#And for like half an hour I used a sandwich to spawn almost nothing but Tropius and taking pics with them and finidng a shiny and

[ghostiebloo]

Okay so can I just say that I hate that when people make a painting they have to do so much explaining of the meaning behind every brush stroke and color choices. Like fr I made a painting for an art gallery for alumni at my college and I know for a fact people are gonna ask me for some deep reasoning.

Sleep deprivation and rice is the only answer I always can think of when I consider what questions will come my way.

[sodalitefully]

This is the result of me being a slut for demon AUs, and also for Slash’s ridiculously pretty face.  I wasn’t planning to write this 'cause uh it’s definitely got similarities to some of my other ideas and also because I’m not really satisfied with the characterization, but it wouldn’t leave me alone so here it is:

Summary: Slash is a pretty lil incubus who escapes from Hell. He gets roughed up a little on the way out, and Duff finds him lost and hurt on the street in LA. He helps Slash, takes him home, cleans him up, and hears him out. Duff lets Slash stay the night, and he can already tell that he’s going to let Slash stay as long as he wants. Slash latches on to Duff immediately, he’s convinced that Duff is the kindest, most beautiful being that could possibly exist and he absolutely adores him. Duff is crushing hard on Slash, but he can’t fathom why Slash likes him so much, he’s not pretty or exceptional while Slash is stunningly, inhumanly gorgeous. But Duff is compassionate as hell, and he does his best to ease Slash into life in the mortal plane.

Duff finds Slash on his way home from work on a Friday night, Slash looks completely lost and he’s bleeding a little and he’s not completely dressed.  Everyone else is avoiding him in case he’s tripping or crazy or something, but Duff goes up to him cause he seems to be dressed like a rocker (no shirt or shoes, just tight leather pants and some jewelry) so like, solidarity from one wasted rocker to another.  

Duff goes up to him, notices that he’s like, insanely hot but decides not to say anything about it, and asks if he’s lost or something.  Slash shies away and eyes him suspiciously, he’s not used to people freely offering help.  But then something comes running at them from down the street, at first Duff thinks it’s a dog but as it gets closer it’s obviously not a dog, not any kind of animal he recognizes, so he kicks it as hard as he can into a wall and it vanishes on impact in a puff of sour smelling smoke.  That’s fucking weird so Duff looks around to see if anyone else saw that, but the people around them don’t seem to notice anything unusual.  Instead, Duff spots a pack of four more creatures coming towards them.  Slash sees them too, and he changes his mind about trusting Duff – he looks up at him and tugs on his arm, “Please help me!”  

So Duff basically scoops Slash up (he’s way too skinny) and sprints for his car around the block.  He throws Slash in the passenger seat and guns it.  “What the fuck are those things?!” (classic action movie line).  Slash explains that they’re hellhounds, vermin of the underworld, they followed him here.  There’s a lot to unpack there, but Duff starts with the most important question: “Are they going to keep coming after us?”  “Well, they can’t pass between planes on their own, so either we lose them or we get rid of them.”  “How do we get – Oh shit!” The hellhounds are suddenly right in front of the car, half a block away.  “Just hit them! They’ll re-spawn in Hell and they won’t be able to get back!” So Duff braces himself and drives straight through the pack, they disintegrate just like the first one did.

“Holy fucking shit.  Was that all of them?”  Slash affirms, and Duff pulls off the road next to a sketchy little park that’s mostly empty at this time in the evening.  He and Slash get out of the car, and Duff is on the verge of panic, nearly yelling as he questions Slash about what the fuck just happened.  He stops dead when he realizes that Slash looks scared (all big eyes and quivering pout and hugging himself defensively and damn if it doesn’t yank Duff’s heartstrings more than any sad puppy ever has), and immediately backtracks, apologizing and asking more gently for Slash to explain what happened.  

So Slash does, he introduces himself and explains that the hounds won’t come back, they followed him here when he escaped from Hell.  Slash is a demon and they spend a few minutes establishing this fact (he probably proves it by demonstrating that he can shapeshift).  Duff asks if there’s a chance that more will come after him, Slash says he doubts it, he’s a little embarrassed as he admits he’s just an incubus, there’s a million others like him, no one will come looking now that he’s gone.  Duff has a hard time imaging that anyone else like Slash exists in the world.  He asks why Slash escaped and Slash explains that Hell is the worst, he just gets kicked around by more powerful demons (who treat low-level incubi like funny little pets because they’re not very powerful and they look mostly like humans instead of like terrifying demons) and sent off to seduce humans (he’s sick of it: shifting into their ideal, tempting them with whatever sick fantasies they have and then basically drugging them with his demonic power of irresistibility; it’s all-around terrible sex really, they act like they’re in a trance and he doesn’t get any say in what they do).  It occurs to Duff eventually that Slash is basically telling him he had a demon pimp.  

“So... you’re not going to try to steal my soul or something?”  “I don’t make deals, just tempt people.  And I don’t want to do that anymore, I don’t… I don’t really like hurting people.” He whispers the last bit like it’s some terrible secret.  “It’s so violent in Hell, I just want to be left alone…"

“What are you going to do now that you’re on Earth?” Duff asks.  He knows where he’s going with this, and he knows it’s a bad idea – inviting a demon into his own home?? It’s a recipe for disaster, but Slash seems so sincere and Duff rationalizes that he should be fine as long as he doesn’t ask for or agree to any sex.  Easier said than done, because Slash is the most stunning being that Duff has ever encountered in his life and just being around him scrambles his mind a little.  

But Slash looks so lost and uncertain when he admits that he doesn’t know much about the mortal plane and he has nowhere to go, and he lights up with a combination of relief and genuine shock and awe when Duff offers to take him home with him.  

