#I missed Willard so much this past week

[lonely--seeker]

I've gotten so used to sleep with my shark plushie I don't want to leave him ever again. He just fits perfectly and is soft? A pillow could never.

[xhoneygirlxx]

Watermelon Sugar

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

summary: Eddie shows you the eight wonder of the world. his mouth.

warnings: reader and eddie are 18+, established relationship, fluff, Eddie being a munch. nicknames/pet names used (baby, honey, sweetheart, etc.) MINORS DNI 18+ smut: fem oral receiving, blowjobs mentioned, talks of past sexual experiences, praise/body worship, swearing. *Skin Color/Ethnicity not mentioned! not proofread, spelling errors and horrible writing.

if I miss anything plz lmk!

a/n: hello my loves! thank you all for the kind words and reactions on my last couple of posts! as you all know smut is not my forte but I felt the need to write this. am I projecting??? maybe but we’re gonna pretend that i'm not :)

The low hum of Steve Nicks’ voice plays through Eddie’s room, the soundtrack of your makeout session with your boyfriend. Orange glow from the late afternoon sun comes through the window, an angelic glow casting around the frizz of the mentalhead’s hair.

It started as an innocent day, hanging out together in a comfortable silence in his room. Him doodling in his notebook and you flipping through one of his old comic books. Somewhere along the way a featherlight touch turned into shared giggles, sitting in his lap turned into a chaste kiss, and it ended up with him in between your parted knees, kissing like his life depended on it.

A curtain of curls block out the skylight, tender lips on yours like melted honey, and big hands roaming down the expanse of your body. When Eddie moves away from your mouth, he takes the oxygen from your lungs with him and you whimper at the loss.

"Gonna let me have a taste of you, pretty girl?" Big doe eyes shine down to you, way too eager and excited. Your stomach twists into knots, the training you put yourself through in case of this moment, has all been for nothing. What do you say to the man that hovers over you with so much love in his eyes?

"How about I suck you off instead, hmm?" You try to come off as sensual but instead you sound scared.

It's an offer that you've made so many times over the short course of your relationship with Eddie. This was your first real relationship besides the eight grade love affair you had with Simon Willard. That only lasted a week.

You weren't anywhere near a virgin, that so called sacred part of yourself is now in the possession of a random boy you met on vacation before your senior year. Hookups weren't uncommon to you but what was uncommon to you was the affection you received during the sex.

People you've hooked up with never really cared to get you nice and ready the way Eddie does, prepping you with two or more fingers, working you open so that it doesn't hurt going in. Guys didn't care if you got off or not, they were just looking for a hole to fill and someone who wouldn't get clingy.

You had guy friends, including Eddie before you started dating, and you heard the horror stories they had of going down on a girl. It was never in mean spirit, although the discussion should've stayed in the bedroom, but it still scared you shitless. How one girl didn't properly take care of herself, causing the smell to be rancid. This girl didn't wipe the right way, leaving scraps of toilet paper down there. And the one that really settled itself into your brain, was how good or bad a girl tasted.

Of course you, and all of your guy friends, knew that girls didn't taste like ice cream, or strawberries, or candy. It was made up, another bullshit beauty standard for woman to worry about.

You had paid attention to the way guys would ask you if you wanted it done. The way they would sigh and roll their eyes like it was the biggest task of their lives. You would end up telling them that you're more of a giver than receiver, and that you just weren't interested in that whole thing. When they would release a breath of relief you would fill with shame, almost like you were the one who requested it to be done and had been turned down. The embarrassment of rejection you didn't even ask for.

So when you and Eddie first had sex as boyfriend and girlfriend, you made it your mission to never let that horrid question come from his mouth. You always made sure to offer him head first, and if it looked like he was about to ask, you'd simply tell him you couldn't wait anymore.

Now here you are, under him, ready and willing to take him in your mouth, and he's gotten the question out before you could beat him to the punch.

"Ya know I will never say no to that, sweetheart. But-"

Uh oh. That's the word that comes before a life or death sentence. It's hanging heavy over you, the once comfortable silence is now killing you. Squeezing all of the air out of your body, limbs going numb with the loss of circulation, all the while your ears ring like an explosion has gone off.

"I want to return the favor." It's so sincere when he says it and it makes you want to cry. A boyish smile taking over his mouth, deep dimples appearing on the fat of his cheeks.

You must look like you've seen a ghost because the pretty smile that was written on his face is now taken over by worry.

"I mean, I don't have to. It's just- I feel like," Eddie's a panicked mess, backing his face further away from your own. The small bubble of love that the two of you created has now been popped with your own doubts and fears.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I just thought I could make you feel good s'all." The confident man that you know all too well is now reduced to a fumbling and anxious person. His fingers work at the chunky silver ring on his finger, twisting and twisting and twisting it around.

"You just always, I don't know. It just always seems like you never ask for head and I just wanted to offer it to you, I guess."

The whiskey eyes that never left your gaze won't even look at you anymore. Focusing on that damn ring that goes faster and faster the longer you wait to respond. You want to run and hide. Dig a deep hole and never come out. Your lovely boyfriend who's done nothing but treat you like the queen of the goddamn universe, now thinks he's made you uncomfortable.

Embarrassment rushes through your veins, throat closing with the grip of shame making it harder to breathe. Tears prick your eyes, hot and heavy, ready to fall at the drop of a dime. You feel so guilty for not just telling him the truth, for not saying all the concerns that you had. Even before you started dating Eddie always confided in you, telling you the deepest secrets that kept him up at night and you couldn't even tell him this one thing.

"I'm embarrassed." It comes out in a sniffle, lip wobbling beneath the teeth that hold it down, trying to make it go away.

"I'm just embarrassed I won't be good. That I'll be another conversation for you and the boys to drink to. Will I taste good? Do I smell weird? Does it look pretty? All of these questions circle my brain and I'm so fucking scared that you won't like me anymore." It comes out like word vomit, so fast and uneven in tone that you're not sure if it even made sense.

You don't have time to think it over anyway, Eddie's too quick putting his hands on your cheeks, gently making you look up at him. The same kind eyes that you always see meet yours. Thumbs gentle swipe the fat tears off of your face, his cold hands extinguish the flames of your skin.

"Honey, I promise you I would never, ever do some dumb shit like that. What the guys and I talk about is irrelevant, half the time they don't even know what they're talking about. I felt the same way when you wanted to suck me off the first time, every single question you ask yourself is what I ask myself." Eddie's eyes are searching yours, looking and waiting to see the dread leave your head.

"Like I said before, I would never want you to be uncomfortable but if you're okay with it, I'd really," He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, "really," he continues to place more delicate kisses around your face, "really love to make you feel so fucking good."

When he's done, he looks back down to you with a dopey smile, he's low and hazy drunk off of you. A smile tugs on your own lips, so warm and fuzzy off of him. You know he means it and you feel sad that you even questioned him. Childish laughter rings out between the two of you when he pinches your sides, tickling out the stiffness in your body.

When the laughter dies down, he asks you again by cocking his eyebrow up in question. Nodding your head, you give him a confident yes, something you didn't feel the first time he asked.

Moving down your body, trails of kisses are left on your skin, mapping out his journey to your center. When he reaches the hem of your pants, he looks up to you once more waiting for a reply. Encouraging him to go further, his chilled fingers douses the warmth radiating off of you.

Leaving you only in your polka dot designed panties, Eddie teases you by running his fingers up and down your thighs.

"I gotta say bub, I love the pink dots. Top notch fashion if I don't say so myself." Eddie jokes and it makes you giggle. Swatting lightly at him, he returns the laughter.

"I'm not lying, I swear! If only you know what you do to me." As much of a joker Eddie is, he was never one to joke about your beauty. He found everything you did, said, and wore so fucking breathtaking and flawless, he'd probably get hard from the sight of you in a Tin Man costume.

"If you, at any time, want me to stop just tell me. I won't get mad, just let me know, okay?" Eyebrows scrunched with seriousness, Eddie makes sure to be loud and clear with his instructions.

"I promise, Eds." You say and he takes that as the green light.

Eddie's index finger teases your cloth slit, running up and down so slowly it feels like torture. When you lift your hips looking for more friction he snorts lightly.

"Patience, my love." His fingers continue to dance over your panties, running back to the top of the band and pulling them down in a swift motion.

When the cool air hits your wet seat, you whimper slightly at the feeling. Eddie has seen your pussy multiple times, but when he spreads it with his fingers, you can't help but feel shy, closing your legs around his arm.

"Don't go shy on me, baby. I just wanna see the prettiest picture I've ever seen." His eyes are still trained on the glistening of your sex, glimmering like bright pools of water.

It feels like an hour of no movement from Eddie before he goes to change his position between your legs. Shuffling back on his knees, he picks your thighs up to place on his shoulders as he lays on his stomach.

Still having doubts, you lean up on your elbows, watching your boyfriend to see what his reaction is. To your surprise, he looks like a kid in a candy store, awe and wonder swimming around in the big brown pools of his eyes.

When an obscene sniff rings through the air, you can't help but cringe a little. Waiting for him to look repulsed, you're again astonished when all your met with is a feral look.

Very tentatively, he runs his flat tongue from your hole to the top of your clit. Moaning deeply, he moves his gave up to you. A smirk breaks out on his features, so devilishly and mischievously.

"Oh baby, you have no fucking clue how good you taste." There is no questioning in his cadence. It's smug and cocky and it makes you shiver with need.

Repeating his motions from before, you mewl at the feeling, lifting your hips again. The chuckle that comes from Eddie vibrates off of you, make you move you squirm. Reaching his strong hands around your thighs, he holds you in place with his firm grip.

When the wet muscle breaches your needy hole, you fall back onto the bed moaning out in pleasure. He works your open with it, flicking it in and out efficiently.

Pulling out of you, he moves up to your bundle of nerves. Starting slowly, he circles around once or twice, before working it in figure eights.

You melt into the bed like a popsicle on a hot summers day. There's not a single thought in your head other than the feeling of his mouth. You're a livewire come to life, so sensitive and lost in the haze of pleasure.

You think this is the precipice of ecstasy but then one of his thick fingers enter you and his mouth sucks hard on your pulsing clit.

It feels like fireworks on the fourth of July, bright and explosive, big loud bangs ringing out into the night sky. It's like the feeling of going down the big drop on a rollercoaster, tingling deep in your belly and a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. It's like winning first place, heartwarming and shocking all at the same time.

You feel all these things at the same time, every single one of them caused by the actions of your boyfriends mouth. It's overwhelming and so fucking delicious but you can't say anything than cry out in bliss.

Letting go of your clit with a pop, Eddie's head pokes up at you like an excited puppy. "S'it feel good baby?" You want to answer, you really do but the way he sneaks a second finger into you and crooks them at the perfect angle makes you lose all motor skills.

"Awe, honey" he coos mockingly, "Is it that good?"

"S'good Eds, so good." You're a blubbering, crying mess. So hooked on the feeling of him, hooking on the feeling of how he made you feel.

He doesn't say anything else, too busy pushing his face back between your legs. His motions go faster, fingers hitting that sweet spot inside of you that he only managed to find, his mouth switching between motions, driving you closer to the edge as he does.

The string in your belly is pulling tighter and tighter, barley hanging together by a thread. You're a thrashing, sweaty mess on his bed, gripping the pillow underneath your head that your knuckles will probably be stuck in that position. You don't care, not when he's moving his head back and forth, slurping up your wetness like a handmade milkshake.

It's filthy, down right dirty the way it sounds. The noises that carry out into his room echo so loud the neighbors could probably hear. The squelch of your wetness being pounded into by his hand, the way he's drinking you up like a dehydrated plant, the moans that escape out of your parted lips.

"Eddie, please. FUCK, please." You're blathering at him, not even sure at what you're asking for.

Separating himself from you again, he continues working his fingers deep into you.

"You wanna cum, pretty girl? S'that it? Wanna cum all over my fingers?" You moan louder in response, clenching around him harder as you do.

"Go ahead, be a good good and cum for me. Come on, honey. Cum for me." That's all you need to hear before you're hurtling off the edge of your release.

You release with a silent cry, all the air being punched right out of you. Your body feels weightless, like you were thrown up into the clouds and not being able to come down.

Your whole body shakes, tears streaming down your face, all while your hole pulses and quivers around Eddie's fingers. A gush of wetness coats his fingers, a big puddle under your ass, leaving another stain on his bed seats.

He watches in awe as you hit your peak, how your back arches off of the bed and how you look so fucking perfect like this. The shy girl that never got experience this kind joy, now swims in the ocean of euphoria of the climax. He feels so lucky to witness this, to be the first and last person to ever see you this vulnerable.

Eddie wishes he could paint this moment, make a portrait of the way your kiss bitten lips form the perfect O, make the brushstrokes of your hair and some of it sticks to your sweaty face. You're so beautiful and he doesn't know how blessed to be yours.

When you float back down to earth, to the springy mattress of Eddie's, you take a moment to catch your breath. When he removes his fingers from you, you weakly hiss from movement and he offers a quiet sorry.

Moving back up to his knees, he hovers over you and smiles brightly down at you. Smiling weakly back at you, he uses the hand that's not supporting his weight to place it on your jaw. His thumb brushes back and forth and you melt right into it.

"How was that?" Pink tints his cheeks, grinning ear to ear.

You chuckle weakly, shaking your head in disbelief.

"I think I went to outer space for a second there."

A booming laugh leaves his chest and it makes you smile even harder. Your heart feels so full and so happy. You're so in love with him and it makes you delirious. You want to see him like this for the rest of your life, big smiles and even big laughter, so pretty and delicate only for you.

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself there, space cadet." Leaning down to press his lips to yours, your soak in the feeling of it. When he moves away you pout at him, and he bops you on the nose with his finger.

"I was thinkin' I could return the favor, big boy." You whisper seductively.

"Oh baby, that sounds wonderful but-," He makes eye contact with you, "I need to be in you like yesterday because that, right there was the hottest thing I've ever witness."

"I happen to be a romantic. So I shall wait until my fair maiden is okay to resume our activities." Closing his eyes with pride, he places a hand on his heart.

Hiding your face with your hands, you bust out laughing at his little antics and when you peek between his fingers you see his teeth flashing back at you. Removing your hands from your face, you tuck a loose tendril behind his ear.

"You're a dork, but that sounds good to me."

_

_

_

Thank you all for reading! I loves you all and hope you enjoyed!!!

_

_

_

[saleintothe90s]

440. Slim Fast

So, Slim Fast is embedded in some of my earliest memories. It was the first commercial I ever made fun of when I was five or six years old. Dad and I were watching TV, and there was a commercial where the lady said she lost five pounds or whatever. I remember I like, stopped from my coloring, and mimicked her. It was one of the last times I made my dad laugh. 

(but also, ew. hot cocoa?)

