#i used to have long-johns when i moved up to oregon too: wonder what happened to those

[josiebelladonna]

i live at the southern end of the sierra nevada mountains (400 miles south from tahoe and the thick of this blizzard we’re in right now), and the house i live in, which i had moved into in late 2015, has no insulation (brilliant i say), so not only did this past summer get so ungodly hot that i almost passed out from heat exhaustion - and left poor alex all alone on his live-stream that night - but also unbelievably cold. there is a heater, but it doesn’t work - and i imagine it being completely useless given the status of the house as well. so, the only source of heat in here is the wood stove and the past few times my mom and i have tried to make a fire, it’s always slow to go, so not good news for the humans in here.

i say this because it is so ungodly cold in here, that: my fingers hurt and it’s hard to type (i managed to write up a full chapter of one of my wips but it was a challenge, though), the tip of my nose is freezing, my ipad won’t even charge and it’s losing power, too: i won’t be using instagram or drawing or writing on it until this motherfucker passes - my brand new computer uses a lithium-ion battery which sustains at a cold temperature, and this thing rules, too, so it’s not all bad; it’s windows 11 and a new model, too, so push comes to shove, i’ll download ig on here and put it in tablet mode. but i put my tablet under my blankets to keep it warm. i also touch literally anything in this house and it sends a chill up my arm. i’m in flannel pajamas, i’ve got two pairs of socks on plus my slippers, and i’m wrapped up in my robe and i’m still freezing (i just think of that old simpsons bit with grandpa after he got set on fire: “i’m still cold!”)

as for outside? just twenty minutes ago, we had howling winds a la the most common of the santa anas (30 - 40 mile an hour winds). now it’s snowing, and there’s the winds on top of that. the snowflakes are huge, too! they’ve got to be the size of dimes. you ever sit inside your car during a car wash, and the water jets and the big brushes make that whirring noise on the roof and the windows? it literally sounds like that. the trees outside are literally coated in ice and i imagine the wind chill being near the zero mark, if not there already. i have experienced subzero temps all of twice in my life: the first time i was living in northern nevada, which, contrary to common belief, does get about this cold in the winter, and i was a kid living in a trailer, which did have heat, but it was still a trailer with no insulation and a piece of tin for the roof. the second time, i was 18 and living in the mountains of oregon which... i can’t even imagine how cold it must be up there right now. i have friends in seattle who were talking about the temp this morning being in the single digits: i’ve obviously experienced worse but it’s gotta be horrible for them, though, especially since the infrastructure up there isn’t made for horrific heat waves and crushing blizzards such as this. my dad and his fiancee live in reno, so do my brother and all my nieces and nephews, and my aunt and uncle live in sacramento.

say what you want about me, and really, i don’t care what you think of me, but this is crazy no matter what you think, though, especially since it’s not just me, it’s everyone over here on the pacific coast. i’m seeing time-lapses of the snowfall up at tahoe: 22 inches in an hour. at the water, no less. just... think about that for a bit. take as much time as you need, too.

[prairiesongserial]

13.5

Cody’s heart was hammering against his ribs with such force that it almost hurt. He was sure that the Good Guys surrounding him could hear it, or could at least see the nervousness on his face, but none of them commented. The Good Guys didn’t do much besides move him along in a torrent of bodies.

They were skirting the edge of the mountain that the Good Guys had come down the side of, and Cody was beginning to become afraid that he would have to climb it. The Good Guys had no harnesses, or anything to help them grip the rock - which might have been fine for them, but Cody had never climbed a mountain before. He hoped he wouldn’t have to learn. The red-headed Good Guy had mentioned the King under the mountain, after all.

He was proven right when they reached the base of the mountain and the red-headed Good Guy shifted a barrier of brush and moss aside to reveal a crack as large as a doorway in the rock. They stepped through it without hesitation, and the rest of the group began to follow. Cody lingered at the back. His pulse was still pounding in his ears, and the black paint on his face was dripping down his cheeks with his sweat. The passageway beyond the crack looked narrow, almost oppressively so, and Cody was sure he would have preferred climbing the mountain to this.

“What’s the matter, Dead-Eye?” one of the Good Guys asked. She was broad and muscular, with dark skin, and dark hair cropped close to her scalp. She had fallen to the back of the group with Cody, and they were now the only people who hadn’t yet entered the mountain. “Never been under a mountain before?”

“Don’t call me that,” Cody said, avoiding her eyes.

Every Dead-Eye felt like a punch to the throat. It winded him, to think that this was what he had inherited - or worse, that this was what he was pretending to have inherited. The Dead-Eyes had all but renounced Ethan, back at Old Problem. Would they accept a leader who had killed him, or were things different now? What would they do, if they learned Cody was running around the East Coast, telling other gangs he was their leader? Marguerite had always been as unforgiving as Ethan, but in subtler ways. She knew how to hold a grudge quietly. And Cody wanted to come home to Oregon someday, to be welcomed back to Levering without a knife (or dozens of them) pointed at his throat.

“Why?” the Good Guy asked, her lips curling into a catlike grin. “That’s who you are, isn’t it?”

“Should I call you Good Guy?” Cody asked, meeting her eyes, his sweaty palms pressed against his jeans.

She laughed outright, leaning against the rock wall. “You can call me Cutter.”

“Then you have to call me by my name,” Cody said. “I know you know it. You’ve got my wanted poster.”

His voice sounded unfamiliarly steely to his own ears, and he wondered if he shouldn’t try to temper it. Ethan had always been genial while talking to other gangs. Charismatic. But Cody didn’t want to be anything like Ethan. Even the idea of it scared him.

“Fine,” Cutter said, exhaling another laugh through her nose. “Can I offer you some advice, Cody Allison?”

Cody frowned, studying her face. She was still grinning, like there was a joke he wasn’t in on. “What advice?”

“The King doesn’t like to be kept waiting, so get your ass into the caves.” Cutter gestured to the passage through the bottom of the mountain. It looked too narrow for her to comfortably travel through it, Cody thought, though presumably Cutter was used to the tight squeeze. “You’re not going to look very impressive if you show up for parley slung over my shoulder.”

“What?”

“It’s simple,” Cutter said, leaning down so she could look him in the eye. “If you don’t walk the path on your own, I’ll put you over my shoulder and carry you to the King myself.”

Her expression said she wasn’t joking. She stepped aside, motioning again to the passage, and Cody took the hint.

The passage wasn’t as narrow as it had looked from the outside - at least, not all the way through. The tunnel hooked sharply to the left, and the walls seemed to open up after the turn, becoming wide enough to accommodate two people walking side by side. Even Cutter no longer had to duck to avoid knocking her head against the cave’s ceiling.

Cody had expected the tunnels under the mountain to be cold, unforgiving places, to be crawling with cave muties or too dark to see his hand in front of his face. But the longer he walked in the tunnel, the more he got used to it. Areas of the passage were steep, sloping downwards to a bottom he couldn’t see, but he watched Cutter stride down them with confidence and tried to follow as closely in her footsteps as he could. His eyes adjusted to the dark. He only stumbled a few times, but managed to keep himself more or less upright every time, refusing to sacrifice his dignity. He was supposed to be on even footing with whoever the King was.

“Are there muties in here?” Cody asked Cutter, more cautious than curious. He was sure the Good Guys wouldn’t let that kind of harm come to a gang leader looking to parley with them, but it paid to be prepared.

“Oh, not usually,” Cutter said, cheerfully. She was scooting her way down a series of rock shelves, not steep, but tiered in such a way that you had to drop a few feet down from one to the next. “We don’t bother them if they don’t bother us, and they know this is the King’s territory. They stay away.” She hit the last shelf and reached up, offering Cody a hand. “You shouldn’t be worried about running into ‘em.”

“I’m not,” Cody said, taking her hand and letting her pull him down. “Just want to know what I’m getting into.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be prepared for a cave mutie until you saw one. They’re not like the ones in Texas,” Cutter said, and chuckled, wiping her hands on the loose, poncho-like piece of fabric that served as her shirt.

The comment would have passed over Cody, had he not already had the memories of Texas Waters lodged firmly in his mind. He and John had outrun a pack of muties on the bike, on their way into Texas. Maybe driving into a nest like that was common. He gave Cutter an odd look.

“Are you from Texas?”

“Me? I’m from the caves,” Cutter said. She was walking again, striking out ahead of him - but never so far ahead that Cody couldn’t see her. She seemed to have a good sense for that kind of thing. “But you outran a whole pack of muties in Texas, and then another in Mexico. I figure you should know what it’s like.”

Cody gaped, his mouth opening and closing with no sound in particular coming out. He kept walking, determined not to freeze and let Cutter know how badly she had thrown him off-kilter. There was no logical way for her to know what had happened to him in Texas, or in Mexico. Not unless she had been there - or unless the Good Guys were in touch with Marc, somehow. But why would Cody have come up - and in that much detail?

“How do you know that?” he asked. No harm in asking, probably. The worst Cutter could do was give him something vague, or dodge the question.

“Oh, look,” Cutter said, dodging the question. “We’re here.”

Cody almost pressed her for more. But he couldn’t. The tunnel they were in had opened up suddenly into a gigantic, underground room that stole the breath from his throat. The ceiling of the cave arched dramatically upwards, so high that it made Cody dizzy to look up at, and the shape of the walls formed a long hall that, bizarrely, reminded Cody of the opulent dining hall at Texas Waters. But there was no table here. Just a stone floor populated with Good Guys.

Perhaps the most dazzling thing about the hall was that it was bright. So bright, in fact, that Cody’s eyes took a moment to adjust. The walls were covered in both torches and thick, glowing webs that Cody had to study for a long moment before determining they were plants. There were enough of them to light the hall as effectively as if Cody and Cutter had emerged back outside, into the light of the setting sun.

The Good Guys who had gone ahead of Cody and Cutter had separated into small groups, chattering and laughing with one another - though the conversations stopped as one by one, they turned their attention to the entryway. The sudden silence was eerie, especially with the way their voices had carried in the cavernous hall, and Cody felt his palms begin to sweat again.

“Cody Allison,” a voice said, from the opposite end of the hall. “Come here and let me see you.”

Cody’s pulse kicked back into the terrible, pounding rhythm from before. Cutter nudged him with her elbow.

“Remember what I said about keeping the King waiting,” she hissed.

Cody stumbled forward. The Good Guys parted to either side of the hall to let him pass through, his footsteps now the only noise echoing through the cavern. He kept his head down, watching his feet so he wouldn’t stumble again, and only looked up when he reached the stone dais on which the King’s throne sat.

The throne was also made of stone, a rough-hewn thing of no real pomp or circumstance. The King sat on it with her legs spread lazily. She was tall, probably about as tall as Cutter, and wore only a pair of threadbare jeans and heavy work boots. Her hair was a wild mane around her face, with glinting white ornaments woven into it. Cody realized, with some revulsion, that they were bones. A necklace made of rough twine was strung around her neck, the pendant an animal skull that rested against the King’s bare sternum.

“Well, then,” the King said, shifting to rest her elbows on her knees, staring down at Cody with a pair of intense eyes that were every bit as violet as Valerie’s. “Dead-Eye to Mountain King. Let’s parley.”

13.4 || 13.6

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Comfortember Day 14 (Alt prompt-Jacket)

Since I wanted to write about my OCs today but a road trip would not be so fun for Robin (metal in cars is uncomfortable to be around for too long), so here's an alt prompt instead! (I'll probably do a road trip for someone else later though, because that's a GOOD ONE)

Winter in Los Angeles is barely winter. At least according to Kira, whose school in Oregon saw real snow every year. Robin's never seen more than faint flurries. It sounds magical, but if it's even colder than the weather is today, he'll pass.

A chilly breeze is blowing off the grey ocean, and the dampness hangs in the air, making its way into his bones. He zips his dad's jacket up as far as he can, tucking his hands in the pockets. He hasn't taken anything out of them, there's a gum wrapper that crinkles with real foil, the kind almost no one makes anymore, a lighter almost out of fluid even though Robin doesn't think Adam ever smoked, and a peppermint candy that's covered in dust even in its plastic wrapper.

In the other pocket is a folded picture of Robin and Ellie. Robin is standing in the yard and Ellie is bent down over him, both of them looking at the camera and smiling. The picture is creased in half at Robin's shoulders in the picture, the crease thick like a seam and worn white, like the photo's been opened up and closed again multiple times.

With the sun down, the chill creeps through the streets like the shadows. Robin steps into the slight shelter of the side of a building. The vamp they're looking for hunts this area and they're basically on stakeout patrol (and John has already made EVERY possible variation of a pun on that) until he shows.

Kira scampers up the side of the building to perch on a fire escape three stories up, getting a good overhead view of the area. Kira reminds him of the alley cats, agile and lethal. She's a shadow, moving fast and striking faster. Robin's impressed with her ability to take advantage of every handhold. She'd tried to teach him too, but too many things she uses to help her climb have too high an iron content. And since wearing gloves can be dangerous because of potential slipping, Robin finally decided he'd leave the climbing to her.

With her on watch, John and Robin prep their gear. Cody's back in the van on comms, watching their local surveillance feeds. John says one of the best things that happened to hunting was the digital camera. Vampires actually appear in digital images as themselves. Film cameras capture them as they truly are. Showing their real age, or in some cases only a skeleton. Robin remembers the vampire informant they meet with who buys cheap film cameras and takes pictures of himself because he wants to feel human again.

Thinking of the photos the vamp had in his pocket along with his little black book reminds Robin of the one tucked in his. He fingers the worn paper, wondering how many times Adam touched it before heading out on a hunt.

A faint tapping above him catches his attention.  He turns just in time to see Kira hop down from her perch with a gracefulness his own numb, cold-heavy limbs could definitely not replicate.

MOVEMENT IN THE SECOND ALLEY NORTH, she signs, and John nods and relays the information to Cody quietly. It's no coincidence, Robin is sure, that that's the one place they're struggling to get video coverage.

Unfortunately, it's a false alarm. Just a local shop owner a shortcut on his way home. Which means it's back to their posts.

Robin tries not to lean on the cold brick wall, it feels like it's sucking the warmth out of his body. He takes slow breaths, hoping no one can hear over comms that they're shaky. He's good at keeping his teeth from chattering, but the shaky breaths he can't help. His cheeks feel wind-bitten and his toes are cold.

John turns and glances at him when he raises his hands to blow on his fingers, and Robin quickly tucks them back in his pockets.

"Are you cold?" John asks.

"I'm fine." It comes out too fast, too desperate, a conditioned response to being asked that many times before and not liking the results of total honesty.

"Oh really? That why you're shakin'?" John asks. "You coulda said you were getting too cold. You can wait in the van..."

"I'm useless in the van," Robin says. "By the time I get out the door you guys will be where you need to be."

He's cut off by the knocking sound again, as well as Cody whispering over comms. "There's movement northeast of your position. Hard to get a clear visual."

Kira scrambles down from her perch again, and they head toward the source of the movement.

