#the stranger over the radio speaks to them every night at the witching hour. and so they track them down.

[robotpanties]

i do wish i could find a way to incorporate my horror ideas into ultrakill smut concepts but i feel like theyd be best for original art ideas

[daddydindjarin]

The Long and Winding Road Part II: Mississippi

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no physical description of the Reader given) 

Rating: 18+ Mature 

Wordcount: 2875 

Summary: You hit your must see spots in Mississippi, and you fight back every bit of attraction to this broad stranger that you can. It’s a losing battle. 

A/N: What can I say, this is wholly self indulgent. And un-beta’d. Lemme know if you see any glaring errors!  Dividers by @firefly-graphics! Thank you especially to the discord besties and @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ for listening to my panic over actually writing something more than a one-shot, and for all the great tips. Especially the road trip ideas. 

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Frankie couldn’t figure her out.

He had spent years in the military, interacting with people from all walks of life. From the rich kids following in their parent’s footsteps, to fresh faced kids straight from high school looking for a naïve hope at an opportunity to build a better future than the past they had, most people were the same. They were greedy, self-serving, and usually just bastards with a hidden agenda. He counted himself among them, from the jobs he took for money, to nights spent high on cocaine and the touch of someone who he could pretend he loved for a few hours.

But this woman…

He glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly as the first thing he saw were her feet propped up on the dashboard, the long line of her bare legs tucked up to rest her journal on her knees. Her hair was pulled back away from her face so the wind didn’t blow it all over the place, and she was humming along to Stevie Nicks’ dulcet tones crooning from the radio.

They had been traveling for two days, stopping at every whim she had. An afternoon was spent in St. Augustine and Ponte Vedra, touring the light house, and walking the beach. The morning saw them in Savannah, Georgia, eating breakfast along the marshes. True to her word, he paid for nothing, even with a neat $15,000 burning a hole in his pocket. She purchased every meal, snacks, drinks, and even offered to buy souvenirs for Gabriela. The first night, she offered to sleep in the Jeep instead of the popup rooftop tent on the Jeep’s roof, which he turned down almost immediately. They had argued back and forth, with her stubbornly reminding him that he was the one driving, and needed a good night’s sleep, so they finally came to an agreement just to share the small space.

“We’re both adults,” she had said, rifling through the small suitcase in the backseat. “We can share a bed.”

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, realizing her stubbornness would win out in the end, “that’s fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”

She laughed, starting the climb up to the tent, “Careful what you speak into the universe. Maybe I snore, and you��re in for a rough night.”

Frankie barked out a laugh, “I doubt it’ll be worse than some of the guys I’ve bunked down with.”

It was worse.

She didn’t snore, although she did talk in her sleep, trying to have a conversation with no one for the better part of the night. But even that was nothing compared to the way he woke up with her wrapped around him like a lifeline, her face buried in his chest. They had started off back to back, pushed as far to the edges of the pallet as they could get, and sometime between drifting off while talking about their favorite songs, and the sun rising, they had wound up in the center of the tent, his arms wrapped around her, and her leg thrown over his. She had managed to push her covers off of her, but then sought the warmth that Frankie gave off in her sleep.

Frankie had quickly and quietly extracted himself from her hold before scrambling down the ladder, the brisk autumn air doing nothing to calm his heart or other parts of his anatomy that was all too aware that a gorgeous woman was feet away, and had been in close proximity. The shame burned at the back of his neck, but he found himself wanting to return to the tent, and curl back up to sleep in her arms.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since then, even as they were well on their way into Alabama. He chalked it up to proximity and loneliness, only having his hand for company the last few months as he stayed clean, determined to do right by his kid, even if that meant suffering through the withdrawals and the craving to lose himself and his memories in a drug that offered nothing but forgetting and despair at the end of the high.

She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know about their nighttime encounter. She was happily watching the trees as they drove and would occasionally look down to her journal to scribble something down, a sentence here, a doodle there. He had seen her press a wild flower into the pages in Talladega  National Forest, and use it as a coaster for tea in Tuscaloosa. She carried it with her everywhere, fishing it out of her bag for reasons unknown to him, sometimes to scrawl a reminder, and other times spending a few moments writing before smiling up at him, telling him she was ready to move on.

She was an enigma to him, altruistic and kind to everyone they ran into. She really did spend most of her time looking at the things she was interested in, not concerned with taking photos of the view, even as she offered to take his photo for him, which he usually declined, except on the rare occasion he found a chance to send a photo of himself with a giant swordfish in Savannah to Pope, captioned, “finally found the fish you said you had on the line when you pulled that boot.”

He received a middle finger emoji as a response.

He had expected a lot of chatter as they drove, one of the reasons he had tallied in the “con” section of why he should take this job. It ranked fairly low on the list however, and the payload far outweighed any reason he could give to skip out on the opportunity. He was surprised though, when the first six hours had passed only interrupted by her humming, and the occasional request to stop somewhere. It wasn’t as if it was an awkward silence that you can chalk up to being in a confined space with a literal stranger, but instead a comfortable atmosphere where no words were really needed. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this was the most peaceful he had felt in a while, and instead turned the volume up on the radio, tapping his fingers along to Como La Flor.

You had three missed texts from Alyssa, checking in to make sure that Benny’s pilot friend hadn’t actually killed you on day one of the road trip, and you made a mental note to text her back at the next stop. You knew if you tried to read too much while in the car, you’d be hit with a migraine, and you didn’t feel like having Frankie pull over just so you could get sick this early into the trip.

Speaking of Frankie…

You peeked over at him, watching his head bop along to the music, and you could feel the smile straining against your lips as you whipped your head back around to watching the passing trees. It was crazy how attracted to him you were. From his long eyelashes framing those deep puppy dog eyes, to his plump lips that you had to force yourself not to watch as he spoke, you knew that you were quickly developing a crush on him. Which was normal you reminded yourself for the umpteenth time. It was normal to be attracted to someone. It didn’t mean you had to act on it. And there wasn’t a chance of anything happening really. The trip was only three months long, and then you’d be leaving, so it was pointless to even think about romance.

This wasn’t a 90s rom com. This was the trip of a lifetime, and you were going to enjoy the time you had left on it, not spend it worrying about Francisco Morales and his dumb cowlick that he thought was well hidden under that Standard Oil baseball cap.

Passing under the exit sign for Columbus, Alabama, you checked your map again, looking for anything that caught your eyes. “Oh!” you exclaimed, tapping the map. “You should take this exit!”

