#lulu reads when the angels left the old country

[libraryleopard]

Young adult historical fantasy inspired by Jewish history, religion, and folklore

An angel and a demon immigrate from a small shtetl in Poland to America, encountering supernatural and human threats along the way

Character-focused story about friendship, community, exploitation, immigration, and love

Jewish cast of characters including an agender main character (the angel) and a human lesbian girl

[samarashoot]

a tentative 2023 reading list (bolded = books i already own and therefore should start with) (crossing them off as i finish them)

fiction:

babel, or the necessity of violence: an arcane history of the oxford translators' revolution – r.f. kuang

the best liars in riverview – lin thompson

bitter – akwaeke emezi

devil house – john darnielle

luda – grant morrison

a memory called empire – arkady martine

orlando – virginia woolf

piranesi – susanna clarke

the return of the king – j.r.r. tolkein

the summer book – tove jansson

a tale for the time being – ruth ozeki

an unkindness of ghosts – rivers solomon

the vanishing half – brit bennett

a wrinkle in time – madeleine l'engle

when the angels left the old country – sacha lamb

nonfiction:

all boys aren't blue – george m. johnson

art as experience – john dewey

crits: a student manual – terry barrett

cruising utopia: the then and there of queer futurity – josé esteban muñoz

faux queen: a life in drag – monique jenkinson

major labels: a history of popular music in seven genres – kelefa sanneh

neo-burlesque: striptease as transformation – lynn sally

please kill me: the uncensored oral history of punk – legs mcneil & gillian mccain

queercore: how to punk a revolution – liam warfield

raising free people: unschooling as liberation and healing work – akilah s. richards

releasing the imagination: essays on education, the arts, and social change – maxine greene

side affects: on being trans and feeling bad – hil malatino

they can't kill us until they kill us – hanif abdurraqib

ties that bind: familial homophobia and its consequences – sarah schulman

why fish don't exist – lulu miller

comics:

ducks – kate beaton

nausicaa of the valley of the wind – hayao miyazaki

nimona – nd stevenson

on a sunbeam – tillie walden

the prince and the dressmaker – jen wang

poetry:

deaf republic – ilya kaminsky

don't call us dead – danez smith

home is not a country – safia elhillo

postcolonial love poem – natalie díaz

salmon song and other wet poems – walt curtis

picture books:

the nightlife of jacuzzi gaskett – brontez purnell

we are water protectors – carole lindstrom

when we were alone – david a. robertson

the cot in the living room – hilda eunice burgos

x: a fabulous child's story – lois gould

[adsdragonlover]

You Matter To Me

Coda to 15x19

Wc: 2k, Tags: fluff, pie, happy ending, first kiss

Also on ao3

It’s been three weeks since they won, but Dean still isn’t happy.

He’s been driving around the country, searching for something he knows he won’t find. The thing he wants that he knows he can’t have. He lost his chance.

Eventually, he ends up at a diner.

Lulu’s Pies, it says in softly glowing neon cursive above the building.

The bell above the door chimes as Dean pushes it open and steps inside. It’s pleasantly warm compared to the cold night outside, but Dean still feels cold. At least on the inside.

He heads to the bar and sits down on one of the stools.

With a cursory and habitual glance around the diner, he realizes he’s the only one here. At least the only customer.

That makes sense, he supposes. It’s barely 3 AM and the diner is plopped in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The only other signs of life in the area are the long winding road outside and the shitty old gas station a few miles back.

To be honest, Dean doesn’t quite know why he came here. Maybe he needed a break from the drive.

He wanted to get some pie - the place was literally named for its pies - but that was mainly out of habit rather than actual desire. It’s been hard to want any of the things he used to enjoy, not since…

He cuts off that train of thought with a scowl to himself.

The waitress, a sweet looking woman with long, wavy, dark blonde hair and deep blue eyes approaches Dean from the other side of the bar. “What can I get for you, sugar?” she asks with a warm voice, rich with a soft southern accent. It reminds him, inexplicably, of his mother.

“I-“ Dean stops. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly.

The waitress, Jenna, according to her name tag, smiles sympathetically. “That’s alright,” she says sweetly. “It can be hard to know what you want, especially when you lose someone dear to you.”

Dean frowns. “How did you-” He begins.

Jenna smiles sadly at Dean. “There are some things a mother just knows, and heartbreak is one of them.” Her eyes are understanding, and painfully blue - too close to Castiel’s eyes for comfort. Dean looks away. “You look like you could use a slice of pie,” she says, handing him a paper dessert menu, specifically made for this week. “They’re all made from scratch, and made from the heart. Take all the time you need, honey. I’ll be back with a cup of coffee for you, it’s on the house.”

Jenna’s words soothe something raw and stinging inside Dean, and he offers her a small smile as she heads back into the kitchen.

He looks over the menu with a tired sigh. Not too long ago, Dean would’ve killed to eat here. All the pies sound awesome, and something about the waitress makes it very clear she puts effort into her pies.

Still, his heart isn’t really in it.

When Jenna comes back with a mug of coffee and a smile, Dean nods thankfully, but shakes his head when she asks if he’s ready to order. “I just- I need more time,” he says.

He isn’t just talking about the food. Not anymore.

Jenna nods. “Just give me a call when you’re ready, hun,” and then she’s gone.

Dean isn’t really sure how long he sits there, staring blankly at the dessert menu, coffee warming up one of his hands, his soul feeling achingly empty.

He's snapped out of his stupor by the sound of the bell above the door chiming to indicate someone else entering.

Dean’s eyes are glued to the menu still, reading the blurb under Heartbreak Pie. It's a black bottomed cherry pie, and the picture stops him.

He hears footsteps walk over, but he ignores them. They come closer until the stranger sits down on the stool to the right of Dean.

Dean feels irritation flash through him briefly, the diner is completely empty, and Dean’s positive he’s radiating “leave me alone” vibes, but for some reason the stranger decides to sit next to him anyway.

The irritation is gone as fast as it appeared however, Dean just doesn’t have the energy. Not anymore.

A couple days after they’d won, after Jack had left and Sam had reunited with a newly brought back Eileen, Dean had broken down in the bunker.

He’d lost it a little, had cried and cried and cried for days. Begging and pleading and praying. But Cas hadn’t come back.

Not long after, the sadness had turned to anger. Anger at Cas, for making the deal in the first place. For loving Dean so much it killed him. For telling him and then leaving before Dean could say it back. Anger at Jack, for dying and causing the deal, for becoming God and not bringing Cas back, for leaving Dean just like Cas had, just like Sam.

But mostly, Dean had been angry with himself. For not saying it back when Cas told him, for just standing there, for being the reason Cas died, for being too stubborn and too scared to say anything sooner, back when he’d had the chance. He was angry at himself for not being everything that Cas apparently thought he was.

Those few days were fueled entirely by anger in Dean’s opinion. He knew, deep down, that the anger was caused by love, but he didn’t want to think about that. Because if Cas was right, if he was right about Dean then there really wasn’t any good reason why Dean had never said anything.

Those few days were fueled entirely by anger. He knew, deep down, that the anger was caused by love, but he didn’t want to think about that. Because if Cas was right, if he was right about Dean then there really wasn’t any good reason why Dean had never said anything.

Nowadays though, Dean just felt numb. He drives around in Baby with the hopes of bringing something back into his life, but nothing helps.

He almost missed it, he was so lost in thought, and he barely caught the tail end of Jenna asking the stranger what she could “-get for you, dear?”