So they get back in the car and drive home, where Duff runs Slash a bath, helps clean up the blood and soot (sure, Slash could probably handle it himself but Duff is firmly in mother hen mode), gives him some comfortable clothes to wear (seeing Slash wearing his softest t-shirt and a pair of tiny shorts is almost too much for Duff) and something warm to eat (as an immortal demon, Slash has never eaten real food before and frankly it’s life-changing – this tastes so much better than dick. He might cry. Duff now understands why he’s so thin).  

When it’s time to go to bed, Slash is uncertain.  He’s been in people’s beds before, though he’s never actually slept in one.  In Hell he had a little place to sleep but nothing like the homes that humans have.  Duff offers Slash the options of the bed and the couch.  Slash cautiously clarifies that Duff doesn’t want to have sex with him? “Oh no, I couldn’t.”  Slash looks confused and a little uncomfortable.  “I mean, of course I think you’re attractive, shit you’re the most beautiful – Uh, but you said earlier that you didn’t want to do that anymore, I would never ask you to.  I didn’t offer to help because I wanted something in return.”  

Slash stares at him.  “Duff, you must have the kindest soul in this realm.”  Duff tries to deflect (of course he doesn’t have the kindest soul that’s ridiculous, all he did was offer a little help, anyone could have), but Slash just looks at him affectionately.  “And the prettiest face.  I might be done with seduction, but with you, I wouldn’t mind.”  Duff can’t even comprehend that Slash of all people could find him beautiful with his scars and his terrible dye job and all the other things he’s secretly insecure about. Instead he focuses on the last thing Slash said, “I wouldn’t mind” isn’t exactly an enthusiastic come on so Duff will stand by his vow not to fuck Slash.  

Duff helps Slash make a little nest of blankets on the couch and then they both go to bed.  In the morning, Duff wakes up first, so he tries to very quietly put together breakfast without waking Slash in the tiny apartment.  They spend the rest of the weekend trying to acclimate Slash to living with mortals – it’s quite a learning curve.  Slash needs lots of help with things, but Duff doesn’t mind at all, and by the time Monday comes around, he feels confident that Slash can mind himself in the apartment for a while when Duff is at work.  Slash is very impressed that Duff has a job and earns money, but he’s also a little nervous to be alone – he wakes up early to send Duff off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Duff is entirely distracted through his whole shift.  

When Duff gets home, Slash announces that he missed him, then starts excitedly telling Duff about his day: It was so quiet, he’s never experienced that before! There were animals on the TV for a while before it changed to people talking about things! He looked out the window for two hours and at one point he saw a man drop his sandwich across the street and it reminded him of Hell!

Over the course of that week, Slash has no trouble keeping himself entertained when Duff is out.  He systematically attacks Duff’s music collection, takes up guitar, starts writing down notes about humanity in a little notebook (Duff finds it open one day, and reads a couple hilariously endearing entries).  He also discovers porn, and is immediately obsessed with it.  So many ways to have sex, and he gets to choose what to watch or look at whenever he wants!  Duff soon learns that Slash has very diverse and somewhat unusual tastes in erotica.

But when Duff comes home, all of Slash’s attention is on him.  He loves to tell Duff about his day, and is completely engrossed in whatever Duff has to say in return.  He continues to candidly compliment Duff, usually something along the lines of being extremely kind and intelligent and beautiful, and Duff continues to deflect cover up his insecurity.  Slash is completely open about his adoration of Duff, but Duff can’t even begin to accept it, so he just pretends it doesn’t exist.  Meanwhile Duff is at least a bit in love with Slash but still convinced that he’s not ever going to do anything about it.

Eventually, Duff’s friends are wondering why they haven’t seem him for almost a week.  Duff brings Slash along to the bar and introduces him to Axl, Izzy, and Steven.  The guys all give Duff a look when they meet Slash – How did one of us ever manage to land someone like that?  Slash gets along well with Duff’s friends; he’s still working on the whole acting-like-a-human thing and they can tell when his behavior is a little off, but they trust Duff’s judgement so they try to be welcoming.  

Duff, however, is not having a good time.  Sure, it’s nice to see Slash doing so well, but all of the insecurities he’s been repressing over the past week are resurfacing all at once.  Just standing next to Slash in public is stressing him out, he can’t stop imagining that everyone around them is judging him, thinking that Slash is way out of his league.  He’s certain he wouldn’t mind so much if he wasn’t so helplessly gone for Slash – now he’s also worried that Slash will realize that there’s plenty of people in the world who are way better than Duff.

Duff excuses himself to the restroom, and a minute later Axl follows and corners him by the sinks.  “Where the everliving fuck did you find this kid? And why the fuck are you just sitting there like a stiff corpse when he’s all over you??”  Axl has always been a confidant for him, so Duff starts to explain how he’s been feeling over the past week, leaving out the bit about demons and hellhounds.  “Duff, you dumb fuck, it’s obvious to anyone with two working brain cells that Slash thinks you’re God.  Enough of this you-don’t-deserve-it bullshit, just make your move!"

They return to the table, where the rest have paid off their tabs and gotten ready to move on to the next bar of the night. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Duff says, ostensibly to the group but mostly to Slash.  Then, with his heart pounding and palms sweating, he leans in to give Slash a completely casual peck on the cheek.  

Slash lights up like the sun and immediately latches on to Duff’s arm and leans his head on his shoulder.  He doesn’t let go for even a second as they hit the next bar, and the one after that, and then finally head home and curl up together on the couch.

(holy shit that was way longer than I thought it would be. tagging @fan-with-issues. have a good night folks.)

