#where: pontius (local island)

[alectocarrion]

with: @invrse​ when: february, 2130 (week one) where: pontius, local islands 

From their birth to the day they clawed their way to Tartarus’s borders, and even to now, Alecto had always been steadfast -- never fickle, never the type to hide what laid overtop their heart, even if the circumstances could hurt feelings. So what she’s done to Hypnos, to the other Asphodels comes as a surprise to them, because every ill admission has always been split between, never hidden for the sake of saving one from heartache.

Her words are detrimental to the bonds born out of those very shadows she swore she would never leave. In the nights since arriving aboard Pontius, Alecto had time to reflect on exactly what she said to them -- some lashings haunted her more than others. 

She thinks about Hypnos, tears in their eyes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, anger, sadness -- a plethora of things that Alecto would typically mend, arms over another, fingers ghosting against the top of his head, pale strands flicking between. She would have spilled blood for the sake of his heart, and yet, she’d been the one to slaughter him. 

I've never thought of you as my home.

She thought it would be easy, leaving them behind, even if built on a lie. 

And even though Nyx shared Alecto’s plan and how it tied into the last night in Olympe, Alecto couldn’t shake the fear that some words would never be forgiven. 

So when Alecto sees Hypnos, blonde hair stark against the blue backdrop, she moves without thinking. With the others, it had been different -- but this is a heart she had always vowed to keep from out of harm’s way, but what was she supposed to do if she’d been the one to drive the killing blow? 

Sand kicks up behind them as they make their way towards Hypnos, back now turned. Their shoes sink, and they feel as though they’re being taken down, as if the island is whispering, telling her to turn back, but she does not listen. The crowd moves ahead of Hypnos and she takes the opportunity to pull him backwards, thin fingers creating a circlet around an evenly thin wrist. “Hyp,” Alecto pleads, though she does not know if she has a right to. Despite the falsities, what if her words had burrowed into his heart? “I’m sorry.” It bleeds from the back of her throat, to the roof of her mouth, spinning out to the tip of her tongue. 

[herarhearp]

Who: Aphrodite ( @aphrxsdite )

When: February, 2130 - First week of the Kalavria Summit

Where: Hot springs on the archipelago

Both of them needed this. Aphrodite could use a break from the event stress and Hera would like to avoid some people for a moment, so she invited the younger woman to escape to the hot springs on a local island of her choice. Pontius wouldn’t sink if they were gone for a couple hours. “As much as I love the cruise pools, this has always been my favorite activity around here.” 

She wondered if Aphro would touch the subject. The Aegean Waters spokesperson was one of her dearest friends, someone she’s quite protective of, and even closer after Hera’s sudden departure from Olympe. Yet, Hera had never mentioned her reasons to move out of home. Of course Aphrodite couldn’t know the real motive behind it, but she was now very aware of the official version: Zeus cheated on his wife. With Hephaestus. Talk about an awkward work meeting. “It almost makes one forget what awaits once we leave this peacefulness.” She pokes, wants to see how long it will take for Aphro to ask.

[zagreusrhea]

who: @alectocarrion

where: hotspring islands near pontius

when: feb 2130, kalavria

The ferry out to the local islands leaves every half-hour at the thirty minute mark with plenty of room for the last minute passenger. Zagreus misses the morning shuttles back and forth on account of sleeping in, but by the early afternoon he’s made it out to the hot springs, Pontius branded birdwatching binoculars slung around his neck, sun high in the sky.

Pontius is bustling for Kalavria, but the crowds on the island are smaller. Zagreus bobs and weaves along the planked wooden walkways, a few decent feet behind his guided tour. The binoculars aren’t half bad, but he doesn’t quite need them to catch sight of the familiar face across the way. Alecto is similarly positioned at the back of their guided tour group, trailing behind in the same way that Zagreus does. It’s a familiar feeling. They didn’t quite have a traditional classroom set up growing up, but it had always been the two of them at the back of the classroom hadn’t it? Class clown to class clown communication. Alecto must have caught an earlier boat, because their group approaches, already on the return loop of the tour. Zagreus sees the opportunity and takes it - peeling off from his own herd, slipping away to follow the new. 

They pass a row of lush foliage, bright green palms that grow low to the ground like little soldiers. Zagreus has sidled up behind Alecto and it’s as they’re passing this wall of trees that he reaches forward to grab their elbow. Without much warning, with all his training, he yanks them backwards and away from the group, practically hurling the two of them behind the cover of the large palm fronds. A hand lashes out to cover their mouth instinctively - more Achilles training controlling his muscle memory than anything - but he drops it almost immediately once they are under cover in order to adjust the binoculars that have almost strangled him in the process. “Hey!” He’s smiling. He thinks he’s done a pretty good job of keeping this discreet. “Fancy running into you here.”

[jessikahathaway]

The Girl Who Never Cries

Guess who’s back? Back again? Not me for the weekend. Ha ha. 

Please don’t kill me and just enjoy? Yeah? Good talk.

DON’T OWN THE PICTURE

The first time you met Jimin was when you were seven years old at some great Aunt’s funeral. He stood back, watching as your family cried and howled as your family member was lowered into the ground by his father. Jimin was a small boy, he didn’t look like he did a lot of playing outside from his stature. He didn’t look much like his father either. His father had rugged facial features, while Jimin had a much more delicate facial set up. The young boy was quiet and observant; something about him seemed off, however. You could tell he didn’t see the world like most ordinary people did. This drew you in further. Instead of grieving with the rest of your family, you stared at the quiet young boy who was more focused on the funeral service than you were.

When the ordeal was over, Jimin took his father’s hand and followed him dutifully. You felt a sharp tug on your hand as your mother pulled you towards the car. Although, Jimin was still watching, staring at the ground with mild intrigue. He was still staring back at the grave while your mother drove the car away. And, he never changed.

The next time you saw him was at your great grandfather’s funeral. He was stood at the back, like he had been three years prior, watching as his father lowered your deceased family member down into the ground again. Except, Jimin was  much less interested in your family and the grave this time. You notice he was holding a small book in his hand, making small notes every once in awhile.