“I’ll have a slice of cherry pie,” came the low and gravelly voice, and Dean’s heart stopped, “and a slice of apple pie for my friend here,” Castiel finished.

Dean could barely hear Jenna’s acknowledgement and departure over the sudden ringing in his ears and the unavoidable bloom of hope in his chest.

He wants to look over, he does. He wants to see for himself if it really is Cas. Or if he's finally going crazy. But he can't move. He's frozen in his spot.

And then Cas’ hand comes to rest on Dean’s shoulder, right where his handprint had been, both as a scar that was no longer there, and as a bloody stain on a jacket Dean kept in the trunk of the impala for safekeeping. That movement, that touch, it was undeniably Castiel, and it forced Dean into action.

He turns his head, and looks his best friend in the eyes for the first time in what feels like forever.

And it's Castiel. Undoubtedly. He has the same messy hair, the same stubble, the same beautiful blue eyes, same dirty trench coat, the same stubbornly crooked blue tie.

“Cas?” Dean croaks, voice wobbling, painfully close to cracking.

Castiel smiles softly and the sight of it brings endless relief to Dean. And when Cas responds with, “Yes. Hello, Dean.” The relief doubles until it floods over Dean so completely his hands begin to shake.

“Cas,” he starts, voice trembling almost as much as his hands. “I- you- how-?”

“Oh look, our pie,” Cas says, cutting Dean off as their slices of pie are placed down in front of them.

“Cas, listen-” Dean begins quietly.

“Dean,” Cas interrupts. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk, I promise. Just eat your pie.”

And maybe, some other time, Dean would’ve been worried, would’ve been suspicious over Cas’ clear redirection. But he isn't. Because Castiel’s eyes are earnest and honest.

And Dean suddenly understands. Cas doesn't want to talk about it yet. He doesn't know how Dean is going to respond. He wants to have this first, just a quiet, peaceful moment.

So Dean nods, and begins to eat his pie.

It is really good pie, especially a regular apple pie, and it's probably the best apple pie he’d had in years. Mentally, Dean decides to give Jenna a large tip.

He’s halfway through eating his pie when he can’t do it anymore. Not with the way he could feel Cas watching him contentedly, fondly.

“Cas, listen, I-”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas says, cutting him off again, but Dean can’t be mad at it. He just needs to keep going.

“No,” he says sternly, looking stubbornly down at his half-eaten slice of pie. “No, it’s not Cas. It’s not alright, and I need to say this.”

He looks back up at Cas and waits for his response. When Cas nods in understanding, Dean takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes to steady himself briefly before opening them back up and looking Cas in the eyes. “Cas, I love you,” Dean says quietly. “You gotta know I love you too.”

Cas’ eyes widen slightly before his expression softens to something so fond it would probably make Dean uncomfortable had it been coming from anyone else. “I know,” he says with a smile that’s almost a grin.

“You kno-?” Then Dean gets it. “Oh you little shit,” he laughs. “You did not know, you don’t get to Han Solo me, you asshat,” Dean says with a wide grin.

Cas chuckles and the sound warms Dean up from the inside out. “My apologies, Dean. It seemed fitting and I figured you’d appreciate it.” Cas ducks his head slightly, avoiding eye contact, though he’s still smiling.

“Hey,” Dean says, and he reaches out and grabs Cas’ hand. “There’s no need to apologize, man.” Dean’s grinning too, and, distantly, he figures he should probably make an effort to stop calling Cas “man” and “buddy”, considering the fact that he’s in love with the stupid angel.

Cas’ smile widens and he looks back up, meeting Dean’s gaze as he turns his hand over and laces their fingers together almost hesitantly.

The flood of warmth the action brings Dean, as well as the hesitation in Cas’ eyes, brings Dean to squeeze their hands automatically, reassuringly.

All the hesitance in Cas’ expression melts away, and he practically beams at Dean. “You should finish your pie, Dean,” he suggests softly.

“So should you,” Dean points out.

Cas chuckles again and shakes his head. “It only tastes like molecules to me. I’ll get a to-go box for it and you can finish it for me later,” he says, and the ‘later’ in that sentence fills Dean with joy.

They aren’t over. There’s going to be a “later” for the two of them.

He grins at Cas and squeezes his hand before turning back to his delicious pie.

It’s after he finishes it that he gets an idea, and he grins. “Hey Cas, you wanna taste it? It’s pretty good.”

Castiel frowns and does his confused little head tilt that Dean has always secretly found unbearably cute. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have to keep that a secret anymore, and the thought makes him smile.

“Dean, I don’t understand,” Cas says slowly, “there isn’t any pie le-” and then the look on Dean’s face must sink in, because he cuts off with a slowly growing and a little shy smile. “...yes,” he says finally. “I would like a taste.”

“Good,” Dean says, and then he reaches over with both hands, wrapping one around Cas’ arm and cupping the back of his neck with the other as he pulls his angel into a kiss.

Castiel melts into it, and Dean feels a little like he’s glowing from the inside out, he’s so happy.

When they pull away, Dean is still grinning. “Well?” he says. “Did you like the taste?”

Cas is wearing a matching grin. “Hmmm,” he says with mock thoughtfulness. “I’m not sure, I think we should do it again, so I can have another taste.”

God, Dean is in love.

They meet again in the middle for another kiss.

Dean’s face almost hurts from smiling so much after such a long time of not smiling at all. And he knows, as they hold each other close in the pie diner, that they have the rest of their lives to spend together.

And Dean is happy.

Tag list! Ask to be added or removed!

@dreamnovak @tearsofgrace @bluebell-24 @rambleoncas

[noladyme]

Skip To My Lou, My Darling - Chapter 5, Bloody Demons I

Disclaimer: I posted this story a few days ago, hating it, and regretting it the minute it was up. I re-wrote it, and hope you’ll like it.

The road so far…

Waitress. School teacher. Bartender. Hunter. Lulu has come a long way since she first met the Winchesters, including the father, John. Having left behind the occult for a life of peace, she was ripped out of it, when – once again – the Winchesters came in to her life. Realizing she is in the life now – for good – she also made a decision for herself. To live that life without the only man she has ever truly cared for. Both to keep him and his brother safe from leviathans, angels and demons; but also, because she doesn’t trust that her feelings for Dean are true – and not part of some higher plan set up by celestial powers.

Our story continues in season 8

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added) @edonaspanca​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​

I 

You’d be surprised how much info you can get in a library. This statement might seem ridiculous, because – of course – a library holds all the knowledge in the world. But there’s more than what you can find in books. There’s peoplewatching.

If you look at what people check out, you’ll learn a lot about them. That middle aged woman checking out a book on auto repairs – her car broke down, and he husband usually takes care of those kinds of things; but now he’s left her for a younger woman. The teenage boy with the masses of comic books in his arms – odds are there is at least one My Little Pony comic among them, that he’s too embarrassed to buy at a store; so he goes to the library to get it, hiding it among comics about big breasted women and superheroes. The woman sitting alone at a table with a massive paper cup of black coffee; surrounded by books on local history and papers and notes on the occult – if you came into the library on that specific day; that was me. And I was hunting a ghost.

I’d spent more than a year salting and burning my way across the states; avoiding any real fights, and sticking to the easier and more obvious cases, where all I needed was to open a grave, and take care of the bones. Managing to convince my ex, Pete – who was still reeling from the traumatic temporary memory loss he’d suffered, after being kidnapped by leviathans – to send my belongings to my friends in San Francisco; I was now free to disappear for good. No strings attached; save for the occasional call to Raul – letting him know I was alive, and still serving beer in Alaska. In reality, I was in Hartford, near Sioux Falls, South Dakota; having just picked up a box of old papers stood in the basement of a good acquaintance.