[jeonggoofy]

circles | one

pairing: jeongguk x reader, jimin x reader

genre: thriller, action, fluff, romance, future smut, angst

warnings: brief violence, fainting, mention of blood. this turned out a lot more fluffy than i intended i’m sorry i couldn’t help it but there is a smidgeon of angst if that helps.

a/n: this is my first time ever doing anything like this n i’m sO nervous. so. any feedback would be much appreciated :)

word count: 6,626

“Look, I’m just saying there’s no way Damon and Elena could have ever had their happy ending if it weren’t for Stefan. And yeah, maybe the script writers were milking the show when they put Caroline and Stefan together, but it’s not like Caroline was going to get with Klaus or Stefan was getting back with Elena,” you huffed. “Besides, I think Stefan deserves to be happy after everything he was put through, even if it’s with Caroline.”

You kicked a stray rock on the edge of the path. “Stefan is just too underappreciated.”

You were currently engaged in another passionate rant; today, your best friend was stuck listening to your complaints that Stefan Salvatore’s sacrifice at the end of the show was too underrated, and that he deserved better.

It was a bright May morning; the flowers lining the right side of the sidewalk in full bloom and the air smelling almost saccharinely sweet. The sun was just beginning to emerge, its light growing warmer with the approaching summer season. Dew clung to the grass and dripped off the flower leaves, and the trees in the park across the street held full, vibrant branches of leaves.

You hated being up so early, but the view made the daily struggle almost worth it. Almost.

Jimin huffed a small laugh, slinging an arm around your shoulders to prompt you to match his quicker pace. “Right, Stefan deserved better. Now hurry, we’ll be late if you keep talking about random shit.”

While he tugged you further towards the business building, you took a few deep breaths to will your heart to quit racing so hard. Once it was beating at a calmer pace, you sighed a little, inaudibly, and mentally reprimanded yourself. Fuck, you hated this feeling, hated yourself for feeling it. Jimin had been your best friend since you were four. He had been six, and it was halfway through the school year when you had met, in the first grade. He was new to your school and visibly mortified at being the new kid, too shy to approach anyone or make new friends; you’d already made quite a few friends, your younger, cuter personality having charmed the other six-year olds around you. Your parents had you enrolled in school two years earlier than most other kids, as you’d already been reading and writing at a more advanced level than the other kids in the daycare you’d previously been enrolled in. You approached him first, offering him half of your sandwich and a bright smile when he’d been panicking about where to sit during lunch and tearing up about how his mother had forgotten to pack his lunch.

He blinked the tears out of his eyes when he saw the sandwich thrust at his face, looking down to see you and beaming down at you to return the smile he’d grown to love. You have been inseparable from that day forward. And you have been in love with him since you were eighteen, a little over a year ago. You weren’t quite sure how it happened, and you weren’t sure there was a definitive moment which marked the transition from your platonic love for him to your growing romantic feelings for him, but you constantly tried to push the thoughts away. It’s not that you were ignoring them—not quite, for you’d watched enough shows to know it would bite you in the ass later when you found out you were too deep in without realizing it. No, you were doing damage control—snuffing out every warm, fuzzy thought and feeling before it had the chance to fully materialize and spawn into something you wouldn’t be able to deny any further.

It was the only thing keeping you sane, really. You’d have fallen so much harder and so much deeper had you not been putting in an aggressive effort to eradicate any excessive feelings for your best friend than you were comfortable with. You knew he didn’t return your feelings—it was rather obvious, with the sheer number of girls he’d flaunt at each party you’d go to or the ones trickling out of his bedroom in the morning when he’d come to greet you in his kitchen (he’d given you a spare key to his apartment, and he had one for yours after having insisting he’d only use it for emergencies—he lied, obviously). Unfortunate as the circumstances were, you knew your efforts had been paying off; you were able to go on dates and snag a few guys, yourself, at the parties you frequented together, all without having wished it would be him next to you, either.

For as much as you loved him, you knew he wasn’t right for you—despite all his redeeming qualities (of which there was no shortage of), something repelled you from wanting him that way. You figured it was counterproductive to be so in love with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to want him in that way—it would be too weird. So weird that, despite the way you felt about him, you didn’t wish to trade your friendship for anything more. This was a phase, you knew, that would soon pass—

Smack.

“What the fuck, Jimin?” you slowly said when he reemerged from the door he’d just walked through. “Why didn’t you hold it open like a normal fucking person, asshole?”

He was laughing, eyes squishing together and body shaking, while pulling you in and gently rubbing at the red mark you knew was likely forming on your forehead. “I’m not even sorry,” he gasped between laughs.

You groaned, pushing him away and almost wishing he’d pull you back into him. “Why are we even taking this fucking class, anyways? I should’ve stuck to a single major. What asshole talked me into taking an 8am accounting class?” you grumbled at him, rubbing at your own forehead.

He leaned on the wall beside the door, crossing his arms and looking at you with a fond, amused expression. “That would be me. We’re dance majors, Y/n. It wouldn’t have been smart for us not to take business as a double major.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, pulling the door open for the both of you. “You owe me ice cream.”

*******

“Fuck, oh my god,” you exhaled, licking at your ice cream. “You’re totally forgiven for making me sign up for that 8am”

Jimin grins, reaching over to ruffle your hair with the hand that wasn’t holding his own cone.

You look up at him, swallowing your mouthful of ice cream before speaking. “Hey, so I need to hit the studio to help choreograph that piece we’re performing for nationals in a few months, but are we still on for tonight? I’m thinking of making that shrimp pasta you love.”

Jimin froze in his seat next to you, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Shit, don’t be mad at me.” He looks to you to gauge your reaction, nose scrunching at the way your brows furrowed in innocent confusion. “I totally forgot about dinner tonight, and something else kind of came up.”

You tilt your head to the side, gaze searching his and your lower lip moving to get caught between your teeth. “Seriously?” you whined.

“I promise you, I just have this last project I need to do for my internship and that’s it. I have to meet with some of the other interns to finish it, and it’s due by noon tomorrow.” He frowns when you look away, taking your hand in his. “I promise I’d much rather be with you.”