Slowly but surely, you became infatuated with this boy. The years passed and you found yourself returning to the cemetery, even when you didn’t need to. You always offered to clean the graves, seeing as how your parents always complained when they had to do it. Plus, if you did it, you could see the mysterious Park Jimin more frequently. However, you never knew his name until your mother mentioned it at dinner one night when you were in your early teen years.

“Yeah, Park did a nice job on the Jeon’s house,” she said with a small amount of jealousy taking over her voice. “I guess his son is starting to take over the cemetery,” she said.

“Is that the gentleman who buried grandad?” you asked with your normal soft tone.

“Yes, him and his son Jimin have been there since the boy’s mother died. He’s pretty odd that young one. He’s always been very quiet, almost disturbingly so. I think I’ve only ever heard him say three words in his entire life. I personally think something isn’t right upstairs. A boy needs his mother, just being raised by his father must have some consequences,” she prattled off more offensive statements but you tuned her out.

Park Jimin...

---

A few years later a dreadful storm came through and wrecked your outdoor porch. Your mother was beside herself with the ordeal. She called the Park’s to fix it, wanting to have it done by a local person, as she put it. You really knew that it was because she liked his work on other people’s places, but was too proud to compliment them.

You were sixteen and just learning about your body at the time. Everything was new and exhilarating. You’d had your first kiss with a boy named Taehyung at school and you thought that he was cute, but Park Jimin was cuter. He never went to school with you, it had always made you wonder what he would be like as your classmate. Would he be smart and always willing to lend a hand to you? Or would he struggle and constantly need you to dote on him and smother him with all kinds of attention?

You’d come home rather upset. The guy you had harbored a crush on for the last few months, Suga, as he liked to call himself, had been caught kissing a girl outside the school’s racket arena. You stormed home and through the door to find yourself face to face with Park Jimin.

“Hello,” he greeted simply.

“Where’s mom?” you asked, frozen in your spot.

“There’s a note for you on the counter,” he said, gesturing towards the marble island in your kitchen. You jogged passed him and grabbed the paper.

Hello Darling!

I’m out doing some shopping with the girls and going to tea afterwards. Your father will be home late, as usual, so don’t worry about making dinner and everything. Mr. Park and Jimin are here to fix the porch and do a few other jobs around the house. Jimin is here to help with that weird sound in your room, take him up there and see if you two can’t figure it out.

Much love,

Mom.

You looked back at Jimin with curiosity. He kept the same mild look on his face, never once wavering.

“My room is upstairs,” you said, nodding towards the stairs. Jimin nodded and grabbed his smaller toolbox and followed after you as you jogged up the cherry stained wood stairs.

Jimin investigated around the area you said was making the odd noise. You watched as his back flexed and the muscled moved as he did. It was very erotic to you, the way he moved. It made you feel strange, but good at the same time. You wanted to kiss him. You couldn’t figure out why, but you knew you really really wanted to.

“I think there is a pipe behind the wall that is either loose or leaking, you should have your mother call a-”

You cut him off with a delicate press of your lips against his. Jimin froze, unsure of what to do. You placed your hands on his face and pulled him in closer, longing to kiss him just a little bit longer. Jimin seemed to relax and let you do as you pleased. Slowly, you eased away, looking up into his eyes with anxiety.

“Was that your first kiss?” he asked, looking down at you. You shook your head.

“No, I’ve kissed another person before,” you said, trying to keep your heart rate under control.

“Me too. But, like I said, have your mother call a plumber and have them check the pipes.”

And that was the last you ever heard of that situation. You and Jimin had formed a bond of some sorts over the following years. He’d call you whenever he needed something and you’d help him with whatever he needed.

You even opened your own flower shop so that Jimin could get a good price on flowers for the cemetery. But, that wasn’t the only reason you chose that business. You remember flowers and how their beauty fades, but new ones grow to take their place. A beautiful cycle of life and death that you’ve been fascinated with for years. But, none the less, flowers also represented so many things. Passion, love, caring. Things people should have, regardless of being dead or not.

Running a business was difficult. But you could be found running to the cemetery for a service or to place flowers on graves. You saw Jimin frequently, but you two generally kept the talking to about the weather and whoever you were delivering the flowers for. Although, sometimes Jimin would stray from those topics and ask about how you were and if your mother and father were well. But, Jimin was quiet as he’d always been in his younger years. Jimin could always be found in the places one would never look. On the roof of a car, up in a tree. He never liked predictability. He had taken solace in his mystery, and he wasn’t keen on losing it.

All was normal in your small town on that Friday morning. You got up and unlocked the flower shop, getting ready for another day at work. The day progressed smoothly, until your shop phone began to ring. After cleaning off your hands and making your assistant head to the register, you picked up.

“Pontius flower shop, Y/N speaking,” you said in a cheerful tone.

“He’s dead,” a bored voice said over the phone. One look at your caller ID told you that the voice belonged to none other than Park Jimin. Ice ran through your veins at the sound of his voice, he sounded so empty.

“Jimin, what do you mean?” you asked, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear while you fixed a few things in front of you to distract the dropping sensation in your stomach.

“My dad, he’d hanging in his closet,” he said, still sounding bored. Like this was another funeral service.

“Jimin, are you okay?” you asked.

“I was the one who put him there, so I’m fine,” he said, and your throat went dry.

“You did what?” you said in disbelief. Jimin? Hurting someone? It was almost too far fetched to believe, but the cold edge to his tone made you worry even more.

“I gave him his sleeping pills in his coffee and hung him,” Jimin said, confessing to murder. You tried to remain calm. Jimin was known to lie. He’d once said he had broken his leg so he didn’t have to go to jury duty. He also liked to prank people, just to get a rise out of them. But this would be taking it way too far.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, don’t go anywhere,” you said, hanging up shortly after. You rushed around and gathered everything you needed up and started to head out the door. Your assistance yelled after you, but you were somewhere else.

---

When you arrived at Jimin’s house, you knocked on the door, fully expecting Mr. Park to open it with a warm smile as he always did. But, instead, Jimin’s pale face greeted you.

