep Space Nine when Sisko departs. She becomes even more formidable as a grown woman with a uniform than she was as an angry girl with a gun.

[gaaraisgay]

so i just finished episode 479 and i have a lot of feelings about a lot of things but im not sure how to rlly talk about them/if its worth making a post about but there is one thing that is bugging me a lot that i do know how to talk about, and its re: the sand sibs in the mugen tsukuyomi

reflection and what i’d have done differently under the cut.. its very long

im specifically irate about temari and kankuro’s mugen tsukuyomi dreams; gaara’s was fine and made perfect sense

but

i feel like Once Again temari and kankuro’s development was shunted/ignored in favor of the “Cooler Characters” and i know realistically from a heavily analytical standpoint that especially w/ naruto’s writing like the writing is already shoddy and glosses over a lot of potential already for the main, most popular characters, like....

the people relegated to being side characters have a lot less of a chance of really being given justice so i See why the sibs didnt get to reach their full potential developmentally and narrative wise, but Boy from a gaara standpoint and from a “person who still loves this ninja shitshow anyway” standpoint, i am quite Peeved

like.. okay.. listen..... temari and kankuro aren’t blissfully unaffected by our dysfunctional family situation wtf.. i wasn’t the only one who went through hardships and has trauma from it?? jesus??? both their.. our.. parents are dead and to be frank, me, their brother, used to be a monster, misunderstood and manipulated by his father or not, and they had to force themselves to be demure around him and put up with him lest he get angry and snap at them and end up killing him like he did their friends and peers in the village, which, yknow, is probably also traumatizing just saying???

are u rlly gonna tell me that their deepest desire isnt Also having.. a functional fckn family... and getting to maybe grow up as happy normal children and not lose their friends and be able to pursue their dreams with the support of loving parents (and their uncle) and without constant looming stress and fear hanging over their heads....

the bond between the sibs did indeed gradually mend after The Naruto Incident but realistically, no one is gonna fckn go, “yeah my childhood was really stolen from me bc of multiple tragic events and stressors on top of the fact im literally a child soldier but hey its fine! everything is good now! no lasting scars or anxieties here!!”

aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHHHHHHHHHH

im particularly pissed about temari’s dream bc like...... man, already the fandom acts like shes basically kankuro and gaaras stand-in mother whos always cleaning up after them ((if she’s not doing that she only exists to be shikamaru’s waifu apparently)) like....... you could argue that the root of her dream was her wanting to be respected and looked up to sure but mayhaps there was a better way to display that than her being berated by her little brothers who in that particular universe apparently cannot go without her advice for two whole seconds

and then kankuros was.. silly... thats probably a /dream/ he’d have i mean but like not a /deepest desire/ u kno............. i dont have as much commentary about his (particularly bc U Kno the way temari is treated is influenced by her being a girl) but like w/ temari’s like if what he wanted was to become legendary at his craft then there’d be better ways to show that which would tie in with the sibs’ traumas and pull their narratives together and overall highlight how much fucked up shit everyone has been thru in this series to the point of people’s deepest desires just being like, a functional family with parents that arent dead

but i digress i guess

either way i think in an ideal dream world for the siblings, all the sibs would be happy and temari n kankuro would become respected masters of their crafts (i could see temari maybe dreaming about becoming kazekage tbh) without being overshadowed by gaara or weighed down by familial loss.. they would also be allowed to have an actual proper childhood....

i would’ve been a lot happier if their dreams at least even hinted at that........ but u kno........ im not surprised they didnt bc if someones not in the top 3 popular characters why would we bother to rlly flesh them out and, u kno, Even Then.................

[jillmckenzie1]

The Truth About Working From Home:  Is It Killing You?

Denver is one of the most concentrated areas of the country for telecommuting.  Pop into a neighborhood café or brewery on any given day and the evidence is clear…we are a culture of remote workers looking for virtual offices.  A few months ago I started working from home, and it’s not my first swing at it.  There are WONDERFUL things about working from home, and there are tragic consequences.  Read on for the lowdown!

The Good!

The Commute: It’s no secret that hectic commutes result in stress-related health issues, effected work performance, and a negative impact on personal relationships.  Some known risks are high blood pressure, heart attack, depression, increased irritability anger and resentment at work, and inability to focus.  Therefore, the short jaunt in your loungewear from the bedroom to the desk is a dream for many who are looking to squeeze out every last restful moment between luxurious sheets and feathers on a pillow-top divan.

Less Distraction: If I have the choice of going to the office or staying home, there is a serious impact on the quality and the quantity of work I get accomplished.  Office drama and the latest gossip can chew up a vast amount of productivity.  Idle chatting around the water cooler, break room flirtations, and people stopping by your desk “just to ask a question” can be eliminated and that’s a WIN-WIN situation.  At home it’s nose to the ground with limited distractions!

Flex-time: When working from home, your schedule can be your own design.  It can be easier to take time out to perform practical tasks like throwing in a load of laundry or walking the dog.  It also gives more leeway to take a break for a workout or to eat sensibly, as there is less of a temptation for joining in the office “take-out” order.

Saving Money: Between gasoline consumption, carbon footprints, mileage put on vehicles, eating out, and the performance time spent on any given task…working from home is a clear winner on the wallet and the paycheck!

Better Beverages: Working at home gives coffee snobs the often overlooked perk of brewing their own perfect French press or pourover! To say nothing about diving into that happy hour cocktail just as office workers are clocking out. Is there a positive impact on quality of work…that’s yours to decide!

The Bad!

Isolation: Those who work from home may go an entire day without a single human interaction.  Social isolation can lead to depression, frustration, loss of motivation, and lack of mental stimulation, which has been proven to keep the brain healthy.  Getting outside for fresh air, staying connected with friends and good communication habits with co-workers will help.

No Boundaries: Working from home may mean you are available at all hours of the day.  In fact, many at-home workers feel they must answer the phone on the very first ring, don’t take a break for meals, and have difficulty distinguishing their personal time from work.  Setting clear boundaries such as “Don’t call me before 9 a.m.” or “After 7 p.m is my dedicated family time” can make a real difference.  Whatever it is can wait!

Out of the Loop: No matter how you spin it, there is a ton of casual collaboration that happens at the office…getting peer opinions on best practices, bouncing ideas off of each other, impromptu brainstorming sessions on break all are irreplaceable results of face-to-face teamwork

The Ugly!

Silent Killer:  Working from home with fewer distractions and without regular walks around the office can leave one so engrossed in work they are likely to sit for longer periods of time.  The World Health Organization attributes approximately 3.2 million deaths each year due to insufficient physical activity!  Five or more hours of sedentary sitting can be equivocated to smoking a pack and a quarter of cigarettes. The killer, particularly sitting for hours at a time, is a health risk regardless of what you do with the rest of your day…even if you exercise!  Standing vs. sitting burns more calories and uses large muscle groups in the back and legs.  Break up your day with the use of standing desks, intervals of stretching, and take the extra time you’d spend commuting to actually work out!  Unused muscles cause atrophy, shift from endurance muscle fibers that burn fat, to fibers that rely on glucose. Inactive muscles cause metabolic changes and loss of mitochondria, which burn fat. When muscles rely more on carbohydrates, blood becomes very fatty, and that’s why sitting can be linked to heart disease.  Insulin resistance can happen very quickly.  Simply standing up every 20 minutes or pacing around the room 5 minutes every hour can take a lot of glucose out of the bloodstream!

from Blog https://ondenver.com/the-truth-about-working-from-home-is-it-killing-you/