You exhale, meeting his eyes once more. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

His frown deepens, and he shakes his head rapidly, gripping your hand a little tighter. “No, I don’t have to be there for a few more hours and I don’t leave for my dad’s until tomorrow.”

You give him a small, sad smile. “Yeah, but I have to be at the studio in thirty.”

His shoulders deflate for a moment before he sits up straighter, suddenly. “I’ll come with. We can practice together and I can help you with the choreography.” He grins, a hopeful smile beginning to squish his eyes together in that way you find so incredibly endearing, and you almost swoon before nodding and getting up to start heading to the studio, the hand still holding onto his pulling him along behind you.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to piss Kai off for being late.”

*******

Your thighs ache and your muscles burn, sweat dripping down your temples, to your jaw, and around your neck. You grabbed the towel you’d set off to the side with your gym bag, quickly dabbing away at any sweat you could reach before tossing it back on your bag and taking your position in front of the wall mirror once more. Dancing was strenuous and left you with an aching body like nothing else, yet you basked in it, willingly turned your body over to the sound of the music and let it consume you entirely, wholly. The bass thrummed in time with the thumping of your veins, and the sore muscles felt almost euphoric when stretched and twisted and worked so thoroughly. You allowed yourself the beat it took for the music to restart before moving once more, whispering to yourself, “one last time.”

“You said that, like, four times ago. Give it a rest, it’s already perfect,” Jimin complained from the wall behind you. He was resting against the wall, wiping himself of his sweat with the extra towel you’d given him and taking sluggish sips of your water bottle.

You disregarded him, too cocooned in the haze of the dance to properly process his words. And so, you kept going, moving steadily despite the energy you’ve already expended into this dance. You move and move and move until the last note rings out and you collapse to the floor, lying on your back with your forearm covering your eyes and your chest rising and falling rapidly with the burning panting of your lungs.

Jimin rushes to you, kneeling by your head and sighing before gingerly supporting your head with one arm and your upper back with the other to cradle you in his lap. He grabs the water bottle he’d brought with him and uncaps it before adjusting you to help you sip from it. “God, you have to give me a heart attack every time you do that, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but a wistful statement; he sounds like he deeply regrets something, and yet you can’t figure out what it is, tilting your head back to gesture for him to move the bottle from your lips. ”Maybe I should stay with you this summer, I’ll cancel on my dad. Someone needs to look out for you.”

You almost laugh before you realize he’s entirely serious, brows furrowed and gaze so intensely focused on you it’s making your breath hitch and your hand moves to soothe out the frown from his forehead. “Hey, no. None of that. You never get to see him except for the three months during summer break. I get you for the rest of the year, remember? I’m fine, I’m not that hopeless of a case,” you laugh a little, hoping to bring him out of the sudden slump he was in.

His arms surround you, tugging you closer into his lap and wrapping around you protectively, one of his hands coming up to stroke your cheek as you’re doing with his. “I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers, his forehead coming down to rest on yours just as you spot the slight glistening shine in his eyes. “I won’t be able to reach you at all for three months. Don’t you know that’s hell?” His eyes flutter shut when your thumb wipes at the tear that dribbles down the side of his face, and your heart shatters a little at the look of pure anguish and vulnerability on his face.

“God, we do this every year,” you whisper back, voice husky with emotion and distress. You try not to cry as well. It’s hardly working. “I’d offer to come with, but I already know you won’t let me.” His face nuzzles further into yours when you say this, and he angles his head to hide in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and squeezing you tight. You doubt you can take much more of this. You need to lighten the mood. “Besides, you act like we won’t see each other again. It’ll be like every year, yeah?” Your voice breaks at the last word, and it’s the last crack in your facade before your entire walk comes crashing down and your sobbing into his hair, arms wrapping around his neck and clutching tightly.

“Shit, no, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he rushes, more tears springing to his eyes as he pulls away from your neck to press his lips to your forehead and wipe your tears as you’d wiped his. “Don’t cry. I really won’t be able to go then.” He tugs you up by the arms, maneuvering the both of you so his back was resting against the wall and his legs were splayed out in front of him, holding you in his lap and pulling your face into his neck to stroke at your hair even as his own tears cascade down his cheeks.

You cry into his neck while he cries into your hair, clutching onto each other like you’re afraid to lose one another and each of you shaking with the force of the emotion. Your breath is unsteady and comes in gasps, and you know you’re a fool for trying to avoid this moment when you both end up in the same position every year. He’s breathing you in to memorize the way you smell, and you’re holding onto him like he won’t leave if your grasp is tight enough. You stay like that for a while.

You pull away eventually, just enough to be able to see his face, and you try to control your breathing for his sake. He’s bleary-eyed, tear tracks running down his splotchy, red face and you know that some have dropped down onto your shirt. You’re hastily wiping at your tears first to regain some semblance of normalcy, before slowly moving towards him once more. This time, you don’t wipe away at his tears. Rather, you lightly brush your lips under each of his eyes, right on the tear tracks, then move up so you’re kissing his forehead as he’d done with you. He cries a little harder at that, and you’re rushing to gather his head into your chest, rubbing his back and trying to laugh. “Hey, no, that was supposed to make you feel better. It’s okay, I’ll be right here when you get back. We’re just being dramatic,” you joke, trying to ease his hiccuping sobs. He laughs a little through the tears, then he’s looking up at you.

“I’ll try to come back as early as possible. And I brought three of my hoodies for you to keep while I’m there. They’ve all got my cologne on them,” he gestured to his own gym bag across the room once he’s calmed down, letting you finally wipe the last of his tears, though he’s still hiccuping a little. You smile down at him; he never forgets the hoodies.

“I’ve got my oversized hoodies, too. They’ve got my perfume on them. And here,” you say, unwrapping your arms from around him to pull your hair tie from your wrist and grabbing his arm from around you to transfer it to his.