“Hi,” he said, pulling the door open wider so you could enter as well. Anxiously, you did so, walking into the familiar house. Jimin followed right behind you, watching as you shed your jacket and shoes.

“Where’s your dad?” you asked, Jimin pointed towards the bedrooms. You moved towards the door. “Is he asleep?” you asked, wanting so desperately to find him lying in his bed resting. But there he was, in the closet like Jimin said he was. Mr. Park, someone you’d known your whole life. Dead. Your chest constricted and your stomach hurt. How could Jimin do this to someone? And to his father no less. He never seemed like a violent person. “Why?” you asked, turning to face him. Jimin looked at you and sighed.

“Everyone loves dad, but no one likes me. They all think that I’m quiet and weird, but it’s because I can’t tell them anything without worrying about getting hurt... They don’t know him! Don’t know what he does when other people aren’t around,” he said, glaring at the closet with such hatred you could feel it radiating off of him.

Mr. Park, hurting his son? That seemed impossible. He would never hurt his child.

“What did he do Jimin?” you asked, walking closer to him. Jimin chuckled darkly before lifting his gaze to yours.

“He beat me, raped me... Sold me to other people for extra cash for booze,” he said, looking like he was going to kill his father again.

Jimin was on the psychosis spectrum. His dad had asked you to take him to an appointment once and the doctor’s had mentioned something about symptoms of PTSD and not knowing how they had come about. The pieces started to fall together. Jimin never went to public school, Mr. Park had said it was because he was worried about other kids bullying him, but it was just to keep others away and from looking too closely. “He never loved me, ever,” he growled. You swallowed hard and dared to grab his wrist and pull him out of the room. Jimin followed willingly, letting you sit him down on the couch. You had to call the police... Jimin was a murderer. But... whenever you looked at him you saw the child he used to be. It hurt you to think of him in prison, with no one he knew... He’d suffer and you wouldn’t be able to see him.

“Jimin, you know what you did was illegal right?” you asked gauging his reaction. He nodded slowly. “So, you know I have to call the police,” you stated.

“Can I ask a favor before you do that?” he asked, standing up and walking over to you. You started to tremble, despite yourself.

“What’s the favor Jimin?” he came closer and wrapped his arms around you. You gave him a questioning look.

“Would you kiss me? I remember doing it when we were younger, and I just want to do it again,” he breathed. You swallowed hard. He had always been beautiful with his soft brown eyes and fluffy hair. He’d never really paid attention to you in that manner, but to know he wanted to kiss you was too good to pass up.

“I’ll let you kiss me if you promise to be good when I call the police. Do you promise?” Jimin nodded quickly and licked his lips and leaned forward to plant a kiss right on your lips. His were plush and wet from his tongue. Oh God, he was an incredible kisser... His hands trailed down your back. His hands stopped right above your butt and you pulled back from his lips slowly. You were panting and looking at his lips with longing. You didn’t want to stop, no matter how much you knew you should. His father was dead in the other room, by his hands. But this was Jimin, the boy you’d known for years. He’d never been violent, dangerous or threatening. He was quiet and observant, always wondering what there was to be seen. He was kind and gentle, never harming a soul And his father didn’t hurt anyone, or rape his son...

“I want to kiss you more,” he whispered against your lips. You wrapped your fingers around the soft collar of his shirt and pulled him closer.

“Then give me more,” you begged, grabbing his shirt and bringing him back to your lips. He seemed more than content to continue. It felt so good to touch him like this and to hold him in your arms. All these years you’d watched him grow and you’d always wanted to be with him like this. He was such a beautiful person... Although, darkness had clouded his soul. You didn’t want to see him upset or hurt, he was too innocent for that... Although, you could try to mend his pain for him. Show him the love he had been starved of. “Jimin,” you breathed, “how far can we go?” you asked as he started kissing down your jaw.

“As far as we can,” he said in a husky tone.

You gasped when he pulled you against his body. You sighed in content at the feeling of his toned form against your own. He was like a man possessed with desire. You hung onto him, crying out as he bit down on your shoulder harshly. You tugged on his hair and kissed any exposed skin you could find. Jimin pushed you towards the floor, covering your body with his. You pulled on his shoulders and brought him closer to you.

“Take off your clothes,” he panted holding your hips. You grabbed your shorts and yanked them off aggressively, so much so that you left little red marks along the delicate skin there. Jimin stared at your center with his pupils blown wide. He ran his finger along your slit, collecting all of your juices and sliding them over your folds.

“Jimin,” you breathed, grabbing his biceps, feeling the muscles tensing and relaxing under the skin. When he grazed your clit you arched your back and keened into his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, looking at your body flushed beneath him. You blushed and pushed your hips into his eager hands, wanting more of his touch. He smiled and watched you whine and please under his ministrations. His touch was setting you a lite, making you shudder in pleasure. Every little flick of his wrist had you falling to pieces before him.

“Please Jimin! Oh God, Please, Jimin,” you begged feeling your orgasm starting to rush towards you.

“Do you want me? Do you love me?” he asked, moving his fingers against you.

“I’ve loved you for years! P-put your fingers in me, please Jimin,” you whined. He gave a smile before inserting a finger into your tight entrance. A strangled cry came from your throat as his pace increased.

“Tell me you want me,” he said, adding a second digit into your wet heat.

“I want you so bad, Jimin. Please give it to me,” Jimin smiled again and pulled his fingers from you. You felt displeasure as his fingers exited you. You forced yourself up onto your elbows and caught him pulling his shirt over his head. You stared at his body and ran your hand down his chest. He shuddered and bucked his hips instinctively towards you. You smirked and almost ripped your shirt because you pulled it over your head so fast. Jimin saw your bra covering the beautiful skin of your breasts and became agitated very quickly. Soon, the fabric was off and his hands were molded against your breasts. He moaned at the feeling of your nipples hardening and you couldn’t help the small whine of pleasure that overtook you while you enjoyed the feeling of his hands on your body. Slowly, you reached down and palmed him through his jeans and you gasped to find him rock solid under your touch.