Frankie imperceptibly turned his head to look at where you were pointing on the map, an eyebrow raised. “Tupelo?”

“Yeah! Have you ever been?”

“Probably passed through there once or twice, but I don’t think we ever stopped,” he replied, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in the last few days, you had noticed, and you wondered what the short whiskers would feel like under your fingers. “Why d’you want to stop there?”

You really didn’t have reason, other than, “I hear they have good honey. And wasn’t Elvis born there?”

Frankie chuckled, but dutifully took the exit onto I-45. “Well, let’s go get you some of that honey, but if you’re wanting to see the king, we need to head to Memphis.”

You made a note on the map, studying it for a moment longer. “I do want to see Memphis, but I think it would be smart, and probably more efficient to hit the south, and then kind of zig zag before heading north?” Your fingers danced in the air, mimicking the zigzag pattern to make your point.

He nodded. “That makes sense. Is there anything on that “must list” of yours for the south that we need to make sure we do?”

He remembered. You beamed at his words, almost laughing that such a small thing could make you so happy. “There are a few, actually.” Tucking loose piece of hair behind your ear, you pulled out your journal, flipping through the pages. “Since we’re heading into Mississippi, I want to check out Rowan Oak. Tishomingo State Park would be nice to visit too. Dunn’s Falls is on the list, but I feel like we might be going around our ass to scratch our elbow with that one.”

Frankie shrugged, glancing over at you. “A little extra mileage never hurt anybody. Besides,” he continued, “if it’s on your “must list,” we must go see it.”

His sincerity was palpable, and you wanted to cry. The one thing you had been dreading with finding a glorified chauffer was that they would talk you out of some of the things you wanted to do because it would be such a long and winding route to see everything on your list. Well, that and possibly being killed before your time, but mostly complaining. Frankie never once complained, following your every whim with good humor. He didn’t ask many questions after your first meeting, which you appreciated more than you could say. Like you said, the whys weren’t important now. It was just the doing that mattered.

“Thank you,” you finally said, looking back out the window so he wouldn’t see if any stray tears made their way down your cheeks.

You didn’t see his answer nod, or the way the tips of his ears turned pink as you headed toward Tupelo.  

Tupelo had seen them to honey and biscuits, as well as a stop at the birthplace of Elvis. You had convinced Frankie to take a picture touching the statue’s hand like a crying teenage girl, which he did with a roll of his eyes, but you know he sent the picture to someone in his phone named “Pope.”

You wound your way across the state to Rowan Oak, your heart fluttering at the smell of Cedar in the air as you and Frankie walked along the grounds. You got lost in the concentric garden, finding the large magnolia in the center an hour later, taking a break under the sprawling branches for a few moments.

“How old do you think this tree is?” you asked, your eyes closed as you leaned against the tree, the bark digging into your back, and the sound of birds nesting in the trees lulling you into a calmness.

“Dunno,” Frankie said from his spot beside you, shoulders touching just enough that you could feel the burn of him. “Doubt they’d let us cut it down to count the rings.”

You snorted. “No, I don’t think they would. William Faulkner would roll over in his grave if they did.” The silence stretched comfortably between you, and you closed your eyes again, the humid air making you sleepy. You may have drifted off under that old tree, because when you blinked your eyes open, Frankie was standing to the side of the trail, and there was a fresh Magnolia bloom in your lap. You smiled softly, taking a petal and pressing it into your journal before joining him, letting him lead the way out of the maze.

You headed back towards Tupelo that night, stopping just outside the city to bunk down, before driving the few hours to Tishomingo. He groaned good naturedly as you pulled on your hiking boots, and followed you onto the trail, but the beauty of the landscape stopped even his joking about the early morning dew. You found ruins and old bridges leading to long abandoned cabins, and Frankie told you of a time he spent overseas in a similar looking abandoned house with his team, and how Benny and Will went through a wall play fighting each other. Your peals of laughter probably scared the local wildlife away, but you didn’t mind, happy to just be privy to stories from Frankie’s past.

You ate lunch beside a waterfall, drinking your tea cold for a lack of hot water. You didn’t mind, to tell the truth, but the face Frankie made assured you he wouldn’t be partaking. He had been eyeing the water for a while now, sweat beading on your foreheads. You stood, slipping your boots and socks off, and he looked up at you, an eyebrow raised. “Whatcha doin?”

Grinning, you took off at a run for the edge pool of water, leaping into it. A shout of alarm went up behind you, drowned out by the rush of water going over your head. You could still hear the roar of the waterfall dumping into the basin above you, and when you popped out of the water taking a gulp of air, Frankie stood on the shore, hands on his hips staring down at you.

“What are you doing?”

You laughed kicking your feet out under you. “Living!” You swam in a circle, sighing at the cool water. “Come in!”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Chiflada!”

You pouted, “Oh, come on, Francisco! The water feels great!” You pushed your arm forward, splashing him with water, and he yelped, jumping back. “Don’t be such a chicken!”

Frankie laughed, wrenching his shirt over his head, “Oh, you asked for it!” He lunged into the water and you reeled back, screaming in delight as his long arms reached for you. You danced out of his reach, splashing him with water as you went. Frankie roared at you, pushing forward in the water to wrap his arms around you. You pushed at his chest, squealing, and laughing as his fingers danced along your ribs. His laughter rumbled through his chest and rippled across your skin, lighting up his face.

“I give, I give!” you laughed, spluttered around the hair in your face. “You’re King of the Water!”

“Damn right,” he replied, grinning at you, and you suddenly realized how close the two of you were, chest to chest, only your clothes between you. You were acutely aware of the cold water pebbling your nipples against his chest, and you felt your face heating up from the proximity of this broad man. He was looking at you, his eyes soft, and you could feel yourself internally panicking.

He could sense your trepidation, and slowly released you, his kind eyes catching yours as you backed away from him, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I’m fine. Just out of breath.” The lie came easily enough, and you hid behind and easy grin. “Told you the water felt nice though.”

Groaning, he leaned back slightly, looking up at the waterfall, “Yeah, but now we have to hike back to the Jeep in wet clothes. And it’s still hot.”

“Come on, Fly Boy, where’s your sense of adventure?” You questioned him, thanking everything that your racing heart was starting to come under control.

“Trust me, Chiflada, I’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”

You mulled over his words, pulling yourself out of the water and then offering him your hand. “Well, that may be true, but you’ve never had one with someone like me.”