4. 

There’s the shaker! 

My mom also bought into any diet fad back then and bought Slim Fast all the time and even let me have it for lunch alongside her during the Summers, because I too was fat. She made it in a little shaker container. I think she even won a bike at the Commissary for buying a 2 pack of slim fast during the peak of Slim-Fast-iness in the early 90s?! I just remember something about slim fast, a bike, the commissary, and dad giving it or selling it to one of the guys he worked with.  

Back in the late 80s and early 90s, baseball great Tommy Lasorda was the face of Slim Fast in advertising. My most favorite commercial he did was for the short-lived Slim Fast you mixed with juice instead of milk. So of course, the most unhealthiest one was my favorite back then. It was an orange-pineappe flavor.

I found this from a biography about Tommy, turns out he hated the stuff 2:

Another celebrity that advertised the stuff was Willard Scott -- who at the same time was doing ads for Carnival Cruise Lines where he was basking in the glory of the giant buffet. 1 Also, rest in pancakes to Willard Scott, he died recently. America’s Uncle Willard. 

In 1991, it was even offered in some restaurants: 

Southern California restaurants, hoping to lure dedicated dieters, are now featuring Ultra Slim-Fast on their menus. At Sunset Boulevard's trendy Le Petit Four, the diet drink tops the list of breakfast offerings. Selling at $3 a pop, the bistro gets 15 to 18 orders a week. Marie Callender's, a chain famous for its pies, is also serving Slim-Fast, but it's not a big mover. 5

 Around New Years of 1992, Slim Fast expanded big time (er) with food! 

Can we discuss the slim fast CARTON? 

I want to drink Slim Fast out of a carton so bad now. I wonder what was the difference between this and the can though. The can was out at the same time. Did they sit in convenience stores right next to the milk? 

OH speaking of Slim Fast at a convenience store!! I just remembered! A million years ago I saw a video on YouTube of these two bicyclists? who stopped at a convenience store out in the middle of nowhere for a snack. One of the guys got a slim fast shake in a can. He cracked it open and noticed it tasted terrible. It had been in the fridge in the store 3 years past its expiration. I searched high and low for the video, but it looks like it’s long gone.  I found it! They were on a road trip and one guy’s slim fast was fermented. It had only been expired for a year though. I totally mis remembered it. Me in 2008 watching YouTube at 3am.

I miss the Slim Fast in a can. It tasted so much better than the bottle ones they have now, which always, always taste like plastic. 

I found a review for the mac n cheese where food columnist Judy Fitzgibbons stated that the pasta had “no flavor” and a “medicinal aftertaste and odor”. 3

Those peanut butter crunch bars were delicious. 

Ooof that instant soup. It belongs in an office drawer. 

Here’s an example of a slim fast day. Don’t forget your slim fast salad dressing !

...and slim fast ice cream. 

The pretzels got a “poor” rating in a 1993 issue of Shape. They couldn’t even get pretzels right. 

In closing, here are some recipes, I think these are from 1990. Christina is Christina Ferrare who also did commercials for the product. 

Facebook | Etsy | Retail History Blog | Twitter | YouTube Playlist | Random Post | Ko-fi donation | instagram @thelastvcr​ | tik tok @ saleintothe90s

1. Staff, Newsweek. “Living Large.” Newsweek, August 21, 1994. https://www.newsweek.com/living-large-187732.

2. Plaschke, Bill, and Tommy Lasorda. I Live for This! Baseball’s Last True Believer. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2007.

3. Fitzgibbons, Judy. “On the Label.” Cedar Rapids Gazette, November 17, 1992.

4. Akers, Charlene. Obesity. Lucent Overview Series. San Diego: Lucent Books, 2000.

5. Zeman, Ned. “Hold The Mayo.” Newsweek, October 13, 1991. https://www.newsweek.com/hold-mayo-204764.

[octbrsaturn]

REPENT - ARVIN RUSSELL PART 2

note: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER !!! i’ve been so busy the past week with moving houses and work, it’s been crazy and i’ve been ridiculously tired. also keep in mind that i’ve officially changed her name to y/n, this way it’s easier for you cuties :) THERE WILL BE A PART 3 !!! i’m not leavin y’all hanging after sticking with me for so long ;,) ily guy and all the support i’ve been given, you guys are the best!

please enjoy!

GIF DOES NOT BELONG TO ME !!!

.

.

.

PART TWO

"Dean," Y/N nodded, turning back to her paper and continuing to draw. Arvin once told her that ignoring people was like putting water in a fire - it started to douse them out. It was entertaining them (talking to them, laughing at them, any attention in general) was what fanned the fire. So Y/N tried her hardest to ignore Dean. But the problem with Dean was that being ignored only pushed him to try harder for attention, whether it be good or bad.

Dean stuck his hand in through the car window and grabbed onto Y/N's chin. He roughly turned her head to look at him. "How've you been, Y/N? I've not seen you in a while. I missed you."

Y/N pulled her head away from Dean's grasp and continued to ignore him.

"She's still not very obedient," Dean's friend, Jack, said slyly. "Maybe we should teach her a lesson."

"I'm startin' to think you're right ... " Dean answered. "The thing is, Jack, that colored girls like her ... they're real pretty sometimes, but not very smart. So truly, they're only good for one thing." He gave Y/N a fake frown, making it seem like he didn't want to do what he was about to do.

Y/N could feel her heart drop into her stomach, but she still tried her hardest to ignore them.

Please hurry, Arvin, please ...

Inside the diner, Arvin was stuck talking to Sandy Roberts, one of the girls from his class. She had long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was nice enough, never said anything rude, kept to herself. Arvin didn't hate the girl, he just wanted to get back to his sunshine to celebrate her passing her test.

So as Sandy spoke, Arvin didn't listen very hard. Every once in a while he'd let out an 'mhm' or a 'sure' but he didn't contribute in the conversation at all.

"And I was thinkin', maybe sometime soon, you and I could go check out a movie? Or maybe go dancin'?" Sandy asked with hopeful eyes.

Arvin's eyes, however, were trained in his car. He squinted but he couldn't make out a figure in the passenger seat. Y/N knew better than to get out, especially since this diner was still desegregated, but didn't welcome people of color all too well, so where the hell was she?

"Arvin?" Sandy asked, trying to get his attention again.

"Huh? Oh, uh, sure," Arvin didn't remember what he was agreeing to. "I've gotta go, I'll see you later, Mandy."

Before Sandy could tell him that her name wasn't actually Mandy, Arvin was out of the door. He looked in his car to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, and when he realized that Y/N was gone, he went into full-on panic mode.

Arvin looked around, his head whipping in every direction, trying to find anything that could help him find her. He finally decided to walk around the building, hoping that maybe she'd decided to take a walk? Even though that wasn't like her at all?

Arvin walked around the building, looking for anything to get him to her. His eyes finally landed on something that made him see red immediately.

It was Y/N - his Y/N - on the ground, scooting back into the wall as far as she could, fear dripping in her eyes. Arvin looked up to see none other than Dean Cooper standing above her. His pants were around his ankles and one of his hands were flat against the brick wall, trapping Y/N. His other hand was working on pulling down his underpants, but before he could, Arvin was already on top of him, beating the shit out of him.

"Didn't you learn all those years ago?!" Arvin screamed out, relentlessly striking Dean's face in. "Leave her alone!"

Arvin was then tackled to the ground by Jack Willows. Arvin could feel his stomach get kicked, but all he could seem to care about was Y/N. He looked up through hooded eyes to see her tear-stricken face, screaming for Dean and Jack to stop. She stood up as best as she could with shaking legs and tried to pull Jack away, but he only reared back and smacked her across the face.

When the boys had finally decided that Arvin had enough, they stood up. Dean turned to Y/N with a bloody smirk. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, despite her cries for him to leave her alone. His lips lingered near her ear as he whispered, "I'll see you around, sunshine."

As soon as the boys were out of sight, Arvin crawled over to Y/N and gently cupped her face. Her eyes were wide with fear, barely blinking. "Sunshine - sweetheart, can you hear me?" Arvin asked urgently, trying to decide what to do. He knew of a few black hospitals around the area but didn't know if he should take her. She didn't look too hurt - just a few scratches and a torn cheerleading outfit. But her eyes ... Those scared Arvin. She looked traumatized. Like she was never going to forget what just happened to her.

"Y/N, baby," Arvin gently shook Y/N's head with his hands, trying to get her to look at him. Y/N's eyes were trained on the ground, she couldn't seem to let her eyes wander away from one specific spot. Arvin continued to shake her, trying to get her to look at him.

"Please, look at me! It's me, sweetheart, it's Arvin! I'm right here, baby, I'm right here ... " He gently pulled her face into his chest and hugged her close, like he always did when she needed him to. "I'm right here ... I ain't goin' nowhere."

"I'm going to kick his fuckin' ass," Arvin told his grandmother, Emma. Y/N was now at his house, sitting with Lenora. He left her there with his step-sister so he could talk to his grandmother, but he had now decided that he'd instead go and find Dean Cooper.

"Hold on a second now," Emma stopped the boy. "I don't even know what happened. How'd she get like this?"

"Dean fuckin' Cooper and his buddy Jack is what happened. They dragged her outta my car at the diner and were about to ... to ... " Arvin couldn't even bring himself to say it. He couldn't even think about what they would've done if he wasn't so damn busy talking to Sandy Roberts. If he had waited even a minute longer, Y/N ... No. He made it in time. She wasn't hurt too badly. She would be okay.

"Well, I'll tell you this much," Emma Russell told her grandson. Her eyes were trained on Arvin's knuckles that were clenched so tight, Emma was sure that his hand would break any moment. She reached forward and grabbed onto Arvin's hands, knowing that would help him calm down a little bit. But another part of her knew that there was only one person who could truly calm him down ... and she was in his room at the moment, crying. "Goin' out right now and hurtin' those boys ain't gon' take back what they did to her."

Arvin looked up at his grandmother. Sure, she was right, but Arvin couldn't stand around and do nothing. He had to go now - when the time was right. If he waited, then he may miss his moment. "Grandma - "

"Y/N is in there right now," Emma pointed to Arvin's room, where Y/N was currently crying on Lenora's shoulder. He could still hear her gasping for air. He could hear Lenora gently telling her to breathe and that it would be okay. "And no matter how much she loves her, Lenora ain't the one that she's needin'."

Arvin looked at the ground, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

"She needs you, Arvin," Emma steps forward and gently cupped his cheek, wiping away an early tear. She knew how much Arvin hated to cry, especially around people. The only person he'd ever cried around that wasn't family was Y/N. "So go help her."

Arvin nodded at Emma and turned, opening the door to his room. He saw Y/N crying with her head in Lenora's lap. Lenora was gently playing with her hair and shushing her as she cried. The girls looked at Arvin as he walked into the room. Lenora stood and let Arvin take her place. Arvin sat down where Lenora was but quickly scooted back, laying down and letting Y/N rest her head on his chest. His hands rubbed her back gently. He kissed her head every few minutes, letting her cry everything out.

"You're safe now," Arvin whispered. "I'm so sorry I didn't come back sooner."

Y/N only continued to cry.

"I love you, sunshine," Arvin kept talking. "I love you so much."

Y/N finally replied. "I love you, too."

Emma had already rung up William Lewis, letting him know that Y/N was going to stay the night at her house for the night. William was used to it at this point. He figured she would anyway. William trusted Emma, knowing that she was just a good of a guardian as Willard and Charlotte were parents (honestly, even better).

After Y/N had finally calmed down, she was only hiccuping against Arvin's chest. He hadn't stopped rubbing her back once, whispering sweet nothings into her ear until he felt her breathing start to slow. Y/N looked up and into Arvin's eyes. "I'm ... I'm sorry."

Arvin shot up at this, leaning on his elbows for a moment before sitting all the way up. Y/N stayed where she was, though, her legs straddling Arvin's waist. Normally, he'd be a tad flustered at the girl's position, but he was too fixated on her statement. Y/N's eyes were cast down at her lap, watching as she timidly played with Arvin's fingers - something she did a lot when she was either nervous or comfortable. Arvin guessed that maybe, at this moment, she was feeling the former.

"Why're you sorry, sweetheart?" Arvin asked, gently moving his hands to hold the girl's hips steady so she didn't fall off of his lap. He caught himself rubbing her skin softly with his thumbs as he patiently waited for her to reply. When Y/N's eyes didn't look up to his, he moved his head down a little so he could look in her eyes. "Look at me."

Y/N did so, her eyes flickering up to Arvin's. He didn't look mad, he looked concerned. Y/N sighed. "I didn't want to get out of the car, I really didn't. He threw the door open from the inside and dragged me out by my hair. I just ... I'm sorry."

Arvin shook his head almost the second she had started talking. He didn't blame her for a second - no, he blamed himself. He shouldn't have been talking to that Mandy girl. He should've kept his eyes on Y/N like he always did when he left her in the car. He would've seen Dean Cooper walking up to the car, he would've seen him drag her out by her hair, and he would've stopped him before he could do anything else.

Arvin kept one hand on her hip, the other shot up to the girl's cheek and gently cupped it. His thumb rubbed tiny streaks along her cheek. "It ain't your fault, sunshine. I've not been mad at you for a second."

Y/N nodded softly. "I can't believe ... after all these years, he's still out to get me." Her head moved forward, resting itself on Arvin's chest again. She sniffled a few times, hiccuped some more, but she didn't start crying again. "Why can't he just leave me alone?"

Arvin sighed. "I don't know, baby. There's just a lot of no-good sons of bitches out there."

Y/N smiled gently at the words Arvin used. The same words his daddy used to say to them all the time when they were kids. She tried not to believe it - she refused to believe that every person was just one-sided. Everyone had a good side and a bad side. They all had motivation for what they did, too. But now that she was older - maybe she was wrong. Maybe Dean Cooper truly was one-sided. Maybe he was just a no-good son of a bitch.

"Hey," Arvin whispered. Y/N looked back at him.

"Yes?"

"Maybe I can go get some food, and we can go see a drive-in movie like you wanted?" Arvin offered. He knew the girl wanted to get back to her day, and not dwell on everything that happened.

Y/N perked up. "That new Beatles movie s'posed to be out! I've been wantin' to see it for a while now!"

Arvin groaned. "You and them damn Beatles, sunshine." He rolled his eyes, but knew that he couldn't say no. "Fine. You go hang out with Lenora for a little while, I'm gonna go get the food. You want a burger?"

"Yes! With extra pickles and a side of cheese fries!" Y/N answered, though she already knew that Arvin knew this. He nodded, not moving the girl from his lap. He stayed sitting there, staring into her eyes. He knew that he was going to do something soon - something bad - to Dean Cooper. That guy could not get away with what he'd done to Y/N. No. She didn't deserve a second of pain in her life. She was his sunshine. She'd always been a constant positive in her life, and seeing her in trouble or hurting was something that Arvin worked every day to prevent. And this was just another prevention.