“Fuck, I’m so hard for you baby,” he moaned. A smile pulled at the corner of your lips. You couldn’t believe how undeniably sexy Jimin was. He made little groans and grunting sounds as you continued to play with him through his pants. You slid your hand underneath the rough fabric and pulled him out, making him shudder from the contact. You pumped him a few times, watching as the tip grew into a deeper red color. He made small breathy moans each time you ran your thumb over the tip. “Oh fuck, right like that baby,” he said. “If you’re not careful I’m going to cum before I can even get in that sweet cunt of yours. We wouldn’t want that would we?” he said, teasing you with a flash of his tongue across his plump lips.

“Jimin, hurry up and put it in me,” you said, laying back on the floor and opening your legs for him. He didn’t waste any time after that. Jimin pulled his pants and boxers off and gripped your hips with one hand and checked to make sure you were ready for him. You squirmed against him and he smiled.

“You ready baby?” he asked, lining himself up with you entrance. You nodded weakly and bit your lip. Slowly, Jimin eased himself in. You hissed in slight discomfort, but the look on Jimin’s face was well worth the stinging pain. You’d only had sex once when you were eighteen. It had been quick, uncomfortable and unsatisfactory. But Jimin made you feel incredibly full. You took a deep breath and Jimin tensed.

“Are you alright? You asked, watching the muscles in his arms tense up.

“You’re so fucking tight, holy shit,” he panted against your neck. You blushed and pulled him in for a sweet kiss. Jimin pulled his hips back carefully, gauging your reaction. You bit your lip harshly and dug your fingers into his shoulders. A soft whimper fell from your kiss swollen lips. You moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“You can move, I can handle it,” you breathed against his lips. Jimin nodded and started moving a bit faster. You were so full of him. You’d never felt like this before, not ever in your life. You could see the appeal sex had now. If it felt like this every time you had sex, you could easily become addicted yourself. But, maybe it was just because it was with Jimin it felt this good. Did everyone feel like this?

Jimin was grabbing at your waist and pushing his hips into yours. A moan escaped him as he started to move at a faster pace, grinding his pelvis into your clit. You pulled on his hair as he fucked into you at what felt like the perfect angle. You could really feel him inside of you, pulsing and hot as his cock massaged your walls. It was getting hard to breathe because he was clinging to you so tightly, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. You had wanted him so badly, for so long, and it was finally happening.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned as he continued his deep thrusting into your weeping core. Everything about him just made you want more. More more more. You couldn’t think about anything but him...

There it was. The familiar burning in your lower stomach. You wanted it. You wanted him. Oh fuck, you could taste your orgasm it was so close.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathed as Jimin slammed into you with an unforgiving pace.

“Me too, where do you want it?” he asked as he slowed down enough to be coherent.

“In me, I want to feel it,” you moaned. Every touch of his fingers set you that much closer to your end, but you wouldn’t let yourself cum yet. You wanted to keep him inside you forever. Stretching your dirty pussy until you just couldn’t take it. You wanted to feel his cum dripping down your thigh as he panted harshly into your ear after reaching bliss.

“So dirty baby. You want my cum? Wanna feel it inside you? Are you on the pill?” he asked, reaching out to kiss your neck and shoulders. The thought crossed your mind, getting pregnant with Jimin’s child. The thought of him with your kid filled you with an immeasurable amount of joy.

“It’ll be fine, I’m not ovulating,” you said. Wanting nothing more than to feel his cum flooding your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking dirty, Jesus Christ,” he whispered pulling out of you. You whined at the loss. “Get on your knees for me baby,” he whispered, kissing you passionately. You did so, gasping at the sight of his cock, drenched in your juices and the purple tip throbbing, needing release so desperately. You leaned forward on your hands and spread your knees apart to give him better access. Jimin pulled you back by your hips and lined himself up with your soaked center. He was met with little resistance as he slid back into your warmth. He groaned as his hipbones hit yours.

“Jimin, harder, please,” you begged moving your ass back against him. This new angle made Jimin’s dick feel that much bigger inside of you, if that was even possible. You moaned wantonly, looking over your shoulder at him. Jimin’s brow was furrowed as he moved his length inside your beautiful pussy. Sweat was collecting on his neck and forehead and you longed to wipe it away as you kissed, but you were busy being fucked savagely.

“I’m close,” he warned. You moaned in acknowledgment. You were close as well, feeling that tightening sensation in your core. You clenched around him and smiled when he bucked into you with a yelp.

“Give it to me. I want it,” you pleased, feeling your end approaching. Jimin’s cock enlarged inside of you and you gasped. You felt the cord inside you snap, releasing all of your pent up pleasure. Jimin shouted your name as you milked him for everything he had. He rubbed your hip with his thumb as you collapsed against the floor. Wet, stickiness was everywhere. You struggled to catch your breath. Your vision blurred and you felt Jimin kissing your spine. It was then the pain became apparent. Your throat was on fire. You cast a glance down at the floor; it was covered in blood. Panic flooded your system and you gripped onto Jimin’s hand that was on your waist.

“It’s alright baby, it’ll be over quick. Let me look at you,” he said, turning you over. You looked up at him. He looked so beautiful, all fucked out and sweaty. “So beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands over your body. You made a terrible choking sound that made Jimin’s eyes sparkle. “God... Look at you baby. Full of my cum and bleeding out... I want you badly, but I’m sure you’re tired,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, even though it was drenched in blood.

“Jimin,” you mouthed, grasping to life, barely able to keep your eyes open.

“Oh baby,” he said, smoothing your hair back, watching as you struggled to inhale. “It’ll be all over in a few moments. And I’ll stay with you the whole time,” he said, kissing your blue lips. You were disgusted with yourself for enjoying his lips on yours. You gripped his hand in fear. “Are you scared? It’s okay to be, but I need you to do something for me,” he asked. You could feel your fingertips and toes going numb. You were almost dead. “Hang on just a few moments longer darling, I want to see something.”