He’s grinning up at you, eyes squishing and wet eyelashes clinging to one another. You coo at him, gently squishing his cheeks between your hands, and he’s laughing loudly now, face leaning into your palms as he pulls you back into him. This time, he’s holding onto you at the waist and pushing off the wall behind him to stand up with you still in his hold. One of his arms is moving down to your thigh to prompt you to wrap your legs around him, then he’s easily striding to your gym bag and pulling out the hoodies you’d promised him and moving across the room to his own gym bag to pull out the ones he’d promised in return. He hands you his hoodies to hold while he stuffs yours in his bag, and moves back towards your bag to place his hoodies inside it.

His arms are back on your waist and are squeezing you tight, head turning to kiss you on the cheek once more and carefully, reluctantly, setting you down on your feet.

“I guess this is goodbye,” you say, smiling up at him. Then, you sigh, scrunching your nose in irritation. “I wish you’d let me drop you to the airport before you have to go to the middle of fucking nowhere. If you’re spending three months without service I at least want to make sure you’re safe until you’re on the plane.”

He soothes out the frown on your face with a thumb, saying, “no, we’ve both already cried enough. If I let you drop me at the airport we’ll be back in that same mess again. I’ll call you right before the plane takes off.” He pats your head lightly and begins carding his fingers through your hair soothingly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Chim.”

*******

The next day, early in the morning, you’re on a run by the beach in a more secluded area where the waves are calmer and the shore is littered with little caves. The water is to your left, and the caves to your right. You run a little further, bare feet cushioned by the soft sand, to where the caves are thinning out and, instead, a series of coves of varying sizes are taking up the rest of the space to your right.

You’d always loved this part of the beach, had always liked to sit in one of the little coves with the boulders and the tiny sea creatures surrounding you. You’d introduced Jimin to this place, and he’d grown accustomed to you dragging him there when you both had some free time. He’d never grown as fond of the place as you’d been, and eventually stopped coming altogether—odd, since he adored the outdoors and would drag you out to bike and camp and hike. For some reason, he avoided this beach in particular, and so you turned it into your own little thing—you came here when you were stressed or simply needed to be in your own company without feeling the claustrophobia of being stuck home.

Which is why you were more than a little shocked to find him in the one cove you frequent the most.

You were already only a few steps from the mouth of the cove when you’d noticed him, but you easily identified the soft mess of black hair as Jimin. You slowed to a light jog, quietly crossing into the cove’s entrance and standing behind him.

“Jimin?”

You don’t notice the six other figures in the cove.

“Shit.”

Jimin whips around to face you, and he looks the most conflicted you’ve ever seen him. It’s as though he’s torn between scolding you, being guilty, and pulling you into him—he’d thought he wouldn’t see you for three months, after all.

Finally, he settles on tugging you to the side and standing so close to you he’s blocking your sight from the six men behind him, as well as blocking them from seeing you. You’re looking up at him in a frown and he’s reaching to smooth it out with a thumb, as the two of you always do, but you step back and away from his reach. His face crumples a little, but he still reaches out once more, this time settling both hands on your arms while bending a little so he’s directly in front of you, eyes focused on yours.

“You need to get out of here.”

You scoff and try to shrug out of his hold, but he grips you tighter. “I’m serious, you shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t either, Jimin.”

“Look, I’ll explain everything later. But you have to—”

“When exactly is ’later,’ Jimin?” You’re exasperated already, running a hand through your hair. “As far as I knew, I wasn’t going to see you for another three months. Is that when you plan on—“

You’re pushed back suddenly, back slamming into one of the tall boulders encasing the cove with a small thud. Your head rocks back into the stone and an immediate pain throbs there, though it’s bearable enough that you don’t grimace. You focus your eyes on the man in front of you, and you’d have admired his stunning features had you been any less furious than you are momentarily. You fix him with the same glare he directs at you, and just barely begin to process his words as he’s speaking them.

“Who are you.” Not a question; a demand.

“What the fuck are you doing.”

“Who the fuck are you.”

“Let go.”

His arms were trapping you against the boulder, one across your chest to keep you from moving forward and his opposite hand encasing both your wrists. His thigh, thick and firm, pressed against your legs to effectively immobilize you, and the rest of his body pushed up against yours so you couldn’t escape.

You weren’t stupid; you knew he was fit and well trained and could probably crush you.

“Answer my fucking question.”

You could both faintly hear Jimin trying to talk the man in front of you out of hurting you. He was yelling, but his words fell of deaf ears and two of the five other men you hadn’t noticed earlier were holding him back.

“Suck my dick and choke on it.” His eyes narrowed further for the split second after you said that before he was tugging you towards him aggressively, only to slam you back into the boulders.

“Y/n,” Jimin yelled, rushing forward and out of the grasp his companions had on him to keep him from intervening between you and the man who had been manhandling you.

He was too late by the time he reached you: your head slammed into the boulder far more aggressively than it had before, and your vision spun briefly before you collapsed.

*******

Your head was throbbing more viciously then it ever had in your life, and your vision was hazy when your eyes blinked open.

“Thank fuck, holy shit. Y/n? Do you hear me?” You vaguely felt Jimin surrounding you, holding you in a way similar to how he had been when you’d initially collapsed at the dance studio. One hand was carding through your hair, and the other was resting against the side of your face, thumb stroking against your cheekbone and wiping the single tear that had slid off his face onto yours.

You nodded slightly, as well as you can with the way your head pounded and the way he held you firmly. “You scared me,” he whispered.

“I’m fine, Jimin. Your little friend’s just a fucking caveman.” You scowled at Jimin, clearly still waiting for an explanation.

Jimin didn’t seem to notice, too concerned to remember what you’d need arguing about. “You’re not fine, Y/n. Your head was bleeding.”

Your eyes widened a bit. “Well then why didn’t you take me to the fucking hospital?”