He took your hand, squeezing it gently as he pulled himself up next to you, close enough again for you to see the freckles across his strong nose. “No,” he agreed, speaking softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

You blushed, turning away quickly to gather your things, your heart rate picking up again. You’d think about this more later, when the night was still, and the clothes you were wearing were hung on a line to dry in the hot Mississippi night air. When you’d be able to feel him at your back, and for the first time regret the short time you had left.

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[fangirl-1523]

Cherry Bomb: Chap. 1

For clarification, Milven is purely platonic and events from Stranger Things 3 did not happen, such as Jim Hopper's death and the Byers and Eleven moving away.

June 14, 1985

"Roth... Roth...." the voice of Mike Wheeler said coming from the comm.

[Y/N] groaned and picked it up. "What you want, Blackbird?"

"You want to come over and play some D & D? With the rest of the party? Over." He asked.

[Y/N] [L/N] had lived next to the Wheeler family since she was five. Her family had moved there for a change of pace as it was a small town and very different from Indianapolis. She and Mike had grown up as window neighbors.

"But my elvan archer will die! It's happened every time. So much for me trying to be a female Legolas. Over."

"Then, bring your other characters. I know you created like twenty, so you can continue on playing with us for ten hours. Over." He told her.

[Y/N] could faintly hear the sound of snickers and giggles from the other end followed by the normal "Shut up!" from Mike. She sighed to herself.

"What will I be getting out of this again? Over."

"Time with the greatest people you have ever known? Over." Mike paused before adding. "We have food. Blackbird out."

"I'll be there in a minute. Roth out." [Y/N] put the comm down and left the room.

She didn't hear the endless teasing from Eleven, Max, Lucas, and Dustin. Or any of what Mike said in retaliation of their teasing and mochery. Instead, while that was going on, she hopped down the stairs to her mom. At the moment, it was just [Y/N], her mom, and her cat at the house (her parents were seperated, but they both liked the small town life of Hawkins, Indiana).

"Hey, momma, can I go over to the Wheeler's right now? Mike invited me over to play Dungeons & Dragons with the party." She asked finding her mom in the kitchen baking some deserts.

"Sure, sweetie. Just be back by six. You're father will be over here to pick you up for the weekend." Her mother, [Mother Name], replied.

It was the Friday after school let out for the summer and the first thing the party wanted to do was play Dungeons & Dragons. Of course some people (Max Mayfield) resented that notion seeing as it was summer which meant no more school and some more beach.

"Okay. Love you! Bye!" [Y/N] kissed her mom's cheek and zoomed out the door to her neighbors house.

She knocked on the door and Nancy opened the door for her. The upcoming senior at Hawkins High sighed before allowing the young girl that hadn't been involved with anything weird yet into their house. One thing the party, Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathon Byers, and the Scoup Troop all agreed on was to leave the girl out of it. Out of all of it. [Y/N] went down towards Mike's basement where she found the boys setting up the pieces at the table and the girls were setting up snacks such as chips, some bite sized deserts, and soda.

"Hi, [Y/N]." Eleven said.

"Hi, El." [Y/N] said coming over to the two girls.

"[Y/N], which character are you playing?" Mike said looking through the folder labeled [Y/N]'s characters.

"Uh... actually... I wanted to try to be... a... uh..." then the girl mumbled what she wanted to do.

Max Mayfield and Eleven smirked (as they had heard what she said). Dustin Henderson asked for her to speak up, so they could hear her. All they got out of her was a smear of red across her face. Now that the boys were staring at her and her two only female friends were smirking, she instantly regretted every decision she had ever made.

"You know what? Just forget it. I'll use my elva-."

"She wants a chance as Dungeon Master, but she is too nervous to say anything to you four." Max said cutting her friend off.

[Y/N] tried to cover her face with her hands as she waited for the laughter to come right afterwards. It was a stupid idea. A stupid, silly thing to suggest she do. Way to make a fool out of you, [Y/N]. the [H/C] haired girl thought to herself before shying away from her friends.

"Since when do you know how to be Dungeon Master?" Dustin asked as he and Lucas sneakily (not that sly though) glanced over at Mike.

"It can't be that much difficult than putting on shows with action figures and dolls while my little cousins intervene about what the different characters could do." And Mike taught me.

"I say we give her a shot. I'm tired of doing the same thing ever single time." Max said.

"We don't do the same thing every time!" Lucas retorted back at his girlfriend.

"It's the same thing, but different outcomes based on the die roll." Eleven agreed.

"Just let her be dungeon master, guys. For one day. I actually want to see where she'll go with it. I'll just be a Gnome Thief." Mike told them.

"I don't have a problem with that." Will Byers added making his first statement in the conversation.

"Go on, [Y/N]." Dustin said glancing at the seat next to Mike. "You can sit there."

[Y/N] didn't see the glare Mike sent Dustin as she sat down in the seat. Eleven and Max got some food before sitting down.

"So, are we ready?" she asked them.

"Yeah. Let's see what you got." Lucas told her.

"To be clear, this is going to be totally -."

"Just start already, [Y/N]." Mike interrupted her. "Yes, we're well aware this is 'Geek Improv'."

Eleven looked from Mike to [Y/N]. As soon as she started to go to school with the party, she met [Y/N] almost as soon as she stepped into the door. And instantly, she understood why Mike hadn't been able to return her feeling. And now, watching the two of them, it reminded Eleven of why that was. Time passed and they all realized how much more involved she was with the details than Mike was and they all knew the adventure they were on was all sprouted from her mouth like bullshit. Because it was. She was making it up as she went along.

"You have reached the end of your quest. But your quest is not over. Instead, one of your party members carries a dark secret. One of them is actually the Great Darkness that vows to shrall the land in eternal night. You hear the cackle of what sounds like the Wicked Witch of the West Hehehe! As the sound bounces off the walls of the cave, you wonder where and who the sound is coming from. But it's too late. Your hear it say 'It's too late for you. Hehehehe!' And the voice is coming from-."

"[Y/N]," Karen Wheeler, Mike's and Nancy's mom, said walking down into the basement, "your mom says your dad is waiting for you. Time to go."

Karen Wheeler went back upstairs and Dustin leaned over to Mike, "Since when does your mom come down here?"

Mike simply shrugged. "Can we finish this really quickly?"

[Y/N] shook her head getting up from her seat. "Sorry. Dad's impatient as it is, and we're supposed to go to Chicago for the weekend. I'll be back Wednesday though. We can finish it then. Have a good weekend, Blackbird. Fellow geeks." She saluted them.