After Arvin got the food, he pulled back into the driveway to his home. He honked the horn of the car three times, and after only a moment, out came Y/N with a smile on her face. She had changed into one of Lenora's old dresses that fit her almost perfectly. The two were about the same height, so the dress went down to Y/N's knees, but Y/N was known to be a little curvier than others, so the dress was just the least little bit tight on her.

Y/N shut the door behind her and closed her eyes in glee. She took in a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth happily. "I'm starved. Let's hurry up an' get there, I can't miss Paul!"

"Who?" Arvin asked, putting the car in reverse and driving them off towards the drive-in theater.

"Paul McCartney, bubba!" Y/N laughed at Arvin. "He's one of The Beatles? C'mon!"

"I'm sorry, you know I don't listen to that crap," Arvin grunted, taking out a cigarette and placing it between his lips. Not a moment later, he felt a punch on his right arm, causing him to swerve on the road a little. "Jesus, sunshine, you're gonna kill us!"

"It'd be worth it!" Y/N yelled out, crossing her arms. "The Beatles are not crap, they're amazing! You mark my words, Arvin Russell, those four are going to be remembered forever!"

Arvin scoffed. "Whatever you say, sunshine."

Around thirty minutes into the movie, Y/N glanced over at Arvin. His eyes were trained on the giant screen, but he didn't look entertained. He looked bored, honestly.

Arvin, who honestly wanted any reason to stop watching this movie, turned to Y/N. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for earlier," Y/N said softly, looking down at her lap. "I-I don't think you realize just how grateful I am for you. You literally do so much for me - you always have. And I guess I just ... thank you."

Arvin felt his stomach drop. Not out of nerves, but just from how much he loved this girl sitting beside him. He couldn't even express just how much his heart felt for her - though he wanted to. "You know I'd do anything for you, Y/N."

Y/N looked back at the screen. She was definitely interested in it, but she couldn't get something off of her mind. "Hey, Arvin?"

Y/N nodded. "And I'd do anything for you, too. Just lately, it doesn't seem like I do too much for you."

"Are you kiddin' me?" Arvin almost laughed. He sat up a little in his seat and turned towards Y/N. "You do so much for me! You ever think about why I call you sunshine?"

Y/N shook her head. "I figured it was just a nickname."

"Well, it is," Arvin nodded. A part of him didn't want now to be the time to confess. But another part of him knew that another time might not come. He needed to stop letting moments like this pass him by. He needed to start living - he was going to tell this girl exactly how he felt. "But ... "

"Arvin?" Y/N asked. "Is everything okay?"

Maybe ... Maybe now wasn't the time to tell her.

Y/N reached forward and grabbed Arvin's hands. Her thumbs ran over his knuckles gently as she waited for him to be ready to talk. And just like that, Arvin's fears went away again. He felt his heartbeat rise, but not out of anxiety, it was more out of excitement. He was braver than he'd felt in a long while.

"Sunshine ... " Arvin whispered. Y/N didn't speak - she just let Arvin continue on his own time. "I call you sunshine because that's what you are."

Y/N felt a ghost of a smile fall on her lips.

Arvin continued. "You're my sunshine, Y/N. You're just ... you're just this ray of light that literally brightens my day, even when you're not with me. Just the thought of you makes me so happy. If I'm havin' a shitty day, all I have to do is think that maybe, maybe I'll get to see you later and that instantly makes my day so much better."

Y/N could already feel her eyes welling up with tears. Ever since she could remember, all she wanted was for someone to care about her this much ... it was what she aimed for at school, though it didn't get recognized as much as she hoped.

But Arvin, her best friend, was sitting right here and telling her how much he cared for her. And Y/N didn't know what to do.

She wanted to reach forward and give him the biggest kiss she could muster. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around his body and say that he meant the world to her. She wanted to tell him that she loved him more than any friend could love someone. But she was too scared to. The last thing she wanted was to be rejected, especially by Arvin.

"Arvin ... "

"What I'm tryna say is," Arvin trailed off, glancing down at their hands that were still holding each other. "I love you, Y/N."

"Oh, Arvin, I love you too," Y/N replied, smiling softly back at Arvin.

"No, Y/N, you don't get it. I love you. As in, I think I'm in love with you," Arvin shook his head, squeezing the girl's hands harder. "No, I - I'm sure I'm in love with you."

Y/N blinked. Was this finally it? Was Arvin Russell really admitting that he loved her more than a friend?

Arvin continued. "And if you ain't feel the same, I completely get it -"

Y/N leaned forward without a second thought and smashed her lips onto his.

.

.

.

.

@art-flirt

[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.”

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

- final footloose hell rehearsal was last night

- the opening of the show and the finale number...listen. they're terrible. they're past the point of being saved at this point

- the finale at least its like...they're enjoying themselves. the energy is there. it's a mess but they're kids having fun! It's cute, parents will love it

- but the opening...and by opening I mean footloose, on any sunday AND like three scenes before the next song....it's not great omfg

- the other songs are pretty good tho! So hopefully that'll save it lmao

- Rusty has,,,,,lost her voice

- Vi had a full panic attack onstage because she forgot the lyrics to her song and I had to go fix her mic afterwards and the whole time like her mom her friend and me were trying to talk her down omg I felt so bad for her!! She has such a pretty voice tho like honestly if she forgets during the show if she confidently sang absolute nonsense people would still applaud

- GOD when I got there the guy that works at the school was making trouble again and the director came up to me and said 'I'm gonna kill this man' IN FRONT OF HIM DJDNDJDKD SHE IS SO CLOSE TO SNAPPING I'M SCARED

- I had a migraine again and was so out of it I missed one of the curtain cues rip

- the sound guy left after act 1 to get an xray, and like- okay, he probably DID break his hand, which is a double problem because he can already barely use his hands in the first place, but- he showed up with what he knew was probably a break, then told me "I'm going to the emergency room because I don't feel like running act 2", verbatim, and then left without telling the director he was going....like could we be professional for a second I'm begging

- the kids decided it was Theme Song Night for mic check. one kid started singing the jeopardy theme song and a couple other kids in the line started doing the chorus line opening dance to it...theater kids are genuinely something else lmao

- Ariel dropped the bible into the patawney river

- Willard went up and down and all over the place during mama said and he has a really good voice but HONEY please pick one and stick with it

- the kid playing the reverend has been in a couple other shows I've worked and I think he has a bit of a stage fright situation because in the past I'd heard him singing backstage and it was so much stronger than actual rehearsals, but he'd always be great for the actual shows. But anyway all week he's been louder and stronger than I've ever heard him I was so proud and then last night the director like Made A Scene about his growth and I'm like oh so we're ALL stanning him huh

- the kid playing Chuck has a really good voice and he weirdly reminds me of Chris McCarrell but he's very fond of...dressing up the notes. getting fancy with them. and it's not bad but it gets to the point where I'm like....honey do you actually know the tune of the song

- I'm gonna start having nightmares about windscreens at some point I swear to God

- Dancing Is Not A Crime gets me cracking up every night because the cut A LOT out so it just ends so...abruptly it's so funny omg

- but overall....they mostly know the lines and cues? everyone sounds good? dancing is decent? idk guys we might have a show here

-fingers crossed for tomorrow lol

[femmefatclle]

Hello everyone, I’m Ivy and as per usual, I do things in the last minute. Bellow is everything about my girl Ella who is one big mess but I’m planning huge things for her in the near future, so if you can help me to make it messier - it’ll be even better. The intro got a bit long so everyone who gets to the end, gets a present!

✎⌠madelaine petsch. cis female. she/her⌡❝ — well, look who’s just arrived ! if it isn’t the one and only elienna willard. though, around here they’re known as the femme fatale. don’t tell ‘em i said this but the twenty three year old assistant to a photographer / intern at a small firm kinda has a reputation of being deceitful and self-indulgent. but y’know, they can be versatile and intellectual too. typical aquarius. anyways, welcome home and stay safe ella !❞  

tw for death, abuse, attempted suicide, addiction and attempted sexual assault

NAME: Elienna Willard NICKNAME/S: Ell/Ella AGE: twenty-three GENDER: cis female PRONOUNS: she/her SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual HOMETOWN: Misty Hollow HEIGHT: 5′5 EYE COLOR: dark brown HAIR COLOR: red

/insert Madison Beer’s song - Dear society/

Elienna was born in Misty Hollow, Connecticut to Darius and Alice Willard. Her father was working as a car seller and her mother has a degree in bio engineering - it was known that she left her very promising career because of love after meeting Darius and moved with him in Misty Hollow.

As the years passed, her parents noticed that their daughter was showing signs of being way smarter than the average kids - it happened around the time when she was five years old. Apart from that she tended to stay away from most of the kids, closing herself in their house and showing much more interest in her mother’s books on bio engineering then socializing with people.

Growing up and being even more different because of her red hair, Elienna taught herself to use it as just another of her advantages, learning that manipulating and playing people is the only way she could keep her heart intact from the cruelty of those around her. She became really good at putting the right facade for different people, that way many thought of her of being two faced and even a cruel child. Yet her brain couldn’t make her immune from doing stupid things in the future.

When she was eleven her mother decided to leave her father and both of them moved to San Francisco. They lived there until Elienna graduated Golden Gate University with bachelor in business and pr at just 19 years old.

The university was the place she met her first and probably only real friend she’ll ever have. Best friend even. Because Elienna tended to appear as cold and distant, always standing away from people or acting as if they were beneath her, not to mention that she was way younger than all of the university students, her first months there were very difficult for her to adjust to. But then she met Sage. She was the complete opposite to all of Elienna’s constantly changing moods - three years older than her, wild, reckless, with short black hair and one-two small tattoos on her body, Sage was the light in the redheads life, taking her under her wing and then shoving her into the center of all the troubles.

Both of them became so close that for their second year they decided to move out together. Elienna’s mother was against it but eventually, seeing how happy for once her daughter was, she let this slide.

Sage was the first person who convinced Elienna to try alcohol, then cigarettes, then something else and something else until the vicious circle got all the way around. But having a closed confident, something she never had in her life made Elienna blind to how destructive their friendship was. After all it was all fun and games… until, in her third year, Elienna got way past the line - she eventually had gotten addicted to drugs and a lot of drinking. Her grades dropped, she was on the verge of being expelled because of not attending university for months and even her mother’s money weren’t about to fix things soon if something drastic wasn’t done.

This was the moment where her mother stepped in, trying to get Elienna out of Sage’s poisonous grip. In secret her mother put her in rehab against her will for two months so she could get clean and graduate. Indeed, that way her daughter got clean… but not from Sage’s friendship.

When she was 14, a photographer saw her as she and her mother were walking in one of the parks at San Francisco. Since natural redheads were rare to find, he asked to photograph her for fun, but then seeing that Elienna was natural in front of a camera, even with her shyness, he publicized his pictures. A lot of people were mesmerised by how pure and beautiful the girl looked so with that she even managed to get a few more photo shoots. Then, the era of Instagram appeared and Elienna easily became “star” there with over 16k followers at this time.

Her father died in a car accident five years ago, leaving his house to her. She refused to return to Misty Hollow for the funeral and later sold the property.

After graduation, her mother thought that she’ll continue her promising future in San Francisco, becoming one hell of a business woman, but the redhead surprised her when she announced that she was going back to her hometown. The reason - Sage managed to convince her how good it would be for her to go back to her hometown for a few months, a year maybe, reconnecting and healing from past wounds, before delving into the adulthood.

Going back to her hometown brought out a lot of memories. Since she wanted to try something new, Elienna got the job of an assistant to a photographer and used it as a way to get even better at her side “job” - modeling & being an Instagram star.

But as the time passed, Ell found out that with only being an assistant she couldn’t make much money, so she was forced to take on another job - this time, something close to her degree. Ell went on few interviews and became a business intern in one of the ‘biggest’ firms in town.

But then the strange obsession of her best friend came into her life. At this time both of them lived together again, partying and doing reckless stuff… until her friend got obsessed with the damn horror story of the town. Like, really obsessed. Strangely as it is, this was the thing that caused the first big problem in their friendship even if Elienna herself was a sucker for everything dark and dangerous that lurked in the town’s shadows.

Diving straight into the deep dark, Sage made Elienna follow her down with her. One of the last words Ell would remember that Sage had said to her was - If it wasn’t for me, your naive nature would’ve gotten you to the bottom. Now, with how popular you are and with the ability to make other people do your bidding, to be apart of something bigger then this shitty old town, you can be on top of all of them. So why are you still such a wailing bitch about it?

The next day Sage disappears.

It’s been almost two months now and no one knew what had happened to her. Elienna is a complete train wreck, practical living at the sheriff’s department and constantly posting on social media about what had happened, hoping that someone would help her find her missing friend. But with all the nasty rumours… deep down Elienna knows that she would never find her friend. At least, not alive. And sinking more and more into the pile of horrors this town has to offer, the redhead knows she’s not leaving soon.

Few months ago she was almost raped. That night Elienna was already drinking a little too much when all of it happened. It hurled her into emotionless black pit for a week, she even thought of pressing charges but at the end she didn’t do anything because Sage told her how terrible it would be for her reputation.

After the attempted sexual assault, at a moment of weakness, she thought about trying to kill herself. But when trying to do it, Elienna couldn’t take her life.

Recently she feels as if she’s stalked. And that’s when the anonymous messages start to appear…

Wow, if you’ve made it this far - congratulations! I already have full wc list posted on my blog and you can find it HERE. Ofc if you don’t find your muse into any of the positions - message me and I’d love to think of something with every single one of you. <333

[totallyrobophobic]

Not sure on whose blog I saw it and it is totally off topic but how are Audrey and Jeremy Roloff struggling? Somebody posted a statement like that underneath their pregnancy announcement post. Thanks so much for helping out and sorry for not remembering who posted it. Love your blog and all you do for the community!

Audrey posted on Instagram a week ago about how hard her marriage has been lately.