“How was your visit with the good sheriff?”, a female voice asked me. I jumped in my seat; having been deeply invested in a piece of paper scribbled over with rantings of what seemed like a madman – who’s every tenth word was balls. “Jesus Christ, Tamara”, I hissed. “You scared the crap out of me!”. My friend sat down across from me, and took the paper from my hand. “Bobby Singer… I still can’t believe what happened to him”, Tamara said sadly.

I rested my elbow on the table, and took a sip from my coffee. “When did you last see him?”, I asked. Tamara’s face was ghosted with sadness, before she met my eyes. “Years ago. Back when Isaac…”. She didn’t finish the sentence. “You never told me what happened to him”, I said. “I mean, you don’t have to…”. She smiled slightly. “It’s all right”, she said. “Demons. We were working on taking out a whole group of them, when… he didn’t make it”. She sighed. “Bobby was there; along with some younger lads… Sam and Dean Winchester. Heard of them?”.

It had been a long time since I’d heard those names. Even Jody didn’t mention them to me, when I checked in with her – as she’d insisted I do weekly, after that one time I called her from the ER, telling her about a tulpa in Minnesota; that I needed her to have the brothers check out. I’d had no idea what to do with it; and had ended up with a nasty gash down my ribs. She’d told me she hadn’t been in touch with them for months, and didn’t know how to reach them at the moment. I’d thanked her, but when she heard the sadness in my voice, she’d insisted on picking me up, and I’d spent a few days on her couch; eating lasagna and watching daytime tv. I’d been too afraid to decline, when she used her mom-voice on me.

I swallowed hard. “You worked with them?”, I muttered. “Only that once”, Tamara said. “Why, you know them?”. The corner of my lip twitched. “I saw that!”, Tamara gasped. “What?”, I croaked. “Which one…?”, she whispered. “Sam… he’s got that tall broody thing going”. She smirked at me as I looked away. “Oh… Dean… Sure you didn’t catch anything?”. “Tammy!”, I hissed. “Don’t you Tammy me!”, she retorted. “That car… is it to compensate; or does he not need that…?”. I met her eyes, and gave her a crooked smile. She grinned widely at me. I shook my head. “I have work to do”, I muttered.

Forcing myself to ignore the memory of Dean and his car – and Dean in his car; with me on his lap – I returned to the 1950 death of a young woman, who had ever since been seen, once a year, walking over a bridge near a lover’s lane. Tamara sighed. “I need to get to Kansas”. “That vampire nest?”, I asked, taking another large sip of my coffee. She nodded. “You sure you don’t want to join me? Girls trip?”, she asked. “You have all the help you need up there; and I never took down a vamp before. I’d just get in the way”, I answered. “But thank you for the ride here”, I added.

She stood up. “You, my friend, need a car!”. “Yeah… Digging up old graves and reading weird books doesn’t exactly pay well”, I muttered. The last car I’d had, had broken down three months earlier. She looked at me with worried eyes. “You can’t keep hitch-hiking across the country, love”, she said. “Bloody dangerous, that is”. “I’ll be fine. Really”, I smiled. I stood up, and hugged my friend goodbye; and promised to call if anything came up, she needed to help out with.

I took a bus back to my motel, and settled in for the night; with a beer and some day-old pizza. My burner-phone buzzed; and recognizing the number, I picked up. “Hey, Jody”, I said. “Did I forget something at your place?”. “Hey, sweetie. Uhm…”. “What? Jody…”, I demanded. “I just had a visit from a weird guy in a flasher-coat… he was looking for you”, she said. Castiel, I thought to myself – my heart leaping from my chest. “What did he… Did he hurt you?”, I asked; by instinct reaching for the angel sword. “No… But he wanted to know where you were”. She sighed. “Look, I don’t mind being your switchboard receptionist; god knows, things around here can get downright dull. But this guy…”. I chewed my lip. “I’m sorry, Jody… Did you tell him where I was?”, I asked. She scoffed. “You won’t even tell me yourself. How could I?”.

I sighed; unsure whether it was in relief, or something else. “You know, I’m aware you’re close by… I could just check all motels in a 40-mile radius for check-ins by classic rock superstars…”, Jody said, a smile in her voice. “Going full cop on me?”, I grinned. “I don’t use those anymore… too obvious”. “Burlesque names then?”, she said. “You caught me…”, I replied. As it was, I was checked in as Justinia Timberlake; going with boybands – for reasons I didn’t want to admit to myself. “Thanks, ma’…”. “Well, that makes me feel old… Anyway, he said he’d be back later tonight. Needed to find you. Do you want to be found by him?”.

I took a deep breath, pondering the question. No, I didn’t want to be found by the person who’d let leviathans loose on the world; causing me to be almost eaten by one 18 months ago. Yes, I wanted to see my friend; to know he was ok. He hadn’t hurt Jody to get to me, so maybe he was good Cass again. I sighed. “When he comes, tell him… Tell him I’ll be in the shower at the Motel 6 in Hartford. Room 13”. I’d know when he arrived if I could trust him. “That sounds… Ok, I’ll tell him. Be careful, Lulu”. “I will. Bye, Jody”. I hung up; and began preparations.

---

Bobby’s journal had helped me out quite a bit in the last year, helping me keep under the radar by pointing out which motels were off the beaten path; and which monsters to stay clear of. Even after it seemed the leviathans had disappeared, I still kept well away from anyone and everything that might put me in contact with angels and demons – and the Winchesters for that matter.

Another thing it had taught me was the sigil I was currently writing on the wall; while still wincing in pain from the gash in my palm I’d cut to draw blood. All my belongings were in my backpack – which I was wearing – and my sword was in my hand. I was ready to repel a crazy angel; and to skip town quickly. I took a deep breath, and readied myself.

After what seemed like forever – just standing next to a bloody scribbling on a wall – I felt a gush of wind; and Castiel stood in front of me. He was covering his eyes with one hand, and holding out a towel with the other. The sight brought joyous tears to my eyes.

“Cass…”, I breathed. The angel carefully parted the fingers over his eyes – and satisfied that I was indeed dressed – he dropped the towel, and smiled at me. “Lulu. It is good to see you”. I dropped my sword, and leapt over to embrace my friend. Castiel reacted as he’d always done when I showed him affection; by tensing up, and gently patting my head. He smelled like old librarian mixed with fresh air, and – for some reason – musk and gunpowder. He’d been with them.

I let go of him, and stepped back. “What happened? Are you ok?”, I asked. The angel smiled amiably. “Yes. I am… myself again”, he said. “I have to apologize for our last meeting. I was… different”. I gave him a crooked smile. “I wish I could say it was water under the bridge, but you did kind of bad-touch me”, I said. “Not sexually, I mean… but still”. Cass chuckled. It was a strange – almost human – reaction. “Yes, I carved words into your bones. It is also why I haven’t been able to find you”.

I took off my backpack, and got out the small first aid kit I had in it. Castiel frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t heal you. I need to save my strength”. I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve been taking care of my own wounds for over a year”. “Yes, that is what others have told us…”. My breath hitched, and I tried to seem indifferent. “Us?”, I croaked; and began running a bandage around my hand. “Yes”, Cass nodded. “Me, Sam… and Dean. We’ve been looking for you for a few weeks. We need… your book. Bobby Singer’s book”. Just the book. Of course, it was just that. “We are working on… something”. I let out a scoffing laugh. “Well call me not surprised”, I said.