What could he want to see? You’d given him everything already. You’d bore all to him and now death was wrapping its icy tendrils around your body.

“Cry for me,” he whispered, trailing his finger down your cheek like a tear would fall. You made a sputtering sound and Jimin gave a soft smile. “I bet you look beautiful even when you cry, so let me see it? One last favor for me baby,” he said. It made you sick that in your last moments, you still wanted to please him. “You can do it baby, one tear would be enough,” he said.

You could feel your heart slowing, it was almost over. Jimin stayed, kissing your head and lips, waiting patiently. You thought of your childhood fascination with him and how the two of you had grown together. All the memories flooded your mind. You thought of what would happen if you didn’t die here. Would you fall pregnant with Jimin’s baby? Would he care and love it? You overwhelmed yourself with these thoughts and felt a burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

“Baby,” he whispered, kissing you deeply. “Beautiful... It’s okay, you can sleep now. And I’ll be here when you wake up. Just rest,” he said in a sadistically sweet voice. You felt tears flowing freely down your cheeks. Black tinged the side of your vision. You didn’t want to die. Who will take care of your parents in their old age? “I’ll bring you the most beautiful flowers, all the time, and I’ll to to you every day,” he whispered as your vision went black.

“Goodbye, Y/N. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

[back-and-totheleft]

Jeju Island

In 1986, a young American director burst out on the screens with a raw, charged, kinetic film.  Depicting a country on the verge of popular revolution, it documents the right-wing terror and massacres that are instigated, aided and abetted by the US government. Beginning as the chronicle of a gonzo journalist on his last moral legs, the film starts out disjointed, chaotic, hyper-kinetic; the un-moored, fragmented consciousness of a hedonistic drifter. As the events unfurl towards greater and greater violence, the clarity and steadiness of the camera increase, its moral vision clearer and fiercer, carrying the viewer through a journey of political awakening even as the story hurtles inexorably towards heartbreak, tragedy, and loss.

The name of the director was Oliver Stone. The film was “Salvador." Opened to dismissal, derision and poor distribution, it nonetheless garnered two Oscar nominations and is now lauded as one of the most important films of the period, acknowledged to have influenced the political debate, if not the policy, around Central America at the time.

27 years later, Oliver Stone is discussing this film with the renowned Korean film critic Yang Yoon Mo. Professor Yang mentions Salvador and the powerful effect it had on his generation during the violent, brutal military dictatorships of his era. “We loved it. It was a big inspiration to people all over the world. We obtained bootleg copies of it and watched it. It inspired a whole generation of young Korean filmmakers for the courage and clarity of its vision. It was a model for us of what ethical and political cinema could be.” Stone smiles gently, and then reciprocates with his appreciation of current Korean cinema — cinema that he himself may have had a hand in shaping — as he mentions “The President’s Last Bang,” a wry, understated morality tale about the assassination of the Dictator Park Chung Hee during a dinner party-cum-orgy procured by his own intelligence services.

The rapport between two is warm and genuine and they talk as if they are old friends, old film buffs. It’s almost possible to forget for a moment that this is taking place inside a Korean prison on Jeju Island, where Professor Yang has been sentenced to 18 months as a political prisoner, that he has been 70 days on a hunger strike, and that there are 6 of us crammed into a closet-sized visiting room: Oliver Stone, Father Moon, several activists, and a violent-looking police officer, whose every gesture and look intimates a furious desire to pound us into submission. On the other side, behind dual paned Plexiglas, the gentle Professor Yang is with another police officer, who is furiously transcribing every word that is exchanged.

It’s almost possible to forget that minutes before we had been stripped of all cameras and recording equipment, had our ID’s confiscated and recorded, and had been escorted by half a dozen policemen to “have tea” with the chief of police, so he could “chat” with us. The police chief is warm and congenial, as only someone with absolute mastery of the rhetoric and machinery of power can be: Pontius Pilate, surrounded by his centurions, speaking softly to send the just the right mixture of benevolence and imminent threat. Out the window, to the left, we are surrounded by a panorama of verdant trees and hills. To the right, inches away, a squadron of blue suited, glaring police. It’s clear that there is more than one director in the room.

Professor Yang is being held in this jail for 18 months, along with dozens of other protestors, for the non-violent protest of a deep water Naval Base that is being constructed in Gang Jeong village on the Island of Jeju. He has been imprisoned 4 times.[...]

Oliver asks the police chief about the conditions that prisoners like Yang are kept in: He asks whether they are able to exercise, read, receive and write letters. The police chief, ever the congenial diplomat, answers that he is extremely attentive to the health and well-being of his inmates, and that they are allowed all manner of comfort and recreation. He adds a comment about his concern about the hunger strike, and states with a worldly flourish, that “esteemed director Stone will find that the conditions of prisons in Korea are not that different from conditions in American prisons.” “Esteemed director Stone” does not seem assured, and without missing a beat, points out that “the conditions of U.S. prisons are, according to the United Nations Rapporteur on Human Rights, some of the worst in the world. The systematic and routine use of prolonged isolation has been found tantamount to torture.” The police chief accedes than that perhaps there are differences, and with the hair-splitting skills of a trained bureaucrat, mentions that Korean inmates sleep on traditionally heated floors, whereas American prisoners must sleep on beds. There’s no easy conversion scale to weigh the tradition of intimidation, bastinado and torture of a Korean prison against the isolation, violence, racism of the American penal system. [...]