The post reads as follows:

To be honest, the last few weeks have been hard on our marriage. We have been working through some things and let’s just say there has been a lot of “heated fellowship,” morning hugs missed, and date nights postponed. We are overworked and exhausted from the pace we’ve been running for too long. We know we need to slow down, but as Dallas Willard puts it, “we intend what is right, but we avoid the life that would make it a reality.” Instead, we keep running, keep pushing, keep producing and keep squeezing all the margin out of our lives. It’s robbing our joy, stealing our peace, and hindering our ability to love. ⁣⁣If you’ve ever looked at or read a post from us and thought “They must just have it all together.” Volume up for this one....WE DON’T🙅🏼‍♀️ We fight, struggle, cry, and face challenges just like anyone. I’m saying this here because if you look at my Instagram feed from the past 3 weeks you don’t see the long tearful conversations, the hurtful remarks, the compiling complaints, the critical spirits, the prideful inner dialogue, or our unloving and disrespectful attitudes. You don’t see the full picture.⁣⁣A few nights ago we went for an evening drive to talk through some struggles and we stumbled upon a trestle....😆 It was like God knew we needed something that would force us both to smile😅 Although you can’t tell by the photo, this wasn’t a happy night. I cried shortly after we snapped this photo. I’m saying this because I don’t want you to be deceived by the highlight reel that is “the gram.” We all have a messy behind the scenes reality. ALL OF US. Even the people you follow on social media who seem to be the most “real.” Even they have struggles they don’t share, and hurts the don’t publicize. We all do. And that’s ok! But that also means we need to remind ourselves when we’re scrolling this space that it’s not real life.⁣⁣So friend, if you’re comparing your life, marriage, kids, house, job, body, etc. to what you see on Instagram, remember it’s NOT the full picture. And I just want to remind ya, you are enough. You are beautifully and wonderfully made. And you are loved.

[jennmoslek36]

IT HAS BEEN about a year now since my involvement with the Dozier School For Boys began taking over my world. Kicking off the whirlwind was my need to get my hands on the school’s student ledgers. I won’t rehash the entire adventure but what I will say is that it took many frustrating nights online, several emails to the Archivist, the potential of an $600+ bill to get digital copies & finally an 8 hour round trip before I’d actually have what I wanted…Well at least a quarter of what I wanted!

  HAVING ABSOLUTELY NO clue what I was looking for, I spent the next several weeks trying to organize what I had. Almost immediately number of very distinct patterns began jumping out at me. The same sentencing judges over & over again, the SAME sentence length OR lack there of & a crap load of blank spaces; Specifically under the “WHEN/HOW RELEASED” columns. One would expect that any institution handling children would be required to keep detailed & accurate records of ALL of its charges, especially when it comes to their last known whereabouts BUT that would make too much sense, now wouldn’t it…

        THE INFO THAT I had gotten was only from the latest volume of the ledgers & didn’t even make a dent in the number of boys that had been shoved through the doors to be reformed. I knew there were hundreds OR even thousands of names in those books. I maybe had a few hundred at the most. By now, I had gotten used to what I like to call the “Hurry Up & Stop” method of researching. Basically I’d need specific info, finally get said info ONLY to start looking it over & promptly figure out that I needed additional material OR even worse, I’d need something entirely different altogether. In this case, I had just assumed that I’d eventually be making another trip to the Archives; That is until I ended up becoming involved with Bob Straley & taking over his website…And right there on one of the site pages was a link to the detailed, handwritten notes that WHB Mr. Andrew Puel had spent hours putting together.

Mr. Andrew Puel At The State Archives…Sitting In The EXACT Same Spot That I Did When I Was There!

      NOT IT!!

WHEN I SAW that link, I was beyond thrilled! I was finally going to have something reliable to validate what I had come up with! I had spoken with Andrew at Bob Straley’s memorial service & knew that any research he had done would be the best & most accurate info that I could possibly get. When the page loaded, it definitely did NOT show what I had been hoping for; In all actuality, it showed nothing but this:

    ODDLY THE INFO was missing! I started clicking on some of the other older links on the website & sure enough, there were quite a few that led to nowhere. I don’t know why it gone OR where it went, only that it’s not there. I tried not to get to aggravated, thinking that there had to be a hard copy among the thousands of documents that I have. I spent the next several weeks going through EVERY page, folder, digital file, etc. & found nothing. Bob kept everything, so to say I was puzzled that he wouldn’t have a copy of something so important was a huge understatement. I did another look through, literally taking out every piece of paper, one by one; Still nothing.

  Well Damn….

    AN EVENING IN GAINESVILLE

ON A FRIDAY in late February, I made the 3 hour trip to Gaineville. With me was a small black bag filled with what I believed to be the most important material related to the Arthur G Dozier School for Boys. I pulled up to a beautiful home, tucked back in a quiet sub division that was surrounded by forest. Standing outside was a familiar face, Mr. Bryant Middleton. The “Whitehouse Boy” greeted me with a smile & a brief hug before inviting me inside to meet his wife. Both graciously spent several hours telling their personal story of Dozier & how the WHB’s Organization was founded. They were both lovely people & I was grateful that they had been so willing to meet with me & be as open as they were. When we finally moved into the dining room to look over the things that I had brought, I began pulling things out. I yanked a folder out that had been wedged inside of my over full bag & a stack of papers fell out. The stack was stapled together & folded in half. I picked it up to see what it was & as I unfolded it, my jaw hit the floor!

    OH…MY…GOD…It was a hard copy of the list of missing boys! The same list that I had just spent weeks trying to find! The stuff inside of that bag was the stuff that I pulled out & reviewed quite frequently & there’s absolutely NO way that I would missed that thick stack of ledger pages! I slid the stack across the table, explaining to Bryant why I was a bit stunned at finding them. He thought it was strange as well. I’m not going to get into the specifics of my time with the Middletons in this post, although I will say that I’m very fortunate to have met with them. They’re great people & they continue to work toward keeping the future from repeating the past.

    WHERE COULD THEY BE?

OF COURSE THERE is minimal info on the boys on this list. What is known is that most were listed as escaped but never recovered. A lot lacked permanent homes OR guardians, so there wouldn’t have been any concerned parents wondering about the whereabouts of their lost boy. It should also be noted that the last place they were seen was the Dozier School for Boys in Marianna. That leaves so many unanswered questions; Could ALL 185 boys on that list have actually successfully escaped & moved on to a better life? Even if that did happen, would it be possible that NOT 1 single child ever be heard from again? I suppose it could be possible for some BUT for All 185? I seriously have my doubts & given the history of Dozier, I’d say that’s highly unlikely. Especially considering the significant proof of other burial sites on the school’s 1200+ acres.Whether or not they continued life after Dozier OR their lives were taken at the school, they each deserve to be recognized. I’ll let them speak for themselves….

☆☆☆☆☆☆

  JOSEPH WILK – 17 JAME HENRY COLSON SMITH – 16 BEHARD STEPHENS – 15 JOHNNIE J. RICHARDSON – 17 AB DURDEN – 16 WILLIAM RICHARD WHITE – 16 MONROE ROGERS – 16 NOWLA (SONNY) VENOS – 16 BERNARD WILLIAMS – 15 WILLIAM NICOLAS BURNETT – 15 FRED RUSH – 16 HORACE MECHOM – 16 J.W. HARRILL, JR. – 14 EDWARD MATTHEW MITCHELL – 17 LARRY DAVIS – 14. ALFONSO DEWEY DAVIS – 16 JAMES ARTHUR HARELL – 13 CARROL PITTMAN – 15 CARL HUBBARD REWLS – 14 RICHARD PEUDRY TYLER – 15 HAROLD OLDS – 14 LYNVILLE RAY – 16 LAIRD WILDES (age unknown) ALFRED SMITH GOODSON – 16 QUINCY LEWIS – 16

☆☆☆☆☆☆

ZANE HOPKINS – 12 ROBERT WALKER – 13 WILLIE FRANKLIN FARROW – 13 EUGENE JOHNS – 14 GABE BELL – 15 WILLIAM DEWARS – 15 LELAND LLOYD BRADY – 16 JASPER ALLEN HOLDER – 15 WILLIAM JOHNSON – 16 GEORGE HENRY ABBEY – 16 HARRY L. SAULS – 15 BEN BUNDRICK – 15 LOUIS VALOIS COUTURE – 16 ROBERT GILBERT ALBRITTON – 16 LAUDRIC BASKIN – 17 JAME HENRY COLSON SMITH – 16 JOHN JOSEPH COOGAN, JR – 16 ARINAUDO MACHIN, JR – 16 JULIAN GREEN – 15 CARL UNDERHILL – 16 WILLIAM DANIEL HATCHER – 17 DWIGHT SPRINGER – 14 JASON EDWARD LOGAN – 15 PAUL HERSHEY, JR – 17 CLARENCE C. RAULERSON – 16

☆☆☆☆☆☆

EVERETT BRADDOCK – 15 HAROLD EUGENE NORMAN – 16 RICHARD RUSSEL TODD – 14 EDWARD POOLE – 14 BILLY RAY BURNS – 16 MARCO GUTIERREZ – 14 WALTER C. GREEN – 16 LEON MANNING – 16 LEONARD JAMES NELSON – 16 GODSON WHITTAKER – 15 ROBERT GORDON – 15 ROBERT LAURIN GODDARD – 15 KENNETH LEE YORK – 17 TRUBEE BYRD – 17 ROWANE HOLLIDAY – 16 BOBBY WHITEHEAD – 15 WILLIAM EDWARD LEGGETT – 16 ROBERT HELGRAN – 13 OSCAR EUGENE MCCURDY – 16 WILLIAM RIVERA EMANUEL, JR – 16 JOHN LENNARD NAVE – 16 JACKIE CREWS – 16 ERNEST WOODARD – 16 ARTHUR KENT PATTERSON (aka William S. Johnson) – 14 DAVID EVANS HARRIS – 16

☆☆☆☆☆☆

JOHN HARRIMAN – 16 GB IRWIN – 14 HOWARD MCCALL – 17 OSCAR LEE CALDWELL – 14 JD THOMAS – 13 GEORGE F. CLAY – 13 WILLIS BUNYAN – 16 JAMES CAMPBELL – 15 BERTRAM THOMPSON – 16 WILLIE JAMES MURPHY – 17 SANDY JONES – 15 RALPH HALL – 16 MELVIN FALSON – 13 HERBERT LEE COVINGTON – 14 LUKE BENJAMIN – 16 TOMMIE L. WOOTEN – 15 WALTER ADAMS – 15 DAVID JONES (aka Cockran) – 15 EDWARD BROWN – 14 EDWARD DEMERRITT – 16 WILLIAM JENKINS – 13 MATEO BENARD COLUMBUS – 14 WILLIE C. MITCHELL – 13 CLARENCE MORTON, JR – 15 JOSEPH JOHNSON – 16

☆☆☆☆☆☆

CURTIS WILSON – 10 EUGENE FULLER – 16 THOMAS BOWERS – 15 LEON DUNBAR – 16 DAVID EAGLETON – 14 HENRY JUNIOR JOHNSON – 14 EDWARD FOSTER – 15 GEORGE EDWARD THOMAS – 17 ODIS SINGLETON – 16 JAMES WILEY BRYANT – 14 CURTIS DOWNING – 15 WALTER LEE NIXON – 15 JOHN TYLER – 16 ELMORE JOHNSON – 15 HENRY MELVIN JONES – 16 DOCK SMITH – 15 ROBERT LEE KING – 16 WILLARD LAMAR SHELTON – 16 ROBERT HAYS – 16 CHAS W. CHAMBERS – 16 RUSSEL HUTTON – 15 HOWARD CAYWOOD – 15 BOBBY HAYES – 16 BILLY CAUDELL – 16 WALTER R. HAYES – 17

☆☆☆☆☆☆

ARTHUR KENT PITTEBON(?) – (age unknown) WILLIAM P. NUNES – 16 EDWIN T. FINNIE – 15 MILTON LEDBETTER – (age unknown) LEROY SMITH (aka Leroy Gregory) – 17 JOE RODRIGUEZ – 17 BENARD MIXON – 15 ROBERT WESLEY DAVIS – 16 PAUL DAVID HUGES – 12 ROY JOHNSON – 13 LENARD JAMES LOTT – 16 JERRY LLOYD – 16 GABRIEL THURMAN – 16 ROBERT LEE BOSTIC – 14 GEORGE HILL – 13 JOHN ALBURY – 14 NATHANIEL TURNER – 15 LEO COLLIER – 17 TEEVESTER JAMES – 15 FLOYD RILEY, JR – 17 GEORGE NELSON – 15 NORMAN MCAULEY – 15 LYLE MACK PAULK – 16 EDWARD GIBSON – 14 WILLIAM EDWARD CORTEZ – 16

☆☆☆☆☆☆

ROBERT CHRISTMAN – 16 HUBERT BERRYMAN – 15 CHARLES LACGUEY – 16 CHARLES EDWARD KIDDY – 15 JOHN CHARLES CLANCEY – 15 DANNY LEE BOWMAN – 16 HOWARD GEORGE FAGG – (age unknown)

ROBERT ALTON SINGLETARY – 17 ELLIS MARLOWE HASKIN – 16 JAMES PHILLIP SLAWSON – 16 JAMES JOHNS – 17 BENARD JACKSON – 14 ARLISS BLACKMON – 15 BENJAMIN UDEL – 13 NATHANIEL BOWLES – 16 ROLAHO LYLES – 16 CLARENCE BOBBY BROWN – 15 WILLIE BRADFORD – 16 BILLY JACKSON – 13 RICHARD GILLYARD – 14 LEONARD WHITEHEAD – 15 FREDERICK NATHANIEL HARREL – 16 HENRY MCLENDON – 17 SAMOLE DARBY – 17 WILLIE LEE DOUGLAS – 15

☆☆☆☆☆☆

MOZELL BRADLEY, JR – 16 J.C. STEPHENS – 15 CHARLES BROWN – 15 GRANT BERNARD KEMP – 13 RONNIE FRANKIE ROSE – 16 JOE EDWARD ALLEN – 15 VICTOR STEPHEN GRICE – 16 TOMMY COOK (Mathias) – 15 JERRY COOK – 16 JOHNNY LEON WRIGHT – 16

  IT’S AN ENTIRELY different feeling you get when you’re able to put names to the children you’ve been speaking of….

  ♤Please Consider Helping In The Fight For Justice By Signing The 1st Petition: https://www.change.org/p/jenn-moslek-re-investigation-of-the-arthur-g-dozier-school-for-boys♤

  ☆ IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW SUFFERED ABUSE, PASSED AWAY, WENT MISSING OR WITNESSED ANY WRONGDOINGS WHILE AT “THE FLORIDA INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL FOR BOYS” AKA “THE ARTHUR G. DOZIER SCHOOL FOR BOYS” OR THE OKEECHOBEE SCHOOL FOR BOYS, PLEASE REACH OUT VIA HERE AT findingflorida.blog OR ANY OF THE CONTACT INFO LISTED BELOW!!☆

  Want More “Finding Florida?” BE SURE TO “SUBSCRIBE”!