Cass stepped towards me. “So… you’ll give me the book?”. I narrowed my eyes at him. “No”. “No?”, Cass retorted with a confused look at me. “That’s right”, I smiled. “It’s mine”. “But… we need it”.

I took a deep breath; and made a decision. “Where the book goes, I go… So, I’ll go with you”. Castiel’s eyes lit up. “You will? That’s… good. I think”, he smiled. “I can take you right away”. He stepped towards me. “Wait, stop!”, I said. Cass halted. “Where?”. “Lawrence, Kansas. It’s a safe place, don’t worry”, the angel smiled.

I looked down at my feet. I was wearing my boots; that was good. I packed up my backpack, and put it on my back. I picked up the box of Bobby’s old papers; but Cass took them from me, so I wouldn’t have to carry them. “Ok… let’s go”, I croaked.

Castiel lifted an arm, and walked towards me; putting his hand on my shoulder.

---

We were standing by a large mound with what looked like an old factory building seemingly growing out of it. My legs felt like jelly, and Cass grabbed my arm to steady me. “We’re here”, he said. “Where’s here?”, I asked breathily. “I’ll show you”, Cass smiled. We walked up a small road, and passed a black car I recognized from my past – and my dreams and nightmares. Cass led me to a metal door sprouting from the mound. “It’s inside”, he muttered, and opened the screeching door for me.

I stepped inside and was met by a dark spiral staircase leading downwards. Castiel walked ahead of me; which I was thankful for, as I didn’t trust my own legs, and would rather be caught by him, than fall and break my neck. Suddenly a warm light hit me, and I stepped out on a balcony overlooking a large room outfitted with a large table made out as a map. The scent of library hit me, and I understood why Castiel had smelled the way he did when I hugged him. The large room was warm and inviting; but also looked very official, with it’s filing cabinets, and papers on the table.

Castiel walked ahead of me down another flight of stairs, and put the box of papers on the mapped table. “I’m back!”, he called out. “About time!”, a voice that sent shivers down my spine growled. “Please tell us you got something. At least dinner”. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the time to get food for you”, Cass said, and walked towards a large archway leading to another room further inside the bunker – as I decided this place was. “Dude, I gave you 20 bucks for burgers!”.

I considered turning around and leaving. I screamed at myself internally to just haul ass up the stairs, and never come back. But I couldn’t.

Castiel stood in the archway, and looked up at me. “I brought the journal… And a guest”. “You shouldn’t bring people here”, I heard Sam’s voice. My heart pounded, as I heard footsteps across hardwood floor; and then my 6’4 friend stood in the archway with the angel; looking the direction he was. His jaw instantly dropped, and his eyes sparkled.

“I want my 20 bucks back, dude”, Dean said as he joined the other two. “I could eat a…”. He looked up. “Lou…”. Castiel frowned. “You can’t eat…”. “Shut up”, Dean croaked, stepping down the few stairs into the large concrete floored room.

I took a gasping breath; having to remind myself to breathe at all. “Hi…”, I rasped. Dean seemed unsure what to say. “Hey…?”. I began descending the stairs into the room; taking care to hit every step just so, so I wouldn’t trip. Before I hit the last step; Dean took four long strides towards me – and threw his arms around me – holding me tight against him. I put my arms around his neck, and he lifted me down the last steps. Musk, gunpowder, whiskey – Dean. My warm, constantly five o’clock shadowed, strong; yet so fragile, Dean.

I had to tear myself from him; taking short breaths, and trying desperately not to inhale him even further. It was agony. His eyes where as deep and soulful as ever, and the corner of his lip lifted; giving him an expression I couldn’t define as whether being relief, joy or pain – or maybe all three at once.

“Lulu?”, Sam croaked from behind me. I turned around, and threw myself into his arms, earning a spin in the air, as he lifted me. “Hi, Sammy”, I breathed. He squeezed me tightly. “Air!”, I gasped. “Sorry”, Sam chuckled, and put me down; before stroking my cheek.

All four of us stood for a moment, before Castiel cleared his throat. “Well, Lulu is here now. She has the book”, he said. “We can get on with our work”. “Just give us a moment here, Cass”, Sam said. “How are you, Lulu? We’ve been looking for you”. ”You shouldn’t have”, I muttered. “I know, you made that pretty clear last time we heard from you. But…”, Sam began. “We need Bobby’s book”, Dean said; having stepped up next to me. Right, the book.

I raised a brow at him. “My book. And you can’t have it”, I said. Dean frowned. “But… we need it”, he said. “So do I”, I retorted. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why does it feel like we’ve had this conversation before?”. “Because we did, agent Osbourne”, I chuckled. “Right”, he smiled.

Sam – who apparently just needed a bucket of popcorn for the entertainment he was getting from our conversation – stifled a smile. “Lulu, we’re working on something pretty big here”, he said. “What?”, I asked. “Saving humanity”, Dean said. “Again?”, I sighed. Sam let out a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t be us if it wasn’t, right?”.

I walked up the stairs into the other room, which walls were covered in filing cabinets and books. “What is this place?”, I asked, in awe. Sam followed me into the room. “This is The Men of Letter’s bunker”. “Who are they?”. “Us… now”, Dean shrugged. “We’re kind of like a secret society”. His smugness was tangent of embarrassing. “Look, we’ll fill you in on whatever you want…”, Sam began. Dean cleared his throat, and suddenly looked at his brother with hard eyes.

I rolled my eyes. “This again…”, I muttered. Dean frowned. “What?”. “We need to keep you safe. Keep your head low. Stay here. Go there”, I imitated his growling. “I don’t sound like that!”, Dean growled; proving my impersonation had been right on. He frowned at me, looking cute as a button doing so. I sent him a pouting smile. “Whatever. We need the book”. “And I told you. You can’t have it. I need it”. “For what?”, he grunted. “For jobs”, I replied.

Dean pursed his lips, and blew out a deep breath; clearly trying to control himself. “So you have been… doing jobs…”. “Of course I have”, I said. “What else am I supposed to do? Officially, I think I’m probably dead. There aren’t a lot of teaching gigs out there for dead chicks, who hit the road with fugitives”. He stepped over to me, and grabbed my hand. “And what’s this?”, he asked, pointing at the bandage on it. “A precaution”, I said. “Against me”, Castiel said. “Lulu was right to be careful. Last time she saw me…”. He looked down in remembrance; clearly still ashamed of his former actions.

Dean unwrapped my hand. “Sam, this needs stitches”, he grunted. I tore my hand from his grasp. “I’m fine”, I muttered. “You’re not fine, Lulu. You’re bleeding. Just let us fix you up”. I shook my head in surrender. “There’s a needle and some floss in my bag”, I said, and took of my backpack. “We have actual medical supplies now”, Sam smiled, and disappeared through a door.

Castiel slipped away as well, leaving me and Dean alone in the large room. I sat down at one of the large tables. Dean sat on the edge of the table. “So, hunting?”, he muttered. “How’s that treating you?”. “Well enough”, I said. He clenched his jaw. “Huh… How do you take down a werewolf?”, he asked. “Silver bullet”, I said. “Vampire?”, he continued, raising a brow at me. “Decapitation or fire”. “Shojo?”.

I let out a frustrated breath. “I have no idea, Dean. Never met one”, I said. “Never met a werewolf or a vampire either”. “Good, you’re not ready for any of that”, he said. “You shouldn’t even be here right now”. “It’s not safe”, I imitated him again. “Stop”, he grunted. “You have no idea how to be a hunter. Or what you’re getting yourself mixed up in by coming back here with Cass”. I clenched my jaw. “You’re right on one of those two accounts”, I said. “No, I don’t know what you’re working on, and it’s probably much to dangerous for me. But yes – I do know how to hunt. At least partly. And I’m learning as I go. Isn’t that what everybody does?”. He scoffed, and shook his head with a sarcastic smile. “In over your head, sugar”. “Screw you, Dean”, I growled.