"Bye, Roth. Have fun with your dad." Mike said as she went back up the stairs.

"Dude!" Max exclaimed once she was out of earshot.

"What?!" Mike fired back.

"Do you two really have to act like that?" Max asked him.

"Like what?" he asked her.

"Like that! Two love sick idiots. Why don't you just ask her out?" asked Max.

"He can't."

"He's tried."

"Countless times."

"Failed countless times."

"Stuck in the friend zone, is he." Dustin said in the voice of Yoda.

"He's not that stuck. She likes him back. Right, El?" Max asked looking at her female friend for assistance.

"She does." Eleven nodded her head in agreement. "Just ask her out."

"Do it. When she comes back." Max told him.

"Jeez, okay, I will." Mike told him.

Wednesday came, and he commed [Y/N]'s radio. "Roth... Roth... Roth...."

No answer. Usually she would pick up after the second or third Rorh, but silence filled the radio. He tried again thinking her mom may have cleaned up her room while she was away (it has happened before). Silence.

"[Y/N], you there? Blackbird here ... trying to talk to you. Over." Silence.

This was weird. It was strange. Even when she was angry with him, she never metaphorically left him on read. She would radio in that she was angry and didn't want to talk and there would be a "I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU! I HATE YOU!" followed afterward that she didn't really mean. And that's when he heard shouting, yelling, and screaming from next door. It sounded like her parents.

Mike got out of his basement and along with his family and the rest of the street watched the scene play out between [Mother] and [Father] who hadn't spoken or saw one another in months.

"What do you mean you lost her? She was here yesterday! She called telling me she was back in Hawkins!" [Mother] yelled.

"I went to get food, and then she's gone! I checked everywhere for her! She's not here! And I'm pretty sure she didn't go back to Chicago! So, yeah I lost her! But I didn't lose her OKAY? She's missing! Gone! And it's not my fault! Dear god, why would you think it was my fault?" [Father] yelled back.

"It wouldn't be the first time you thought that." [Mother] mumbled before shouting, "If you didn't lose her, then help me find her! Help me find my daughter! Before something awful happens to her!"

[Y/N] was missing? Mike looked over at Nancy who was looking at him back. They both knew that the Upside Down had a part to play in the disappearance of [Y/N] [L/N].

What Netflix Original would the characters of Stranger Things watch the most often?

Eleven - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Eleven would compare the events of her life to Sabrina's events in her life when they are sorta similar)

Mike - Orange is the New Black (gives me Mike vibes)

Max - Sex Education (gives me Max Mayfield vibes)

Will - A Series of Unfortunate Events (i feel like he would have read the books in elementary school, so he felt obligated to watch the show)

Lucas - Lost in Space (i didn't know what to pick for Lucas, so I just picked something random)

Dustin - Voltron Legendary Defender (Dustin has always given me vibes that he's a cartoon watcher type of TV person)

Steve - Daybreak (gives me Steve vibes)

Nancy - The Worst Witch (this was an accident. Nancy didn't want to watch it, but saw the trailer, thought it was interesting, and watches it afterwards).

Robin - Disenchantment (doesn't it just scream Robin at you?)

Jonathon - You (he would have heard about it from Nancy who wanted to watch it and he got hooked)

Joyce - Santa Clarita Diet (funny zombie humor)

Hopper - The Crown (this would have started off as something that both Hopper and Eleven watched together as a sort of father-daughter show or whatever, but he got hooked really, really fast)

[doraspn]

15x03 not-quite-coda

or how dean is forced to listen to love songs until he gets his head out of his ass

dean wakes up to the song earth angel on full blast. dean reaches for his phone to make the noise stop but it’s not coming from his phone. it’s also 4 fucking am. he’s mad. he rushes to the kitchen and sam’s right where he expected him to be, leaning against the counter drinking coffee and staring at the floor, feeling fucking awful and unable to sleep. he looks up at dean who storms in like a madman. dean shouts over the song, asking what the fuck. sam is confused and apparently has no idea what’s going on and why dean’s shouting at full volume. dean looks like he’s most likely losing it. 

cas leaves the bunker and goes to a bar because he’s heartbroken and doesn’t know what else to do and dean always goes to bars. even though he said he needs to move on it’s not that simple okay. a drag queen approaches him and cas realises it’s a gay bar but it makes no difference to him anyway so he sits down and orders a whiskey because the smell of it is somehow both comforting and heart wrenching. he lets the drag queen ask him about his break up. he doesn’t even bother to clarify (clarify what though?) and without anyone else to lean on he figures he doesn’t have anything more to lose so he just tells her e v e r y t h i n g and halfway through him recounting the last “conversation” he had with dean, the drag queen is like bitch what did he say to you? and she is having none of it so she buys both of them shots and they proceed to trash talk dean.

back in the bunker sam and dean are now aware that the song is coming from inside dean’s head and they are confused. sam is researching what it could be: curse, hex, trickster, this that something else? while dean is just sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. but they can’t seem to make it stop. the only change is that after the umpteenth time earth angel played in succession, mr sandman by chordettes started playing on repeat instead. sam is concerned, of course he is, according to what dean told him the songs are really really loud but he also finds it kind of amusing, he can’t help it. he asks dean what he did last night before going to bed, if he remembers anything strange. they have no shortage of enemies but it’s best to start with the basics, the answer could be closer than it seems. dean is convinced this is some sort of sick joke from chuck. sam isn’t so sure, though he isn’t sure why. 

cas feels a little better and less stressed, and with the encouragement of monique bedazzle, quite drunk too. he should be concerned about the state of his angel powers but he’s too busy laughing at monique calling dean all kinds of swear word related names. he thinks it’s nice to have someone to be mad for you, even when you can’t quite bring yourself to be. in the haze cas isn’t even aware he’s been talking about hunting and monsters and being an angel but monique probably thinks it’s just the alcohol talking.

dean can’t remember a single thing he did differently last night. what is sam even on about. did he use too much toothpaste and somehow inadvertently ended up cursing himself into listening to do you love me over and over and over again? sam tries to summarize what they know so far: only dean can hear the music, it’s very loud (extremely fucking loud, dean corrects), the songs do change, albeit at an inconsistent rate, and they all seem to be 50s and 60s love songs.