“I…I couldn’t. Besides, you weren’t out long enough for us to have even gotten to the hospital. The bleeding stopped; Namjoon helped.”

You huffed—you don’t care to know which of them Namjoon is just yet. “Whatever. Just explain why you’re here,” you said, whacking his hand off your cheekbone and moving to sit up against the boulder. He didn’t let you pull away from him, automatically moving to ease you upwards despite your squirming to get away from him.

You sat back against the boulder and he gingerly took each of your hands in his. You were too tired to pull away, so you left him to do as he pleased while he scooted closer yet. “Look, I’ll explain everything in a bit—just let me take you home, yeah?”

“I don’t want to go home, Jimin. I want an explanation.”

“You won’t get anywhere arguing with a woman like that.” It was a voice you hadn’t heard before, and you turn your head up to look at the figure who steps forward. “Just tell her, Jimin.”

His hair is grey, shaggy and mussed as though he hadn’t brushed it and left it windblown. He had an easy smile on his face, and it only grew wider when your scowl was directed at him. “Cute.”

You were ready to comment on his statement with narrowed eyes and a tone lilting in mockery—but you paused.

This was the first good look you were getting at any of the other six men behind Jimin. Each of them was dressed in unconventional clothing—all had different colored tunics on, with black, brown, or white trousers, and had several leather holsters strapped to their bodies carrying weapons. It wasn’t guns or tasers, either. No, there were throwing knives, twin swords, bows and arrows—you had even spotted a mace and a few full length swords, like the type you’d see in historical fiction series. You didn’t doubt there was more you weren’t seeing.

“Jimin…did you really make friends with the theatre kids?”

He laughed, and it was so airy and charming and you hated that it immediately drew your eyes back to him. His laughter died down, and a fond smile, the one where his eyes squished, remained behind. “No, baby. I just…I have a lot of explaining to do.”

And so he explains.

He had turned to the rest of the men behind him before starting, asking them to leave the two of you for a while. They filed out of the cove, some patting Jimin on the back and wishing him luck as they passed. You glared at the man who knocked you out earlier, and he snarled back.

When they were out of earshot, Jimin moved to sit next to you, his back against the boulders the same way yours were. He sighed, and didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know where to start.”

You didn’t look at him; you were staring ahead at a little seashell on the other side of the cove while he stared at the side of your face. “The beginning would be good.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He paused. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“Yeah, you were the new kid from Busan and we split my sandwich.”

“Not really.” He ran a hand through his hair when you turned to look at him, confused. “I didn’t come from Busan, baby. I’m from a place called Sera.”

Your head tilted and he had to refrain from tugging you to rest your head on his shoulder. This wasn’t the time. “I’ve never heard of it, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“I know. I’ll explain everything, but it’ll take a while, yeah? Let me finish first, then ask whatever you want, okay?” You nodded, and the two of you simultaneously leaned your heads back and faced forward, anticipating Jimin’s next words.

“My mom is from Busan, yes, but my dad is from Sera. They met when my dad visited Busan back when he was in his late teens, and fell in love pretty quickly. They got serious, and they found out they were having me when my mom was about a month into her pregnancy. They freaked out, because their circumstances didn’t really make it easy for them to have a kid, but both of them refused to get rid of me. So, my dad snuck my mom into Sera and hid her there until she had me. My dad was a powerful, rich man. He was the son of a wealthy, politically involved family, and was set to inherit the…family business. He had to hide her because Sera was in sort of a civil war during the time—there was a fight over whether my dad or his twin should inherit this business, and it quickly escalated and became a global controversy—”

“Wait, stop. I know you said to keep my questions to the end but what exactly do you mean ‘global’ controversy? I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard of anything like this. Besides, why would there be a civil war over some company’s heir?”

“I don’t think I’m explaining this well,” he sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. “This’ll sound weird, but just go with it. Yes, it was a global controversy, but you haven’t heard about it because it’s not this planet I’m talking about.” He raised a hand to cut you off when you were about to say something, the disbelief clear on your face. “I said go with it, baby.”

When he saw you deflate and nod for him to continue, he spoke again. “Sera isn’t another country, it’s another world. Think of it as a parallel universe, like from the Flash, except there aren’t any doppelgangers. Each universe is connected through some sort of energy, but none of them overlap. And the reason there was a civil war was because my dad was inheriting a throne. It wasn’t a literal family business. My dad and his brother were close, growing up, but the older they grew, the more their beliefs contradicted one another. Their parents started involving them in politics when they were about sixteen, things like meetings and official gatherings, so that they could get the hang of things and be able to develop their own opinions. Dad was more reasonable and fair; he was rational even when his parents started giving them more power. His brother was less composed; he turned into this power hungry tyrant who didn’t care about the people he was supposed to be protecting. He started endorsing and supporting this radical group that was gaining power at the time. So, naturally, my grandparents picked my dad for the throne.”

He picked up a seashell from next to him, twirling it around his fingers as he shut his eyes and continued. “My dad and his brother turned against each other then. My uncle was jealous and was willing to do anything to get the same kind of power my dad would be getting as king, so he left and joined that radical group as their leader. This group…they’re ruthless, and they only grew even more powerful when my uncle joined them. Since then, he’s been in hiding, working behind the scenes to cause as much damage as possible. My dad sent my mom and I back here when I was about five because it was too dangerous to stay there when the civil war started.” He finally stopped, turning to look at you. For a moment, you had no words.

“I can’t tell whether this is detailed enough for you to be telling the truth or so detailed that it has to be some diabolical lie.” You’d been frozen still the entire time, trying to keep up with his words and holding onto them like listening more intently would somehow make them more believable.

He drops the seashell he’d been toying with to grab your hand, eyes pleading at the side of your face to look at him. Your hand remains limp in both of his as he threads his fingers through yours. “You have to believe me, baby. I’ve been wanting to tell you for years. I need you to believe me.”