90 minutes earlier, Oliver had flown directly in from Barcelona, after 7 days of non-stop night shooting for a commercial, and had landed in Jeju exhausted and bleary eyed. “I don’t usually do commercials,” he says, “but this was soccer — it encourages people to exercise, get healthy, so I’m okay with this.” Oliver looks to be needing a bit of exercise himself: 10 time zones and 20 hours of non-stop flying and transit have left him exhausted and drained. He has wiped clear his schedule and made a huge sacrifice to travel to Jeju, but as his exit from customs is delayed, the greeting team of local activists at the airport has become anxious that he will simply be denied entry into the country. The Korean government has already denied entry to several international peace activists at the airport—most notably Elliot Adams, Tarak Kauff and Mike Hastie from Veterans for Peace, and it is not inconceivable that they would do the same for any perceived rabble-rouser.  Alternatively, they are not above a little “rough play,” and for the Korean authorities - for whom a beatdown is just a friendly way of getting acquainted - a sound drubbing could be spun as just an over eager welcome or a misunderstood expression of solicitude. The burly men in suits and earpieces tailing the greeting team make this not an unlikely possibility. Finally, when Oliver is released from transit purgatory, all of us breathe a sigh of relief, although for some reason his luggage has gone AWOL. Over the next 48 hours, the luggage will be repeatedly located but yet somehow unrecoverable, claim documents will not be filed, others improvised, leading activists to wonder if this is part of the harassment: disrupt morale by disrupting logistics, separate the “enemy” from their materiel—in this case, Oliver’s clothes, toiletries, medicines, and his colorfully subversive collection of bandannas.[...]

Oliver expresses his concerns for [Yang's] well being, and inquires as to the depth of his support among other artists. Then all too quickly, visiting time is over, and we are reduced to silent gestures of goodwill and hope across the Plexiglas. Professor Yang touches his palm to the glass, Oliver touches it, and then he slowly bows to each of the visiting team, hands together in traditional blessing. Professor Yang seems to have been deeply moved by the visit, but for us, it’s hard to avoid the sense of abandoning a comrade in prison. We stop as we are exiting the prison to do a quick interview with a wire agency, and Oliver fiercely denounces the detention of Professor Yang. “The courage of Professor Yang inspires me,” he states, with fire in his voice. “I believe without a doubt that he is a prisoner of conscience and I call for him to be released immediately. I deplore the militarization of Jeju Island. I deplore the building of the base." There is passion and heart in his voice. He will reprise this theme many times over the next few days, but like the other stories about Jeju, these statements will pass largely unreported in the mainstream press. [...]

Drenched in sweat, Oliver puts on a yellow T-shirt on top of his sweat-soaked shirt, and is invited to join the march at the front. He modestly declines to walk “point,” and falls into the ranks. Fabled director, Hollywood icon, decorated war veteran, becomes just another marcher in a sea of protestors, a forest of banners, marching, this time, against the Imperium. [...]

Centered around the economy of the Haenyo, Jeju island has, for centuries, been a traditional matriarchal society. “No thieves, no beggars, no gates,” was a phrase commonly used to describe the society of Jeju island; cooperative, communal, matrifocal, an indigenous form of socialism that led itself naturally to the grassroots workers’ councils that flourished after the liberation from the Japanese. These worker’s councils were the basis of the “red island” designation by the US Military Government and were the trigger for the genocide. Bases will finish off what death squads, napalm, free-fire zones, and killing fields could not. If and when the base is completed, the traditions of generations of powerful women will be replaced with bar girls, prostitutes and housemaids. A young girl who would have learned from her grandmother to read the tides, dive to a hundred feet with only the air in her lungs, and talk to the spirits of the ocean to face down death, will be servicing GI’s on her knees in back alleys. Cultural genocide, if the term has any meaning, seems appropriate here. [...]

Turning the corner of the island, we witness full on the devastation of the base construction.

We stop the boat.

From the ocean, we can see the entire scale of the violation.  It is monstrous.

“Fuck,” Stone blurts out.  .

Do not touch a single pebble, a twig, a flower.  All of it is sacred, the protestors have been shouting for years.

Seven stories of 10,000 ton, steel-bladed caissons have been sunk into the soft coral below, exposing themselves above the waterline like the bared fangs of a mad predator. Construction has blasted, pulverized, and befouled the sacred Gureombi, the living kidneys of the island, paved it over with concrete, leaving it looking like a massive latrine. Pile drivers, bull dozers, cranes and high explosives have gashed the womb of the Goddess of Mt. Halla, leaving concrete and steel maggots writhing out of its innards, and bleeding dark silt and slurry into the pristine ocean.

Around the crime scene, a sanitary cordon of buoys and construction curtains.

It is the scene of a heinous rape-murder.

Oliver gets up on the edge of the boat. Part lecture, part possession, part jeremiad, he points to the shoreline and launches into a full blown soliloquy.

“This base will host U.S. destroyers, aircraft carriers, Aegis missile batteries, nuclear submarines. It’s part of Obama’s Pacific pivot, a chain of offensive bases from Myanmar, the Philippines, Thailand, Korea, Okinawa, a necklace of bases to choke off the Pacific. It’s being put in place to threaten China. Even as we speak, war materiel is being shifted from Iraq, Afghanistan to the Pacific."

“We have to stop this. All this is leading up to a war, and I’ve seen war in Asia.” His voice trembles. “I do not want another war here. I’ve seen war in Asia and we cannot have another war here. We have to stop this thing."

He turns to the Shaman, invites her to put a hex on the base, to invoke Gods higher than those of empire, profit and militarism.

Oliver then gestures himself, hurling passion, heart, grief onto the shoreline.

We all scatter our prayers, curses, tears, to the waves and the setting sun.

Everyone is silent as we head back to the shore.

K.J. Noh, "Why Oliver Stone came to Jeju Island," CounterPunch, Aug 23 2013 [x]

[cathrynstreich]

Green Principles Being Baked Into Every Aspect of Real Estate as the Tide Continues to Turn

Introducing the 2019 EverGreen Award Winners

The Green REsource Council’s EverGreen Award, presented at the National Association of REALTORS® (NAR) annual convention, honors those real estate professionals who have dedicated themselves to sustainable business practices and a green life- and workstyle. In addition to possessing NAR’s Green Designation, EverGreen Award winners are recognized for performing exemplary acts in regard to green practices.

Kimberly Pontius

One of this year’s winners, Kimberly Pontius, is CEO of the Traverse Area Association of REALTORS® (TAAR), based in Traverse City, Mich.

“This honor means a great deal to our association, as we will now be the proud recipient of three EverGreen awards,” says Pontius.