monique puts a hand on cas’ shoulder, tells him to forget about dean’s bitchass and pushes away the whiskey glass in front of him with a cocktail, complete with a little dick on a stick instead of an umbrella. cas smiles sadly at the drink and thanks her. his angel powers must still be there because the buzz of the alcohol he consumed is now replaced with the gentle buzz of what remains of his angelic essence. monique gives cas a little nudge and tells him “sam spade, angel, darling, it’s time to move on!” but one look into cas’ eyes and she knows he will never move on.

dean is slamming his head against the table and taking the time it takes his head to reach the surface to inform sam that he can’t fucking take it anymore when devil in disguise starts playing for the 68th time. there is a millisecond of radio silence upon impact, as if his brain loses the signal for a moment. sam is growing more and more concerned now. while it was amusing for the first 5 hours, now in hour 15 it’s going on gruesome. he is typing frivolously, calling people left and right, desperately trying to find a solution. what the fuck is actually going on.   

cas finds some strange comfort in the lazy way the bar staff shuffles around him as they prepare the bar for closing. it’s how he felt around dean. an unmoving fixture, always stuck in one place, as dean’s life happened all around him; always watching him, never quite participating. monique went to change out of her drag. it’s quiet but for the occasional sounds of chairs scraping across the wooden floor. he doesn’t know where to go or what to do next. a glance at the clock tells cas it’s 3:43 am, not that it means anything to him.

it’s not until late that night that dean finally gets a break. there is a short moment of absolute silence which makes dean’s head snap up. sam notices and he immediately tenses, asking dean what’s happening. then a new song comes on, but this time the volume is not obnoxiously loud. as elvis speaks the lyrics and now the stage is bare and i’m standing there with emptiness all around, and if you won’t come back to me then they can bring the curtain down the volume drops lower and lower. the song ends, and so does dean’s inner playlist.

the bar is completely empty when michael returns to cas’ side. cas is sitting still as a rock, staring at the untouched cocktail in front of him. michael’s smiling as he pulls cas to his feet, telling him he’s crashing at the bedazzle pad tonight. 

dean is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. he’s finally convinced sam he’s fine and that he’ll find him if the music starts blaring in his brain again. the headache isn’t too bad, surprisingly. he finds the quiet strange after a whole day of loud, inescapable noise. it feels clearer, like the violent sounds swept his head clear of dusty thoughts that have been there since forever. he doesn’t know how long this moment clarity will last but there is something powerful about the way cas’ name echoes inside it, and he lets himself dwell on that.

michael opens his front door and cas shuffles in politely. he doesn’t even think of potential danger. the fact that he basically told this stranger everything about himself doesn’t quite reach him at the moment. he’s too dazed. michael takes off his shoes and cas follows suit. soon enough he finds himself sitting on a comfortable sofa in a warm living room with a cup of hot coco to warm his hands on, his socked feet resting on the fuzzy cow print carpet under his feet. the socks were a present from dean, buy one get one free, ridiculous porn noodle mishmash design. michael asks cas for his phone. in the background, heartbreak hotel plays.

the next morning dean and sam are having breakfast. dean is a bit consumed with some of his new thoughts so he accidentally spills a full carton of milk all over the kitchen floor. sam understands, the guy had a pretty rough day yesterday. he prompts dean to see if he thought of anything. dean is confused for a bit before realizing that sam is talking about what caused the musical hell he had going on the day before. sam is surprised to learn that dean doesn’t really care that much about what caused it. he watches dean as he fills his bowl with a variety of cereal. dean’s back alright, he thinks.

by the time cas’ phone reaches full charge, michael and he have already devoured most of the waffles which only somewhat taste like molecules. michael’s phone vibrates and with a glint in his eye, he types a response. 

return to sender

address unknown

no such person, no such zone

dean is staring at his phone, frowning. sam looks up from his laptop and asks what’s wrong. dean’s worried now.

cas is surprised as he stands in michael’s pantry. heart of a goat is not something humans keep in a jar inside their homes, he is pretty certain of that. he was only really looking for the bathroom because michael sent him on a quest for a “blue plastic container, pink flowers on the side, rattles a bit when shaken”.

sam looks at dean’s phone, then at dean, then back at the screen. i don’t think cas... no, cas no, dean finishes his thought. the words definitely not cas echo in his mind. but who?

michael thanks cas as he takes the potato salad from his hands. even cas can tell the dinner’s well made. michael jokes that he didn’t prepare any animal hearts this time, but there’s always the next. cas isn’t quite sure why he trusts the witch. perhaps it’s the bad jokes.

the day passes without any real incidents. neither brother is any closer to figuring out what’s happening. every text sent to cas’ phone comes back a lyric. dean stares at the latest one.

tomorrow will be too late

it’s now or never

my love won’t wait

cas finds himself in the gay bar again. michael is getting ready for the performance so he’s sitting alone at the bar.

dean snatches the phone from sam’s hands and presses call. instead of castiel he finds a woman’s voice on the other side of the line.

thank you for calling HeadShot, please choose one of the following options:

if you’d like to inquire about our membership program, press 1

if you’re interested in becoming part of our stage or floor staff, press 2

if you’d like to get your head out of your ass and see castiel again, press 3

dean frowns at the phone but chooses number three anyway.

sam asks him what he’s doing. dean pulls up a chair, sits down and starts by telling sam about the first time he’s ever felt scared of himself. sam does what he does best, he listens.

monique gets up on stage to check that everything is ready for the first act of the night. she checks her watch. from where she’s standing she has a very clear view of the front door. it’s almost 10. showtime.

dean finds himself staring at the neon sign proudly shining above the door. the penis surrounded by shot glasses filled with white liquid does seem a tad overkill but who is he to judge. he takes a deep breath to steady himself and straightens his jacket. 