I got of my chair; almost making it topple over from the force of my movement. “I have been working jobs all over for a long time now”, I hissed. “I’ve been playing it safe, yes; but what I’ve been doing, matters!”. Dean rolled his eyes. “Lou, you’re…”, he began. “A newbie. Unskilled, untrained; and with a desperate need for better equipment than the .45 you gave me 18 months ago”. I drew my lips back in a sneer. “But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t want to die. I’m not gonna throw myself at monsters I know nothing about, and can’t take down. But I have to learn to survive in this job, and I’m learning by working”. He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Then tell me!”, I yelled. 

Dean suddenly laughed. The gesture made me want to smack him across the face, but my hand still hurt from the cut. I snatched Bobby’s journal from my bag, and held it up. “You want this?”, I snarled. “Then you treat me with a little more respect for what I’ve been doing the last year!”. I grabbed my bag, and stormed towards the stairs. “Lou!”, Dean called after me. “Go to Hell…! Again!”, I yelled over my shoulder.

I heard him run after me, and he grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry”, he said. “Really…”. I turned around to face him. “I don’t need your permission to do something I’m actually kind of good at”, I said. “You don’t know…”. “You’re right. I don’t”, Dean said earnestly. “So, tell me… please. Maybe I… we can help”. I calmed my breathing. “Let go of my arm”, I croaked. He instantly stepped back.

Sam returned with a box. “We’re out of disinfectant”, he said. “Whiskey it is”, I muttered. “Please tell me you have that”.

---

Soon after, we were seated at the big table; as Sam was carefully stitching up my hand. “So, Ohio… ow! Bloody hell, Sam!”, I hissed, as he poked the needle through my skin. “New curse words, Lou”, Dean chuckled. “And fancy English ones as well”. I smiled. “Yeah, speaking of Ohio… ow”, I continued. “A crazy nurse had been killing patients in the 40’s; and the hospital was closing down – pissing her off something fierce… ow”. “Sorry”, Sam muttered, and pulled at the surgical thread. Dean poured me another drink. “Go on”, he said.

“She was suddenly nabbing pretty much every and any patient she could”, I said; before taking a sip of the whiskey. “I was looking up where they’d buried her after her execution, but it turned out she’d been cremated”. “What did you do?”, Sam asked. He made a final stitch. “Remind me to smack you across the face, when this heals up”, I muttered. “That hurt!”. He chuckled at me, and began wrapping up my hand in a clean bandage. “I found out from an old picture that she had a locket around her neck; which they took from her before she died. It was displayed at a museum in Dayton; and when I tracked it down, I met another hunter”. I looked up at Dean. “Tamara”.

Dean looked stunned. “Tamara? As in British Tamara?”. “Yeah”, I smiled. “She’d gotten there before me; and like me, suspected a strand of hair might be stuck in the locket. I distracted the security guy long enough for her to nab it”. “How?”, he frowned. I looked at him innocently, biting my lip. He looked at me exasperatedly. “You didn’t… Please tell me you didn’t…”. I rolled my eyes. “Sleep with him? No. I just flirted with him a little”. Dean swallowed hard. “You do that all the time”, Sam grinned. “That’s totally different!”, Dean growled.

Sam shook his head. “Then what?”, he asked. “Salt and burn”, I smiled. “Which is pretty much all I’ve been doing. I haven’t been taking on anything hardcore. Yet”. “Really?”, Dean asked warily. I grimaced. “Well… about 9 months ago I came across a tulpa. I thought it was just your every day ghost, and I was just checking out the house; when it attacked me. Salt didn’t work, or iron…”. Dean suddenly looked tense. “What did it do to you?”, he growled. I lifted my t-shirt slightly; exposing a mostly white scar down my ribs. Dean reached over the table, and made to touch it, but I dropped the fabric, and sat back in my chair; finishing my drink in one go. “I had no idea what to do about it, but Bobby wrote something about you guys taking one out some years back; so I called Jody”.

“I asked the sheriff to help me find Lulu”, Cass said, having reappeared with a bag of Mexican food. “I have… taquitos. And jalapeño poppers”, he added, with a soft smile in my direction. “Ranch?”, I asked. The angel nodded. “I love you!”. Castiel cleared his throat. “I have warm emotions towards you as well”, he said.

“So, you called Jody. Why?”, Sam asked; packing up the medical kit. “To get her to have you take care of it. But she said she couldn’t get in touch with you”. Dean scratched his chin. “Yeah, Cass and I were in Purgatory, and Sam hit a dog…”, he muttered. I shook my head. “Nothing’s ever easy with you guys, is it…”.

I opened the bag Castiel had put on the table, and dived for my poppers. “Yum. Extra cheese”, I hummed. I noticed Dean’s eyes warming almost endearingly; but when I licked my finger for a stray dollop of dressing, his gaze suddenly darkened into something else. He parted his lips, and his eyes fastened on my mouth. My breath hitched, and I shook myself – quickly wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I’m gonna go grab the beer”, Dean grunted; and left the room as quickly as he could.

“So, what are you working on?”, my voice broke. “We found a tablet”, Sam said. “The word of God”. My eyes widened. “The actual word of God?”, I breathed. “What?”. “We’re going to use it to seal Hell. For good”. I nodded. “That sounds like an awesome idea!”, I smiled. “How can I help?”.

“You can’t”, Dean grunted, returning with three beers, and a bottle of seltzer for Cass. “This isn’t on you”. “But you need my book”, I said. “And you’re not getting that without my say so”. He tilted his head, and gave me his trademark smirk, sending electric jolts straight to my core. “We could always take it from you”. With bated breath, I put my sword on the table; keeping my hand on the hilt. “I’d like to see you try”, I croaked. “All right, you know…”. Dean clenched his fists, before rolling up his sleeves. I stood up. “We gonna dance now?”, I said; trying for menacing – and failing miserably. “Let me just get my NSYNC-album”, he snarled.

“Ok, guys! Stop!”, Sam called out. “Lulu, Dean’s right. This is a pretty dangerous operation we’ve got going on here. You shouldn’t get involved”.

I clenched my jaw, and took a deep breath to calm myself. “Tell you what… I’ll go back to my own work; and you three can figure out how to save the world without Bobby’s journal”, I said; beginning to put my jacket back on. “When you decide to stop acting like dicks, and let me in on why you’re trying to mess up my job, by taking away my research…”. “It’s Bobby’s research”, Dean snarled. “That he left for me!”, I yelled. “And it has my additions”. I went to grab my bag, when Dean snatched the journal from it, before I could reach it. He held it over his head, as he had my sword, years ago. “Don’t do this…”, I hissed. “I watched plenty of roller derby games, sweetheart. I know your moves”.

His smug smile lit a fire in me, like none other I had never felt before. I ran at him, throwing my shoulder against his chest, making him stumble backwards, and knock over a chair. The journal fell from his hand, and slid across the floor; and I threw myself after it. Dean grabbed my ankle; and I fell to the floor, on my stomach. I tried to kick myself free from his grasp – and reached the book; clutching it to my chest under me. Dean straddled me – his strong legs keeping me in place – and he twisted my body around by my shoulders. We wrestled for the books, and when Dean grabbed my wrists – forcing them over my head – I finally had to let go. He looked at me with hard eyes. “Take it”, he growled; still holding me in place. “Dean…!”, Sam yelled; running over to us. “Take it, Sam!”, his brother roared. Sam took the book from the floor, and looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Lulu”, he muttered.