    FOR PRIVATE CONTACT SEND EMAILS TO:  whitehouseboys2018@gmail.com

  FOR ALL DOZIER RELATED INFO:

http://thewhitehouseboysonline.com

AND

http://www.whitehouseboys2007.com

  FOR FULL PHOTO GALLERIES & ADDITIONAL LOCATION INFO FOLLOW ME ON FB AT:  @GRAVEAdventuresFL

THE LOST BOYS OF DOZIER: Have You Seen Me? IT HAS BEEN about a year now since my involvement with the Dozier School For Boys began taking over my world.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

Let’s Try That Again; The 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes

The horror movie remake is a polarizing topic that drives the horror community crazy. You either love remakes, or hate them. Few horror movie re-imaginings have been able to rise above their “remake” branding. Too many fans chalking their existence up to exploiting a film or franchise’s existing fandom, being made purely for profit, being rushed, or re-envisioning iconic characters to a lesser extent.

Despite not being received with open arms, there are a select few remakes that stand above the pack – converting their audiences of naysayers into rabid fans, re-invigorating the franchise they birthed from. Here are our picks for the 10 best horror movie remakes!

  10. Friday the 13th (2009)

Against the advice of locals and police, Clay (Jared Padalecki) scours the eerie woods surrounding Crystal Lake for his missing sister. But the rotting cabins of an abandoned summer camp are not the only things he finds. Hockey-masked killer Jason Voorhees lies in wait for a chance to use his razor-sharp machete on Clay and the group of college students who have come to the forest to party.

  Alright, I may get a lot of flack for putting this one on the list. But I really do love the Friday the 13th remake. It’s over the top, it’s got everything you want in a slasher, and there’s exactly 13 kills. While it doesn’t hold a torch to the original from 1980, this 2009 remake directed by Marcus Nispel ain’t half bad. There’s some really fun kills and a bit of back story about Jason.

  9. Piranha 3D (2010)

Spring break turns gory when an underground tremor releases hundreds of prehistoric, carnivorous fish into Lake Victoria, a popular waterside resort. Local cop Julie Forester (Elisabeth Shue) must join forces with a band of unlikely strangers — though they are badly outnumbered — to destroy the ravenous creatures before everyone becomes fish food.

  Piranha 3D is the perfect summer film! The original was released in 1978 and was titled simply Piranha. In 2010 we got a 3D remake that took the thriller element from the original and added way more boobs. And humor. And blood. Piranha 3D is a cheesy gore-fest. Directed by Alexandre Aja, it has an all-star cast including Richard Dreyfuss, Christopher Lloyd and Jerry O’Connell. A great flick to watch in a group while vacationing at a lake. Just make sure to maybe check there’s not another lake under that lake.. filled with ancient piranhas.

  8. Quarantine (2008)

Reporter Angela (Jennifer Carpenter) and her cameraman Scott (Steve Harris) are doing a story on night-shift firefighters for a reality-TV program. A late-night distress call takes them to a Los Angeles apartment building, where the police are investigating a report of horrific screams. The TV team and emergency workers find an old woman, who suddenly attacks with teeth bared. What’s more, Angela and company find that the building has been sealed by CDC workers. Then the attacks really begin.

  [REC] (2007) is a Spanish found footage film directed by Jaume Balagueró. The film is absolutely terrifying and exactly how found footage should be done. One year later came the American remake Quarantine, directed by John Erick Dowdle. Both films follow the exact same story, so there’s not a lot of surprises watching the American remake. Both films also set up for a bunch of sequels, some of which are really great. The American version stars Jennifer Carpenter in the lead role, who does a great job carrying the story. I won’t say much more because both of these films should be watched with no prior knowledge of the story. The first time I saw the ending was one of the few times I’ve screamed out loud while watching a horror film. I apologized profusely to my neighbors.

  7. Evil Dead (2013)

Mia (Jane Levy), a drug addict, is determined to kick the habit. To that end, she asks her brother, David (Shiloh Fernandez), his girlfriend, Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore) and their friends Olivia (Jessica Lucas) and Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) to accompany her to their family’s remote forest cabin to help her through withdrawal. Eric finds a mysterious Book of the Dead at the cabin and reads aloud from it, awakening an ancient demon. All hell breaks loose when the malevolent entity possesses Mia.

  Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead was originally released in 1981. A campy, low-budget film that became an instant cult classic. In 2013, Fede Alverez’s re-imagined the beloved story of Ash and his deadites, creating a darker, more sinister interpretation. One of the biggest changes, was opting for an incredible female lead played by Jan Levy.  The film is deliciously dark, and only embellishes the silly, zany palate of the Evil Dead Franchise.  There’s been a lot of chatter about a sequel being in the works, but nothing concrete.

  6. Willard (2003)

Desperate for companionship, the repressed Willard (Crispin Glover) befriends a group of rats that inhabit his late father’s deteriorating mansion. In these furry creatures, Willard finds temporary refuge from daily abuse at the hands of his bedridden mother (Jackie Burroughs) and his father’s old partner, Frank (R. Lee Ermey). Soon it becomes clear that the brood of rodents is ready and willing to exact a vicious, deadly revenge on anyone who dares to bully their sensitive new master.

  Willard was released in 1973 and the remake came years later to screens in 2003. It stars Crispin Glover in one of his best roles, and a crap tone of rats. Glen Morgan directed this awesome remake and fills it with everything you’d want in a terrifying situation about killer rats. Glover shines on-screen as a total weirdo and carries the film with perfection. If you weren’t scared of rats before, you will be after this flick ends.

  5. The Grudge (2004)

Matthew Williams (William Mapother), his wife, Jennifer (Clea DuVall), and mother, Emma (Grace Zabriskie), are Americans making a new life in Tokyo. Together they move into a house that has been the site of supernatural occurrences in the past, and it isn’t long before their new home begins terrorizing the Williams family as well. The house, as it turns out, is the site of a curse that lingers in a specific place and claims the lives of anyone that comes near.

  An American remake from the Japanese original Ju-On: The Grudge released in 2002. The remake, directed by Takashi Shimizu, the same person who directed the original, is terrifying. Back in the early 2000’s it was harder for North Americans to access J-horror and horror audiences were grateful for an accessible remake. Starring Sarah Michelle Geller in the lead role, she carries the story with grace. There’s so many memorable moments and jump scares. While I do recommend The Grudge, I say go crazy and watch both the original and remake one after the other. Have the pants scared off of you!

  4. The Fly (1986)

  When scientist Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) completes his teleportation device, he decides to test its abilities on himself. Unbeknownst to him, a housefly slips in during the process, leading to a merger of man and insect. Initially, Brundle appears to have undergone a successful teleportation, but the fly’s cells begin to take over his body. As he becomes increasingly fly-like, Brundle’s girlfriend (Geena Davis) is horrified as the person she once loved deteriorates into a monster.

  Originally released in 1958, it was a long time before The Fly remake came around in 1986. The original movie was adapted from a short story written by George Langelaan. The remake was directed by the always impressive David Cronenberg and starred Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis. Both brought insane performances to this movie which makes it such a great remake. Of course, it is Cronenberg, so…you know…don’t eat while you’re watching it.

  3. Dawn of the Dead (2004)

When her husband is attacked by a zombified neighbor, Ana (Sarah Polley) manages to escape, only to realize her entire Milwaukee neighborhood has been overrun by the walking dead. After being questioned by cautious policeman Kenneth (Ving Rhames), Ana joins him and a small group that gravitates to the local shopping mall as a bastion of safety. Once they convince suspicious security guards that they are not contaminated, the group bands together to fight the undead hordes.

  The original Dawn of the Dead was a fantastic, beautiful, groundbreaking film from Romero, released in 1978. The remake came in 2004, helmed by James Gunn and Zack Snyder. What stands out about this remake is how far they veer from the source material. But it works! The film boasts a strong cast featuring Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames, and Jake Weber, to name a few. There’s also some heart-breaking moments and genuine scares. Oh, and zombies. Lots of those.

  2. The Ring (2002)

It sounds like just another urban legend — a videotape filled with nightmarish images leads to a phone call foretelling the viewer’s death in exactly seven days. Newspaper reporter Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts) is skeptical of the story until four teenagers all die mysteriously exactly one week after watching just such a tape. Allowing her investigative curiosity to get the better of her, Rachel tracks down the video and watches it. Now she has just seven days to unravel the mystery.

  Another J-horror American remake. Ringu was first released in 1998 based on the book Ring by Koji Suzuki. In 2002, along came The Ring directed by Gore Verbinski. This was a huge deal for us teenagers in the early 2000’s and made us all terrified of our landlines. The Ring is beautifully shot and colored mystery. It’s a wonderfully done film. It stars Naomi Watts as the mother fighting to save herself and her child, played by David Dorfman.

  1. The Thing (1982)

In remote Antarctica, a group of American research scientists are disturbed at their base camp by a helicopter shooting at a sled dog. When they take in the dog, it brutally attacks both human beings and canines in the camp and they discover that the beast can assume the shape of its victims. A resourceful helicopter pilot (Kurt Russell) and the camp doctor (Richard Dysart) lead the camp crew in a desperate, gory battle against the vicious creature before it picks them all off, one by one.

  You didn’t think I’d make this list without The Thing did you? Come on! Originally titled The Thing from Another World and released in 1951, the remake was done by John Carpenter in 1982. The Thing is probably the one film everyone will agree on. It’s perfection on-screen. Giant, snowy, cold landscapes filled with unbearable tension and fear. An outstanding performance from all involved – but Kurt Russell stands out on top. Amazing practical effects and a terrifying premise, The Thing is the penultimate remake. They actually remade this again in 2011, but let’s not talk about that..

  Those are our picks for the 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes! Are any of your favorites on this list? If not, let us know what your favorite horror remakes are in the comments below, or over in our Facebook Group!

The post Let’s Try That Again; The 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

from WordPress https://nofspodcast.com/lets-try-that-again-the-10-best-horror-movie-remakes/ via IFTTT

[shadesmaclean]

Tradewinds 21 CH 01

“UNREAL ESTATE” “Good morning!” Moira Stilton, the innkeeper, hailed. Middle aged, world weary, and seemingly always wiping something down at her counter. “What’s so good about it?” Roger Wilco, pilot of one currently grounded Albatross, muttered as he stumbled down the stairs and into the lobby of Pines Lodge, which also doubled as bar and dining lounge. Along with a mild hangover, his injured leg was still giving him grief, even a week after their crash landing at Camp Stilton. Though a tad stout and barrel-chested, his companions noted that he looked to have lost a little weight of late, and figured that days of staring out at those creepy Woods (and the Woods glaring back) would be enough to kill anyone’s appetite. His khaki shirt fitting loose and rumpled, his pilot cap stuffed down over his bed hair, and he still hadn’t gotten around to shaving. “Well, you could start with the fact that you’re still alive to enjoy it,” Max pointed out from a nearby table, where the young adventurer and his friend, Justin Black, were finishing their breakfast. “And Shelby did tow your plane all the way back here.” Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair, the pilot considered him a classic duo contrast to Justin, who as short and wiry, with a mop of black hair. “And I’m grateful for that,” Roger sighed, “don’t get me wrong. It’s just that now we have to get ’er up the coast to find anyone who can possibly fix my poor bird…” “Who’s this we?” Justin intoned. “You landed us safe and sound, and we came back for you. I’m pretty sure that makes us even.” “I’m sorely tempted to say you just came back for your damn cat…” he retorted. “I think you just did,” the put-upon publican chided him as she scrubbed the bar counter. The big cat was still sleeping up in Max’s room, from both his crash injuries, and six restless nights at Camp Stilton, with the Woods looming over them. “And I think that little nightcap has got you up on the wrong side of the bed.” Even making it back to Pickford by nightfall left Roger’s nerves jangled, after those harrowing days and nights out there. A couple on the house, out of sympathy for anyone having to stare down the Woods for nearly a week, but even he had to admit he may have overdone it. “Shelby’s willing to tow you upshore for only the cost of fuel. You’re lucky he’s willing to do that, after springing that tow job on him out there, of all places…” In the meantime, Sheriff Duhan assured him that his plane would be left alone for the time being. Though that still didn’t stop random townsfolk from passing through the docks just to gawk at the poor bird. Apparently even shooed some kids away earlier this morning, telling them to go play somewhere else for now. “Still no sign of Roxy or Erix?” the pilot groaned as he took a seat at the table. “Nothin’,” Justin told him. “Roxy would probably present herself, if she saw no harm in it,” Max extrapolated the bounty hunter’s most likely choices, based on their short, but rather eventful, acquaintance. “She’d probably ask around about us, too. Erix…” Would most likely be a thief in the night, leaving as little trace as possible, especially if Roxy still hunted him. All the same, they had warned Sheriff Duhan to keep an eye out for any missing stuff. As well as any breaks in the palisade walls around the edge of town, given the infamous outlaw’s energy blades, and general aversion to knocking, unless it happened to suit him. Much as Max was inclined to regard either of them as too stubborn to die, they did both chase each other in the direction of the doomed town of Rannigan’s Wharf, from which no one ever returned. Though they did find evidence of someone using energy blades around that abandoned logging mill up the river on their way… “I hope the damn trees ate him!” Roger grumbled. Then, recalling what they told him about a certain missing girl whose remains they recovered, whose grieving father still came to their aid, he mumbled, “Would serve him right, unlike that poor little girl… So, uh, where’s Shades at this hour of the day?” “Went for a walk,” Justin replied. What the third member of their crew had called a vigorous constitutional. What to him, at least, sounded like a euphemism for taking a really big crap. “We trudge for days through those goddamn Woods, and the first thing he wants to do after making it back to civilization? Go take a walk…” “It’s safe enough, here in town,” Moira reminded them. “Sister Clarice still maintains the old wardings around the outskirts.” “So, who is this Clarice?” Max asked her. He had heard the name dropped a few times since they first arrived in Pickford, but nothing much by way of explanation. She had yet to make an appearance, though they were told she wasn’t feeling well at this time. “Oh, I forget, you wouldn’t know…” Moira looked around, noting their conversation wasn’t being too closely scrutinized by any of the few patrons taking breakfast at the Pines this morning, though she doubted anyone would make any real objections by this point. “It’s a little awkward to explain to those who didn’t go through all the things we did, but things kept getting worse that first year after the Woods went bad. Until the Wall was finished, people kept goin’ missing. People, animals, things… The outskirts of town were already abandoned by that point, folks what hadn’t vanished movin’ up the coast, as many as could get away with it…” After all they’d seen in the past week, Max could picture it more easily than he cared to. A looming, lurking menace, and a frustrating limit to any search party’s range before having to cut their losses and write folks off. The more he pondered it, the more amazed he was there was even still a town left to speak of anymore. “It was about then that the Sisters first arrived,” Moira continued. “The Order of St Lucy, come down the coast from where they were staying when they heard about what happened here.” Max perked up at the mention of that name, and Justin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of them?” “Sort of,” Max replied. “Just the name, though. Of an island, actually.” “Odd. I may have to ask her about that some time… Oh, where was I? Ah yes, the Order. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised you’ve heard of them, they rarely put down roots, though they tried to here. Pity it ended the way it did. “At first, they were a glimmer of hope in troubled times. Their wardings helped hold back the Evil, even before the Wall was fully completed. Things were going better than they had in a long time, but then they had to go and challenge the Castle.” “The Castle?” Roger piped up. “Shelby mentioned something like that.” “Vineholdt.” Moira nodded. “The Rigby mansion. No one knows what went on that awful night. Anyone who was in there at the time was never heard from again. Even when the police searched the place, they found nothing. Even lost the sheriff in there, never seen again. Old Willard Duhan’s done the best he can ever since.” “And I’m guessing there was no search for him, either?” Justin intoned. “No, and I can’t say I blame them. Not even Tully, who lost his wife. The ones who came back from that house all had the same haunted looks on their faces, as if they’d each seen things they’d rather not talk about. And they don’t, even to this day. The neighborhood around there started emptying out almost as fast the outskirts. Talk of bad dreams, queer lights, and nobody wanting their children anywhere near that place.” “Can’t say I blame them, either,” Roger commented. “That’s for sure,” Moira remarked. “That was also about when the Sisters decided to push back against it, seeing the place, and whatever happened in there, as the root of the problem. After all, they already made a name for themselves holding back the Woods.” “I’m guessing that didn’t end well?” Justin leaned back in his seat. “Elder Sister Leta believed, as many of us still do, that the spirit of Veronica Rigby still haunts that place. Even Clarice believes that the house wants something, and after what happened to them, she thinks it’s safer not to give it anything more. They tried to banish the evil power from the Castle, but it was too much for them. For all their spells and prayers, it still killed Sister Leta.” And so Pickford’s faith in the Mother Goddess would indeed be short-lived, as Moira related: “The others buried her in a local graveyard, took the next train up the coast. We never heard from any of them again. Only Sister Clarice stayed behind, and she does what she can. Wardings and talismans and such, but one lone Sister, against the Woods, I fear she overworks herself, even with Jarvis helping out. No wonder she took ill lately…” “And no one’s been in there since?” Max asked. “Not many,” Moira warned them. “Because of that, the place was never cleared out. Even though the Commonwealth at large was having a bad time— lumber was down, the shipyards in Hawthorne were out of clients, even the project to expand the railroad between Mountain and Mesa Districts fell apart. Talk of some stupid border dispute out in the desert, been years since the last time we had any word from the other side of the mountains… “Anywise, what was I saying? Oh, right, the economy was in a rut, but even so, while some of the other Founders were losin’ money left an’ right, ol’ Rigby seemed to hold on. No shortage of luxury in that house, at least according to Ethan…” She sighed, then resumed: “Oh sure, a few people tried, ramblin’ about treasures still hidden away inside that most won’t dare go after, just drunken bets and would-be treasure hunters. Occasionally, some bold soul might try— mostly outlanders, or rubes from upshore— but most are never seen again. The few what escape hightailed it up the coast, saying no treasure was worth the horrors they faced in there. After what happened to the Sisters, the whole estate was condemned, no one in their right mind will go anywhere near it.” “So I guess you do have an idea just how maddening it is,” Roger sighed. “To have the solution to your problems dangling just out of reach…” “We barely survived the Woods,” Max cautioned him. “I know you want your plane to fly again, but please don’t try anything crazy. There has to be a better way to get the money…” “Hold up lads, your friend’s got the right of it.” Even Moira jumped in spite of herself as Jarvis Tully materialized behind their table. “Whatever’s in that house keeps to itself,” the grim groundskeeper continued, “but woe be to anyone who goes muckin’ about in there.” “Even you’ve never cased the joint?” Roger gave him a wry smile. “As the caretaker, you must know your way around. Maybe you’d have a better chance than the others.” “And where would you get a damn fool idea like that?” “Well,” Justin piped up, “we heard they were rich, and nobody claimed any of their stuff…” “Now don’t be gettin’ any bright ideas.” From the look in his eye, one would almost think Justin spoke of looting his own home. “You’d have to be totally daft to risk it.” “I’m with him,” Max added. “Let’s go hit the marketplace, see what we can find. Shades said he’d catch up with us there.” With that, they thanked Moira for a hearty breakfast as Roger ordered his, and headed out.