You rubbed at your temples, trying to tune him out to focus on processing the full weight of his words.

“Look at me.” He was begging now, eyes watering. “Look at me.” This was a different type of pain for Jimin—yesterday, he thought he was losing you for just a few months and it had been unbearable, but it was nothing in comparison to the fear coursing through him in that moment. If he lost you over having to lie about this, or if he lost you because you thought he was still lying—god, he doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you. So instead, he begged. “Please, Y/n,” he said, gripping your chin and harshly turning it toward him in his desperation. “You have to believe me.”

Your eyes widened when you saw him crying, and you automatically wiped his ears with your thumbs, your hands cupping his face while his moved to cover yours and keep them there, his face leaning into your touch. “I believe you.” He visibly relaxed, his breath leaving him as his shoulders released the tension that was building. “I believe you, Chim. I just needed to process. Don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have made up some bullshit excuse every summer.”

“Why do you go there every summer, anyways?”

“A lot of reasons.” He’d stopped crying by now, but was still sniffling a little. It almost felt like one of your late night conversations, when you were both holed up in either your room or his. “I used to go for training, since most Faes—that’s what I am, I’m half Fae, short for Faerie—are trained—”

“Woah, like combat training and shit?” you asked, eyes wide and beginning to compare Jimin to every fantasy protagonist character you could imagine.”

He laughed loudly, eyes squishing in that painfully endearing way that made you want to pinch his cheeks. So you did, and he laughed even harder. “Yes, like combat training and shit. I also go to see the royal family, since the king used to be close to my father—”

You cut him off again, confused. “Wait, isn’t your father the king—holy shit, you’re a prince. Oh my god. My best friend is a prince and I didn’t even know about it,” you exhaled, eyes wide and hands dropping from his face to your lap. His hands followed yours.

He was looking at you with a fond look on his face, feeling lighter than ever at being able to talk to you about this. “Not quite. He was, several years ago, but he was assassinated by my uncle and his followers,” he said gently, already knowing how you’d react.

Your eyes found his quickly, brows furrowing as your own guys began watering. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t know,” you whispered, arms wrapping around his neck to hug him close.

“It’s okay, baby. I was young; I don’t remember much of him, so there isn’t much for me to miss.” He still accepted your hug, gladly, and rested his chin on your head. You seemed to need more consolation than he had, and it only made him smile wider.

“Still. I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me about any of this. I’m sorry you probably felt alone for nine months out of the year,” you said, pulling away from him. He didn’t let you get far, letting you move just far enough to see his face.

You were tearing up, and he could see the effort you were putting into keeping from crying, but the tears still fell. He cooed at you, face going completely soft at your expression, your compassion. His heart squeezed in the most tender way at the way you cared so much, the way you loved him so much. It was so pure, and he knew he’d done the right thing telling you. “I’m okay, baby, promise” he spoke softly, pulling at his sweater paws to dab at your tears. “And I’ve never felt alone when I was with you, Y/n.” It was him tugging you in this time, resting one hand on the back of your head to lean it against his chest while his other arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“What else?” you said, voice a little hoarse.

“Hm?” He was perfectly content in the position you were in, having missed your warmth in the several hours he believed he wouldn’t see you for months.

“You said there were a lot of reasons you went back to Sera in the summer, but I cut you off before you finished. What else?”

“Oh.” He exhaled. “You remember those six guys who were here a few minutes ago?” You almost scowled when you remembered the muscular one who’d slammed you against the boulder, but he felt you nod. “They’re practically my family. We’re called an Atri. It’s the most sacred bond between people back in Sera. There’s a magic ceremony for it and all. I care about them just about the same as I care about you.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” an unfamiliar voice drawled out near you.

You pulled back from Jimin, and both of you turned back to face the six men who had been here earlier.

“Yoongi, didn’t I tell you guys to leave us for a bit?” Jimin responded.

“We got bored,” another one said, pouting. “Plus, the children were getting restless.”

“You’re not that much older than us, asswipe,” one shot back, kicking some sand at him.

“What Hoseok and Taehyung mean to say,” the tallest one said, “is that we need to get going. The rift is closing soon. We’ll come back tomorrow night to get you.”

“Besides, Jeongguk has his panties in a twist,” another sniggered, his laughs only getting louder. Jeongguk swiftly kicked him in the shin.

“Fuck off, Seokjin,” he grumbled. Ah. Jeongguk. So, that’s the ass who knocked you out.

Jimin just rolled his eyes. “Namjoon’s right. You guys should get out of here. I don’t have room for you assholes back at my place. Just come get us tomorrow.”

They all stiffened. You did too.

“Us?” you asked, turning to him. He froze, too, before turning to you.

“Why not?” he said, almost pleadingly. “I mean, you know everything now. And it’s summer. You don’t have any assignments and all our finals are done.”

“Yes, but I live here, Chim. My whole life, my family and friends are all here. Just because I know the basics doesn’t mean I know enough about Sera to go.”

“I’m with Y/n on this one, Jimin. It isn’t safe, and Earth is nothing like back home,” Namjoon responds.

Jimin is still looking at you. “Come on. You weren’t going back home, anyways. Your family’s on vacation, so you wouldn’t have been able to see them. Most of our friends are going on vacation, too, and you aren’t that close the ones that are staying. And I think you’ll like Sera, even if it isn’t like Earth. I’ll show you the places I spent my summers, where I grew up. Come on.”

You didn’t know how to respond, how to argue back, so you looked back at Namjoon as if to ask for help. He only shrugs. “He does have a point. You should come if you don’t have anyone to stay for.”

You pouted, watching him grin back at you. “Traitor.” You hesitantly looked back to Jimin.