“whiskey, double” comes the order and the bartender nods in response. cas turns, his eyes meeting a pair of handsome green ones. and with that, cas is forced to acknowledge he has a type.

dean’s relieved. the inside is not what he imagined, but he doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as he expected. it’s all somehow new, even the old flannel shirt he’s wearing feels like a new skin on his body. it doesn’t take long to spot cas. or to notice the man leaning uncomfortable close to him with a sly smile on his face. or is it uncomfortable only for him? sam was right, he’s jealous. dean guesses it has always been jealousy. he can’t believe it took a day of being forced to listen to awfully loud mid century hits for him to realize that. or to realize any of that other crap he’s been keeping from himself. he’s disappointed in himself. really, really disappointed. but it’s okay. he’s got this, right?

cas looks up and immediately notices dean. just standing there, almost within arms reach. cas thinks that perhaps he’s overdone it with the alcohol but remembering josh’s words from mere seconds ago he is reminded that he hasn’t actually drank anything all night. as he stares at dean, the dull ache flares up and his whole being starts pulsing underneath the surface of his skin. will he actually explode? he never thought he’d be seeing him again, but there he is.

dean looks to the right as the first notes reach his ears. a drag queen in a bright purple sequenced dress is standing on the stage, singing the words whatever will be, will be. he smiles, more to himself than anyone else. chuck can go fuck himself honestly, because there is something fantastic about life and it’s got nothing to do with the pompous prick.

cas can only stare into dean’s eyes, as if he’s spelunking in them, looking for something. something that will make it all more than just okay. next to him, he can feel josh uncomfortably shift as dean approaches their table. but dean doesn’t look away so neither does he. 

dean smiles, soft, slightly unsure and offers his hand. 

cas promised himself he wouldn’t budge until he gets a full written apology. then for days he wouldn’t so much as look at dean. he would not make it easy for the fantasy dean who would come to him, begging him to come back. but cas’ allows himself something he hasn’t allowed himself lately, he reads what’s written in dean’s eyes and he accepts dean’s hand.

dean’s smile grows. there’s sadness beneath it. and fear. cas knows now. the man who didn’t believe he deserved to be saved all those years ago never started believing. cas thought he was telling him, screaming it but he himself also fell victim to the same mindset. 

who knows, perhaps together they can convince each other that they’re both worth saving. maybe it will all be more than okay.

que sera sera, what will be, will be

[readbookywooks]

THE QUEEN OF UNDERLAND

TWO Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took in the whole situation - the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand. She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind. "Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and locked the door. "How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only safety?" Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said: "Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them. These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to you. First - as for your Ladyship's design of putting me at the head of an army of Earthmen so that I may break out into the Overworld and there, by main force, make myself king over some nation that never did me wrong - murdering their natural lords and holding their throne as a bloody and foreign tyrant - now that I know myself, I do utterly abhor and renounce it as plain villainy. And second: I am the King's son of Narnia, Rilian, the only child of Caspian, Tenth of that name, whom some call Caspian the Seafarer. Therefore, Madam, it is my purpose, as it is also my duty, to depart suddenly from your Highness's court into my own country. Please it you to grant me and my friends safe conduct and a guide through your dark realm." Now the Witch said nothing at all, but moved gently across the room, always keeping her face and eyes very steadily towards the Prince. When she had come to a little ark set in the wall not far from the fireplace, she opened it, and took out first a handful of a green powder. This she threw on the fire. It did not blaze much, but a very sweet and drowsy smell came from it. And all through the conversation which followed, that smell grew stronger, and filled the room, and made it harder to think. Secondly, she took out a musical instrument rather like a mandolin. She began to play it with her fingers - a steady, monotonous thrumming that you didn't notice after a few minutes. But the less you noticed it, the more it got into your brain and your blood. This also made it hard to think. After she had thrummed for a time (and the sweet smell was now strong) she began speaking in a sweet, quiet voice. "Narnia?" she said. "Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name in your ravings. Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia." "Yes there is, though, Ma'am," said Puddleglum. "You see, I happen to have lived there all my life." "Indeed," said the Witch. "Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?" "Up there," said Puddleglum, stoutly, pointing overhead. "I - I don't know exactly where." "How?" said the Queen, with a kind, soft, musical laugh. "Is there a country up among the stones and mortar of the roof?" "No," said Puddleglum, struggling a little to get his breath. "It's in Overworld." "And what, or where, pray is this... how do you call it... Overworld?" "Oh, don't be so silly," said Scrubb, who was fighting hard against the enchantment of the sweet smell and the thrumming. "As if you didn't know! It's up above, up where you can see the sky and the sun and the stars. Why, you've been there yourself. We met you there." "I cry you mercy, little brother," laughed the Witch (you couldn't have heard a lovelier laugh). "I have no memory of that meeting. But we often meet our friends in strange places when we dream. And unless all dreamed alike, you must not ask them to remember it." "Madam," said the Prince sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of Narnia." "And shalt be, dear friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humouring a child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies." "We've been there, too," snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked. "And thou art Queen of Narnia too, I doubt not, pretty one," said the Witch in the same coaxing, half-mocking tone. "I'm nothing of the sort," said Jill, stamping her foot. "We come from another world." "Why, this is a prettier game than the other," said the Witch. "Tell us, little maid, where is this other world? What ships and chariots go between it and ours?" Of course a lot of things darted into Jill's head at once: Experiment House, Adela Pennyfather, her own home, radio-sets, cinemas, cars, aeroplanes, ration-books, queues. But they seemed dim and far away. (Thrum thrum - thrum - went the strings of the Witch's instrument.) Jill couldn't remember the names of the things in our world. And this time it didn't come into her head that she was being enchanted, for now the magic was in its full strength; and of course, the more enchanted you get, the more certain you feel that you are not enchanted at all. She found herself saying (and at the moment it was a relief to say): "No. I suppose that other world must be all a dream." "Yes. It is all a dream," said the Witch, always thrumming. "Yes, all a dream," said Jill. "There never was such a world," said the Witch. "No," said Jill and Scrubb, "never was such a world." "There never was any world but mine," said the Witch. "There never was any world but yours," said they. Puddleglum was still fighting hard. "I don't know rightly what you all mean by a world," he said, talking like a man who hasn't enough air. "But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won't make me forget Narnia; and the whole Overworld too. We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him for brightness." Puddleglum's words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like people newly awaked. "Why, there it is!" cried the Prince. "Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this honest Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could we have forgotten it? Of course we've all seen the sun." "By Jove, so we have!" said Scrubb. "Good for you, Puddleglum! You're the only one of us with any sense, I do believe." Then came the Witch's voice, cooing softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at three o'clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer afternoon; and it said: "What is this sun that you all speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?" "Yes, we jolly well do," said Scrubb. "Can you tell me what it's like?" asked the Witch (thrum, thrum, thrum, went the strings). "Please it your Grace," said the Prince, very coldly and politely. "You see that lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky." "Hangeth from what, my lord?" asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still thinking how to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: "You see? When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be, you cannot tell me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing; the sun is but a tale, a children's story." "Yes, I see now," said Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. "It must be so." And while she said this, it seemed to her to be very good sense. Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated, "There is no sun." And they all said nothing. She repeated, in a softer and deeper voice. "There is no sun." After a pause, and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together. "You are right. There is no sun." It was such a relief to give in and say it. "There never was a sun," said the Witch. "No. There never was a sun," said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children. For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was something she must remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed to take all the good out of her, she said: "There's Aslan." "Aslan?" said the Witch, quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. "What a pretty name! What does it mean?" "He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world," said Scrubb, "and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian." "What is a lion?" asked the Witch. "Oh, hang it all!" said Scrubb. "Don't you know? How can we describe it to her? Have you ever seen a cat?" "Surely," said the Queen. "I love cats." "Well, a lion is a little bit - only a little bit, mind you like a huge cat - with a mane. At least, it's not like a horse's mane, you know, it's more like a judge's wig. And it's yellow. And terrifically strong." The Witch shook her head. "I see," she said, "that we should do no better with your lion, as you call it, than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps, and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You've seen cats, and now you want a bigger and better cat, and it's to be called a lion. Well, 'tis a pretty makebelieve, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world. But even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince, that art a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys? Come, all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But, first, to bed; to sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams." The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down, their cheeks flushed, their eyes half closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment almost complete. But Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn't hurt him quite as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and coldblooded like a duck's. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough; and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once. First, the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh-wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made everyone's brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened their eyes. Secondly, the Witch, in a loud, terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using up till now, called out, "What are you doing? Dare to touch my fire again, mud-filth, and I'll turn the blood to fire inside your veins." Thirdly, the pain itself made Puddleglum's head for a moment perfectly clear and he knew exactly what he really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving certain kinds of magic. "One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say." "Oh, hurrah! Good old Puddleglum!" cried Scrubb and Jill. But the Prince shouted suddenly, "Ware! Look to the Witch." When they did look their hair nearly stood on end. The instrument dropped from her hands. Her arms appeared to be fastened to her sides. Her legs were intertwined with each other, and her feet had disappeared. The long green train of her skirt thickened and grew solid, and seemed to be all one piece with the writhing green pillar of her interlocked legs. And that writhing green pillar was curving and swaying as if it had no joints, or else were all joints. Her head was thrown far back and while her nose grew longer and longer, every other part of her face seemed to disappear, except her eyes. Huge flaming eyes they were now, without brows or lashes. All this takes time to write down; it happened so quickly that there was only just time to see it. Long before there was time to do anything, the change was complete, and the great serpent which the Witch had become, green as poison, thick as Jill's waist, had flung two or three coils of its loathsome body round the Prince's legs. Quick as lightning another great loop darted round, intending to pinion his sword-arm to his side. But the Prince was just in time. He raised his arms and got them clear: the living knot closed only round his chest - ready to crack his ribs like firewood when it drew tight. The Prince caught the creature's neck in his left hand, trying to squeeze it till it choked. This held its face (if you could call it a face) about five inches from his own. The forked tongue flickered horribly in and out, but could not reach him. With his right hand he drew back his sword for the strongest blow he could give. Meanwhile Scrubb and Puddleglum had drawn their weapons and rushed to his aid. All three blows fell at once: Scrubb's (which did not even pierce the scales and did no good) on the body of the snake below the Prince's hand, but the Prince's own blow and Puddleglum's both on its neck. Even that did not quite kill it, though it began to loosen its hold on Rilian's legs and chest. With repeated blows they hacked off its head. The horrible thing went on coiling and moving like a bit of wire long after it had died; and the floor, as you may imagine, was a nasty mess. The Prince, when he had breath, said, "Gentlemen, I thank you." Then the three conquerors stood staring at one another and panting, without another word, for a long time. Jill had very wisely sat down and was keeping quiet; she was saying to herself, "I do hope I don't faint or blub - or do anything idiotic." "My royal mother is avenged," said Rilian presently. "This is undoubtedly the same worm that I pursued in vain by the fountain in the forest of Narnia, so many years ago. All these years I have been the slave of my mother's slayer. Yet I am glad, gentlemen, that the foul Witch took to her serpent form at the last. It would not have suited well either with my heart or with my honour to have slain a woman. But look to the lady." He meant Jill. "I'm all right, thanks," said she. "Damsel," said the Prince, bowing to her. "You are of a high courage, and therefore, I doubt not, you come of a noble blood in your own world. But come, friends. Here is some wine left. Let us refresh ourselves and each pledge his fellows. After that, to our plans." "A jolly good idea, Sir," said Scrubb.