[oakpodcast]

Transmission 5

Transcript:

Transmission 5

HOLLY:

If you're a new listener, make sure to start from the very beginning.

MUSIC: Solitude by Muciojad

Intro

SOUND: Water flowing, swings squeaking, children playing

HOLLY:

Um... (lovingly, with a small laugh) hi, I guess. I know it's been a while since I reported in. It's been a lot to take in.

HOLLY:

I don't actually know when this will make it into my feed? I now have to submit all my audio messages for censoring and approval, and we both know how... wonderfully efficient the government is.

HOLLY:

I feel... odd now that I know you really are listening. I feel... self conscious, which is not something I ever expected to feel talking to you.

HOLLY:

I know you would never judge me, but I still wonder what you've thought about my "adventures."

HOLLY:

I'm really glad you're still alive. (Voice breaking slightly) I didn't know if I'd ever hear your voice again. And I still have so much left to say! God, I miss you so much.

HOLLY:

(shifting quickly to angry) But goddammit! What did I make you promise me before you left? "Promise me you won't go out and try to kill him."

HOLLY:

So, naturally, what did you decide to do? (scoffs) You went out and tried to kill him!

HOLLY:

You know how America punishes treason, you stupid idiot! When I think about what could have happened, I— (inhales and exhales shakily)

HOLLY:

So. That's why it's taken me so long to record this. Every time I sit down to talk to you, I get so upset I, I forget how to talk. I thought knowing would be better than not knowing, but... (sighs)

SOUND: .-. . -. -.. . --.. ...- --- ..- ...

Surveillance

HOLLY:

I've gotten a few messages about this, so I guess I should go on record and say: yes, I did know I was being monitored this whole time. Or, at least, I strongly suspected.

HOLLY:

But no, Oak, to answer your question, I never seriously considered going off the radar.

HOLLY:

When I first woke up here, I didn't snap my sim card or trash my phone like I wanted to. Just... think about it logically, y'know?

HOLLY:

First of all, why would anyone go to all the trouble of drugging me, kidnapping me, and setting me up in a new country, just... to then... kill me? That doesn't make any sense.

HOLLY:

It would be way too inefficient, even for the military. And way too much unpaid busy work for a private assassin.

HOLLY:

Secondly, I'm not exactly in a position where I can finance my own phone plan. And my phone has been my lifeline here!

HOLLY:

Thirdly, it just seemed like a stupid idea. Either it would have made it harder for my allies to keep me safe, or it would have  made my enemies angrier.

HOLLY:

Either way, shaking off surveillance seemed like a terrible idea. So I that's why I decided not to do anything except re-install my old VPN.

HOLLY:

Speaking of decisions...

SOUND: -... -.--

Sitrep

HOLLY:

SitRep: It's May 14th. It's Mother's Day, a Predators game, and HOT AS FUCK. (Sighs) Have I mentioned that I hate the heat?

HOLLY:

More importantly, it's 8 days past the deadline. The point of no return. Barring an act of God, or... the military I guess, I'm going to see this through to the end now.

HOLLY:

I had a pretty good idea I wasn't going to be able to make it in time. I spent so many weeks, just, distraught over it. But finally, just a day or two before I got that phone call, I realized... why? Why am I making myself sick with stress trying to fix someone else's massive fuckup?

HOLLY:

This isn't junior high (thank goodness). I don't have to fix the whole group project by myself the night before it's due. And yes, I am still holding that grudge from 1998. I will always hold that grudge against you, just for the record. I got my first white hair from that project. Thanks a lot.

HOLLY:

Anyway. I know what the right thing to do is. And I know what I'm probably going to do, which is... not that.

HOLLY:

What part of this surprised you? That I wasn't a completely non-functional mess? Or that I didn't feel at all like you assumed I would? I would have told you my thoughts on all this shit if you'd asked, but you never did. Never do...

HOLLY:

Thanks for the encouragement, though, I guess? Don't worry. (laughs) I'm "not throwing away my shot." Nerd.

HOLLY:

I can't believe we haven't talked in months, and you say goodbye to me with a Hamilton quote. (Giggles) Thanks.

SOUND: ... . .--. -

Missing

HOLLY:

Anyway, I think I can do this! Alone, even, if I really had to, but...

HOLLY:

You are... doing your best, right? You're not going to do something stupid and impulsive and get yourself killed? Please... don't.

HOLLY:

See, I'm a little nervous because you kept saying, "Okay, but if I go missing, you hide like your life depends on it. Don't let them get their hands on you!"

HOLLY:

I'm sure you're just being paranoid. Covering all your bases, just in case. 

HOLLY:

But what do you know that I don't? What didn't you tell me?

SOUND: ----.

The Other Mission

HOLLY:

The field assessment to prove my competence, or whatever, it's  finally getting underway now that I have a vague idea of what's going on. Turns out, I need context to do a good job.

HOLLY:

I don't know how much I can comment on that due to the whole (imitating Willard) "Don't. Talk. About. ANYTHING. Classified!" thing. But it's going pretty well, all things considered!

HOLLY:

I know I could stop this any time I wanted. And believe me, a lot of me thinks, "Maybe I should." But I'm already more than halfway done! I would be so pissed off if I had to start all the way over from the beginning. No. I'm just going to get this bullshit over with and move on with my life.

HOLLY:

Hey, with any luck, I'll be finished by the time you get home. It would be great to have a month or two to spare to get our new place painted and furnished. Bought.

HOLLY:

Where do you want to live when we're free? I don't really want to go back to Ottawa anymore. Maybe somewhere Scandinavian, maybe? I don't care, as long as it's cold and not Alabama. Anywhere but Alabama, PLEASE. 

SOUND: .-. --- ... . ..--..

Inventory

HOLLY:

Thank you so much to Anouk for your generous support each transmission, and to Nico for helping me do laundry this week. And a HUGE thank you to Julia from Spirits Podcast for sending me enough money to buy a better fitting bra. My back and I thank you. And I'm going to check out your podcast just as soon as I'm allowed to drink again.

SOUND: Leia purring

HOLLY:

I know things are starting to look up for me a little, but it's still hard to get by in the meantime. I rely so much on the support I get from all of my listeners. People like you are making sure Leia and I can eat regularly, and I could never properly express how grateful I am for that.

SOUND: .-. .. ...- . .-. ..--..

HOLLY:

Inventory acquired since last transmission... You know what? I'm not going to bother. I haven't acquired much else since last time, and for once, I don't feel the need to cling to rituals and imagination to get through the week. I actually feel really good, for once.

HOLLY:

I can tell you're free, or at least cooperating, because things are suddenly a lot easier for me. I keep getting gift cards in my email—Starbucks, Panera, grocery stores.

HOLLY:

They're always anonymous, but I know at least some of them have to be from you, because they have messages like "Eat some fucking vegetables, nerd!" or "Get decaf!" or "Fruit helps you poop!" (laughs)

HOLLY:

I miss you. And I'm eating a lot healthier now. But I'm still not getting decaf, sorry.

HOLLY:

Now if only someone could just anonymously send me money for a hotel room, or even just an air-conditioned shelter bed... I'm not picky at this point.

SOUND: --- .--. .- .-.. ..--..

Podcasts (Sort of)

HOLLY:

I've been listening to a podcast called Greater Boston this week. It's not as scary as what I normally listen to, but it's cute. It makes me kind of homesick for our college days. Although we had to take commuter rail to get to the Red Line, so we mostly drove everywhere... well, you drove. I navigated, because GPS still sucked back then, but... Anyway.

HOLLY:

Honestly, I wish I were watching Sense8, but I can't get into our old Netflix account, and I'm waiting to start my free trial until closer to when House of Cards comes out. I swear, Oak, if you spoil me on anything...

Outro

HOLLY:

Oh, the Preds game is starting. I'll talk to you soon, hopefully. And, not to sound ungrateful, but if you could please send me some actual money through my PayPal or Patreon, I'd be really appreciative. It's really, really hot out here, and I'm having a hard time with it. I really just need a little more to survive until you come back for me.

MUSIC: Solitude by muciojad

HOLLY:

Be safe, okay? I'm counting on you making it back in one piece.

[illusionist54]

“A rat is a rat is a rat!” That’s what my husband always says about squirrels; and I typically concur based on the fact that they are, indeed, a member of the rodent family. In his defense, many a mink coated rat has disrupted our lives in terms of making nests in all the wrongs places, leaving their dribblings and debris behind in garages, their discarded nut shells piercing bare feet.

There are only two basic groups of squirrel, the red and gray. There is also a less common, but more aggressive, black squirrel which I have seen only once while living in Costa Rica. They are quite fast too! I have a photo of a furry black flash somewhere in my files that I have named “the black squirrel”.  It is also a member of the gray dquirrel family. The flying squirrel appears to be in a class of its own and is the only nocturnal variety of its species. It dislikes being disturbed during its daytime napping, not that I would even consider such a thing. You know, if it looks like a bat, soars like a bat….oh! And they don’t really fly, but soar and  swoop through the air between the trees. I have seen quite a few of these fellows in chlidhood as dusk settled in and they were ready to begin their hunt for food. We would squeal “Daddy, a bat!” and run inside, clutching the tops of our heads (because everyone smart knew bats loved to get tangled in young girls’hair…..what-you never watched Gilligan’s Island?),  but he would always laugh and remind us it was only the flying squirrels.

What we have here is the garden variety gray squirrel; and although I know about its sordid lineage, these adorable creatures are just too endearing to lump in with the common rat. Apologies to Willard and all other rat pet owners here. God bless your hearts for finding beauty in everything but pleas keep it on a leash. And make no mistake, they are a scourge in many places because they multiply like…well, you know. The squirrel, much like a dog we once had, cares about one thing only…gathering. It might eat now or maybe later. But it will not miss an opportunity to grab a morsel whenever it can. It will always run away with it, sometimes scratching the ground and burying the treat and other times just pretending to do this ina an effort to “fool” its competitors. The other day I shared a pecan with one who proceeded to “fake bury” it several times before running up the nearest tree with its treasure.

Sometimes they just savor the moment…

But always they come running if they see anyone approaching with something in hand. This squirrel was quite the scrappy one and not a bit timid. Looks like it has had to fight a bit for its food.

As they so often will…

My Animal Speak books by Ted Andrews

states that when animals appear in our lives in a larger than normal way we should look to them for messages which apply to our own lives. What squirrel represents is preparedness, planning and productivity. Now, it doesn’t always mean one needs to BE more productive or prepared. Sometimes it can mean the opposite. Do we give enough? Do we give too much? Are we prepared for the future or are we working so hard for a future goal that we are not enjoying the present moment? Perhaps we need to accept more gifts for ourselves and savor them in the moment instead of waiting for the ‘perfect time’. After all, there is not time, no future or past.  There really is only the moment that we are in that truly exists. And do we long for that special moment so much we are willing to make enemies of those who live and work beside us. Spirit has always provided enough for all living things. There really is no need to hoard for the future or fight over what is needed to live one more day. No one knows how many of those are left for any of us. When I am outdoors, with Nature, my camer sees the truth of existence. Watching these creatures and their simple but often treacherous journey humbles me.