While the association was first awarded in 2010 for being a pioneer in greening the MLS, in 2012, then trainer and REBAC Green Instructor Bill Costley was bestowed the honor.

“This third award is personally gratifying for me,” says Pontius. “It signals an appreciation by NAR for over a decade’s worth of service promoting an understanding of the importance of green principles to our REALTOR® members and the consumers they serve.”

Understanding the importance of NAR’s Green Designation, Pontius is seeing the tide turn as more and more real estate professionals share his belief.

“A decade has changed a lot of people’s perceptions as they watch the world changing around them,” says Pontius. “I think that green principles are finally being baked into everything we do as people become more familiar with the triple bottom line approach to profit and prosperity. Personally, I think that the comprehension of the principles of green, sustainability and community resilience—which build upon each other—is what will keep REALTORS® at the center of the real estate transaction. I strongly believe that these principles will also be a part of the new membership value proposition of our association.”

The Traverse Area Association of REALTORS® first made an impression on the committee a decade ago with the greening of its MLS. This put the city on a list with Portland, Denver, Atlanta, Chicago, Houston and Boston as those leading on green initiatives.

“NAR was surprised when they did a call-in for whitepapers on greening the MLS and we sent a four-inch-thick, how-to manual,” says Pontius.

This was followed by an awareness by the TAAR of the impact of land-based activities on the water given that Traverse City is primarily a water destination that attracts a great deal of people to its inland lakes, rivers, streams, Grand Traverse Bay and Lake Michigan.

“We began changing people’s perception about the relationship of land and water,” says Pontius. “We want them to know that visiting, working or living here in this wonderful place is a privilege that should be handed to future generations in a sustainable way. Therefore, we partner with our land conservancies, watershed centers, food and farming networks, conservation groups, local elected officials and land use professionals. In fact, we have a saying that states that this place is ‘Where Green Meets Blue,’ and knowing and protecting this makes our real estate more resilient to market forces.”

Being honored this year comes from what Pontius describes as “an incredible series of great and understanding board members and leadership teams who get it and have formed a continuum of and approach to systems thinking within our organization.”

These green efforts have helped consumers understand that the environment isn’t always on the outside. In fact, inside their homes is an environmental system that’s connected, and, further, the home connects to other systems that are outside of their personal space. According to Pontius, in order to lead a healthy and fulfilled life, both environments need to work together.

“People want a safe, secure and resilient place to live that reconnects them to the natural world,” he says. “Where I live is one of those regions, and when people come here and get out on the water and look back at the land, they connect these dots.”

Christina Mathieson

Another honoree of the EverGreen Award is Christina Mathieson, LEED Green Associate, Instructor for Green EDU, and REALTOR® with Keller Williams in Woodbury, N.Y.

“It’s an incredible honor to be recognized by NAR,” says Mathieson, who has been working exclusively on exploring the impact of solar and energy upgrades on a real estate transaction for the past four years.

“The goal of this work is to effectively demonstrate the value of solar power and energy-efficient upgrades when we sell a high-performing home,” she says. “It’s one of the great joys of my career to be able to share the knowledge I’ve accumulated with the agents I train at Leap EDU’s Green EDU classes.”

Hundreds of the firm’s agents have taken Mathieson’s Green EDU “Becoming A Solar Specialist” certification class, which uniquely qualifies them to handle the sale and purchase of solar-powered properties for their clients.

“In addition, Keller Williams strives to adopt sustainability throughout its business practices, including limiting the use of paper, encouraging our agents and homeowners to reuse and repurpose, and offering quarterly suggestions on safer cleaning products and ways to live in a healthier home,” says Mathieson. “We have a commitment to sustainability—helping our agents and clients evolve their homes by using clean energy, becoming more energy-efficient and improving their indoor air quality, and then ensuring that they receive the highest possible price when we sell their homes.”

The team at Leap EDU, especially principal Adam Barda, has been instrumental in enabling Mathieson to introduce solar energy and energy efficiency to many real estate professionals.

“We also work with a Long Island nonprofit, PinkTie.org, which has a network of real estate professionals who are ‘go-givers,’ meaning they donate a portion of their earnings back to the community,” says Mathieson. “Through PinkTie, we’ve been able to reach out to this network, as well, and get them on the clean energy and energy efficiency bandwagon.”

For more information, please visit green.realtor/.

Keith Loria is a contributing editor to RISMedia.

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[isaacscrawford]

Which Is More Efficient: Employer-Sponsored Insurance or Medicaid?

By SAURABH JHA, MD

An old disagreement between Uwe Reinhardt and Sally Pipes in Forbes is a teachable moment. There’s a dearth of confrontational debates in health policy and education is worse off for it.

Crux of the issue is the more efficient system: employer-sponsored insurance (ESI) or Medicaid. Sally Pipes, president of the market-leaning Pacific Research Institute, believes it is ESI. Employers spend 60% less than the government, per person: $3,430 versus $9,130, per person (according to the American Health Policy Institute). Seems like a no brainer.

Pipes credits “consumerist and market-friendly approaches to health insurance” for the efficiencies. She blames “fraud,” “improper payment,” and “waste” for problems in government-run components of health care.

But Uwe Reinhardt, economist at Princeton, counters that Medicaid appears inefficient because of the risk composition of its enrollees. Put simply, Medicaid recipients are sicker. Sicker patients use more health care resources. Econ 101.

The points of tension in their disagreement are instructive.

Is ESI free market?

The term “consumerist” instinctively appeals to competition and choice, elements we value in free market. However, health care can’t be compared to shopping for single malt in airport duty free, deciding between Talisker 18 and Glenlivet 21.

ESI is hardly an assortment of private units functioning autonomously and competing with each other. ESI has been carved by so many regulations that the government figuratively runs through its veins.

Do you wonder why insurers in ESI don’t surcharge a family with a child with Tetralogy of Fallot? That is increase their premiums astronomically or deny coverage because of a pre-existing condition.

Goodness of heart? No, it’s because of the government.

This means that young fit joggers are subsidizing the costs for the unfortunate child’s complex cardiac surgery. Insurance is redistribution.