Dean stayed on top of me – holding me down. His weight on me made my body scream for his touch; at the same time as I wanted him to let me go, and to never touch me again. He looked enraged; but then a thought seemed to cross his mind – one that made him realize what he was doing. He let go of my wrists, and I pushed at his chest hard; making him get off me. Castiel came over, and helped me to my feet.

I stormed out of the room, and down a hallway of doors with numbers on them. Once I found number 13, I opened the door, and stepped inside; slamming it shut behind me.

I took deep breaths – fighting tears and hiccupping sobs. Looking around the room, I tried to focus on what I was seeing, to distract myself. Damn self-help books, I thought to myself. Please help me now. Five things I could see. A bed, a desk, a chair, a book on 1920’s psychiatry, and a dresser. Four things I could touch. I stood up. The floor, the wall, the comforter on the bed, and the gun in the back of my jeans. Three things I could hear. The clock ticking over the door, the drips from the faucet on the sink, and my own footsteps. Two things I could smell. Gunpowder and musk. Dammit. One thing I could taste. The whiskey I’d had earlier.

With one final breath, I felt my heart settle – before it sprang up in my throat again, when the door knocked. “Lou…? Can I come in?”. I stood with my back to the door, not answering. “I know you’re in there. Table 13; always table 13, right?”.

Dean opened the door, and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

“I’m sorry, baby… I didn’t mean…”, he began. “I still… It hurts… even being in the same room as you”, I croaked, and a tear fell down my cheek, as I turned around – making Dean’s face fall into a pained expression. “I keep trying to get over you… Hunting, drinking… sex”. He winced at the last word. “I tried it all, Dean, but it never works”. “I know…”, he breathed. He might as well have added an I feel the same – his eyes gave away the words. “Why doesn’t it work?”, I whimpered.

He stepped towards me, but I held up my hands to stop him. “Don’t… please”. I balled my fists up – forcing my body to stay in place, and not walk into his arms. “You can use my book. You have 48 hours, then I want it back”. Dean nodded solemnly. I closed my eyes. “After that, I’m gone. For good”. I crunched up my brows, and opened my eyes again, looking at Dean with as much determination I could muster. “You don’t look for me, don’t ask for me – pretend I’m a stranger if you hear my name”. Dean’s lips parted, but I continued before he could speak. “I’m done. I can’t… see you. It hurts to much”.

Dean’s eyes watered. “Lou, please… don’t do this”, he breathed. “Don’t throw me away like this”. “I’m sorry”, I rasped. “This isn’t real. If they hadn’t planned it, we would have never gone beyond that first kiss; you know it as well as I do”. He shook his head, and a tear escaped his eye. “I lo…”. “You don’t”, I said. “You think you do; but it’s only because I was made for you. I have to be my own. And I can’t, if you keep popping up in my life”.

Dean closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he looked at me again, I saw complete defeat in his gaze. I’d just broken his heart. “Ok. If that’s what you want”, he whispered, a tear escaping his eye. I wanted to say It’s not. I want you. I want us. But I needed a clean break, and I believed Dean needed that as well. “48 hours. Give me back the book, and you’ll never have to see me again. It’s better this way. For both of us”. Dean nodded. “You can stay in here, if it’s easier than being around me”, he muttered; eyes on the floor. “I’ll stay away”. “Thank you”, I croaked.

He left the room, and I closed the door behind him.

---

I stayed in the room for hours, curled up on the bed. At one point, there was a knock at the door; and when I opened, there stood a tray outside, with food and a bottle of seltzer. I sent a warm thought to Cass, and took the tray inside; eating my meal in peace. There was no entertainment in the room – save for the outdated book on psychiatry – and after finishing my meal, I was going stir crazy.

I tried to catch a little sleep, but couldn’t rest properly; and decided to leave the room. Avoiding going in to the library, I snuck down the hall; and examined my surroundings. I found a large kitchen, outfitted to serve a large amount of people. The fridge was filled with leftover fast food and beer; making it clear that the Winchesters had yet to become all the way domesticated. Down a smaller hallway was a large storage room, with things I was quite sure I shouldn’t be touching. I left the room as quickly as I had entered.

Passing another few numbered doors, I went past number 21. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, Sam was bent over Bobby’s journal, seemingly enraptured by what he was reading. He looked up, and met my eyes – sending me a crooked smile – before I hurried away, to avoid conversation. He didn’t follow.

I found what looked like an old-fashioned gym; and my eyes widened in glee. Here, I felt at home. The punching bags and boxing gloves reminded me of my sessions with Raul. I took off my boots, and grabbed a pair of gloves that seemed to fit my hands – turning my attention to one of the bags.

Punch, punch, kick. This I knew. All my frustrations – the pent-up emotions – I let travel through my arms and legs; as I attacked the bag. “You’re angry”, Cass said; having appeared in the doorway. “I’m… no”, I said. “You’re distraught”, the angel tried. “Something like that. I’m sad. Frustrated…”. I punched hard at the bag. “Tired”.

Muscle pain was building up in my shoulders, and I took off the gloves; dropping them on the floor next to me. “I thought you would be happy to see your friends”, Castiel said. I was thinking of a good way to explain my emotions to him. “I can’t… be happy. Not now”. “Why?”, Cass asked. I chuckled. “Talking to you is like talking to Rain Man”, I said. Castiel grinned. “I���ve seen that movie now. Uh oh, fart…”, he chuckled. “But I would like to understand”.

I punched the bag hard with my stitched-up hand; wincing from the pain. I held it up for Castiel to see. “This – pain – I can feel it. It’s real”, I said. “Impact… physical reaction… It makes sense”. “And happiness doesn’t?”, Cass asked. “No, because I can’t trust it… it’s not real”. Castiel looked like he was pondering my words. “But your physical interactions with Dean… those make sense, don’t they?”. I groaned. “Me and Dean… Is… was, more than physical”. “Yes I know”, the angel said. “You have feelings for each other”. “But they’re not real”, I explained. “Why not?”. “You should know”, I scoffed. “Angel…”.

Castiel seemed even more confused. “I’m not following”, he said. I shook my head. “I… just can’t do this anymore”, I breathed. I put my boots back on. “I’m going back to my room. You have about 40 hours left with my book”. I left the room and the angel behind.

I was feeling sweaty, and decided to search for a shower. The many hallways were confusing; and I finally caved, and decided to ask Sam for help. Arriving back at room 21, the door was closed, and when I knocked there was no answer. I opened the door to see if he was inside, but all I found was a made bed, and some clothes over a chair. I walked back towards the kitchen, and bumped in to Dean; who was leaving the room with a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Sorry”, I muttered, as I noticed his coffee having spilt slightly over the floor. “I’ll clean that up”. “Don’t worry about it”, he said quietly. “I got it…”. “Ok”, I nodded. “I just…”. He looked at me hopefully. “I was looking for a shower”. Dean nodded. “Down the hall, to the left by my… by room 11”, he said. “Thank you”, I whispered; and scurried off.

Finally finding the showers, I got undressed, and turned on the water. The water pressure and temperature were amazing; just like everything else in the bunker. So far, everything I had seen here was perfect. There were clean rooms, a well-stocked library, access to training equipment and weapons, and my friends were here. And Dean. I could stay here, and be happy. But it wouldn’t be real.