This time, it's not a false alarm. Fortunately, the vamp is easy to bring down. He's the kind of predator who likes laying in wait and getting the drop on victims, and in a full-on fight he surrenders almost immediately.

The adrenaline of the arrest pushes the cold aside temporarily, but by the time they're heading back to the agency with the vamp in the secure section of the van, Robin is feeling the chill again. The van is warm enough, but even so, he feels like he'll never really get warm again, the damp chill like fangs sinking into his bones. He tries not to think about Arion or that cell.

He startles when someone spreads something over his lap. John is looking at him with concern, his own jacket off, that's what Robin felt. And from her seat, Kira is digging through the emergency kit to pull out one of the brown shock blankets. The ones they carry are different from everyone else's; wool is more effective for Robin than the reflective insulating material in the regular type. They have a couple of those as well, since the rest of his team is human, but Robin feels a little warmer just at the thought that his specific needs have been considered.

Robin wants to insist he doesn't need it, but John is already wrapping him in the blanket the best he can while Robin is huddled in his seat, and it's not worth the effort to try and figure out a way around the painfully obvious truth.

"Next time, tell us if you're not okay, alright?" John asks. "We're not gonna make you stand out there and freeze to death."

"I should be fine. You and Kira were alright."

"That's not a good enough reason. If anyone told you it was, then they better answer to me." John frowns. "We don't all handle things the same. And we don't have to. You don't see me scaling walls like Spider-woman over there." He puts a hand on Robin's shoulder and Robin could swear he can feel the warmth through the blanket, his jacket, and his shirt. "You don't have to be okay just because someone else is."

Robin nods shakily. It's going to take time to undo the things Michaels and the Silver Blade team beat into him, literally and figuratively. The constant reminders that he wasn't allowed to struggle because none of the rest of them were, so he'd better suck it up and stop acting like an entitled brat.

But they'll get there. And he knows it.

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[letterboxd]

Milking It.

Peerless American filmmaker Kelly Reichardt talks to Ella Kemp about her new film, First Cow, her favorite animal performers, and getting down to the nitty gritty of things.

We’re resharing this post to mark the arrival of ‘First Cow’ on VOD. The interview took place timed to the original release of the film in March, prior to the coronavirus pandemic.

With little fuss, Kelly Reichardt has been making some of the most tender and thoughtful films about American loneliness for decades. The quietly acclaimed director, writer and film lecturer began her feature career in 1994 with River of Grass, a runaway story of a couple caught in a tragedy, and now celebrates her ten-title milestone as a filmmaker by gifting the world the peaceful and moving portrait of another pair of nomads in First Cow.

Reichardt has earned her reputation as one of the most impressive and reliable American filmmakers with knockouts including the stripped-back heartbreaker, Wendy and Lucy and the stunning portrait of feminine isolation and frustration, Certain Women. There is always a common thread—and there is often Michelle Williams—but then, also, each film is a rich, vivid new tale that feels like it belongs to you and no one else.

Based on the 2004 novel The Half-Life, written by Reichardt’s frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, First Cow has been coming together for over a decade, and feels like the culmination of Reichardt’s finest skills and sensibilities. The story follows Cookie (John Magaro) a taciturn cook travelling alongside fur trappers in 19th-century Oregon, whose ambition comes into focus when he meets King Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant. Together, they develop not only an essential friendship, but also a delicious business model, which involves slyly stealing milk from a cow owned by a wealthy landowner. It’s a film of subtle gestures, of deeply tender attentions, with a sharp eye across endless landscapes, and already has devoted fans on Letterboxd.

“I have never felt so well cared for by a movie,” writes Liz Shannon Miller in her Letterboxd review. Zachary Panozzo appreciates the way the film tackles American capitalism as a system, writing that “First Cow, in the most pleasant and honest way, calls bullshit on that.” And Phil Wiedenheft observes: “It feels—like all her work—so simple and elegant that it’s a wonder how [many] histrionics so many other filmmakers have to perform to end up saying less.” And, everyone wants those butter-honey biscuits.

First Cow premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last year and went on to the New York Film Festival shortly after, before impressing European audiences last month in competition at the 2020 Berlinale.

Sharing memories of the writers who shaped her movies, the first film that proved that cinema could show a different view of the world, and the greatest animal performers of all time, Reichardt chats with our London correspondent, Ella Kemp.

Orion Lee as King-Lu and John Magaro as Cookie in ‘First Cow’.

How did you choose where to strip The Half-Life back, to get to a film-sized story? Kelly Reichardt: The novel goes through four decades and they sail to China, so it was way outside the realm of what we could do. It also has a contemporary thread, and that just became a prologue and we settled into the 1820s. We found the main mechanism, the cow, which doesn’t exist in the novel—in the novel they’re selling the oil from beaver glands to China. So once we had the narrative element of the cow, we could work our own way into the script while still using a lot of the themes and stories from John’s novel. And the other thing John did, which was great, was to combine two characters from the novel. King Lu is actually a fusion of two people in the novel.

On paper, First Cow might seem like a straightforward Western but in practice it feels much softer. How do you see it in terms of genre? I didn’t feel any limits by a genre, and I wasn’t really thinking of it as a ‘big W’ Western. I actually see it as a heist film if anything. When I made Meek’s Cutoff, we were dealing with bonnets and wagons and the desert and people crossing West. That felt like having to deal with the whole history of the Western while we set up the camera, but I didn’t feel like that at all here. I just felt like we were telling an intimate story about two people. We were in the minutiae of trying to find out as much as we could about the Multnomah tribes that lived on the Columbia river, and we had fashioned Toby Jones’ character—the Chief Factor—after John McLoughlin in the [retail business group] Hudson’s Bay Company. It was more about researching the beaver trade and definitely taking artistic liberties, while also really trying to stay pretty true in the details to the period. It was such a little world we were building, I didn’t really have the feeling that I was confined in a genre at all.

Kelly Reichardt. / Photo by Jens Koch courtesy Berlinale

You work with outdoor landscapes a lot, particularly in Oregon. There are similarities with Meek’s Cutoff but also with Wendy and Lucy—the nomadic loners, the animal companion… What keeps you coming back to these places? I’ve actually worked outdoors much more than I’ve worked indoors. It’s really the indoors which was really fun to shoot here, because with Tony Gasparro, who was the production designer on First Cow, he and I were able to design these cottages and interiors and build around what [we] wanted to shoot, which is really great and a first for me. But outdoors is where I’m usually mostly shooting. It was recognizable to me at different points in the film that we were recalling Old Joy and Meek’s Cutoff and Wendy and Lucy. It was like the ‘Best Of’ of my movies.

There were some echoes of the other films for sure. It’s interesting to think how that’s happened. Because really, John’s novel The Half-Life is the first thing I ever read of his, and I wrote to him asking if he had any short stories—because I knew the novel was too big back in 2004—and he sent me Old Joy, the short story, which became the first thing we did together. But in between all that we’d been musing together for a decade, whenever there’s a lull in whatever we’re working on, we’d ask ourselves how we could do The Half-Life. It’s been cooking on the back burner for a long time, so maybe it’s bled into other films along the way.

Would you ever consider working in the city? I’m definitely ready to do something contemporary. It could be anything. I will just say on the practical side I do enjoy going away with a crew and feeling somewhat off the grid while making a film, separate from everyday life. When you say a city, I immediately think of New York. Never say never, but it’s just the practicalities of it… even if you can hire the crew you want, it doesn’t jump out at me as the most inviting thing.

In First Cow, your central characters are two men. Did you encounter different things in delving into male psychology after shaping so many rich female characters across your filmography? I don’t think of it in terms of gender, more in terms of personality. Maile Meloy’s short stories that I was working off for Certain Women focus on isolated women, a theme in some of her writing. But it’s really more about getting down to details on all levels of filmmaking for me. You have at some point the bigger picture, but I like to get down to the nitty gritty of things, in the story I’m telling and the people I’m making the story about and not worry about what gender anybody is. It’s more about who are these characters. A big draw to The Half-Life was that the Cookie character was so great. King Lu was totally fascinating as well. So it was more about keeping track of what they wanted, what they were to each other in the minute-by-minute, more even than in the big sense.

Lucy, the very good girl in Reichardt’s ‘Old Joy’.

Evie, the titular cow, is a terrific performer. What is your favorite animal performance on film? Oh god… Lucy! My own beautiful dog in Old Joy (2006), actually. No, of course there’s others. The animal that probably made the biggest impression on me as a kid was in Mike Nichols’ The Day of the Dolphin (1973). That dolphin was everything. You’re always afraid the animals are going to come to some demise. There’s [Vincente] Minnelli’s Home from the Hill (1960), which has the tragic hunting dog there. But it’s such a beautiful film. Whenever a film is named after the animal, you know it’s bad news for the animal.

Do you have a favorite film to teach your students? I’ve been teaching since 1998 so I wouldn’t call anything a favorite, but one film I’ve used in a sound class a lot is the opening scene of McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), where we’re just listening to the sound, and we turn off the image and the students describe the space. And so by doing that over the years I have René Auberjonois’ voice so firmly planted in my head, as he’s the bartender in the opening scene. I had the great pleasure of working with him on Certain Women and we wrote a little part for him [in] First Cow where he’s the cranky guy in town with the raven.

What is the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? When I was a kid and I saw Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) on TV, and there was a scene on a beach at night that happened in black and white. It was the first time I’d seen the ocean in black and white—I grew up in Miami. It was the first time I became aware that people could do something as far as film went. I think when I was in art school, Stranger Than Paradise (1984) came out, and it probably opened the door to a lot of people’s minds—like a lot of people who saw the first band who played their own music and not cover tunes, like, ‘maybe I could tell my own story on film’. It made something seem possible, for myself anyway.

‘First Cow’ is in US cinemas now. An international release is yet to be confirmed. Kelly Reichardt’s films ‘First Cow’ and ‘Wendy and Lucy’ feature in Letterboxd’s Official Top 100 Narrative Feature Films Directed by Women.

[meditationsfromthethirdrail]

Credentials and Credibility

I’ve written about polarization and about empathy, rights and responsibilities in the last couple of blog posts.  I have a long list of interrelated topics to cover before the November elections and I plan to keep plowing through them.  But I’m well aware that my voice is a candle in the wind, to borrow the phrase used by T.H. White in the title of his tale about King Arthur’s dream of a more egalitarian and peaceful society.  The number of readers of my blog thus far may barely run into double digits and that may never change.  We are all drowning in information (and misinformation) unless we are either so socioeconomically disadvantaged as to be denied access or are actively disengaged from media.  People in either category aren’t reading this.

With all the competition for the attention of readers and listeners, if someone wants to be heard above the din, he or she either has to have a forceful personality and a good platform, or actually have something important to say.  I may not have either of those.  Readers will judge for themselves.  But it occurred to me that I ought to at least provide a little background about myself, which may or may not compel you to hear me.  So here it is.

My story is not one of hard knocks and resentment - it’s a success story.  There are a lot of ways to define success but I feel like I’ve grabbed a nice assortment of brass rings during my almost-seven decades on the planet.  I’ve had a long and happy marriage to an incredible woman; I’ve traveled extensively (six continents and all fifty states) and lived for substantial periods in many states; I have three degrees from a major college; I attained a modestly high position in a large, global professional services firm and was financially well rewarded for my efforts; and I have many hobbies and interests that make it easy for me to stay fully occupied in retirement.  Most importantly, I’m happy and at peace with myself and others.  One could argue that these successes may have caused me to be out of touch with those who’ve enjoyed fewer of them, but I don’t think that’s entirely true, and I’ll try to suggest why.

My parents were the son and daughter of a sharecropper and a truck farmer/itinerant salesman, respectively, in rural Mississippi.  They grew up during the Great Depression. They were married and gave life to my older brother when they were still in their teens.  My dad dropped out of high school to sign up for the Army and served in the European theater in WWII.  After the war he got a G.E.D. and served as a tractor mechanic for a while.  Around the time I was born he was hired by a prominent agricultural implement manufacturing company, which led to him being transferred from Mississippi to Maryland to Ohio to Idaho to Oregon and to Iowa in order to earn promotions, and with family in tow.  Later he also transferred to Texas, Missouri and Georgia, after I was left behind to attend college in Iowa.  In those days it was possible to rise pretty high in the ranks of a business like my dad’s, without a glittery collegiate resume, if you worked hard and were willing to uproot yourself and your family whenever it was called for.  So my dad eventually did rise fairly high in the ranks, and in the meantime my mom scrambled her way to a B.A., then taught high school English for a short time.

All’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare once said.  My parents came a long way from the dusty fields where they picked cotton for 50 cents a day.  My own road to success was much easier than theirs.  During most of my childhood our family was financially situated about in the dead center of what was then considered middle class.  My parents were not rich, although they accumulated modest wealth later in life, and they were always frugal, so I grew up with very few toys and a mostly empty closet.  My parents were not the type to devote much time attending to my personal pursuits, other than to quietly demand that I get good grades in school.  So I wouldn’t say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I understand that’s a relative thing.  I certainly wasn't lavished with material things as a child, but I never went hungry or worried about having a roof over my head.

Aside from a base level of financial and emotional support and protection, the best thing my parents gave me was a solid education in a robust public school system.  This was a pre Betty Devos era.  Fortunately I had just enough innate ambition (or willingness to succumb to my parents’ expectations) and intelligence to perform in the upper tier, academically.  I could have done better but I often didn’t “apply myself,” as they say.  In retrospect I realize I had ADHD but few people understood or cared about that back then.

My college record was spotty at first, but ultimately pretty good.  I had almost no grasp of what I wanted to do with my life.   As a result, I had an abnormally extended adolescence, to roughly age 27.  Maybe I was a trendsetter; I see a lot more of that happening with young people today.  In any case I considered, at various times and among other things, becoming a Baptist minister (I was licensed and briefly attended seminary), an English professor (I have an M.A. in English and instructed freshman writing courses for three years), a novelist and poet (insufficient talent and discipline derailed that plan), and a hotel manager (nah).   A happy accident of my wandering and indecision was that I acquired a lot of knowledge that later paid off in surprising ways I’ll come back to later.  I was financially very poor the entire time, which gave me considerable perspective on what it means to be concerned about affording basics such as food and transportation.

I vividly remember the catalysts for my decision to enter the social mainstream. One was the fallout from a poker game I got into with some friends.  One of my “friends” was a notoriously unethical character who, one late evening when I was especially unlucky and perhaps too full of beer, lured me into some bad bets that resulted in a $700 debt to him.  At that time, when I was working several crummy part-time jobs to afford food and my $50 share of the rent on a slum-quality house we shared with two other guys, $700 dollars seemed like a million dollars.  I didn't realize and no one told me that on the very next evening the same group of friends gathered for another poker game as I was licking my wounds and trying to form a plan.  I was not present to witness the scene in which the guy whom I was newly indebted to suffered an equally humiliating loss - a loss that was forgiven by the victor on the condition that the loser would also forgive my loss.  My friends assumed that Bart (not his real name, or is it?) would inform me that I was off the hook.  He did not.