The Anhinga cares not for what the Cormorant does as it dries itself on the banks of a busy park.

The Cormorant rest as it waits its next fishing expedition.

The bee smothers itself in pollen, enthusiastically carrying out one of the most important jobs on the planet. Does it know how grand it is?

While nearby the humans entertain themselves with boat races. Whoever dubbed us the Human Race either cursed us or saw the future all too clearly. I have never enjoyed races much. Or competition. But I do enjoy a good sailing excursion…

Preferably into a glorious sunset…

Hope you all have a perfect week filled with millions of ‘now’ moments that take your brwath away…

Why not start with this one? 😊

A Bird, the Park and Squirrelly Things "A rat is a rat is a rat!" That's what my husband always says about squirrels; and I typically concur based on the fact that they are, indeed, a member of the rodent family.

[celebritylive]

WARNING: This post contains spoilers from Monday’s episode of The Bachelor.

Welcome back, Bachelor Nation. Hannah Brown is officially out of the picture (at least for now), but Peter Weber‘s ladies were busy stirring up plenty of their own drama this week.

Monday’s episode kicked off with a one-on-one date for Victoria P. After taking her on a tour of his hometown — the pilot is from Westlake Village, California, just around the corner from the Bachelor mansion — Peter and the nurse from Louisiana went line dancing at his favorite local bar, where both agreed they were “a little smitten.”

That night, Victoria P. confided in Peter about her difficult childhood: Her dad died when she was young, and then her mom fell into addiction. She and her sister grew up in and out shelters as their mom struggled, with Victoria P. recalling through tears how she “had to be the rock” for her family.

“I dreamed a lot of dreams and one of my dreams was just to get out of that place and to have a healthy and happy life,” she said. “And I think it’s affected my relationships at times, because I didn’t feel deserving of someone. I just feel so grateful, because I feel like you’ve shown me the kind of love that I deserve.”

Peter thanked her for opening up as he offered her a rose. “I have never been inspired by someone so much in my entire life,” he told her. “And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

Back at the mansion, tensions were still simmering between Kelsey and Hannah Ann, an early frontrunner, over a now-infamous champagne bottle mix-up. And Alayah, meanwhile, had started to show her more “wild” side.

“Everybody sees me, because of pageants and what I do, as the sweet little elegant proper thing,” said the former Miss Texas USA, sipping red wine in Peter’s pilot hat. “But I’m very good at putting on face when I need to.”

Her behavior clearly irked another fellow contestant, Sydney. “All I go off of is what I see in people, and with Alayah, I can tell something is off about that girl,” Sydney said. “Her actions, since we’ve been here, kind of just make you go sideways a little bit. She is not the type of girl I surround myself with, she’s the type of girl that I’ve always avoided. She is just all fake, and I hope that Peter will be able to weed that out.”

Naturally, with a feud brewing between the two women, they both landed this week’s group date, along with Kiarra, Sarah, Tammy, Kelly, Shiann and Savannah. Bright and early the next morning, they slipped into their assigned lingerie (yes, really) and headed out on the date — an Extreme Pillow Fight Club, orchestrated by none other than fan-favorite franchise alum Demi Burnett. Host Chris Harrison and Bachelor regular Fred Willard served as judges.

RELATED: New Bachelor Teaser Suggests Peter Weber May Have Sex with Someone Before Fantasy Suites

“I know that there’s a lot of tension in the mansion,” Demi told the women. “So I wanted to give you ladies the opportunity to let out that aggression.”

After duking it out with Sydney in an aggressive championship round, Alayah was crowned “queen of the bedroom.” Things only got more tense between the two during the evening portion of the group date, resulting in a rather hostile conversation about Alayah’s pageant past.

“You sound so rehearsed, you know what I mean?” Sydney told her. “With cameras, you’re just on. But if you come in here worrying about how you’re perceived, then you’re not going to be your real self to people. And that’s what Peter is here to find. A real person.”

Later, Sydney brought up her concerns with Peter about certain women in the house “putting on a facade,” without naming Alayah.

“When I’m in the house with some girls, and when the cameras show up and the lights are on, it’s a whole different person,” she explained. “It’s just so artificial. And I don’t want you to get blinded by that.”

“That’s such a fear of mine, that I could fall for someone and they’re fake,” Peter said. “I mean, I saw it with Hannah last season, seeing her fall for someone that wasn’t there for the right reasons.”

When he rejoined the group, he addressed the issue and asked Sydney to explain herself — this time in front of everyone.

“Sorry to kind of put you on the spot, but you had mentioned that there were people that maybe are different off-camera or different in the house when I’m not there … and I trust you,” he said. “I want to just squash this now.”

Turning to Alayah, Sydney said she felt that she “maybe  on a little bit for the imagery of things.”

“I mean, does anybody else feel that way?” Alayah bristled. “We’re all living together at this point, so everybody’s gotten to see me day in, day out.”

RELATED: Chris Harrison Says Peter Weber’s Bachelor Finale Will Be Surprising in a ‘Gut-Wrenching Way’

Of course, no one wanted to speak up and get involved, and Peter walked off. The confrontation between the two women continued without him, with Sydney pointing out that Alayah’s reactions were “a little bit dramatic.” Alayah insisted that was just her personality, but Sydney stood her ground. “When the cameras are on, you do react a little too much,” she said. “And it looks a little bit fabricated.”

Alayah pulled Peter aside to defend herself, saying she was “blindsided” by Sydney’s accusations. Poor Peter, looking absolutely exasperated, had no idea who to believe.

“I just feel really confused,” he said. “I believe Sydney when she brought up those concerns, but Alayah came over and talked with me and I believe what she was telling me, and I like her a lot. I also respect Sydney a lot, she spoke it like she saw it. I’m looking for that honesty and for someone that’s unafraid to put me first. … I just hope that I’m not getting fooled.”

Ultimately, he chose to give the group date rose to Sydney, thanking her for “being honest” and “essentially putting me before everyone else.”

The next day, Chris Harrison arrived at the mansion to announce that Peter would be coming over for a pool party in lieu of a cocktail party that night. During the pool party, Peter made a point to get each woman’s take on the situation — and it wasn’t looking good for Alayah, with several contestants in agreement that she seemed to be putting on a front whenever the cameras were on.

“Maybe it’s just the background that she has with pageants,” said Lexi. “But we’ll be hanging out and then all of a sudden the cameras come on and her voice goes up like, five octaves.”

Peter and Alayah also had a conversation, where she reassured him that she “can’t fake” feelings or emotions, calling herself “the world’s worst liar.” He said he believed her, but it was obvious he wasn’t 100 percent certain. “With Alayah, what I think I’m seeing is the truth,” he said. “But my logical brain says that yes, there are flags.”

He decided to ask Victoria P. for her opinion, given her experience in the pageant world as Miss Louisiana USA 2019. And much to his surprise, Victoria P. revealed that Alayah had asked her to lie about knowing each other before going on the show.

“She asked that I not tell producers that we knew one another,” she said. “I didn’t really understand why, because I don’t really want to lie, I can’t lie. I didn’t think of it much then, but looking back now … coming into this, she was really open to all the opportunities that will come after this, even if you weren’t her husband. So maybe she’s not the one for you.”

RELATED VIDEO: Jake Owen Writes ‘Diss’ Song Inspired by The Bachelorette‘s Hannah Brown — and She Responds!

That seemed to seal the deal for Peter, who pulled Alayah aside once again and confronted her about the lie.

“I’m not trying to throw you under the bus, but maybe you’ve been a little manipulative towards some of the women,” he said. “Did you tell Victoria to tell the producers you guys didn’t know each other before you came on the show?”

Alayah, looking shaken, said her “biggest fear was that I would get disqualified and she would get disqualified because we knew the other person was coming.”

“I didn’t want that for her, I didn’t want that for me, and I was scared for both of us that that was going to be an issue,” she said. “That’s all it was. It wasn’t me being manipulative.”

With that, Peter said he had “a lot to think about” and abruptly left, cutting the pool party short. Heading into the rose ceremony that night, everyone was on edge — including Peter himself, who stopped mid-rose handout to mull over his decision with Chris Harrison in the next room.

“I want to give it to her so bad,” he said. “But I just do not want to regret this.”

RELATED: Bachelor Peter Weber Promises a ‘Spoiler-Free’ Finale, Says ‘There’s No Way’ to Find Out the Winner

When he headed back into the ceremony, two roses were still up for grabs on the table — but Chris pointedly removed one. The final rose went to Mykenna, officially sending Alayah home, as well as Jasmine, Sarah and Alexa.

“I’m disappointed,” Alayah said. “It just sucks that I am going out because of other people’s opinions and not what he saw directly from me.”

Peter made a toast to the remaining contestants, then headed out. But he was still torn over his decision, admitting to a producer that he wasn’t sure he wanted to let Alayah leave.

“I don’t feel good right now. I thought I would, but I don’t feel good,” he said. “I think I just gave in to listening to everyone else, to be completely honest. I feel like I’m going to regret this like crazy.”

She won’t be gone for too long, though — a sneak peek at next week’s episode already teased her return.

The Bachelor airs Mondays (8 p.m. ET) on ABC.

from PEOPLE.com https://ift.tt/2RzasiJ

[themoneybuff-blog]

An index to every money book I've reviewed during the past twelve years

147 Shares I read a lot of money books. As a result, a large section of my large library is devoted to books about personal finance. (And if I hadn't purged hundreds of money books when I sold this site in 2009, I'd have even more books and no place to put them.) Last week, a GRS reader named Lindsay dropped a line with an interesting question: I'm really enjoying your work back at GRS, the email newsletter, and your most recent FB live video! I'm wondering: Do you have a list of all the money books you've reviewed? I've been poking around to try and find one)? As it happens, I've been wanting a list of reviews myself. I know I have a million billion different projects around here, but one that I'd like to pursue is a free nicely-formatted PDF download that compiles every review I've written. To answer Lindsay's question and to satisfy my own curiosity I sifted through the GRS archives yesterday to compile a list of every money book I've reviewed during my 12+ years at this site. In this post, I've linked to those reviews, plus I've included a short summary of each book. Note: I'm certain that about half of the reviews are missing from the archives. The folks who purchased this site from me unpublished hundreds of articles (including many book reviews, apparently) during the time they owned GRS. Those reviews still exist, and I'll eventually find them and list them here, but it's far too cumbersome to find them at the moment.

For each book below, I've included a link to Amazon. I've also assigned each a book a letter grade and, in some cases, a star . My letter grades might seem harsh. That's because I've tried to really think about these on a sort of curve, where the vast majority of books are average and only a few merit As or Fs. As a result, some important titles get average (or low) grades despite their contribution to the field. If I grade a book an A, I think it's excellent. It offers excellent advice with no real flaws.If I give a book a B, it's a good book with good advice, but something about it holds it back. Maybe it's poorly written or maybe it's off-base on a topic or two.If I give a grade of C, the book is average. That means it gives reasonable money advice in a typical way. There's nothing drastically wrong with the book, and it's worth reading.If I give a D grade, the book is flawed in some major way. It still has some value to it maybe a core concept that you can't find elsewhere but I'm hesitant to recommend this to average folks.If I give a book and F, I don't think it has any sort of value. I don't give many Fs because I think nearly every book has some nugget of wisdom in it. Note that all of my letter grades were assigned today. They're based on who I am and what I know now, not when I wrote the reviews. And they're based on how valuable the book's info will be to a modern reader. (Some money books that were awesome in 1978 haven't aged well because their advice is specific to that era.) When I've marked a book with a star , that indicates I believe regardless of my grade, the title should be considered part of a core personal-finance library. (I don't have a review of Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover here. If I did, it'd get a C or lower because the book's quality is mixed and it has certain drawbacks. But the book would also merit a star because it should be in any serious library of money books.) Ultimately, though, you shouldn't let the letter grades and stars guide your decision to read a book. Use my reviews instead. They're much more nuanced than an arbitrary grade. The grades are meant as a sort of quick reference. Finally, I've sorted the titles into roughly reverse-chronological order based on year of publication. I think most readers are interested in recent titles. (Because of my hiatus from money-blogging, there's a gap here between 2010 and 2016.) If, like me, you prefer older money books, you'll find them closer to the end of this list. That's enough explanation. Here then is a list of (nearly) all of the book reviews from the archives here at Get Rich Slowly!