As I let the water drip over my naked body, I leaned against the wall. I began questioning my choice to continue hunting. I’d have never started in the life, if I hadn’t met the Winchesters – if angels hadn’t put me in their path. Maybe angels had sent the maren after me to begin with. Maybe I should quit.

The thought was comforting and terrifying all at once. I’d have to start over – again. Be a teacher or tend bars; that was all I knew, other than what I had been doing the last year. And I loved hunting, I helped people; even if I never let anyone know why their houses stopped having flickering lights; or why hospitals stopped losing patients who had only minor injuries. I stayed quiet about what I did; didn’t need the glory.

Turning off the water, I realized I hadn’t brought clean clothes into the bathroom; and wrapped myself in a large towel – slipping quietly down the hall to avoid meeting anyone. I passed room 11, and heard voices from inside.

“She doesn’t really want to be here, Cass”, Dean muttered. “Why? I don’t understand. You two…”, Castiel began. “Because it’s not real!”, Dean growled. “Your… ass-butt brothers made her specifically for me. It’s not real, it’s forced on me… and her”. “Dean…”. “Find some way to break this bond we have. It’s not fair to her…”, Dean said. “I can’t do that…”, Cass said quietly. “Why?”, Dean roared. There was no answer. “Cass… just get out”. The door began opening, as if someone was pulling at the knob, and I ran for room 13; closing and locking the door behind me.

Good. He was on the same page as me. And maybe there was a way to break our bond; and make me free of these feelings. Maybe Cass just didn’t know how to, and I just had to find another angel – or whatever – to help.

My phone rang – distracting me from my thoughts. “Yeah?”, I answered it. “Lulu. It’s Tamara”, my friend said. “Hey, Tammy. What’s up?”. “I need your help. My partner didn’t show up; and this nest isn’t a one-woman job”. I sighed. “Tammy…”. “I know, I know; but I really need you on this one. Think of it as a learning experience”. I frowned. It would be a good way to learn, I agreed – and I trusted Tamara knew what she was doing. On top of that, I needed to be as far away from Dean as I could. “Give me the address…”.

After Tamara had let me know where to meet her, I got dressed quickly, and put on my jacket. Almost running through the library, I saw Sam now bent over a strange looking rock, by the mapped table. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for my book”, I muttered, and went to get my backpack, when I realized it was missing. “I packed up a bag”, Sam said. “It’s got some better equipment for you; if you’re gonna keep up hunting”. I looked over my shoulder at him. “Thanks”, I muttered. “Welcome”, he said.

He handed me a canvas backpack, with a little more weight than my own. I opened it, and saw bullets and a large knife, and a machete in a leather sheath. “Silver ammo, iron knife; and there’s a zippo in the side pocket”. “Weres, witches and vampires. Got it”, I said; and put on the bag. Sam frowned. “Where are you going?”. “Just… out. Meeting a friend”, I said. “Do you have a car I can use until I get back?” He threw me a set of car keys. “There’s a Dodge parked a little way down the road. Take it. And uhm… my number. Just in case”. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper, and came over to hand it to me. I smiled warmly, and pocketed the keys and the note. “How long will you be gone?”, Sam muttered. “As long as it takes. That’s how the job is, right?”, I shrugged. Sam’s face dropped. “What job?”, he demanded. I sighed. “Don’t worry. Your care-package here will keep me safe”, I smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe you’ll even have a few extra hours with my book”. “Lulu… what job?”. I got on my toes, and kissed his cheek. “Bye, Sammy”. I ran up the stairs, and exited the bunker.

I found my “new” car half a mile down the road. It was rusty and sad looking; and fit my state of mind perfectly at the moment. I got settled in the driver’s seat, after having set the Dodge up the way I wanted it. Surprisingly, the engine started without trouble; and I turned on the radio. Dean must have driven the car before, because a tape began playing Girls Girls Girls. I was smiling sadly to myself, as I drove the car out on the road at the bottom of the mound.

---

[atlanticcanada]

Nova Scotia screenwriter finds Hollywood success with horror film ‘Becky’

A Nova Scotia screenwriter has found Hollywood success with his new horror film, which stars Joel McHale, Kevin James, and Lulu Wilson.

Halifax-based screenwriter Nick Morris is anxiously awaiting the debut of his first film “Becky.”

“Becky was the second script I ever wrote. My first script was quite a bit bigger in scope and would have cost a lot of money to make, but it got me some attention and representation in LA and some festivals,” says Morris.

“It was clear that a movie that was going to cost that kind of money wasn’t going to get produced, so I decided to try my hand at writing something a little smaller, with a smaller budget, and that’s how ‘Becky’ came about.”

The 41-year-old says his fascination with film developed when he was a child living in Streets Ridge, N.S.

“I grew up with no cable in the country and grew up with a VHS player and that was a game-changer for me,” says Morris.

“As a kid I was a big ‘Star Wars’ fan and anything science fiction. I was also always kind of drawn to the horror section of the video store and as I got older that became my passion.”

Morris’s love of storytelling led him to take the Radio and Television Arts program at the Nova Scotia Community College in Kentville, N.S., graduating in 2000.

“It wasn’t really until several years after I graduated, I had been writing stories in my head for several years, that I taught myself how to properly format a screenplay and decided to try and get some of those stories down,” says Morris.

Morris’ break came when he met his now-manager on Twitter and she saw a post promoting his first script.

“She asked to read it and as soon as she read it she offered to represent me going forward,” says Morris.

Then, in the summer of 2017, Morris sold the script for “Becky” to a producer in Los Angeles.

“I was driving to Montreal at the time when I got the call from him and pulled over and was over-the-moon excited,” recalls Morris.

“It’s taken since then, about three years from the time I sold script, to the time the movie is set to be released. It was a long process, with a lot of emotional ups and downs. I was always concerned something would happen, that it would fall through, but when you get enough people on board that are passionate about the project and believe in it, you just watch it take shape gradually over time.”

The plot of “Becky” can be described as “Home Alone” meets “Die Hard” meets “The Last House On The Left,” according to Morris.

“It centres around a 13-year-old girl (Becky) who is visiting a lake house with her father, following the passing of her mother. The dad, played by Joel McHale, is hoping to reconnect. (Things go awry) when a group of escaped convicts come looking for an artifact and Becky is in possession of it. She has to save her family and take revenge against the bad guys,” explains Morris.

Morris says actress LuLu Wilson, who starred in films like “Annabelle: Creation” and “Ouija: Origin of Evil,” was drawn to the role of Becky -- a strong female lead.

“Producers approached her very early on and she was excited and agreed to sign on not long after I sold the script,” says Morris.

While Wilson seemed like a natural fit, a more unlikely casting choice was slotting comedic actor Kevin James in the role of bad guy Dominick.

“Needless to say, when I was writing the script, Kevin James is not who I had in mind to play the main villain. His performance is just mind-blowing. I think everyone on set was blown away by it,” says Morris.

Thanks to his early success, Morris says he’s focused on continuing to pursue a path in the film industry. He has a second script in development called “The Evil Eye” and is happy to be able to follow his dreams from his home in Nova Scotia.

“It’s funny, anyone would tell you that in order to find success in the movie industry you have to be in LA, you have to be there to take meetings and pound the pavement. So far, I’ve had pretty good luck doing it from Nova Scotia. This is my home and I’m going to try and stay here and continue doing it from here as long as possible,” says Morris.

For those looking to follow in his footsteps, Morris suggests reading every script you can get your hands on.