For the first time in my life, I devised a budget in order to determine how I could repay Bart the debt that didn’t actually exist, because that’s the kind of guy I am.  I believed, and I still do, that a person is morally and ethically responsible for meeting whatever commitments he or she enters into.  So  I scrambled for more hours working as a church janitor, a tutor and a library assistant; I ate Kraft macaroni and cheese almost every day (30 cents a box, if I recall); I stayed in my room as if I had contracted the then-undreamt-of coronavirus; and I turned over every penny that didn’t go for rent and minimal food to Bart in three monthly installments until I was finally clear.  I was six feet tall but my weight fell to about 140 pounds.  On the day I forked over the last $200, Bart skipped town, just as the news finally arrived that I wasn’t supposed to have owed that debt.

That sordid chapter concluded with me taking a job, out of sheer desperation, in a factory where I was paid a below-minimum wage to operate a machine which applied mailing labels to printed advertisements.  It was mind-numbing.  There were perhaps another 100 workers in that factory doing the same thing I was doing.  The output of each worker was measured daily by the factory management.  By the end of the first week I was the most productive mailing label attacher in the factory.  To keep myself from going insane, I approached my task as if it were a game and challenged myself each shift to beat my previous day’s output, which I always did.  During my brief lunch breaks I used to surreptitiously glance around at the other workers and I understood exactly what Thoreau meant when he opined that the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.  I don’t know if he was right about “the mass of men,” but he certainly could have been describing that crew at the factory.

In my second week at the factory I met another newly-hired college guy whose wife and he were trying to save enough money to move to Los Angeles so he could take a shot at professional acting - this was his second job.  Chatting with him during lunch breaks, i was inspired by his desire to fulfill a dream and the difficult steps he was taking to do it.  I listened to him, I looked around at the hollow-eyed, middle-aged folks who had worked for years operating labeling machines, and I squirmed as I considered what a sap I was for racking up a poker debt and falling victim to a con man.  i abruptly abandoned the factory but I felt so discombobulated that I enlisted my good buddy John to drive out to Idaho with me so I could visit my brother and try to get my shit together.  By the end of that brief sojourn out west, the best job offer I could manage was from Roto-Rooter . . . to work in the field, as it were.  Wake up call!

If you’ve read this far you must be wondering how any of this supports the notion that I’m qualified to write about sociopolitical matters.  It doesn’t, except to demonstrate that I have at least a small measure of “street cred.”  But the best is yet to come.  When I returned to Iowa I found a better job in a hotel.   Initially I was a night auditor, which is a position that involves being a desk clerk part of the time and an accountant the rest of the time.  Only a small step forward, financially, but it gave me a taste for something I had never previously thought about doing for even one minute.  Accounting, I quickly learned, was something I had a natural aptitude for, and in some quirky way I found it interesting.  Once again I viewed my duties as a sort of game, but this was a game that lit up my brain much more brightly than did operating a machine to perform an exceptionally repetitive task.  

My whole life is a series of lucky breaks at critical junctures.  In this instance the break was that I met a co-worker - a guy who shared the hotel night auditor position with me - who had previously worked for a large CPA firm.  He had taken the part-time hotel job because he was trying to become a full-time stock trader and that’s what he was doing during the day.  From him I learned what it is that CPAs in a big firm actually do.  Let me assure you I’m not going to get into that subject, in case you were already feeling the dread.  (Thank God for actuaries - the only people who make accountants seem slightly interesting.)  Suffice it to say that I figured out how I could minimize the additional schooling I would need to become qualified to be a CPA and I decided to take a stab at it.

I kept the hotel job but started carrying a heavy load of college classes - accounting, math, economics, law, etc.  It so happened that I met my future wife, who was just finishing her Interior Design degree at the same college, about the same time I took the first tentative steps down my new career path.  That was even more fortuitous - I give her lots of credit for helping me stay the course.  The two years in which I went to college in the day, worked at the hotel at night, and struggled to get our new romance off the ground, was “character-building,” to say the least.  I can barely remember anything about that period, it was such a blur.  To give you an idea of how much of a blur it was, the major highlight I remember was driving with my new spouse to Des Moines to dine at Spaghetti Works.  $5 for beer-and-cheese spaghetti, all-you-can-eat salad bar and a glass of swill.  Heaven!

When the two hellish years finally ended and I received my B.S. in Accounting, I had already lined up a job in Des Moines as an auditor with one of the Big 8 (at that time) accounting firms.  Not long afterward, I passed the CPA exam and my wife landed a spot with a local design firm, and we were on our way.

Ok, at last I’m where I possibly should have started. In the ensuring three decades I continued to work as a CPA, becoming a partner along the way (meaning that I became one of the owners), and developing a specialization working with clients in the financial services industry - investment management companies and banking and finance companies, primarily.  This is the good part, folks.  My career soon took me from Iowa to New York City, where my background in English earned me the privilege of being a key designer and the principal author of new practice guidance for our international firm, which was just merging with another large international firm.  That put me in the spotlight for a time and gave me a leg up for promotion.  After the merger we relocated to Los Angeles, where I worked with some of the most prominent investment management companies in the world, and numerous banks, mortgage banks and other financial institutions.  Finally we moved to southeast Pennsylvania and I split time engaged with clients there and in California, and with our national financial services practice in New York.

Late, late nights on Wall Street helping to prepare financial offerings with hundreds of millions of dollars on the line.  Late, late nights at client offices in L.A., San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, New York and Philadelphia, managing teams of young accountants to deal with complex accounting problems under tremendous pressure.  Board meetings, fee negotiations, staff meltdowns, discoveries of fraud and malfeasance, financial crises in which I was an inside observer.  A 60-hour work week felt almost like a vacation compared to many weeks with even longer hours.  It was enough to give me PTSD.  I don’t want to overstate it - it wasn’t like actual life or death combat PTSD - but I still have nightmares ten years and more after the fact.

That’s a very quick summary of the 30+ years in which I obtained hard-won knowledge about global finance and economics - a period in which I also had a lot of experiences with politics, charitable organizations and other components of society I didn’t have time to get into today.  I still spend a lot of time staying informed about subjects ranging from psychology and mythology to current events and hard science.  There’s a ton I still don’t know.  But as my all-time favorite singer Joni Mitchell famously said, I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now.

[dailyaudiobible]

05/07/2019 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 1:1-2:21, John 5:1-23, Psalms 105:37-45, Proverbs 14:28-29

Today is the 7th day of May. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I’m Brian. It is wonderful, a pleasure, an honor, a joy to be in your presence, to come around the global campfire together and come into the Lord's presence together and allow His word to speak to us. And that's what we've come to do and that's what we will do. We concluded the book of Ruth yesterday and what a beautiful, beautiful story and it comes at such a good time. Just a needed exhale. And now we’re moving into the books of Samuel.

Introduction to the book of Samuel:

Samuel was the final judge of Israel and Samuel will lead us into the time of the monarchy. So, a time when there were kings in Israel. And theres two books of Samuel, the books of first and second Samuel, but they probably weren't authored by the prophet Samuel. It's not clear who the author is. Historically it seems that these…that this work…was written somewhere when the kingdom divided. So, if this your first trip through the Bible some of these references, you can be like, “I don't know what we’re talking about.” We haven't even come into the kingdom yet, right? So, Samuel's gonna bring us to a time where kings rule in Israel, but after a time that gets a little bit convoluted as we will see, and the kingdom of Israel divides into two different kingdoms. It’s thought that this is kind of around the time that maybe when the story of Samuel was written down. A lot of scholars believe that this material was recorded by three different prophets of Israel - Samuel, Nathan and Gad - but we don't know that for certain. We do know that the books of Samuel were written in Hebrew and they weren't written as two different texts originally. Actually, first and second Samuel and first and second Kings were all grouped together as one continuous text. And then when the Old Testament was translated into Greek, which is called the Septuagint, the texts were then divided into four books and at that time they were known as the books of the kingdoms. And when the Old Testament was translated into Latin, which is called the Vulgate, then they became the books of the kings. So, at this time in the Bible we had first and second and third and fourth kings. So, kind of confusing to follow along with. But there's more. What is now known as first and second Samuel was actually first and second Kings in the Latin translations and what we know as first, and second Kings was known as the third and fourth kings during that era. And then this was all changed to what we now understand, the books of Samuel, first and second Samuel, and the books of Kings, first and second Kings by those who translated and created the King James Bible in 1611. So, in terms of like ancient history, this change is more recent. So, Samuel, as we will see, was a very influential person. Last judge of Israel. He was also a prophet of God and he served before the Lord as a priest. And as we saw reading through the book of Judges, the land had kinda fallen into a form of anarchy. Everyone was doing what was right in their own eyes. And then Samuel steps in as a prophet and that begins to alleviate some of the anarchy because Samuel is speaking directly for God. And this is something that the children of Israel are more accustomed to historically. Now Israel desires to have a king. They don't have one, but they desire one and Samuel will introduce kingship into the civilization and culture of Israel. And the first thing that will meet as you probably know, is named Saul. And then we’ll meet this boy, actually, named David who will later become a king and we’ll see up close and personal the conflict between Saul and David. And God warns the children of Israel not to take a king to rule over them, but, you know, as is usual and is as is often the case in our own lives, they'll choose their own path and introduce kings into their culture. And, so, we’ll see spiritual guidance coming from the prophets, and national guidance coming from the king, but throughout the entire book what’s really happening here is that a man-made kingdom is being established with a king to rule over it, the kingdom of Israel. And from this point on that's how it will be looked at until there are no kingdoms left. But we’ll get there. For now, we’ll begin the book of first Samuel and we’ll read chapter 1 verse 1 through chapter 2 verse 21 today. And we’re reading from the New English Translation, the NET Bible this week.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for bringing us into this new era in Your word where we will meet some men along the way. Right now, we are learning of Samuel. We were just introduced to him and as we take the journey forward and we learn of these kings, we will find so much of ourselves along the way. And, so, we look forward to that and the way that this mother, Hannah, gave her son to Your service and how, in spite of all of all of the evil going on around Samuel, he grew up righteous before You. And, so, we also look forward to all that You will speak to us through Samuel's life. We invite You to come Holy Spirit. Plant the words that were spoken in Your word into our hearts today and as we meditate on them we ask that You give us clarity and direction in our choices and decisions. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what's going on around here. So, stay tuned and stay connected like I say every day because it's important. It’s important to know that we’re not alone on our journey through the Scriptures. It's important that we’re not alone on our journey through life. So, stay connected in any way you can, any way that you want to.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com also. There is a link, it lives on the homepage and I thank you, I humbly thank you for your partnership. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Springhill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey Brian, hey Daily Audio Bible family. I am in nursing school and I am having such a hard time this semester. I am in my fourth or fifth semester I have one whole semester left after this one and I’m having such a hard time. I am stressed, and I am sorry. I’m stressed, and I am just trying to get through the finals. We’ve had a final every other day for three weeks now. My body is tired. My mind is tired but…but I want to push through. So, please pray for me. Give me strength. Give me…something. I will continue pushing forward. I’m not too sure whether or not this message will be heard or played but if it is, please pray for me and wish me well. I wish everyone else, you know, well as well. Not just for me, for my classmates as well because we’re all in this together and no one wants to be left behind. So, please send your prayers to me and my classmates in Texas. Thank you.

Hello friends this is Turtle from Oregon. I was listening to today’s podcast on May 4th. While Brian was claiming about God bringing a disruption to our lives there was a disruption in the audio and even though I’m sure it was unintended from a human perspective I think that God made a purposeful disruption to show us something…at least to me. He showed me His sense of humor for one thing. I love that about Him and He’s reminding us that disruptions are a part of life and in order to hear the right voice we have to keep our attention on the Lord God who loves us. Let us keep our attention on the One whose voice is truth. Lord, please help us to ignore the voices of the world and allow Your word to disrupt us and to lead us where we need to be, in a relationship with You. Thank You God. Thank You for this wonderful family. Amen.

Lord as I walk in your spirit today please keep my pride and my ego at bay They oft times surface and get in the way negatively affecting the things that I say lead me and guide me I don’t want to stray I long to be yours Lord I want to obey cause Satan is watching just waiting to slay being cut off from you God is too much to pay help me stay humble and spiritually led it’s not just the words Lord it’s how they are said and it’s not just the how Lord please teach me when if the timing is not right in then the message won’t get in the flow from my lips to the listener’s ear may inflate my ego but the listener won’t hear he’ll just get resentful and throw my words back anger will enter in and we’ll both go off track Lord what is my purpose as I go through this day that’s a rhetorical question Lord show me the way help me keep ego and pride out of the way Place on my lips Lord the right words to say help me walk upright and continually pray I want to be yours Lord come whatever may

blindtony1016@gmail.com. I’d like to give a shout out to Victoria soldier, Pelham and along with Molly and Anderson, and Terry the truck driver and Lee from New Jersey. I hope all of you are well. Know you’re loved very much, prayed for daily, and thought of often. And once again Brian, I thank you for this wonderful podcast for God’s Holy Spirit to flow. Keep it flowin’ y’all. All right. Bye-bye.

Hey you, yeah, you. Hey, I’m talking to you. Don’t be looking around trying to figure out…I’m talking to you. Why are you worrying? What are you worrying about…why are you worried? You know we serve a good, good Father who only gives good gifts, who commanded us not to worry about our lives. What are you worrying about? Whatever it is, God will take care of it. Correction, God has taken care of it. So, stop your worrying. You, by worrying, are not gonna fix anything. Name one thing that you worried about that through your worry was corrected. Instead, pray. Pray and believe and what you ask you shall receive.

[truthofherdreams]

life behind the camera (#3)

also on ao3 + main instalment + outtakes

“So, Peter’s mother,” is how Lara Jean introduces the subject as she sits on John Ambrose’s couch.

He’s done filming for today’s video, laptop propped up in front of him and slowly importing the video he will then start to edit. She caught him at a good time – not yet too busy – but still he arches a surprised eyebrow at her.

“Rachel Kavinsky,” he spells out slowly, deliberately. “Doesn’t like me much, to be honest.”

“What, you? No! You’re like, the poster boy for parents to like.”

He grins and she’s reminded of how handsome he is, in such a different way. Peter is Hollywood-handsome, the kind you find in magazines and movies and everywhere. John is more old-school, like he tumbled out of a black and white movie and decided to just salary living in modern times. Not for the first time, LJ wonders why he’s not dating anyone. It would be so easy for him to find someone to fall in love in love with him.

“Right,” he laughs. “She’s the exception though.” LJ doesn’t reply anything, but her confusion must show in the puzzled look on her face, because John sighs a little. His shoulders drop, slouching a bit as he looks for his words. “Peter ever told you what we were doing before moving to LA?”