[mercerislandbooks]

Fall Book Preview 2018

It was a tough year for journalists with the rise of fake news, presidential name-calling, layoffs, and increasing threats worldwide. Authors, on the other hand, wrote from a safer position. They had the luxury of hiding longer in their offices. Writers and editors had a better chance of stepping back from the brutal news cycle and taking the longer view. 

That time to breathe was a good thing. The book publishing industry’s deeper immersion in its work will be on full display this fall, which promises to be a good one for book junkies. From political exposés to psychological suspense to locally-inspired cookbooks to iconic memoirs, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you our fall tables will be a reader’s feast. Here’s a small sliver of what’s coming, and a few special preorder perks you’ll want to know about.

Lake Success by Gary Shteyngart (Sept 4): Narcissistic, hilariously self-deluded, and divorced from the real world as most of us know it, hedge-fund manager Barry Cohen oversees $2.4 billion in assets. Deeply stressed by an SEC investigation and by his three-year-old son’s diagnosis of autism, he flees New York on a Greyhound bus in search of a simpler, more romantic life with his old college sweetheart. Meanwhile, his super-smart wife, Seema—a driven first-generation American who craved the picture-perfect life that comes with wealth—has her own demons to face. How these two flawed characters navigate the Shteyngartian chaos of their own making is at the heart of this piercing exploration of the 0.1 Percent, a poignant tale of familial longing and an unsentimental ode to what really makes America great.

Fear: Trump in the White House by Bob Woodward (Sept 11): With authoritative reporting honed through eight presidencies from Nixon to Obama, author Bob Woodward reveals in unprecedented detail the harrowing life inside President Donald Trump’s White House and precisely how he makes decisions on major foreign and domestic policies. Woodward draws from hundreds of hours of interviews with firsthand sources, meeting notes, personal diaries, files and documents. The focus is on the explosive debates and the decision-making in the Oval Office, the Situation Room, Air Force One and the White House residence.