“Once you’ve completed something, get it out there in front of as many people as you can, get feedback, learn to take criticism, use the tools you have at your disposal to your advantage, like social media, and to make connections,” says Morris.

“Becky” was scheduled to debut at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York last month, however, the event was cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

“That was a disappointment. I was looking forward to a big splashy opening, followed by a theatrical release this summer,” says Morris.

“Becky” is now scheduled to be released on demand June 5 and Morris says his family is eager to see it.

“They are very excited about it. My mom, I don’t know what she is going to do, cause this is so not her type of movie, but I know she will still watch it through her fingers or something. They are very excited and very proud, needles to say.”

The film includes some gruesome moments and the storyline is dark, so it may not be for everyone, warns Morris. However, if you’re a horror fan, he says “Becky” is pure pulp fun.

Movie trailer may not be appropriate for all audiences

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/2zzKBC9

[filosofablogger]

“I am not an angel. I am not a hero. It’s just what we are supposed to do as a human being.”

Three weeks ago I wrote about the couple, Michael and Camille Geraldi, who had adopted, over the course of 40 years, some 88 children with special needs.  They are an amazing couple and their story was one of my most popular ever.  Imagine my amazement when a similar story literally dropped into my lap on Monday night when I was not even looking for a subject for this post, but was doing research for another piece. Please allow me to introduce you to a gentleman with a heart of gold, Mr. Mohamed Bzeek.

Mr. Bzeek lives in Los Angeles, where he has made it his life’s mission to take in foster children.  Not just any foster children, but Mr. Bzeek takes in the foster children that nobody else will … those who are dying of terminal illnesses.  Mohamed Bzeek started caring for foster children when he met his late wife, who was then already a foster mom. At first, they took in children who had medical issues. In 1995, they started taking in only children who were terminally ill. Over the years, Bzeek says, he’s taken in about 40 children with medical problems, ten of whom died while in his care, some while in his very arms.

Why does he do it?  His faith, for one thing. He feels that it’s his duty as a Muslim to help those in need. “It’s the big factor, my faith, because I believe as a Muslim we need to extend our hand to help people who need us. Doesn’t matter what nationality, what religion, what country. To me it doesn’t matter, I do it as a human being for another human being,” he says. “You have to do it from your heart, really. If you do it for money, you’re not going to stay for long.”

Speaking of one of his former children, he says, “And this is my kid who died with the cancer. He has a cancer. He died. They operate on him, and they find the cancer separate all of his organs. So, the doctor said, let’s stitch him back, and said, there’s nothing we can do for him.”

Mr. Bzeek came to the U.S. from Libya in 1978, then an engineering student.  Years later, through a mutual friend, he met a woman named Dawn, who would become his wife. She had become a foster parent in the early 1980s, before she met Bzeek. Her grandparents had been foster parents, and she was inspired by them, Bzeek said. Before she met Bzeek, she opened her home as an emergency shelter for foster children who needed immediate placement or who were placed in protective custody. Bzeek became a U.S. citizen in 1997. And then, in 2015, Bzeek’s wife died, and in 2016, Bzeek himself was diagnosed with cancer.

“I had to face everything by myself. If I am 62-years-old and I’m scared and afraid to be by myself – I felt what the kids felt. The young kids, how they feel when they are alone, have no family, nobody comforts them, nobody tells them ‘It’s ok, I’m here for you, we go through this together and it will be fine.’ This operation in December has humbled me, and makes me work more and help more kids.”

The video below is short (3:33 min) but please watch it … I fell in love with Mr. Bzeek when I saw this:

  Today, he is foster parent to a 6-year-old girl* born with microcephaly, a rare disorder in which a baby’s brain doesn’t fully develop. She cannot see or hear. She responds only to touch. At seven weeks old, the county took her from her biological parents. They called Bzeek, and he agreed to take her in.

The girl’s head is too small for her 34-pound body, which is too small for her age. She was born with an encephalocele, a rare malformation in which part of her brain protruded through an opening in her skull, according to Dr. Suzanne Roberts, the girl’s pediatrician at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles. Neurosurgeons removed the protruding brain tissue shortly after her birth, but much of her brain remains undeveloped. She has been in Bzeek’s care since she was a month old. Before her, he cared for three other children with the same condition.

“These kids, it’s a life sentence for them.”  A snippet of an interview between Mr. Bzeek and NPR’s Lulu Garcia-Navarro:

Bzeek: And, also, she has, like, seizures. She’s blind and deaf. She has clubfoot and dislocated hips.

Navarro: How do you communicate with her? She is blind. She can’t hear.

Bzeek: Touch – communication, touching her, you know? She smiled when I play with her and make a little bit, like, noise, you know? It doesn’t mean anything. But that shows you that, you know, she understands that somebody tried to communicate with her, you know?

Navarro: How many of them have died in your care?

Bzeek: Ten. They need somebody who will be with them and take care of them, you know? It doesn’t matter how hard, you know, because somebody has to do it.

Navarro: How do you deal with the loss when they pass away? How do you cope?

Bzeek: I mean, at church. You know, you have a kid since it was a baby, since it was one week or two weeks or a few days. And, like, some of them stayed, like, six years and four months. It’s really hard. I mean, I consider them as, like, my biological, you know? And it hurts. But I believe that is part of life, you know?

Melissa Testerman, an intake coordinator for the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS) has nothing but the highest praise for Mr. Bzeek.  “If anyone ever calls us and says, ‘This kid needs to go home on hospice,’ there’s only one name we think of. He’s the only one that would take a child who would possibly not make it.”

Neil Zanville of the Los Angeles Department of Child and Family Services says that without Bzeek these children would be forced to live in medical facilities rather than the comfort of a loving home. “Mr. Bzeek is dealing with children who only have a limited amount of time. I think he’s even taken children in that died days later. So it’s the rare individual, or he might be the only individual in LA county, that will provide a home environment and provide love and care when a child in fact has very limited time left.”

On reading his story in the Los Angeles Times (an excellent read, if you have time) in February, a woman named Margaret Cotts was so moved that she decided to set up a GoFundMe account to help Mr. Bzeek. The donations will be used to get him central air conditioning and heating (right now he only has a swamp cooler in his living room), additional help, a new car and roof repairs.  As of this writing, the account has received $496,253!!!

Bzeek’s own biological son, Adam, himself was born in 1997 with brittle bones, dwarfism and other physical challenges and requires much care. At 19 years of age, and a computer science student at a local college, he weighs a scant 65 pounds. A nurse’s aide helps with care on weekdays from 8:00 to 4:00. But, still, it’s a full-time job, one Mr. Bzeek handles by himself every night and every weekend. Sleep is a precious commodity, and other than his time in the hospital last December, Mr. Bzeek has not had a “day off” since 2010. With his foster daughter’s seizures happening more and more often, he usually sleeps near her on the couch, just in case.

So the next time you hear somebody say we should ban all Muslims, think of Mr. Bzeek and think about all the children who would have spent their last days on earth all alone if not for him.  I know that if I ever get to L.A., I will make time to stop by and shake his hand. In the words of Rod Dreher writing for the American Conservative, “The whole story is so beautiful it hurts.”

*No names of the children can be used because of privacy laws

Additional Resources:

Mr. Bzeet’s Facebook page

PBS News Hour interview with 7:00 min podcast

Good People Doing Good Things – Mohamed Bzeek “I am not an angel. I am not a hero. It’s just what we are supposed to do as a human being.”

[libraryleopard]

i just finished when the angels left the old country by sacha lamb and it was SO good! little ash and uriel and rose my beloveds…

[libraryleopard]

Sacha Lamb book!!!