She shakes her head. She knows they moved here when they were 19, and Chris followed them a few months later when Peter convinced her to join the squad. Greg was already living in LA when they met him, and Lucas showed up about a year later. Then came along Lara Jean, a few years down the road. But she never questioned what happened before, or how it all led them where they are, because she already knows. Passion, hard work, and their fair share of luck. She’s been through it too.

John sighs as he leans further into his seat. “Of course, he wouldn’t,” he says with a shake of the head, hand rubbing against his face. “We were both in college together, same room and everything. I was valedictorian so I got a scholarship for my grades; Peter got in with a scholarship for the Lacrosse team. That’s when his channel really started to explode too, because we had more time to film and edit and actually create quality content.”

She gets it, she thinks. It’s not something she can relate to herself, because her channel was already doing good enough by the time she left high school, so she only had to find a part-time job in the local bakery to help daddy with the bills. It wasn’t long before she was able to live off her channel, and she only waited until Kitty was done with school too before they moved to LA together. She never got to worry about a degree, or college, or even getting in.

But Peter did. Peter got it, did a full year of it while still producing content every week for his online audience. “You both dropped out to come to LA,” she guesses and finishes for John. It does make sense.

“That we did. And it was mostly my idea, so of course Rachel blames me for influencing Peter, and keeping him from his brilliant sport career, and all of this. I think it’s easier for her to blame me than to blame Peter, which is fine. We don’t interact nearly enough for it to be a problem, but. Yeah. She doesn’t like me much.”

“That’s stupid,” she comments. Because it really is, in a way. “I don’t know anyone who could force Peter to do something he doesn’t want.”

John’s smile is pleased, if a little shy, before he snorts a laugh and raises an eyebrow. “Well, I do know one person.”

Lara Jean finds herself blushing.

…

Lara Jean’s history with Oregon stops at one or two visits to Portland during tours, and that’s about it. She’s never been anywhere else, especially not somewhere as remotely lost in the middle of nowhere as Greenpoint. Their plane lands in the little hours of the morning, and then Peter rents a car at the airport, and everything is grey and cold outside, having her adjust the scarf around her neck and missing California’s weather already. She can’t remember her life before being able to wear skirts without tights, a life where cardigan were not just a night option.

They drive for two hours before Greenpoint’s town sign welcomes them. It’s a little town like there are so many in the USA, not unlike the one Lara Jean comes from. Houses built in residential areas, a sad little main street, corner shops everywhere, one lone Walmart at the outskirt of town. Try as she might, she can’t picture Peter and Chris and John growing up here. It’s too quiet, too empty. Like they had to compensate with their loud Youtube personalities to fill the void left by the town, like being loud on camera was overcompensating for the quiet of the place.

Peter drives by his old high school, just to show her. There’s a football stadium he says used to be for lacrosse practice too, and this one building where the cafeteria was, where John and he came up with so many ideas for Vines and videos. Lara Jean has seen pictures, Peter-as-a-teenager with his too tall body and too skinny shoulders, John with a stupid haircut, clothes that looked ridiculous. She tries to associate those images to everything she sees around her. But there is so little of Peter in those buildings.

His house is different. Better. There are family pictures everywhere, for one, him and Owen at different periods of their lives, from babies to toddlers to young adults. Boy sneakers still lined up by the door. A few sport trophies on display in the living room, and the fridge packed with Peter’s favourite snacks and those bottles of kombucha nobody else drinks.

His bedroom is the best.

It’s like someone froze time when he was seventeen, its own little millennial bubble. The bed is made, dark blue tartan, but everything else is a rightful mess. An old laptop sits on the desk, next to a mirrorless camera. Posters from overrated movies he’s forced her to watch at least once are on the walls, along with pictures of him and John, him and Owen, and even one of him and Gen that he takes down and throws in the bin. A few books here and there, mostly comics or hard scifi. More trophies than Lara Jean thought possible to win during a high school career. And clothes everywhere, one lone lacrosse stick, soccer and basket balls in the corners.

“This is so you,” she grins as she sits on his bed. It bounces a little.

“How so?” he asks as he drops their overnight bag in a corner and joins her. Kicking his shoes off, he lies down with his back against the wall, pulling at her hand until she lies down against his side.

“All over the place!”

He makes a face and she laughs. Maybe it should be weird, knowing what this bedroom has seen. She’s learnt enough from John and Chris, and sometimes even Peter, to know he only ever dated Gen before he dated her, no one else. This bedroom must have been the witness of many makeout session disguised as homework together, late-night phone calls, date planning. Lara Jean doesn’t want to be weird about it, because it is in the past. Gen’s shadow no longer has the power it once held on them, on her. She doesn’t feel second-best, or second anything. Peter loves her, and it is all that matters.

Still. Still, possessiveness surges through her as she wraps one hand around the collar of his shirt and pulls him toward her. Peter lets out a small noise at the back of his throat but doesn’t complain when she kisses him. Instead, one of his arm circles her waist and, before she knows it, Lara Jean’s back is against the mattress, Peter towering above her. She somehow wonders if this is what it feels like, making out with your high school boyfriend when the parents are not home.

“LJ,” he whispers against her lips, voice already breathless and broken. It’s been months of dating, properly dating, but Lara Jean still loves that rush, the one that comes with the knowledge of the effect she has on him. She hopes it never goes away, how it makes her heart beat faster and her skin warmer to his touch.

His hand sneaks under her skin, fingers splayed against the small of her back and bringing a shiver down her spine. She arches to be closer to him, mouth opening in a wordless gasp when his mouth find the pulsing point on her neck. That is new territory, after months of her being afraid of physical intimacy. She was so scared before, but she can’t remember why when only a touch of his hands or a kiss down her jaw lights her entire body on fire.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he admits with a chuckles as he noses at her collarbone.

She laughs too, and it comes out ragged and breathy. “Really?”

He nods, and lets his teeth graze against her skin.

Downstairs, a door slams.

They both startle

“Peter? Are you home?”

“Fuck.”

He lets go of her quickly and sits up. She does the same, fixing her top then her dress, carding her fingers through her hair so she can pull it up into a decent ponytail. There is no hiding the disaster that is Peter’s hair though, not when he’s been growing it out a bit and it’s now a mess of curls going in every direction. It’s hard to tame it, or at least make it look like Lara Jean didn’t just spend ten minutes destroying it with her fingers.

There is nothing to be done about their red cheeks, or the bulge in Peter’s pants, either.

“Hey, mom!” he calls back loudly. “Down in a second!”

He doesn’t meet Lara Jean’s eyes, but the way he tightens his lips is very telling; he’s trying hard not to laugh at the situation. So Lara Jean slaps his shoulder, faking affront and not-so-faking embarrassment, which truly makes him laugh. He’s already up, checking his reflexion in the mirror on his wardrobe, when Lara Jean tries to fix her tights and to ignore the warmth pooling deep in her stomach. That will have to wait.

“Ready?” he asks softly, after another attempt at fixing his hair.

“To meet your mom after a hardcore makeout session? Sure!”

He laughs once more and leans down to kiss her, hard and fast, which does nothing to help her forget how wet she already was from his kisses alone. Not exactly the right mindset for when you are about to meet your boyfriend’s mother, and her cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry. She loves you already.”

That she does.

Rachel is nothing short of amazing as she coos over how pretty Lara Jean is, or how nice it was of her to bring a fresh batch of macadamia nut and white chocolate cookies, or how excited she is to finally meet one of Peter’s girlfriends. Lara Jean raises a eyebrow his way at that comment, but fills it in her ‘for later’ box. It probably shouldn’t thrill her that much, to know Gen and Mrs Kavinsky didn’t have much of a relationship, but it does. She isn’t even the slightest bit ashamed of how competitive she is, when it comes to being a more important girlfriend than Gen. Probably because she wins every round.

“It’s so sad Owen couldn’t come back for the weekend. I feel like I never get to see the both of you at the same time anymore.”

Peter rolls his eyes behind his mother’s back, but there is nothing short of fondness in the motion, before he grabs a bottle of apple juice in the fridge and pours them all drinks. “You saw us both at Christmas, mom. It was like, five months ago.”

“An eternity,” she comments. Then, turning to Lara Jean, “How do your parent cope with you being so far from them?”

She tenses, just a little, but enough for Peter to notice. He winces visibly. “Mom, I told you LJ’s mom passed away. It’s only her dad now.”

His mother lets out a little ‘oh’ of surprise, but Lara Jean cuts her off before she can even think of offering an empty apology. She is used to those by now, after all. “Actually, our mother wanted us to leave the nest and live our best lives. My older sister went to uni in Scotland, so LA is right next door for my father, in comparison.”

“And you guys facetime all the time. Which we do too, mom, if you remember!”

“Still,” his mother sighs, moving closer to him so she can wrap one arm around his shoulders. She’s almost as tall as Peter is. “You could visit more often.”

He kisses her cheek. “I will, I promise.”

…

Dinner is a quiet affair of homemade lasagna followed by bowls of ice cream in front of the television. Mrs Kavinsky doesn’t do the embarrassing thing with the family albums, but she does offer her fair share of embarrassing childhood stories that have Lara Jean laughing and Peter blushing.

They both offer to take care of the dishes, and work in comfortable silence side by side, the same way they do after a night in at Lara Jean’s. Everything is so peaceful and quiet, she understands how it makes for a lovely place to raise up children.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he tells her once all the dirty dishes are either in the dishwasher or cleaned and put away. “I told her about your mom but…”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” She sits on the kitchen island, and smiles when Peter puts his hands on her knees to pull them apart and stand between her legs. He smiles too, and they stay like this for a while, forehead against forehead, silent and loving. Which of course means Lara Jean has to ruin it. “You never told me what happened with your dad.”

Peter sucks in a breath. “They got a divorce when I was six. Owen was just a baby back then. As far as I know, he’s got a brand new family now. It’s like, whatever.”

Her fingers find his jaw, nails scratching against his late-evening shadow. He closes his eyes and leans against her touch. “We don’t have to talk about it, but it’s not whatever.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing her hips a little too possessively. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“It’s always worth a repeat.”

[prairiesongserial]

10.5

“First of all,” Friday was saying, as Val sat down heavily on the stone windowsill of one of the stained glass windows that lined the hallway. “First of all...what’s our next move, here? We can’t stay at the convent forever, right?”

Val massaged his temples, pressing his fingers hard against his brow, as though he could physically push the tension out. How much had Friday told Cody? Cody didn’t look angry, but maybe he was good at hiding it. Or maybe Friday hadn’t told him anything, but had brought him there to force Val to do it himself.

“I thought you were going to go back to Vegas,” he said, finally glancing up at Friday. She stared back at him like he had suddenly grown a second head.

“Why would I go back to Vegas?” she asked. “I mean, not yet, anyway. I’m gonna travel with John and Cody until they get where they’re going. I kinda owe it to them, for not showing up when I was supposed to. And we did alright on the road, didn’t we?”

“For a loose definition of ‘alright’,” Val said, with a sigh. “Where are John and Cody going?”

“We don’t know,” Cody said. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, looking a little nervous. “John might not be ready to leave for a while longer, and with Ethan...well, I could probably go home now. The rest of the Dead-Eyes abandoned him. But I don’t know what John wants to do, and I don’t know if the Dead-Eyes will feel different, now that I...now that Ethan’s gone.”

His eyes slid to the floor every time he said Ethan’s name, and he seemed to be struggling to say outright what he had done to Ethan. Val had been able to extrapolate, from the blood that had covered Cody and John at the riverbank, and the body half-hidden by the tall grass.

“Well, if you’re going back West, Friday and I can accompany you,” Val offered. Doubling back towards Vegas after reaching wherever Cody had come from - Oregon, he thought - wouldn’t be such an ordeal. Assuming, of course, that Friday would still intend to go back to Vegas once this was all over and done with.

“I thought you were going to stay here,” Friday said, giving him another strange look. Val gave her one right back, surprised that she had even entertained the idea.

“Why?”

“Well, it’s…” Friday gestured around her, vaguely. “You grew up here, right? You’re not glad to be back? You don’t want to stay?”

“I do,” Val said. He wondered if he’d given the impression that he wasn’t happy to be back. It was strange to be here, sure, but things were still familiar, and he was still among family for the first time in nearly a decade. He could have seen himself staying. “But I can’t abandon my church.”

“Your church that burned to the ground, you mean,” Friday said, pointedly.

Cody glanced up. “What?”

“Val’s church got destroyed,” Friday said, before Val could stop her. “Dead-Eyes burned it, when they came through town after you and John left. It’s one of the reasons we were late coming up behind you on the road - and it’s why Val came with me.”

“Shit,” Cody said, his eyes suddenly wide with shock and realization. “I mean - I didn’t - I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Val said. He could feel exhaustion creeping into his bones, the all-too-familiar sensation of a secret he would rather have kept under wraps twisting like a knife in his gut. This was the time to confess.

“Ethan came to the church because someone - the doctor who treated you, I think - told him you’d been there. He threatened to burn the place down unless I told him where you were going,” he went on, then paused, taking a breath. He wrapped his hands around the edge of the windowsill, feeling the cool stone against the scar tissue on his palms. “So, I told him. And then he burned down the church anyway.” He lifted his hands, palm-up, to show Cody his scars. “And me, for good measure. I figure it’s the punishment I deserve for giving you up so easily, but I’d still like to go back and try to fix my church.”

“Nearly the whole district burned, too,” Friday said, darkly. “It’s a wonder the Ace didn’t go up.”

“Shit,” Cody said, again, leaning in to look at Val’s hands. His expression was less shocked now, and more annoyed - almost angry. “I knew Ethan was a son of a bitch, but I didn’t think he’d attack a priest.”

“I shouldn’t have given you up,” Val said, turning his hands over again once Cody had gotten a good enough look at them. He felt uneasy that Cody didn’t seem to be upset with him, and wondered if Cody really understood the degree to which he had been wronged. “It’s probably one of the reasons he was able to catch up with you so quickly. I’m sorry.”

“Uh, thanks,” Cody said awkwardly, taking a step backwards. “I mean - it’s not really your fault.”

“It is explicitly my fault,” Val said, frowning. “If I hadn’t told him where you were going, then John -”

“Ethan would’ve caught up to us no matter what. He was gonna hunt me down no matter what anyone else did, and he would’ve tried to kill John no matter where he found us,” Cody said. There was a sort of grim resignation in his tone and posture that said he had thought about this extensively in his time at the convent. Val noticed now that for all the trouble Cody seemed to be having saying Ethan’s name, he had never once looked guilty about it. “He would’ve killed you if you hadn’t told him where we were, and it’s probably good that he didn’t, because you pretty much saved John’s life back there. And Ethan’s good at taking the stuff people care about and using it against them, so - I mean, you can feel bad about ratting us out if you want, but Ethan manipulated you. It’s what he does. It’s not your fault, man.”

Val blinked at Cody, at a loss for words. He glanced to Friday, who looked equally stunned by the reaction his confession had gotten. Apparently Cody was less vengeful than either of them had been giving him credit for. Though, in all fairness, their last interactions with him had been while he was half-dead and out of his mind with a fever. They hardly knew him.