Risk adjustment: Comparing apples and oranges

Failure to adjust for comorbidities makes it difficult to make comparisons in quality, value and performance.

Not only are Medicaid enrollees sicker, they are poorer and less empowered. A priori they are a more inefficient group to deal with than the employed middle class.

I’ll hazard a guess that Sovaldi (medication for hepatitis C) won’t increase Microsoft’s health care bill as much as the state of Illinois’. One, of course, would not credit Microsoft’s cost savings to greater efficiency through clever free market insurance design.

However, in policy discussions comparisons between apples and oranges are commonplace.  Life expectancy and infant mortality are used to compare U.S. health care to countries such as Cuba or France, when adjudicators well know, or should know, that there is more nuance. Using metrics which can be affected by social determinants of health is misleading.

Is Medicaid an island?

There are no islands in health care.

It’s important not to make the same logical errors with Medicaid as with ESI.  Medicaid is not an autonomous government unit. Its recipients aren’t sent solely to safety net hospitals. For most parts Medicaid recipients share the same system as folks on ESI; a system which, arguably, has been sculpted by ESI, for better or worse.

This means there’s interdependence between ESI and Medicaid, or between a government-regulated/ government-subsidized system and a government-regulated/ government-funded system.

Interdependence would be suggested by cost shifting, where costs of seeing Medicaid patients are shifted to ESI. Even if there is no convincing evidence of cost shifting, as Reinhardt cautions but Pipes disagrees with the caution, this interdependence is not diminished. Providers, or hospitals, might happily see Medicaid patients knowing they can still enjoy good returns from ESI, without purposely shifting costs to ESI, or other forms of insurance.

Politics, Ideology and Medicaid

Medicaid is more than a system of reimbursing physicians. It has become an ideology. Any criticism of Medicaid leads to the unfortunate conclusion by some well-intentioned individuals that the purpose of critique is to send the poor to workhouses and let them die – de facto eugenics. No rational discussion can be had when people shout “Republican reforms kill.” The mob clouded the judgment of Pontius Pilate – and that was before Twitter.

Good intention does not mean access, though. Medicaid recipients have a problem of access. This is because Medicaid pays providers far too little whilst simultaneously imposing far too much red tape. Poor access is fiercely countered by some policy analysts and their fierce counter is fiercely countered by practicing doctors who actually see patients on Medicaid.

Regardless, paying providers the least when caring for the sickest, poorest and most disenfranchised section of society does no favors to that section of society.

Medicaid pays a cardiologist, with years of training, $25-40 for a consultation to manage a complex patient with multiple comorbidities, on polypharmacy, where the cardiologist must indulge in shared decision making and also ensure the patient adheres to statins.

For comparison, my personal trainer charges me $80. There’s no shared decision making – he tells me to do “burpees” and I must abide or face his wrath.

Serve and volley at the margins

Both Reinhardt and Pipes cite several studies supporting their point of view. One wonders whether policy wonks truly can form opinions solely from evidence since it’s so easy to cite evidence to support one’s prior convictions and subconsciously disregard or criticize the methodology of studies which refute our convictions.

For example, outcomes are often used to adjudicate the efficacy of treatments and healthcare systems, and the same constituency which flags poor outcomes when comparing the US healthcare to Sweden’s asks that these outcomes not be used to assess the efficacy of Medicaid. I agree with them as strongly as I disagreed with their use of life expectancy to judge American healthcare.

Disagreements are common because economics is not a hard science such as physics. It does not so much get us to the objective truth as it does to the action at the margins through methodology that is not as robust as the physical sciences, yielding different results on different occasions.

Who is correct, Reinhardt or Pipes?

In a sense both.

Reinhardt is right. Medicaid recipients are not the same as those enjoying ESI.

Pipes is right. Medicaid has structural issues. It pays physicians too little compared to ESI.

This begs the question which reimbursement corresponds to the fair market price in health care: Medicaid or ESI. We will never know because health care has not operated as a free market, and never will. And ESI does distort the price signals as do mandates and virtually everything else.

But here is the important point: ESI is going nowhere. Neither the most left-leaning Democrat nor the most right-leaning Republican has the courage to rid health care of ESI.

What’s the objective truth? Which system really is more efficient?

The truth lies in the answer to this: Would ESI deliver the level of care enjoyed by ESI recipients with paucity of cost sharing that Medicaid recipients face to Medicaid enrollees at a lower cost than Medicaid?

For Medicaid recipients cost sharing should be zero otherwise it defeats the purpose of a safety net. But remember we want them to have the same level of care as ESI for a true apples-apples comparison.

It’s practically impossible to conduct a randomized controlled trial to answer this question. Nor does empiricism suffice. All quantitative analyses have assumptions. With regards to assumptions I can do no better than paraphrase Groucho Marx: “Those are my assumptions, and if you don’t like them … well I have others.”

Importance of disagreements

The current system does not have many genuine alternatives. Single-payer is out as is a genuine free market. As politicians don’t wish to talk about costs because of political expediency, all we are arguing about is which part of health care has the most administrative cost/ informational loss. This is at best a marginal argument. To resolve this argument I would encourage more dialectic between partial truths.

But if Medicaid truly is a high risk pool, and I believe it is, then it should be treated as the other high risk pool – Medicare. Which means that the poor and sick, the uninsurable, should be covered by the Federal government through general taxation. I would suggest a “Medicare for the Poor” which offers the same benefits as traditional Medicare. This would allow the states to balance their budgets better and concentrate on local infrastructure, such as parks, police and public libraries.

Summary of key points

It’s more cost-efficient treating healthier patients.

Accurate adjustment for comorbidities and social determinants of health is key for any comparisons in health care. This is (never) seldom achieved.

There’s interdependence between employer-sponsored insurance and Medicaid.

No one knows true market prices in health care because it’s not a free market.

Economic analysis yields information about the margins, until the next analysis.

The poor should be covered by the Federal government through general taxation.

About the Author:

Saurabh Jha is a contributing editor to THCB. He can be reached on Twitter @RogueRad

      Article source:The Health Care Blog