Get Money by Kristin Wong (2018)Get Money is all about applying game-playing principles to money management. Most money books tend toward boring and stale. Not this one. Get Money is both funny and wise, packed with practical tips for how to play the game of money and win. It's a useful money manual from a favorite former GRS staff writer. [my review] BThinking in Bets: Making Smarter Decisions When You Don't Have All the Facts by Annie Duke (2018)For a long time, Ive argued that the best money books are often not about money at all. Thinking in Bets is an example of this. Duke says that there are exactly two things that determine how our lives turn out: The quality of our decisions and luck. She uses plenty of personal finance examples, but the book itself is about self-improvement. Its not specifically about personal finance, yet the info here could have a profound impact on your financial future. [my review] A-Meet the Frugalwoods: Achieving Financial Independence through Simple Living by Elizabeth Willard Thames (2018)Meet the Frugalwoods isnt a money manual. It isnt fiction. Its memoir. The book covers ten years in the lives of Liz and her husband Nate, from their post-college job-hunting experiences in Kansas to purchasing a 66-acre homestead in Vermont. Through their story, Liz shows readers its possible to move from a life of consumerism to a life built around frugality and purpose. My chief complaint? The Frugalwoods didn't achieve financial independence through frugality; they achieved it through a high income. [my review] CYou Need a Budget by Jesse Mecham (2017)You Need a Budget is a simple book, but its excellent. It doesnt try to throw the entire world of personal finance at you. Its laser-focused on one thing: building a better budget. Because Mecham has been reading and writing about budgets since 2004, hes learned a lot about what works and what doesnt. Hes constantly receiving feedback from the tens of thousands of people who follow his program. This book is a culmination of that experience, and it shows. If you need a budget, I highly recommend this book. [my review] A The Simple Path to Wealth by J.L. Collins (2016)The Simple Path to Wealth presents the advice from the author's blog in a coherent, unified package. Its an easy-to-understand primer on stock-market investing and financial independence. Although the book is intended to offer wide-ranging advice about the journey to financial freedom, I think its at its best when Collins covers retirement investing. [my review] B+ Early Retirement Extreme by Jacob Lund Fisker (2010)Imagine a personal-finance book written by a theoretical physicist. What would it be like? Full of formulas and figures, right? Well, thats what you get with Early Retirement Extreme. This feels like a book written by an engineer for other engineers. This isnt a bad thing, but it is unique. Some people will love it; others will hate it. Also, this book could use a professional editor. These caveats aside, ERE is packed with excellent information, and is one of the key books in the Financial Independence movement. [my review] B The Simple Dollar by Trent Hamm (2010)This book isnt really about personal finance. Theres personal finance in it, sure, but like Hamms blog, The Simple Dollar is about personal and professional transformation. This is a book about change. The information in the book is good, and its sure to be useful to many people, but the content is so jumbled that its difficult to see the Big Picture. [my review] C-Mind Over Money by Ted and Brad Klontz (2009)Mind Over Money wont teach you how to budget and it doesnt ever mention index funds. This isnt a book about the nuts-and-bolts of personal finance. Its a book about how we relate to money. The strength of the book isnt in the answers it provides, but in the questions it provokes. If you're looking for a book about the psychology of personal finance, this is worth reading. [my review] CEscape from Cubicle Nation by Pam Slim (2009)Escape from Cubicle Nation starts at the beginning of the entrepreneurial journey: deciding what to do with your life. Slim spends several chapters discussing how to get in touch with whats important to you. At times, this almost seems touchy-feely. Almost. Thankfully, the book packs in ton of practical info on how to start a successful small business that matches you and your lifestyle. [my review] B+The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin (2009)On paper, The Happiness Project may seem sort of lame. Rubin decided to spend one year consciously pursuing happiness. Each month, she tackled one specific aspect of life marriage, work, attitude, and so on and during that month, she attempted to meet a handful of related resolutions she hoped would make her happier. Fortunately, the book isnt lame. Rubins style is warm and engaging, and the material here is useful. [my review] BI Will Teach You to Be Rich by Ramit Sethi (2009)This book is great, but its not for everyone. First of all, its targeted almost exclusively at young adults. If youre under 25 and single, and if you make a decent living, this book is perfect. But if youre 45 and married with two children, and if you struggle to make ends meet, this book is less useful. That said, it's packed with solid advice, cites its sources, and provides scores of tactical tips for managing money. [my review] A- Spend Til the End by Scott Burns and Larry Kotlikoff (2008)Burns and Kotlikoff analyze dozens of hypothetical scenarios as they seek to discover which choices provide the greatest lifetime living standard per adult. Their aim is to find a way to balance today and tomorrow, to pursue what's known as consumption smoothing. Much of the books advice is geared toward those nearing retirement, but theres still plenty for readers of every age. [my review] C+Increase Your Financial IQ by Robert Kiyosaki (2008)The problem with the standard financial advice is that its bad advice. Youve been told to work hard, save money, get out of debt, live below your means, and invest in a well-diversified portfolio of mutual funds. But this advice is obsolete so argues Robert Kiyosaki in Increase Your Financial IQ. I'll be blunt: Kiyosaki is full of shit. I worry about his financial IQ. [my review] D-

The 4-Hour Workweek by Timothy Ferriss (2007)When I picked up The 4-Hour Workweek, I was worried it was some sort of get rich quick book. Ferriss makes a lot of bold promises, and some of the details along the way read like the confessions of an internet scammer. Ultimately, though, I found tons of value that I could apply to my own entrepreneurial ventures. In fact, this has become one of my most-bookmarked books of all time! An intelligent reader can easily extract a wealth of useful here, which is why it's become a modern classic. [my review] B- The Quiet Millionaire by Brett Wilder (2007)The Quiet Millionaire is different from most of the other money books I review. Though Wilder includes behavioral finance and life planning concepts, this is a numbers book. It's like a textbook for personal finance. It isnt really a book for beginners. Its targeted at folks who are out of debt and building wealth. I suspect many people will find this book boring. But then, smart personal finance is boring. [my review] BDebt Is Slavery by Michael Mihalik (2007)Debt is Slavery is a deceptively simple book. Its short. Its advice seems basic. And its self-published, so how good can it be? Well, I think its great. In fact, I found myself wishing that I had written it. Mihaliks advice is spot-on, and he covers a lot of topics that other authors shy away from, such as the effects of advertising, the weight of possessions, and the soul-sucking misery that comes from a bad job. This book may be short, but its sweet. Especially great for recent graduates, I think. [my review] B+Overcoming Underearning by Barbara Stanny (2007)Overcoming Underearning isn't what I expected it to be. When I read the title, I expected a book about how to stretch your dollars and how get more from what you do earn. This book is about asking for more, creating more, and working your way through the psychological pitfalls that lead to being satisfied with less in the first place. But the book contains few actionable steps that will help you make more money or invest well. If you need a how-to book, keep looking. If you need to get started, or are started, but have hit a wall and you dont know why, this might be the book for you. [my review] C-The Secret by Rhonda Byrne (2006)The Secret is all about the so-called Law of Attraction, which is not actually a law of anything. The Law of Attraction states that your life is a result of the things you think about. From a psychological perspective, this notion has some merit. But this book offers no evidence of any kind: no scientific discussion, no experimentation only scattered cherry-picked anecdotes. Its the worst kind of pseudo-scientific baloney. And its money advice is actively harmful rather than helpful. [my review] FThe Millionaire Maker by Loral Langmeier (2006)The Millionaire Maker attempts to codify Langemeiers proprietary Wealth Cycle Process. She believes there are better places to put your money than in mutual funds. This book is a mixed bag. While it preaches what ought to be preached, and Langemeier provides more specifics than some authors, her message sounds hollow. There is some good information here, but theres stuff that raises red flags, too. [my review] D+Work Less, Live More: The Way to Semi-Retirement by Bob Clyatt (2005)For years, Work Less, Live More has been my go-to book for info about early retirement. I give away copies several times a year. I recommend it when replying to email. I refer to it myself when I have questions. I like this book because it strikes a balance between the high-level Big Picture stuff and the low-level nitty-gritty numbers crunching. (See also: Bob Clyatt's guest post here at GRS about his life since writing the book.) [my review] A All Your Worth: The Ultimate Lifetime Money Plan by Elizabeth Warren and Amelia Tyagi (2005)This book was written by the mother-daughter team of Elizabeth Warren and Amelia Warren Tyagi. (Warren is now a U.S. Senator from Massachusetts!) The authors dont get bogged down in the details of frugality and investing. Theyre more interested in changing behavior, in fixing the big stuff. They offer a framework around which the reader can build lasting financial success. The book's advice is solid, if sometimes flawed. To me, its lasting legacy is the introduction of the Balanced Money Formula (which some now call the 50-30-20 budget), a concept I promote extensively in my public speaking gigs. [my review] B- Secrets of the Millionaire Mind: Mastering the Inner Game of Wealth by T. Harv Eker (2005)Many people would dismiss Secrets of the Millionaire Mind as useless. Theres not a lot of concrete information here about how to improve the details of your financial life. (Though the scant advice presented is sound). Instead, this book encourages readers to adopt mental attitudes that facilitate wealth. Its about changing your psychological approach to money, success, and happiness. (This book is the source of my money blueprint concept.) [my review] CMoney Without Matrimony: The Unmarried Couple's Guide to Financial Security by Sheryl Garrett and Debra Neiman (2005)As difficult as marriage and money can be, things are even tougher for unmarried couples, both gay and straight. Its difficult for these folks to get good advice in a society thats geared toward married couples. Money Without Matrimony is a great book with sound suggestions. Its non-judgmental, practical, and packed with advice. If youre in a committed unmarried relationship, I highly recommend you track down a copy. [my review] AThe Automatic Millionaire by David Bach (2005)David Bach is perhaps best known for coining the term the latte factor, a phrase that has almost become a joke in personal finance circles. Thats too bad, really, because Bach has some good ideas. And the latte factor is a marvelous concept, applicable to many people who casually spend their future a few dollars at a time. This book encourages readers to eliminate debt, to live frugally, and to pay themselves first. But the core of his book is unique: rather than develop will power and self-discipline, Bach says, why not bypass the human element altogether? Why not make your path to wealth automatic? [my review] C Luck Is No Accident: Making the Most of Happenstance in Your Life and Career by John D. Krumboltz and Al S. Levin (2004)Luck Is No Accident is a short book. Nothing in it is groundbreaking or revolutionary. Yet its common-sense wisdom is a powerful motivator. Whenever I read it, I cannot help but come away inspired, ready to make more of my situation, and to try new things. If youre the sort of person who wonders why good things only happen to other people, I encourage you to read it. [my review] B+The Random Walk Guide to Investing: Ten Rules for Financial Success by Burton Malkiel (2003)Malkiels advice can be stated in a few short sentences: Eliminate debt. Establish an emergency fund. Begin making regular investments to a diversified portfolio of index funds. Be patient. But the simplicity of his message does not detract from its value. If you want to invest but dont know where to start, pick up a copy of this book. [my review] A-

The Bountiful Container by Rose Marie Nichols McGee and Maggie Stuckey (2002)The Bountiful Container beats most gardening books hands-down in several key areas. It focuses on growing plants that give a beginning gardener the most bang for the buck, plants that are both edible and decorative and can be grown with limited space. It is splendidly organized and easy to read, and has a great index, too. And the level of detail is just right for almost any skill level, and the writing is pleasant to read and easy to understand. [my ex-wife's review] B+The Four Pillars of Investing by William Bernstein (2002)In this book, Bernstein describes how to build a winning investment portfolio. He doesnt focus on the details he tries to explain fundamental concepts so that readers will be able to make smart investment decisions on their own. The Four Pillars of Investing is challenging in places, but it provides an excellent introduction to the theory, history, psychology, and business of investing. If youre able to finish, youll have a better grasp of investing than 99% of your peers. [my review] B Why We Buy: The Science of Shopping by Paco Underhill (2000)In this book, Paco Underhill an environmental psychologist describes what he learned through years of research into consumer behavior and retail marketing. Like it or not, youre manipulated all of the time while youre shopping, and in ways you dont even suspect. But by taking Underhills lessons for marketers and flipping them around, you can make yourself immune to marketers manipulations. (Well, maybe not immune, but less likely to succumb to their ploys, anyhow.) [my review] BWhy Smart People Make Big Money Mistakes (and How to Fix Them) by Gary Belsky and Thomas Gilovich (1999)In this short book, Belsky and Gilovich catalog a menagerie of mental mistakes that cause people to spend more than they should. What might have been a boring topic becomes fascinating thanks to an engaging style and plenty of anecdotes and examples. This book covers a couple dozen psychological barriers to wealth. [my review] B+ The Millionaire Next Door by Thomas Stanley and William Danko (1998)The Millionaire Next Door has earned its place in the canon of personal-finance literature. It's built on years of research, on a body of statistics and case studies. It doesnt make hollow promises. That said, the book is a flawed classic. It offers a fascinating portrait of the wealthy, but it buries this beneath mountains of detritus. The book is poorly organized, repetitive, and dull. (The section on car-buying seems to go on forever.) A patient reader will be rewarded with a glimpse at what it takes to become a millionaire, but I cant help but feel this book could have been something more. Warning: Avoid the audiobook, which suffers even more in the tedious sections. [my review] C+ Yes, You Can Achieve Financial Independence by James Stowers (1992)Yes, You Can Achieve Financial Independence is informative without being dense. Its accessible without being condescending. Its advice is solid. The book is filled with investment advice, but it gives equal time to thrift and savings. Best of all, it asks as many questions as it provides answers. It prompts the reader to think, to evaluate his priorities. Its message is that yes, you can achieve Financial Independence, but you cant get there overnight, and you cant get there without setting goals and making sacrifices. [my review] A-How to Retire Young by Edward M. Tauber (1989)How to Retire Young is one of the oldest books Ive found on the subject of early retirement. Taubers premise is that many people can retire early if they plan and remain dedicated to the plan. I wish I could say that this is a great book. Sadly, its not. Its good (dont get me wrong), but it suffers from being first. [my review] C-Cashing In on the American Dream: How to Retire at 35 by Paul Terhorst (1988)Cashing In on the American Dream is a seminal early retirement book and its advice was spot-on for 1988. But that strength is now its weakness. Some of the advice is thirty years out of date. If you dont need specific advice but are instead interested about theory (and story), then seek out this title. (The last half of the book is filled with stories from folks who made early retirement happen.) [my review] BHow to Get Out of Debt, Stay Out of Debt, and Live Prosperously by Jerrold Mundis (1988)How to Get Out of Debt is built on the principles of Debtors Anonymous, a twelve-step program founded in 1971 to help those who struggle with compulsive debt. Mundis was himself a debtor, and he based this book on his own experience. This isnt purely theoretical information from the mind of some Wall Street finance whiz who has never struggled; this book contains real tips and real stories from real people. [my review] A- You Can Negotiate Anything by Herb Cohen (1980)Whether you like it or not, your life is filled with negotiations. You negotiate your salary, for the price of a car, for the cost of a couch. You negotiate with your wife about where to spend your summer vacation, with your husband about what color to paint the babys bedroom, with your daughter about what time she should be home from the football game. Of all the books Ive recommended at Get Rich Slowly over the years, You Can Negotiate Anything is one of the best. [my review] A How to Get Rich and Stay Rich by Fred J. Young (1979)This book is built around a single principle: Spend less than you earn and invest the difference in something that you think will increase in value and make you rich. It reads like homespun advice from your favorite uncle. While theres plenty of good advice in these pages and lots of amusing anecdotes, theres very little polish. [my review] CThe Incredible Secret Money Machine by Don Lancaster (1978)Though the title smacks of get-rich-quick schemes, The Incredible Secret Money Machine is really about starting and running a small business. To Lancaster, a money machine is any venture that generates nickels. Nickels are small streams of revenue from individual customers. If your goal is simply to earn a comfortable income for yourself by doing something you love, then this book can help you explore the idea of business ownership. Its not going to help you launch the next Google or Microsoft, though. Lancaster is all about nickels, not about dollars. [my review] C+Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression by Studs Terkel (1970)In 1970, writer Studs Terkel published Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression, which features excerpts from over 100 interviews he conducted with those who lived through the 1930s. Terkel spoke with all sorts of people: old and young, rich and poor, famous and not-so-famous, liberal and conservative. The book is fascinating. Its one thing to read about the Great Depression in textbooks, or to hear it used as leverage in political speeches, but its another thing entirely to read the experiences of the people who lived through it. [my review] A-

That's it! If you find any reviews I missed, let me know so that I can add them to this index. I consider this a living article. I plan to add to it with time. As I re-publish old reviews that are currently unpublished, I'll add them here. And as I write new reviews in the future, those will get added to the list too. Know of a money book that I should read and review? Drop a line to let me know! 147 Shares https://www.getrichslowly.org/money-books-index/