Val cleared his throat, finally. “I...thank you, Cody.”

“Sure,” Cody said, with a shrug. “Sorry about your church.”

“Thank you,” Val said, again, because he still wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

Cody looked between Val and Friday for a moment, as though trying to gauge if either of them was going to start talking to him again, and then peeled himself off the wall, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“I’m gonna see if John’s awake,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and down the hall. “They usually bring him breakfast around this time.”

“I saw him on my way here, actually,” Val said. He’d almost forgotten, with everything that had happened since. “He was taking a walk. But I doubt he got very far. He’s probably back in his room by now.”

Cody’s face brightened considerably at this news, his eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise.

“Really?” he asked, with an edge of excitement he hadn’t had before. “He was walking around?”

“He was indeed,” Val said, with a nod.

“That’s great,” Cody said, already moving down the hall, as though he would simply explode if he had to stand still any longer. “I’m gonna go find him. See you guys at dinner, or whatever.”

He was gone in seconds, practically bounding around the corner and out of sight. Val and Friday both watched him go in silence, though it wasn’t long before Friday turned back to Val, one hand propped on her hip.

“Well, that went well,” she said, sounding about as stunned as Val felt.

“Better than it could have gone,” Val agreed, hesitantly. It was a little funny how he’d managed to cross two of the conversations he’d needed to have off his list at once, and yet he didn’t feel particularly accomplished, or any less anxious and guilty than he had been. Still, Cody had forgiven him, even when Val hadn’t thought that he necessarily deserved forgiveness. Maybe he would feel better about that later, when he had the time to process what it meant.

“You didn’t really answer my question, you know,” Friday said. “About what you’re gonna do next.”

“Well,” Val replied, getting to his feet, “to tell you the truth, I think that what I’m going to do next is go back in that room and teach some children about the story of Jacob and Esau.”

10.4 || 10.6

[wardati]

                      Void: A Brighter Future For Us All. 

Myani vowed to protect his sister like any brother would but soon the vow fades out of memory, but for now he'll hold her as she falls asleep in his arms.

She becomes a tidal wave at six when she masters three languages and goes on to a fourth. He knew this would happen, his little sister becoming more than a prodigy. He looks at his father enticed by his own creation as she speaks eloquently in tongue and spirit, the dreams of her conquering the world were now in reach. He looks over at his sister, hair slicked back like ravines eyes wide and attentive. Maybe if he looked hard enough he could see it too- his redemption- the person she would be in between her kind laughter.

She would grow up following a line drawn for her since birth, perfect, brilliant, practically cosmic. Myani knows this universe his father has created would eventually crumble. He takes his pills crushing each one after the other with his teeth, barely seething from the bitter taste as he downs it with water. This morning it's worse, he's thrown up for most of it, bones aching, skin breaking out in thick sheets of sweat and the skin, the skin would later on peel off in thin grainy layers. Hani sits next to him crushing weed, it will help but in the long run it will do nothing. Myani thinks of his sister instead it eases the crushing thump of his heart but he's still sweating, the thought of when he'll leave this world and how she would be next. Fighting her own body ,sitting on a couch with her best friend and secretly regretting saving the world.

Hani, his best friend is still talking about his fiance, she's pregnant now. Myani tries to smile he's known this for a couple months even if Hani talks around it like friends do when they know you're dying so you won't feel bad that you'll probably never have children of your own. Friends like Hani are rare.Infuriating but rare and Myani has been in love with him for the past five years and has done little to nothing about it.

Hani will be a great father better than his own that's true, yet he wonders if his best friend will finally stop talking about the life he wants to have and just live it. But, he never says anything about it, he never does.

His long fingers take the joint, it sits between his plump lips and he inhales longer than he should so the clouds he blows into the air are thick and eggshell.

Myani wonders again, if this is it. If dying on the couch will be the greatest achievement he'll ever accomplish and even so, his father - the man who built him into becoming one of the most innovative people in the world, the martyr and sacrificial head of a biological enterprise that would start a new age for the years to come,yada yada fucking yada. The man who claims to be omnipotent- his father isn't here to witness.

So he's decided; Myani will make him. He'll turn the upcoming burden that will be throttled to his baby sister and take it with him in death. He'll destroy it all, he'll be a martyr one last time to save what's important to him. If he must he'll encase it Chinese finger trap and all, like a tongue stuck on ice or a kiss that leaves a stain.  It will hurt but none of that will matter if he was saving Noa in the end.

"Hani." He says in thought. "Hmm?" "You should show me your dad's collection again." "You know I hate that stuff, it's barbaric." It's amusing how Hani is intimidating in looks but a pacifist at heart. Truthfully it was annoying. "I remember you saying he only keeps it so collectors and curators don't colonize any more of your peoples artifacts." Myani takes another heavy sigh, "just for a couple of minutes, I need air."

Hani rolls his eyes and plucks the joint from Myani's fingers who gives a tired smile. "He has other things in there too.You do remember he was a military rat right?" Myani licks his lips, "I know."

BREAKING NEWS: 14 Dead at Ally Genesis Corporation including John "Myani" Paul, son of CEO and chairman Jahseem Paul.

BREAKING NEWS: 1 Million people may be at high risk because of Allie Genesis Corporation deficiencies and leaks since mass shooting.

BREAKING NEWS: Could John Myani Paul be a lead to the suspect of the AGC Shooting?

BREAKING NEWS: 4,020 people fired at Allie Genesis and 9 institutions are ordered to shut down by government officials with JIC and MGU approval.

BREAKING NEWS: AGC President of Defense Salah Bahatt under fire for potential information on the mass shooting at AGC Institution and bio-plague outbreak that killed 4 in Oregon back in 2010

BREAKING NEWS: Ally Genesis, science saviors? Find out how after the tragedy how the corporation is taking bio-mechanics, neurology and many more into uncharted territory.

BREAKING NEWS: Ally Genesis declares cellular regeneration is now possible. Could we bring people back from the dead?

There's something that pushes Noa out of the water, as if someone had yanked her out of the tub. It feels like a thread pinned under the skin of her chest, so when she's heaving for air as if her throat was wrung out with closed tight fists. It hurts to breathe even if she's supposed to be grateful for it, how conveienet. She at twenty decided to take her own life and failed so time and time again she'd cry into her arms puckered in scars. She could hear Myani's laugh someplace far away in her emptiness and every time she tried to follow his voice she'd be here back into this world that she could never escape.

Later in the day when she pushed herself into comfort and laid in Myani's bed a thought she would read his letters again, go through his photography, miss him with abandon. Yet the thread in her chest caught taught on to something else. She woke up from his bed and walked down to his living room for no real reason and without thought sat on his couch and as her hand pressed into the cushions something brushed against her fingers. She pulled at it and noticed it was an envelope. It was different then the letter he left for her, this did not have her name on it but it was directed to her... it had t be.  Her eyes widened as she read the words, the prickle in her eyes gained a heaviness that almost blurred her vision as she read the letter. She held her breath realizing even in death her brother still had a hold on her.

He still had secrets.

They framed someone else for what I did, didn't they? I would think so. If everything has gone exactly how I had envisioned. Noa, I'm sure they've started their trials on you. It may not look like they have, but father has his ways. I can't display my remorse in colorful words that elude to being remorseful or sorry, for once, I am not. I killed those people and planned on shortening my already short life not on a whim but it was something I had to do. I don't know how far back I've pushed their quota but it should be enough.

Leaking AGC's information will barely leave a scratch but it's a start to a very long journey. Whatever you choose to do in this life it will not outweigh your true purpose. Furthermore, in the next couple of years I know you'll find information about what I could do, and as I left you that day, the darkness in me will now rest in you. It will protect you now when I no longer can.

Noa,in a normal world all I would want for you is to be free, to smile to live and love as you please. But it isn't like that and I will need you to remember this life you live is yours but the part that you play is easily malleable. Father and his people will learn about you. You have always been his prized possession you have always been his favorite even if you don't think you are but all of this will be foreign to him if it means broadening the horizons of humanity and evolution. He is a man that will do what needs to be done. You should also take the same initiative. It was too late for me but I know you're strong enough. I know you're capable of much more than I. I wasn't capable of protecting you no matter how much you tried to follow me. I had to push you away at times because you needn't any more influence or my bad choices to pick up. I could of been a better brother to you, and I'm sorry.

So, when you wake up promise that you'll stop looking for me?

-Myani.

Noa opened her eyes realizing quickly what had just happened. It could be her mind drowned in grief and playing tricks on her but she swore she was sitting on the couch and not back in Myani's bed. She pushed the sheets aside and darted down the hall, when she reached the couch she sank her fingers between the cushions moving them from its frame, tossing them aside to find nothing. It was empty, it was all empty.

She stood alone in her silence for a long time. Noa reached for something, a remote that sat neatly on the end table. With a press of a button the television  blinked alive.

BREAKING NEWS: New footage shows son of Ally Genesis chairman, John Myani Paul trying to calm the true shooter of the one AGC Shooting in 2012. The shooter is 38 year old Kowen Williams who killed 14 and wounded 2. AGC claim no prior knowledge or how this new footage has come about. Williams had been tracked to his home in Washington state but found dead from self inflicting wounds.

AGC's Chairman Jahseem Paul issued this statement: 

"This could be justice, but it is also saddening and it is also salt on a wound that reminds the people who have been affected on that day. I'm glad officials have done their part in finding this murderer but it will not bring the lives lost back. It cannot bring my son back. Yet I will walk into each day hoping with vigor in my heart to carry on for my son and for my family and for Ally Genesis. My job is to push forward,endure and to broaden the horizon of humanity and evolution. For my son, and for the 14 lives lost that day I will continue to do so. I thank you all for the support and I thank the incredible people who made Ally Genesis with me and continue to better and brighten the future for all us ahead."

The news played on and Noa stood alone knowing all too well what her fathers words really meant. It had dawned on her just how orchestrated this all was, from Myani's trajectory till his suicide to the purpose of Ally Genesis, to her own. Every piece was set into place and finally it was time to make her move.

[maribricklove]

Trapped Under Ice - part one

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Platonic!Reader, John Winchester (mentioned), Claire Novak (mentioned), Bobby Singer

Summary: Imagine being an old hunting friend of Sam’s (and something more) from before he went to college that he thought was dead, and while coincidentally working on the same case you were, you run into each other again. Astonished to see you after almost twenty years, Sam tries to figure out how you survived, but you don’t want to relive the pain and terror of how you were separated.

Word Count: 1451

Warnings: Implied PTSD (No disrespect to people with PTSD. Just something for the character), fluff, angst, blood, gore, death, mild swearing.

Prompt: None

Disclaimers: I do not own anything from CW,  Warner Brother’s, any of the photos in the collage, or you. This is a work of pure fiction -obviously.

  3rd person’s POV

           Sam and Dean had driven all the way out to Newport, Oregon to investigate four missing person’s reports. In all the witness encounters, the disappearances were preceded by strange sounds and smells were encountered and followed by a flash of white light. Assuming it may be dragons, demons, or possibly even a pagan god, they made quick haste to solve yet another mystery. After getting settled in their motel room, they decided to split up and talk to the witnesses.

           Sam made his way to the first witness’ apartment, clad in his blue FBI suit. He asked her the standard questions, “Miss Evans, did you hear or see anything strange, maybe even smell something out of the ordinary?” She answered blatantly, “Homeland security already asked me these questions. Can’t you get information from them?”

           Curious as to who would ask about noises and smells in this type of case, Sam tried to get information on this Homeland Security Agent. “I’m just confirming all the information. You know, I could call this agent you spoke with. Did they happen to give you their information Miss Evans?”

           “Yeah, she did. Let me get you the card she gave me.”

           She. She might be a friend of Claire’s, he thought.

The witness came back with the card the other agent gave her and Sam took a picture of it with his phone. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m s sorry to have bothered you. Thank you again for your help.” Immediately after leaving, he called Dean.

“Hey, Dean. I just finished talking to Elena Evans. Apparently, she got asked the exact same questions that we’re asking everyone. I think we have another hunter here in town.”

“I was just about to call and tell you the same thing, Sammy. Why don’t I call her and see if we can’t meet up?”

“Sure. You do that. Let’s meet at that coffee shop down on main street,” said Sam.

“Sounds good. Meet you there,” Dean replied.

 Reader’s POV

           I’m going through my notes from my interviews with the witnesses, when suddenly, I get a call on my Homeland Security phone. Figuring it’s one of them, I answer nonchalantly, “This is Agent Carter.”

           The voice on the other line said, “Hello. This is agent Freely, FBI.” Ooh. FBI? I’m in deep shit. “I’m calling because a witness on a case my partner and I are working said this is the same case that you’re working on.”

           “Yeah, the multiple missing person’s case. What about it?” I asked.

           “Well, my partner and I are kind of tired from our trip, so we were wondering if you would like to meet with us and we can overlook each other’s findings on the case, maybe solve it together.”

           Intrigued, I wondered to myself, why are they setting up a meet ‘n greet over the phone? Isn’t that kind of stuff supposed to go through our bosses or something? So, thinking I could maybe get a jump on these “agents,” I decided to take this guy up on his offer, so maybe I could get some more info on my case. “Sure. Where and when would you like to meet? I’m checked into a motel here in town. I can meet you soon.”

           “Do you know that coffee shop over by the supermarket on the main road?”

           “Yeah,” I replied.

           “Meet us there in a half hour, if you’re not too busy,” he said with a snarky tone.

           “I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes, Agent Freely,” I snapped back at him.

           “Alright. Bye,” he said and immediately hung up. What an ass. I was curious as to why he wanted to meet with me. Maybe I should pack some extra heat just in case this goes south. So, I packed my briefcase full of my notes, and some extra necessities, like my silver knife and salt. The truth is, I never go anywhere unprepared. Heck, I even had my sword right there under the driver’s seat of my car. I just don’t want anything bad to happen.

I drive up to the coffee shop, and I see a very familiar black car across the street. Kind of reminds me of a car and old buddy of my dad’s had. Immediately, memories started flooding my brain; memories of playing hide-and-seek in our motel room, of target practice out in the woods, of a young boy with hazel eyes and a dimpled smile that lit up my life every time I saw him.

Flashback

I really wanted to get out of that musty old motel room. My dad said that once we were done in town, we would go back to Uncle Bobby’s. Whenever he made that promise, it usually meant that he was going to be gone for about a month or two. He always tried to keep me with him all the time, but he also wanted me to have a chance at a normal life, so he would leave me with friends. Sometimes it was a real pain because I wanted to be with my dad, but I liked spending time with Bobby. He taught me how to fix cars and let me listen to my music.

We got to Bobby’s auto yard, and my dad and I said our goodbyes. Bobby was waiting for me on his front porch, and as usual, he greeted me with a hug. “It’s good to see you, Y/N. Let’s get you settled in,” he said as we walked into his house. “How does burgers sound for supper tonight?”

“Sounds good,” I replied cheerfully.