Cooking from Scratch: 120 Recipes for Colorful, Seasonal Food from PCC Community Markets by PCC Community Markets (Sept 18): Eating healthy, local food prepared from scratch is at the heart of this cookbook from PCC Community Markets. Going strong for sixty-five years, they are respected and appreciated throughout our area for their commitment to local producers, sustainable food practices, and healthful, organic seasonal foods. You will find 120 recipes organized for every meal of the day, including many of PCC's most popular dishes, such as their treasured Emerald City Salad. The book also includes cooking, storing, and shopping tips—everything you need to know to make the most of the local bounty.

Heartland: A Memoir of Working Hard and Being Broke in the Richest Country on Earth by Sarah Smarsh (Sept 18): During Sarah Smarsh’s turbulent childhood in Kansas in the 1980s and 1990s, the forces of cyclical poverty and the country’s changing economic policies solidified her family’s place among the working poor. By telling the story of her life and the lives of the people she loves, Smarsh challenges us to look more closely at the class divide in our country and examine the myths about people thought to be less because they earn less. Combining memoir with powerful analysis and cultural commentary, Heartland is an uncompromising look at class, identity, and the particular perils of having less in a country known for its excess.

An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green (Sept 25): In his much-anticipated debut novel, Hank Green spins a sweeping, cinematic tale about a young woman who becomes an overnight YouTube celebrity before realizing she's part of something bigger, and stranger, than anyone could have possibly imagined. Both entertaining and relevant, An Absolutely Remarkable Thing grapples with big themes, including how the social internet is changing fame, rhetoric, and radicalization; how our culture deals with fear and uncertainty; and how vilification and adoration spring from the same dehumanization that follows a life in the public eye.

***If you preorder An Absolutely Remarkable Thing from us before September 24th, you’ll receive an exclusive enamel pin as long as supplies last.

Transcription by Kate Atkinson (Sept 25): In a dramatic story of WWII betrayal and loyalty, eighteen-year old Juliet Armstrong is reluctantly recruited into the world of espionage. Sent to an obscure department of MI5 tasked with monitoring the comings and goings of British Fascist sympathizers, she discovers the work to be by turns both tedious and terrifying. But after the war has ended, she presumes the events of those years have been relegated to the past forever. Ten years later, now a radio producer at the BBC, Juliet is unexpectedly confronted by figures from her past. A different war is being fought now, on a different battleground, but Juliet finds herself once more under threat. 

The Fifth Risk by Michael Lewis (Oct 2): What are the consequences if the people given control over our government have no idea how it works? "The election happened," remembers Elizabeth Sherwood-Randall, then deputy secretary of the Department of Energy. "And then there was radio silence." Across all departments, similar stories were playing out: Trump appointees were few and far between; those that did show up were shockingly uninformed about the functions of their new workplace. Some even threw away the briefing books that had been prepared for them. Michael Lewis’s narrative takes us into the engine rooms of a government under attack by its own leaders. If there are dangerous fools in this book, there are also heroes, unsung, of course. They are the linchpins of the system―those public servants whose knowledge, dedication, and proactivity keep the machinery running. Michael Lewis finds them, and he asks them what keeps them up at night.

Killing Commendatore by Haruki Murakami (translated by Philip Gabriel and Ted Goossen) (Oct 9): A tour de force of love and loneliness, war and art—as well as a loving homage to The Great Gatsby, Murakami’s latest follows a thirty-something portrait painter in Tokyo abandoned by his wife and holed up in the mountain home of a famous artist. When he discovers a previously unseen painting in the attic, he unintentionally opens a circle of mysterious circumstances. To close it, he must complete a journey that involves a mysterious ringing bell, a two-foot-high physical manifestation of an Idea, a dapper businessman who lives across the valley, a precocious thirteen-year-old girl, a Nazi assassination attempt during World War II in Vienna, a pit in the woods behind the artist’s home, and an underworld haunted by Double Metaphors. 

***If you preorder Killing Commendatore from us by October 8th, you’ll receive a free exclusive tote bag as long as supplies last.

The Witch Elm by Tana French (Oct 9): Toby is a happy-go-lucky charmer who's dodged a scrape at work. He’s out celebrating with friends when the night takes a turn that will change his life—he surprises two burglars who beat him and leave him for dead. Struggling to recover from his injuries, beginning to understand that he might never be the same man again, he takes refuge at his family's ancestral home to care for his dying uncle Hugo. Then a skull is found in the trunk of an elm tree in the garden and as detectives close in, Toby is forced to face the possibility that his past may not be what he’s always believed. 

Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott (Oct 16): "All truth is paradox," Lamott writes, "and this turns out to be a reason for hope. If you arrive at a place in life that is miserable, it will change. That is the time when we must pledge not to give up but "to do what Wendell Berry wrote: 'Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts.'" In her profound and funny style, Lamott calls for each of us to rediscover the nuggets of hope and wisdom that are buried within us that can make life sweeter than we ever imagined. Divided into short chapters that explore life's essential truths, Almost Everything pinpoints these moments of insight as it shines an encouraging light forward.

Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver (Oct 16): Willa Knox has always prided herself on being the embodiment of responsibility for her family. Which is why it’s so unnerving that she’s arrived at middle age with nothing to show for her hard work but a stack of unpaid bills and an inherited brick home in Vineland, New Jersey, that is literally falling apart. The dilapidated house is also home to her ailing father-in-law and her two grown children: her stubborn, free-spirited daughter, Tig, and her debt-ridden son Zeke, who has arrived with his unplanned baby in the wake of a life-shattering development. In an act of desperation, Willa investigates the history of her home, hoping that the local historical preservation society might fund the direly needed repairs. Through her research, Willa discovers a kindred spirit from the 1880s, Thatcher Greenwood. A science teacher with a lifelong passion for honest investigation, Thatcher finds himself under siege in his community for telling the truth: his employer forbids him to speak of the exciting new theory recently published by Charles Darwin. Unsheltered is the story of two families, in two centuries, who live at the corner of Sixth and Plum, as they navigate the challenges of surviving a world in the throes of major cultural shifts. 

Becoming by Michelle Obama (Nov 13): As First Lady of the United States of America—the first African-American to serve in that role—Michelle Obama helped create a welcoming and inclusive White House, established herself as a powerful advocate for women and girls in the U.S. and around the world, changed the ways that families pursue healthier and more active lives, and stood with her husband as he led America through some of its most harrowing moments. Along the way, she showed us a few dance moves, crushed Carpool Karaoke, and raised two down-to-earth daughters under an unforgiving media glare. In her memoir, Michelle chronicles the experiences that have shaped her, from her childhood on the South Side of Chicago to her years as an executive balancing the demands of motherhood and work to her time spent at the world’s most famous address. 

–Miriam