“Good. We have company coming over, and then we’ll go out for supper.”

“Who’s coming over?” I asked.

“A couple of boys are going to be staying with us for a few days while their dad is going on a hunt up north. Their names are Dean, who’s sixteen, and Sam, who���s your age. I think you guys will get along fine.”

“Okay. I’ll go put my stuff up in my room,” I said as I started up the stairs.

A few hours later, I heard a car engine rumble over my music. Bobby had gone outside, so I thought he was working on one of his cars, but I was proven wrong when a six-foot-tall, blonde, ken-doll of a man stepped through the front door.

I repositioned myself on the couch, so I was sitting up, and suddenly he was standing right in front of me. Dang, he moves fast. “Hi. I’m Dean,” He said extending his hand.

I stood and shook his hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Just then, the front door opened again, and another boy walked in the door. He was shorter than Dean, but a couple inches taller than me. He had darker hair than Dean, and his build was leaner than his too. He walked in upset, most likely because his dad just dropped him and his brother off here. “Y/N, this is my little brother, Sammy,” Dean said.

Sam scoffed, and following suit of his brother, he walked over and offered to shake my hand. “Sam.”

I shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

End of Flashback

That couldn’t be his car. Last I heard, he went to hell, and that’s not unheard of in my line of work. I ignored it and walked into the shop. I see two guys in suits sitting in the corner, and I walk towards them. The shorter one walked up to me first and shook my hand and introduced himself as agent freely, and the other one stood up, and then I saw them again. Those beautiful hazel eyes.

Sam’s POV

           Dean looks behind me and stands up to greet this other agent. I stand up as well to greet her, and then I’m surprised to see something, or well, someone, that I thought I would never see again. It was her. Y/N Y/L/N, a very old friend of mine that I thought died almost twenty years ago on a hunt that we worked together on. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. Same H/C hair, same E/C eyes, and even the same smile, the smile that made my stomach flutter and made me weak at the knees when I was just 12 years old.

           I got lost in thought, then I realized that I was staring, and she was staring back with a confused look.

           “Sam? Dean?” she asked shockingly.

“Umm… Am I missing something here?” Dean asked. “Do we know each other?”

           “Hello, Y/N. It’s been a long time.” I tightly wrapped her up in a hug, and I swear she hugged me tighter than I was.

Part Two

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Date Night

This third series reads as follows:

Shattered … Desolation … Determination … Us and Ours … Ratty Towels … The Sleepover … Skinner and the Punch … Oregon … Impossibilities … Something from Nothing … Out of the Car … Partners … News … Never Replace You ... The Chip

@today-in-fic

First series … Second series

*********************

His arm was sore from where Byers inserted the smallest of metal rods containing some kind of scientific doo-hickey that would tell them where he was, anywhere in the world, within a couple hundred yards, Mulder disbelieving but not willing to truly test the theory by going 600 miles the other side of the middle of nowhere. Now he watched Scully get hers while she talked quietly about this that and the other thing to Frohike … antiseptic, nick, probe, insert, Neosporin, two stitches, Bandaid.

“Ready, Mulder?”

Eyes drifted from where she was adjusting her sleeve, then pulling on her sweater, up to her face, “sore?”

“Not yet. Yours?”

“A little. I think Byers took out some latent anger with the scalpel.”

Byers gave them a smile as he cleaned up, “you do owe me $22 for food from our last poker night. I may have pulled the stitches a little tighter than I should have.”

Thanking them, then quietly reminding them to forget everything that had happened in the last four hours, Mulder and Scully headed out into the snow, which was beginning to blow down the alley and around the corner, freezing any and all exposed skin. The only thing he could see of Scully was a slit where her eyes were, squinted against the driving ice pellets, scarf thick and warm around her head, “hey.”

“Hey, what?”

“Wanna go on a date?”

Skidding to a stop when her boots hit a packed down section of snow, “a what?”

“A date. The kind of thing we skipped right over when we went from ‘hey, let’s surf’ to ‘hey, take off your pants’.

She inhaled a wee bit of yarn fuzz from her scarf at this point, “hey, take off your pants?”

“Not here, it’s cold but maybe later.” Reaching out to grip her mittened hand, “I think we should go do something that a normal couple would do.”

“What the hell do normal couples do?”

“I don’t know. We can go to the movies or go get some dinner or fly to Italy?” Eyes glittering now with possibilities, “or we could drive south until we get out of the snow or hey, we could pack a bunch of blankets and head to Babar and chill, no pun intended, until spring.”

Head spinning with a whirlwind of suggestions to match the gale whipping her coat, “slow down, partner. Babar is buried in snow and Italy is too long a flight for now. I don’t want to sit in the car for 8 hours to find the end to winter but I could really go for some Mexican and maybe a movie with one of those incredible large buckets of artificially buttered popcorn … Oh my God, Mulder, we need to go eat food right now.”

Laughing at her, pulling her scarf down enough to reveal the tip of her nose, he brushed his over it, “where do you want to eat? Fast or slow?”

“Slow. I want to watch them make the guac so I can request extra lime and onion.”

“For that reason, I won’t be kissing you later,” he could see the shape of her mouth through the scarf and kissing the general area, “so I’ll just do it now.”

Sudden giddy giggle emerged and she nudged him towards the car, “car, move, hungry.”

“Use your words, Scully.”

“Food.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

&&&&&&&

It took ten minutes to drive, park and given the ugliness of the weather, to be seated in a corner, cozy booth, menus in hand and waters on the way, “not too busy for a Saturday night.”

Grinning at him as she opened the menu, honing in on the fajita section, “it’s 5 degrees out and snowing. Every sane person is home, in their slippers, trying to keep warm.”

“More salsa for us then.” Digging into the freebies on the table, “what are you getting?”

“I was debating the fajitas for two, shrimp and steak.”

“Oh, I was looking at the chicken chimichangas.”

Moving in on the salsa as well, “I never said the fajitas were for sharing, Mulder.”

As his head dipped, smile wide, “you’ll have a ton of leftovers.”

Biting her chip and twinkling her eyes at him, “maybe.”

Two hours and two orders of Guacamole later, Scully had her feet up on the booth seat beside Mulder and he had his hand wrapped around her ankle, picking random green peppers off her plate, “think we should head out?”

“What? Is it already over? Dates usually last past 9pm, don’t they? And if so, we are severally short changing ourselves.”

“I don’t know how dates work? Maybe some do end at 7:47pm, give people a chance to get home, put on pajamas, complain to friends on the phone how the guy didn’t pay and the sour cream was warm.”

Shaking her head at him as she rested against the vinyl back, “I think we should wander the street for five minutes and see what the cool kids are doing these days.”

“Five minutes and they’ll be frozen kids.” Squeezing her leg, he shifted to pull out his wallet, “date night, guy pays, call me sexist but whatever.”

“I’m not complaining. I forgot my wallet in the car.” Crunching one last chip for the road, “we can get it when we walk past.”

Dropping tip on table and picking up bill, “I think we can manage without your wallet for the evening.”

“I also need some gum.”

“Car it is.”

&&&&&&&&

Shivering after two minutes, Mulder stopped dead in front of a store, nodded his head, pulled her inside, “come on.”

Warm air hit her face, what was exposed anyway, and her eyes lit up …

He’d taken them into a bookstore. An independent little place that when she stood on her toes to see over the stacks of items, seemed to extend backwards to infinity; more than likely a few hundred feet but still, whatever, felt like miles.

“Feel like staying?”

She would have heard him but she was already ten feet away, unraveling scarf, following her nose wherever it led, behind a stack, around a table, through a doorway marked ‘red things, cooking, fantasy and small’. Mulder hoped he’d see her again by spring.

Nodding to the one worker, bedecked in cardigan, kilt and Yankees ball cap, he meandered to a wooden carved sign hanging from the ceiling declaring the section on aliens, astronomy, alchemy and algebra. Believing he had fallen down a rabbit hole, he broke the silence by asking, “how late are you open?”

The kilted gentleman answered, his mouth full of pizza, “we’re open ‘til we close, man, no hurry at all. I live upstairs so it’s a short commute.”

As a Tortie cat wandered through, giving Mulder a thorough look and sniff, “how many books do you have in here?”

“Lost count a few years back.” Pointing to Mulder’s right, “there are two rooms in the direction your wife went and,” pointing now to his left, “three more than way. If you get lost, yell.”

And he did.

He found Scully again nearly two hours later as she surprised him coming around the corner of the doorway leading to ‘medical, marvelous, sparkly and green’, “oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Eyeing the stack of books nearly blocking her face, “find anything?”

She almost worked up to embarrassed, “this is my second stack. Corky already has the first one.”

Mulder gave her a look of complete incredulity, whispering, “kilt man is named Corky?”

“Yes, Fox.”

“Touche.” Setting book in hand on the pile by his feet, “ready to go?”

“We probably should although I haven’t even made it to the ‘fiction about dead people’,” looking over her shoulder and squinting to read the ornate sign, “humorous cats, chubby hamsters and historically ordinary men with mustaches.”

“Oh, we’ll be back. This may very well be my new favorite place in the universe.”

“Where was your original favorite place in the universe?”

“It’s slightly x-rated.”

Pretty sure she knew exactly where he was talking about, she had the sense to turn slightly red, cheeks pinking up enough to let him know she knew, “come on. We need to go find out if we have to ask my mother for a loan to buy Ramen so we can eat for the next month.”

Corky, having moved on to lounging in a reclining aluminum lawn chair behind the checkout desk, cat on stomach, book in hand, dislodged animal and stood when he caught sight of them walking towards him, “I see you’ve found more.” Perusing the titles, nodding at some, eyebrow raising in appreciation at others, “good stuff, too. Totally don’t even remember getting this one in so kudos for finding it. If you don’t like it, bring it back, I’d like to read it when you’re done.”

And he was completely serious.

So was Scully when she nodded, “I will.”

Mulder wanted to ask if Corky needed a part-time employee but refrained, instead, pulling out his credit card, “what’s the damage there, Corky?”

The amount did not knock them off their feet. Made them inhale a bit deeper, wonder fleetingly if maybe they should put one or two back on the shelves but then Corky, being Corky, an excellent Corky in a world of Johns and Ryans and Donalds, handed back Mulder’s card, “and just ‘cause the weather sucks and your wife bought something with a shiny cover,” holding out a box of donuts, open, glazed, “you both get a snack for the road.”

Scully, getting a little hungry again, took one without question, and feeling the calm of paper and dust and musty pages surrounding her, “do you have a section on aura mapping and/or aura projecting?”

“Of course. In the back under ‘rainbows and righteous soul things’.”

“My husband would like to marry you.”

Holding up his left hand and occupied ring finger, “taken but I’d love to have a conversation with you about the whole aura thing if you’ve ever got the time. You are a very curious shade of red.”

Mulder glanced at Scully’s hair, in the process of being trapped under her hat, “I always assumed I’d be blue.”

Once everything was bagged and they’d finished a few more minutes of conversation, they headed out to the street, Mulder hefting two bags while Scully carried one, “thank God for canvas bags. Paper ones wouldn’t have held up.”

“I may not hold up. Did everything you bought have to be hardcover?”

“Pot, kettle, Mulder. You’ve got a 20 lb. book about tasseography.”

Putting stuff in the trunk, he grabbed her before she could open her door, turning her, leaning her against the Jeep, wiggling down scarf to kiss her long and slow, only pulling away when he could feel her begin to smile, “we should date more often.”

“We should and you know what’s best about dating me?”

“I have at least 480 reasons but lay it on me.”

Tugging her scarf up after another quick kiss, “you get to go home with me and take your pants off.”

“Always with the pants off.”

“Do you object?”

“Just get in the car.”

&&&&&&&&

Eventually, they arrived home, slow-going on the icy roads, to have to lug everything upstairs, leftovers included this time, “okay, there is a four book limit for our next visit.”

“Each or total?”

Tripping on the last step and hitting the wall with his elbow, “each.”

As she took the largest of the bags from him, “I can live with that. It won’t happen but I can live with the concept of it.”

Giving her a tired smirk, “then only paperbacks.”

Wet boots left at the bottom of the stairs, they only had to shed frozen coats and accessories before they could hone in on hot chocolate packets from the cupboards and super thick socks from the bedroom, “meet me on the couch in five minutes.”

Like he’d ever not meet her on the couch in five minutes and after the five minutes were up, he turned, about to yell that she was late when she appeared, package of fudge striped cookies in one hand and two mugs of cocoa in the other. Taking his, he sipped, burned his tongue, nibbled a cookie, loved his life in general, watched her settle before she asked, “so, what did you buy?”

“Didn’t you already see the titles when he rang them up?”

“Yes, but now I want you to tell me why you bought them and the order you’re going to read them.”

Another sip, another burn, another nibble, “you are such a geek, Scully.”

“Corky also thinks I’m your wife.”

Offering her a bite of his cookie, which she accepted readily, “we should get on that.”

Perfectly fine with marriage hanging in the air over them for what could possibly be years to come, “probably.”

[mollyringle]

Mean girl karma payback story

This morning on the wonderful KEXP, the equally wonderful John Richards was talking about the nasty effects of bullying and mean kids, and sharing stories listeners had sent in, which made me decide to write up this little anecdote. It’s not as dramatic or harrowing as many a mean-kid story, but it’s ultimately rather satisfying. And maybe it’ll make some other fellow nerd feel better.

So: in middle school, in the late 1980s, I was probably the shortest kid in my class, due to being also the youngest. (I had skipped first grade. I don’t recommend anyone do this to their kid, especially if the kid is already small and shy.) Nonetheless, I had a sweet friend—we’ll call her Sara—with whom I hung out at lunch break. As you know perfectly well, having someone with whom to hang out at lunch break is EVERYTHING.

In seventh grade, this savvy popular girl, whom we’ll call Jen, befriended Sara, and with her flankers of popular friends, started hanging out with us at lunch too. Cool!

Or maybe not cool. Because one day during lunch break, Jen said to Sara, “We need to talk about…” and made a friendly wince, which somehow I knew was about me. Indeed, she then turned to me and said, all apologetic, that while we were still friends, “they” just didn’t want to hang out with me anymore. Sara, to her credit, was looking unhappy and mumbling, “I don’t want to do this.”

But it happened anyway. I backed off—why hang out with people who don’t want you?—and Sara stayed with Jen, and I wandered around wondering what I was supposed to do at lunch break now.

Fortunately two other girls, at a popularity level more equal to my own (ha, I love you guys, you know what I mean, though) invited me to sit with them after a while, and we stuck together the rest of middle school. (We went to separate high schools, though, alas.) So I wasn’t friendless. But I wasn’t exactly undamaged, either.

I ran into Sara in the neighborhood some time later, incidentally. She apologized for what had happened, and said glumly that Jen did the same thing to her not long afterward. Nice. Poor Sara. Still, the rift had been made by then, and Sara and I never really hung out after that, even though as far as I knew she remained a truly nice person.

Jen and I went to different high schools and I didn’t see her for a long time. Then we both ended up at University of Oregon. I joined a sorority in the first “Rush” (recruitment period) of the year. So I was a member of a house already when Jen’s name showed up in the next Rush, in the spring: she had apparently decided to join the Greek system too.

One day I happened to be in the dorm lunch line right in front of her. She put on this big smile and said, “You’re…(squinting, searching for the name) Molly, right? From Corvallis?”

I smiled coolly and said, “Yes. We were at Highland View together.” Emphasis on the name of our middle school. Like, you do remember what you did to me there?

She said nothing about it if she did remember. “I thought you looked familiar! So you’re in a house now, right?”

I said yes, Tri-Delta. She said great, she was looking forward to Rush! I nodded, wished her luck, and moved ahead to get lunch.

I didn’t have to talk to her when she toured our house during Rush, as far as I recall, which was probably for the best. Maybe she had changed in all those years anyway, I thought. I shouldn’t hold middle school behavior over anyone’s head. So when the Rush day was over and the whole sorority gathered to collect notes on who everyone had met and what they thought and thus who we should invite back, I kept my mouth shut about her. The sorority sister in charge of recruitment said Jen’s name and looked up for comments, pencil at the ready.

I didn’t move or say a word. But other women’s hands shot up, those who had met her just today.

“I found her kind of negative and judgmental,” one said.

“When we were done,” said another, “I walked her to the door and she said ‘bye’ all cheerfully, then she marched over to her friend on the sidewalk, hit her hard on the arm, and said, ‘Where WERE you?’ She just does not seem like a very good friend.”

There were other similar comments. And I just sat there smiling calmly, saying nothing, feeling the flow of the sweet, sweet karma.

Needless to say, she did not join our house, and I never had to deal with her again.

Jen’s “crimes” were minor compared to those of many mean kids and bullies. Wasn’t I probably that mean to some other kid, at some time, if I search through my past? True, I don’t think I ever told anyone I didn’t want to hang out with them anymore, in front of their friends who I was stealing, but I know I was a jerk in some way to some people. And to those people I absolutely offer a heartfelt apology, if they’re out there reading this. So, Jen, if you ever apologize to me, I suppose I’ll forgive you. But I have the weirdest suspicion you wouldn’t even remember me.

How unfortunate for you that I’M A WRITER NOW AND CAN MANIPULATE OUR STORY IN WHICHEVER CONVINCING WAY I CHOOSE, muhahaha.

Moral of story: don’t be mean to anyone at all, because some of those people might grow up to be writers.  

[5hfanfiction]

Back in the Christmas Spirit

Mariah Carey’s song, “All I Want for Christmas is You” never failed to get me into that festive Christmas spirit, even if it was the middle of July (and I was a hardcore wait-until-December person). That is, until I endured the worst breakup of the century right before the holidays.

Brian and I met in college at our dorm’s welcoming event, and were immediately drawn to each other. We had only been dating for six and a half months, but I honestly thought we would be together forever. He wasn’t perfect, but the fact that we could work through our differences made me believe we could make it work long term. Call me cliché, but I was completely in love with the boy, and I was convinced there would be no one else like him.

“Mija, come look at this tree,” my mom gestured toward a Douglas fir.

“Coming, mami.” I sighed. Of course the Mariah Carey song was playing on a speaker at the little Christmas tree farm. I was so not in the Christmas spirit these days.

“I really like the size of the trunk, and it would fit just perfectly right in the corner of the living room, don’t you think?” my mom asked. I nodded robotically. As she continued to drone on about the tree, I pictured Brian and me shopping for our first Christmas tree. It would have to be small, because we were both practical people, and wouldn’t have too big of a starter home. We would take it home and decorate it with our dog or cat (he loves cats, I love dogs). Then we would cozy up on the couch and watch Netflix or maybe play some video games. I smiled, and then groaned.

“Are you okay, Camila?” my mom inquired, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Yeah I just….drank too much hot chocolate,” I lied.

The ride home consisted of my mom thinking out loud about where the Christmas decorations would go, and me scrolling through my camera roll for the fifth time that day. There were so many pictures of me smiling, and Brian doing that crooked half smile he did for the camera.  There were a few candid ones of him naturally smiling, and I swear his smile could light up a room. My eyes started to well up. I kept scrolling anyway, and landed on one from Halloween. I was dressed up as Batgirl, my costume consisting of an old, almost too small Batman shirt, and a mask from Goodwill. Brian was Nightwing. He was the kind of guy who actually put effort into his costumes, and referred to them as “cosplays”. He looked so good in his black leather jacket with the painted on Nightwing insignia and his black skinny jeans that I loved so much. There was someone else in the picture, Gina. Gina was dressed as Wonder Woman. She had found the cape, the boots, and the corset herself, and I had helped her find a cool skirt at a nearby thrift store. Her hair wasn’t brunette, but her large, thick mess of strawberry-blonde locks were epic enough to be for Wonder Woman. Gina was with us so often, we called her our third wheel. She also happened to be the girl Brian left me for.

***

I helped my mom bring the tree inside, and after much deliberation, she decided to put it to the left of the television. When my dad and sister got home, we put on some Michael Buble, and decorated the tree. My family sang along joyously to the music, while I grumbled and hung up the ornaments. The song “Blue Christmas” came on and I thought now that’s more like it.

Afterwards, I crawled into my bed and relived the moment in my head, as I did quite often. It was the morning after his roommate, John’s birthday party. The party wasn’t especially fun for me, because there were a lot of younger, louder kids there, but the food was good, and Brian seemed to be enjoying himself. We played one of those really strategic board games that I wasn’t very good at, but it was right up Brian’s ally. He could tell I wasn’t having that much fun, so he occasionally squeezed my hand and gave me a sympathetic smile. I responded by affectionately running my hand through his soft, almost wavy, brown hair, and burying my face in his neck. I usually hated being one of those couples that couldn’t keep their hands off each other in public, but for some reason that night I didn’t care.

The next morning out of the blue, he texted me “I need to tell you something. Meet me in the lounge?”

We sat there for a couple minutes in silence, while he looked at the table and tried to gather the words. Finally, in a small voice, he said “There’s no good way to say this, but…I have feelings for Gina.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I often use humor as a defense mechanism, so I said “Yeah you’re right, there’s no good way to put that,” with a fake chuckle.

Still looking at the table, he uttered one of those laughs that aren’t quite laughs, more like quick exhales.

“What kind of feelings are we talking about?” I asked, hoping that this was just a little crush that he would get over quickly.

“It….feels like I want to be with her. Actually it kind of feels like I’m already with her, just not officially.”

My heart sank, and my eyes started to sting. This was no silly crush.

They started dating two weeks later.

I groaned and buried my face into my pillow. Just thinking about them together made my chest constrict and the tears flow. I sobbed until I ran out of tears and drifted off to sleep.

***

It was December 23rd, and because I was wallowing in misery, I had neglected to buy any Christmas presents for my family. I drove to a local boutique that I knew would have a lot of knick-knacks for me to choose from. After browsing the shop for about ten minutes, I decided on a mug for my dad that had a Washington State logo on it, a bottle of goat’s milk lotion for my mom, and a teddy bear for Sofi. As I was standing in the long line, “Mistletoe” by Justin Bieber came on. The familiar pang of sadness hit me in the chest. I wouldn’t be kissing Brian under the mistletoe like I had planned this year.

“You okay?” a voice asked.

I turned my eyes to the voice. It belonged to a girl about my age that had the prettiest , and most captivating pair of green eyes I had ever seen, and long, wavy, dark brown hair under a black beanie. She looked nice, but her stare was so intense I dropped my gaze a split second after I looked up.

“Um…I’m alright,” I stammered, still not making eye contact. “Why do you ask?”

The girl chuckled. “Well, you kind of winced just now.”

My cheeks got hot. Was I really that obvious? “Oh, yeah I don’t really like this song,” I said, shrugging.

“Why not?” the girl asked.

“I….” I trailed off. I don’t usually like telling strangers my business, unlike my mom, who could tell her entire life story to a random person on the street. But there was something about this girl that made me want to tell her everything.

“I’m just going through a tough breakup,” I admitted.

“Ah,” the girl nodded. “That makes sense.”

When I finally looked up at her eyes, they were sympathetic, and yet still curious. I was so busy staring I didn’t notice it was my turn in line.

“Oh right, I’m coming,” I said hurriedly, and quickly put my stuff on the counter in front of a frazzled looking employee.

The girl laughed quietly, and my face flushed again.

After we had both purchased our gifts, we walked outside together. The downtown street was filled with last minute shoppers, and there were tiny trees on the sidewalk that were covered in twinkling lights. I had always dreamed of walking down one of these streets in the winter with Brian.

“There you go with that sad look again,” the girl pointed out.

I sighed. “I guess I’m one of those people who wear their heart on their sleeve,” I said.

“I’m Lauren by the way,” she stopped, and held out her free hand.

“Camila,” I replied, shaking it.

She smiled, and I swear that smile could bring a puppy back to life. I found myself gawking again. Only two smiles had ever affected me this much.

Lauren gestured down the street. “Where are you parked?” she asked.

I blinked. Snap out of it, Camila I told myself. “Uhh, a ways down,” I responded. It was hard to find parking anywhere close.

“Cool, me too,” Lauren said with another smile.

“So tell me about this breakup that’s making you dislike amazing music,” she said as we walked down the street.

“Basically he left me for one of my friends,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Lauren winced. “Ooo that sucks,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, “I replied. “To make matters worse, we live in the same residence hall at school.”

“Yikes,” she said. “Where do you go to school?”

“Seattle Pacific,” I replied. “What about you?”

“I actually go to Oregon State, and I’m from Oregon, but my family just moved here,” said Lauren.

“Oh wow, why did you guys move to this tiny town of all places?” I wondered aloud.

“Well, my mom actually grew up here, and she really missed it”, she responded.

We had reached my car, but I didn’t want to stop talking to Lauren. There was something about her that made me want to get to know her. It could be because she was so easy to talk to, but her good looks didn’t hurt either.

“Um, since you’re new here, how about I give you a little tour of downtown?” I asked.

Lauren smiled one those earth-bending smiles. “I would love that,” she replied.

I think my heart fluttered a little bit.

***

We ended up not caring too much about the town, and got to know each other a little bit. We found out we both had Cuban descent, we both loved to sing, and we had practically the same taste in music and books. 

“You saw The 1975?” Lauren exclaimed. “I am so jealous!”

“Yeah they were sooo good,” I told her. “Definitely one of the best nights of my life. However, my dream is still to see Coldplay live,” I said wistfully.

Lauren stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh my gosh, me too!”

I smiled. “Wow we are so alike,” I said.

“We really are,” she said, staring at me with a grin. “You know….that guy really made a mistake.”

For probably the fifth time that night, I blushed and looked at the ground. Lauren didn’t know I liked girls. Actually, only a few people knew. Even so, I didn’t know how to like someone other than Brian. The thought just seemed wrong. But Lauren was looking at me with those eyes, and it looked like she was getting closer. I looked up, and her face was suddenly inches away from mine. Her eyes were darting from my lips to my eyes, almost silently questioning me. My heart was racing, but I slowly closed the gap between us, and our lips connected. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Her lips moved against mine ever so slightly, and for the first time since Brian and I broke up, I felt alive. I slowly pulled away, and opened by eyes. Lauren was smiling. I smiled back shyly and looked at the ground.

The kiss was amazing, but…

But what? My mind asked. An amazingly attractive, intelligent person just kissed you and you’re questioning it?

I can’t jump into a new relationship when I’m still hurting from the last one I thought back to myself.

Oh my gosh, she’s waiting for you to say something and you’re standing here awkwardly having a conversation with yourself in your head!

“Look, Lauren…I really like you, but-“

“You need more time,” she finished.

I sighed. “Yes,” I said.

She smiled understandingly and asked “Can I still have your number?”

I laughed. “Yeah,” I said, and pulled out my phone. She put her number in my phone, and I put mine in hers.

“When you get over that guy, give me a call,” Lauren said as she gave me my phone back.

“I definitely will,” I promised.

She flashed me a grin, and then turned and walked to her car. I stared for a few minutes as she went, before getting into my Honda. Lauren and I had only spent about an hour together, but I got the feeling she would be an important part of my life. As I drove home, “All I Want for Christmas” came on the radio, and I smiled.

[swldx]

Radio New Zealand Int. 1355 7 Feb 2021

6115Khz 1259 7 FEB 2021 - RADIO NEW ZEALAND INT. (NEW ZEALAND) in ENGLISH from RANGITAIKI. SINPO = 55334. English, bellbird int. until pips and news @1300z anchored by Adam Cooper. More than 100 feared dead after Himalayan glacier bursts in India collapsing a damn and causing a flash flood. A former Pullman Hotel guest who had been isolating at home in Hamilton for a week tested positive for Covid-19 but the Health Ministry said the case was most likely historical. Dunedin City Council providing free fruit and vegetables during blood tests as lead water contamination scare continues. West Auckland is on edge after a man was taken into custody today after allegedly firing two shots into the air during a fight due to possible gang activity. @1304z trailer for "9 to noon" program. @1305z Weather forecast. partly cloudy in the south. north island mostly fine with occasional showers. @1306z "all night program" music DJ'd by Adam Cooper. he mentions a message from "Steve" describing the "magical" coast road of NZ. Backyard fence antenna, Etón e1XM. 100kW, beamAz 35°, bearing 240°. Received at Plymouth, United States, 12912KM from transmitter at Rangitaiki. Local time: 0659.

---------- Forwarded message ---------

From: Rodney Johnson 

Date: Sun, Feb 7, 2021, 3:16 PM

Subject: Re: My Son and I catch your program every morning!

To: AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz>

Hi Adam,

Aaron was inspired to draw a picture of his experience this morning and I have attached it. Also, if you are interested I made some phone video recordings of your show this morning if you care to hear some airchecks from almost 13000Km away! The youtube links below:

https://youtu.be/SEitD4VTfCs

https://youtu.be/cu6D10WUE2w

https://youtu.be/A40qAFWXagc

https://youtu.be/ro9lN3R_lms

Oh and I don't know if you know it but at 1259 GMT (1:59am your time, I believe) the 6115kHz frequency signs on with a bellbird interval signal before the top of the hour pips followed by the news. Both Aaron (6 years old) and Leonard (4 years old) loves the sound of that bellbird and here's a rendition of it by 4-year-old Leonard:

https://youtu.be/hsGLfwLeKDQ

Thanks again for the shout out! Aaron is still beaming about it!

-Rodney, Aaron, and Leonard

Hide quoted text

On Sun, Feb 7, 2021 at 8:38 AM AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz> wrote:

Great photo Rodney, thanks for sharing! Must have been a bonus catching a nice clear sunrise in the middle of winter!

 

It brings back plenty of memories from my road trip down that coast. In fact that image suddenly made me think of the Bixby Bridges further south which were a highlight when I did the trip.

 

Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

 

Kind regards

Adam

 

From: Rodney Johnson

Sent: Monday, 8 February 2021 3:26 AM

To: AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz>

Subject: My Son and I catch your program every morning!

 

Once again with the photo!

 

---------- Forwarded message ---------

From: Rodney Johnson 

Date: Sun, Feb 7, 2021, 8:24 AM

Subject: Re: My Son and I catch your program every morning!

To: AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz>

 

Hey Adam!

 

Yes we heard you mention us on air! You should have seen the smile on Aaron's face! Thanks so much, you made our day! And yes, very could here, the coldest day so far this winter by far! Thanks for warming it up a bit for us.

 

Thanks for mentioning the coast road in the pacific Northwest. Indeed a very rugged and beautiful place! I've attached one of my favorite winter sunset photos I took during a trip back in the 80s. It was at a place called Cannon Beach in Oregon.

 

(Sorry for all the typos, I'm all thumbs when trying to type on the phone!)

 

Have a great day, and enjoy your summer there. We're certainly missing it here!

 

-Rodney and Aaron

 

 

On Sun, Feb 7, 2021, 7:37 AM AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz> wrote:

Good morning Rodney and Aaron!

 

That has made my morning to know you are tuned i. It’s great to have your company!

 

Yes, the West Coast road is quite a special road in a remote part of New Zealand’s South Island – they even have signs up telling you to fill up with gas as there is quite a distance between gas stations. Quite rare for a small country like ours! The land and geography actually reminds me of the Pacific Northwest road through Oregon and California which I assume you’re familiar with Rodney – the rugged coastline, harsh (but beautiful) sea conditions, and the occasional spotting of a seal or whale if you’re lucky!

 

I had a look at the weather forecast in Plymouth out of interest – MINUS 2 is your high today?!?! Goodness me, that is cold. (That translates to minus 19 Celsius in the way we measure temperature) – I cannot quite believe that after a day at the beach on New Zealand’s Kapiti Coast, just north of Wellington, where our high today was a very enjoyable 75 Fahrenheit.

 

I trust you’re keeping warm, and great to hear from you over the other side of the Pacific. If you keep listening, at about 0250 NZDT in about 10 minutes I’ll pass on my best regards to you both on air and share your note with our listeners.

 

Thanks so much for your continued correspondence.

 

Adam

 

From: Rodney Johnson

Sent: Monday, 8 February 2021 2:12 AM

To: AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz>

Subject: Re: My Son and I catch your program every morning!

 

Hi Adam!

 

Aaron and I are Listening to you right now on the all night program! Great to hear about your memories traveling the magical  coast road in NZ!

 

You sound quite cheerful, keep up the good work!

 

-Rodney and Aaron!

On Mon, Feb 1, 2021, 4:33 PM Rodney Johnson <rodneyj44@gmail.com> wrote:

Greetings from Minnesota, Adam!

 

Aaron and I were listening to RNZ on Shortwave this morning at 1300GMT (2 am NZST), and the signal wasn't as good as it has been, but I thought we heard Johnny Blades reading the news, maybe you were on the hour before? It is noisy shortwave, so I certainly might be mistaken! Yes, Vicki and John have been so nice, and Aaron treats all of this correspondence like gold because he's just learning to read. This reception report and letter were certainly the first correspondence he's written, let alone getting such a warm response. The whole thing has been a great experience for him and definitely gets us both up in the morning!

 

So you stayed in British Columbia, Canada? I grew up in Eastern Washington State near a town called "Pullman" about 100km south of Spokane and about 500km east of Seattle. When I lived in Seattle (for about 12 years starting in the late 80s) I often make the trip to Vancouver BC for the Fringe Festival there. A very beautiful city!  I'm glad you had the chance to experience what we call "The Pacific Northwest". It really is a wonderful area. My reading about your trip makes me think you might have seen more of the country than I have! For Instance, I have never managed to make it down to New Orleans. I'm afraid we just moved to this area myself and between work and kids were just starting to explore Minnesota when the Pandemic hit. We have been meaning to make it up north to Duluth and what they call the "North Shore", we've heard a lot of good things about it, so you might try there. Also, if you enjoyed Yosemite (I have gone backpacking there a couple of times during my time living in San Francisco California from 2000 to 2015), You might also Try Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming (and also the Grand Tetons, if you find the time) and Glacier National Park in Montana. Both of these Parks are along the Rocky Mountain range featuring the continental divide (one side all rivers flow to the Pacific, the other side the Atlantic!). 

 

Great to hear from you Adam. We'll be listening for you on the air!

 

Cheers!

 

- Rodney, Aaron and Leonard!

 

 

 

On Mon, Feb 1, 2021 at 5:47 AM AllNight <Allnight@rnz.co.nz> wrote:

Kia Ora Rodney, Aaron and Leonard!

 

Adam Cooper here – one of the fill-in presenters on the ‘All Night Programme’ – I’m on this morning, so your message has come to me. Vicki actually mentioned your correspondence to me when I was out working in the newsroom the other night when she had received your message – it’s so nice to know you’re turning in all the way from Minnesota. It’s quite amazing the global community we have tuning into RNZ, either via traditional radio or online. I know when I lived overseas, in British Columbia, Canada, that RNZ was a perfect way for me to keep in touch with everything that was happening back home – and to of course remind myself what the New Zealand accent sounded like!

 

Vicki is on her rostered days off but I have saved your latest message for her so she will see it when she returns to work a bit later in the week.

 

I hope all is well in Minnesota – I have a real love of the United States, which culminated from a six-week road trip a friend and I did in a hired 25-foot long RV in the summer of 2016 – starting off in California, and going up and down the country across many states, and finishing up in Chicago (which would be the closest I’ve been to Minnesota) – before flying to Washington DC then catching the train up to finish in New York. It was a magical trip and everywhere was just brilliant. My highlights were the pristine Yosemite National Park in California and the vibrant live music scene of New Orleans. I managed to see a lot of Washington State and Oregon too when I lived in Vancouver Canada for two years between 2018 and 2019.  Once this nasty pandemic dies down, exploring more of the US is top of my list again – I’ll happily take any recommendations of “must-see” places around the Midwest or Great Lakes area!!

 

Thanks again for your note, it really is great to know you are keeping us company from the other side of the Pacific.

 

Take care,

Adam Cooper

RNZ All Night Programme

[prairiesongserial]

5.4

Marc’s house - the Waters estate, Sailor had called it - was maybe the biggest place Cody had ever seen. As big as La Salle, if not bigger. And just like La Salle, Cody hated it at first sight. The glimpse he’d gotten of the large, decorative pool out front as they’d ridden in through the gate had sealed it for him, because who flaunted a resource like that when people all over the rest of the States were killing each other for drinkable water?

He’d said as much in the truck, after they’d been waved through at the gatehouse, and Sailor had laughed.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he salted it,” she said, meaning the water, and hadn’t said anything else. Cody found himself equally unsurprised by the idea. Rich people liked to have things, to have the appearance of things, even if it meant not actually using those things to the full degree.

The truck and guard uniforms had worked wonders, like Sailor had said they would, and the guards at the gate had just waved them through without even stopping to talk. Cody was surprised - he’d thought that someone as rich and powerful as Marc would be paranoid, protective of his assets and who had access to his property. But apparently his guards really weren’t the brightest. Or they didn’t have the best orders. Maybe both, come to think of it. Plus, the sun still wasn’t up yet, so there was always a chance the guards were just plain exhausted from a long night’s shift.

Sailor brought the truck around to the back of the mansion, and parked it in a row of identical trucks lined up at the end of the drive. Cody wondered how they were going to find it again, to make their escape - but realized quickly that it didn’t matter, because all the trucks probably took the same key. The one they were in happened to have his and John’s clothes tossed into the back, but, well...they had more clothes where those had come from.

“Remember,” Sailor said, undoing her seatbelt, “you’re here to watch my back. Nothing else.”

John nodded, and Cody gave her a little mock-salute as they all piled out of the truck. Sailor snorted, adjusted her cap so it concealed most of her hair, and headed for the back door, holding it open for John and Cody to slip in behind her.

The inside of the mansion was every bit as lavish as it looked from the outside, but it was nothing like La Salle. For one thing, the color scheme wasn’t as strong - most of Texas Waters was decorated in light pastels, and it was a lot easier on the eyes, Cody noticed. For another, it was a lot roomier. The halls were wide and spacious, the ceilings almost impossibly high, and the whole house seemed to stretch on forever, silently waiting to be explored.

It was so quiet that Cody’s footsteps on the polished marble floor seemed unnaturally loud, but that was good, he thought. It meant they’d be able to hear anyone trying to approach them. Not that there seemed to be any guards around to begin with. Maybe it was too early for any of them to be roaming around the halls, or maybe Marc was so short-handed that he didn’t have anyone to patrol the inside of the estate.

“Do the guards live here?” he asked Sailor quietly. She shook her head.

“Most of ‘em live in town. Some in Marc’s guest houses, on the property. I think they’ve got seniority or something.”

“Where is he?” John asked, and looked surprised as both Sailor and Cody turned puzzled stares towards him. He frowned. “Marc.”

“Upstairs,” Sailor said, hanging a right down another long hallway and heading for a staircase that Cody was pretty sure was also made of marble.

Cody followed Sailor, still looking around, wondering if Marc had always owned this place. Had someone built it to his specifications? Or had it been here for decades, owned by someone else’s family, until Marc had come along and stolen it out from under them? The latter felt like something a crime lord might do, and judging by his guards’ uniforms, Marc had even more of a flair for the dramatic than Ethan did.

“What do you think of this place?” he murmured to John, as they ascended to the second floor landing. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it before.”

“Too big,” John said bluntly, taking the stairs in long, careful strides, easily keeping pace with Sailor.

Cody huffed with laughter. John had a point. Oregon didn’t have mansions like this, as far as he was aware, and they’d never had a crime lord like Marc around. Just smaller gangs like the Dead-Eyes, who were ferociously protective of their territories. Cody wondered what might happen to the Dead-Eyes’ territory now that they were gone, chasing him through state after state, and felt a pang of guilt in his stomach that nearly took him off guard. Maybe Ethan deserved to be taken down a peg, but the rest of the Dead-Eyes were good people. They’d been his friends, once. Might have still been his friends, if Ethan hadn’t started this whole cat-and-mouse game.

There was a door farther down the hall with a guard standing watch nearby, and the sight of him jerked Cody out of his own thoughts as fast as a bucket of ice water might have. He exchanged a look with John, both of them clearly wondering if this was a snag in the plan, but Sailor didn’t seem bothered. She kept up the easy pace she’d been walking at, approaching the guard with confidence.

“We’re new hires,” she said. “Supposed to report to Mr. Waters for a tour of the mansion.”

The guard’s eyebrows furrowed. “Really? But he’s -”

Sailor headbutted him hard, and he fell to the ground in a heap. Still breathing, Cody noted with relief. Just unconscious.

“I thought he’d have more guards,” Sailor muttered under her breath, and scooted the unconscious one aside with her foot, pressing her ear to the door. “He’s asleep, I think. Shouldn’t be too hard to get him up and get moving before anyone realizes what’s up.”

John made an affirmative sort of noise, and shifted into place beside Sailor. Cody hesitated. Something about all of this felt off - why weren’t there more guards outside Marc’s door, especially while he was sleeping? For a crime lord with a lot to lose, it didn’t add up.

“Something’s fishy,” he murmured to John, who gave him a quizzical look.

Sailor heard, and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Why’s that?”

“Weird that he only had one guard at his door,” Cody said. “The guy - the gang I used to run with always kept at least two people on night watch duty, so one could back the other up if they got ambushed.”

“Marc’s shorthanded,” Sailor said. “He might’ve only had one guy to spare.”

“Maybe,” Cody agreed, with a shrug. “Or maybe there’s another guard waiting on the inside. Let’s just be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“I’ll go in first,” Sailor said. Her hand was already on the door handle, and she pushed it down slowly, opening the door a fraction of an inch. “You two cover me.”

Cody nodded, putting his hand on the pistol strapped to his hip and hoping he wouldn’t really have to use it. Sailor propped the door open halfway and slipped inside, vanishing from sight for a long, breathless moment before she reappeared and beckoned for John and Cody to come in with her.

“No guards,” she said, softly. The other doors in the room - to the closet and a bathroom, respectively - were thrown open, and Cody assumed she’d swept them both to be sure. At least she was thorough.

The lights in the bedroom were out, but the large bed in the center was flanked by two equally large windows, morning sunlight just beginning to filter through them as the sun rose outside. There was a figure under the bedsheets, unmoving. Cody was almost impressed that Sailor sweeping the room hadn’t woken Marc up.

Or, rather, he was impressed right up until Sailor pulled the sheets back. What they’d both thought was Marc was a rough dummy made out of piled up clothes and pillows, arranged to look like a person sleeping peacefully.

“Fuck,” Sailor said, and Cody had to agree.

John made a sound from the doorway that might have been an agreement, too, had it not been followed by the sound of a gun’s safety clicking off. Cody’s blood ran cold.

“I’d turn around slowly, if I were you,” a voice from behind Cody and Sailor said. It had just the barest hint of a lilting accent Cody recognized from the few Canadian travelers he’d met at his sister’s bar. “And no funny business, or I’m afraid my man Nash is going to have to shoot your friend, here.”

Cody straightened a little, his pulse quickening with sudden recognition. It couldn’t be the same Nash from La Salle, could it? There was no fucking way they could run into each other so coincidentally, and yet…

He half-turned, craning his neck to see. In the doorway was a man only a little taller than him, wearing matching pajamas that must have been expensive, and smiling as though he’d just told a joke to an adoring audience. He was blond, with hair that fell in neat waves around his face, and dark brown eyes that looked so amused it made Cody want to punch him. Cody didn’t recognize him, though he knew it had to be Marc Waters.

Next to Marc was John, and next to John was another man Cody recognized. It was Nash, all right. Only in a white suit, this time, and pressing the muzzle of a gun to John’s temple.

“Nash?” Cody asked, genuinely surprised.

“Cody!” Nash said, his eyebrows shooting up. His voice was surprisingly clear - he wasn’t wearing the dust mask he’d had on at La Salle, Cody noticed. “Now, I knew you were a cheat, but I didn’t know you and your friend over here were kidnappers.”

“We’re splittin’ the bounty,” Cody said, with a shrug. “Or we were gonna, I guess. You’re not gonna kill us, are you?”

“Of course he’s not going to kill you,” Marc said, still smiling. “As long as you three behave. I thought we’d talk out our differences over brunch.”

“Fuck you,” Sailor said, taking a step forward that was more of a lunge.

Another gun safety clicked off from somewhere nearby, and Cody was both surprised and unsurprised to see Cole standing in the bathroom doorway, training a rifle on Sailor.

“Hi, Cody,” she said, her good eye flicking over to him for half a second.

“Now, as I was saying.” Marc clapped his hands together, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Who wants mimosas?”

5.3 || 5.5