“Say yes.” His eyes were flitting between both of yours, searching to see if you had any other argument left in you. He grinned when he saw you didn’t have one.

“I guess we’re going on an adventure.”

You didn’t have to look to know that the displeased grumble had come from Jeongguk.

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[sultrysirens]

Blue Blood [Part 17]

Universe: Detroit: Become Human

Rating: PG-13 (swearing)

Characters: Connor, Evelyn (OFC)

Tags: interspecies, romance, fluff, detective, law enforcement, original character, continuation, sex

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The next day at work wasn’t quite so pleasing. Guerrero pulled them in for a talk as soon as they arrived, before they’d even had a chance to sit down.

Connor stood before the captain with his hands clasped in front of him. Evelyn, he noted, clasped her hands behind her back -- a military stance. Guerrero, on the other hand, looked tired, perched at the edge of his desk.

He began, “You brought in two men for android assault.”

“That, we did,” Evelyn agreed.

“Android assault isn’t a thing yet,” he pointed out. “There’s still no laws--”

“So that means we should just let them assault people?” she demanded.

He gave her a hard look. “You interrupt me entirely too often, Forbes.”

That got her to glance down. “Sorry, Captain,” she said.

“It’s a problem of yours, and you need to get that sorted,” he impressed.

She shifted, uncomfortable.

“If I may,” Connor cut in, a hand held up for patience.

Guerrero sent him a measuring look, then nodded. “Sure,” he allowed.

His tone wasn’t exactly inviting, Connor thought, but he took the opportunity nonetheless. “It’s not just android assault. I’m a detective here, too -- they assaulted a government official. And even if we can’t prosecute them, those men were being aggressive and violent. They need to know it’s not acceptable behavior in a civilized world.”

Evelyn gestured him. “Spoken better than I could’ve,” she noted.

The captain ducked his head, rubbing his buzzed scalp with a sigh. At length, he looked up again, saying, “We had to let them go. There were no charges to give--”

“No charges -- they incited a riot,” she snapped, agitated.

“Forbes,” he returned, a warning to his tone.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just...they need some kind of punishment. We can’t sweep this under the rug just because it happened to an android--”

“Forbes,” he repeated, more firm; she fell silent. “I understand. You feel this is an injustice and your job is to provide that justice -- particularly in defense of your own partner. But there’s still no android laws,” he impressed. “And as for a riot -- I read the report. They were threatening neither persons nor property, and until the laws get updated, androids are neither persons nor property.”

A deep, burning resentment took hold of Connor then, hearing that. Guerrero wasn’t wrong -- thanks to the president declaring androids as people, they no longer had the protection of being property, and until they were included in the law as a people, that meant they were nothing. Neither people nor property...they were honestly better off before.

At least before people could be fined for damaging an android. Now they didn’t even have that in their favor.

Guerrero continued, “Any judge would throw out the case, and then the D.A. would have a field day with the press -- especially because you were off duty,” he intoned. “You shouldn’t have been making any arrests to begin with. At this point we’ll be lucky if they don’t turn around and press charges against the precinct.”

She looked away, radiating both chagrin and frustration.

He took a breath, sighed. “There’s nothing we can do about this that won’t make things worse for the precinct. And until we have a stronger back from the community,” he continued, “we need to be cautious, whatever your moral compass says. We don’t have the numbers to deal with actual riots. Not anymore.”

She huffed, clearly unhappy with this call, and Connor empathized with her. But he could see things from Guerrero’s point of view, too; the captain was thinking of the precinct as a whole and he was trying to keep them in the community’s good graces. Connor couldn’t fault the man for that -- especially since the revolution. The lack of android officers meant half the precinct was unavailable to deal with any backlash from the community.

Aloud, Connor said, “I understand. Perhaps just being in holding for a night was enough to scare the men straight. And if they continue to pick fights, we need only to bide our time. The laws will come,” he said to Evelyn.

She gave him a questioning look, as if she didn’t quite believe him, but nodded regardless. “Here’s hoping,” she agreed.

Guerrero seemed satisfied by that, and he prompted, “Well. Now that we’ve sorted that out, what about Montgomery? I understand you two dug up some leads yesterday.”

The change of subject was a relief. Connor happily gave a verbal update, interspersed with Evelyn’s thoughts and conclusions, leading to the outcome that they’d need to interview Montgomery’s rival lawyers as well as Montgomery’s L.A. home and office. Neither of them believed a lawyer had gotten their hands dirty, but it was likely at least one of them was in bed with who had.

Guerrero listened, then gave a nod. “If you think it’ll aid the investigation, you’re welcome to go. Good luck,” he said, giving them a dismissive wave towards his door.

Evelyn nodded without a response, heading out, but Connor left with a cordial, “Have a nice day, Captain.”

Guerrero didn’t reply.

Outside the room, she commented, “You know you don’t need to be all hyper-polite, right?”

He glanced at her, surprised. “Should I not be polite towards my own captain?” he said as he trailed her, the pair of them heading to their desks.

“Not Guerrero,” she chuckled. “He never responds. I think it’s his way of being the ‘dad’ of the precinct -- giving everyone the cold shoulder, pretending to be all distant and tough.”

Curious, he asked, “Did you used to do it, too? The farewells?”

“When I first started, yeah. Took me a couple weeks before I figured out he’s being the tough, stubborn boss and won’t reciprocate.” She took her seat, logged in, and navigated to the digital case file.

He considered that -- Guerrero’s behavior -- for just a moment, concluding that the man was likely keeping up appearances. Then, attention shifting, he logged in, too, and began filling out a report on the information they’d gleaned from Mrs. Dulcevey.

Evelyn lifted her hands from the keyboard as he did so, surprised and amused. “Well, I can’t type half that fast. Or read that fast,” she noted as his report spawned into being from simple thought, appearing on her computer, too.

He chuckled. “Sorry, this is just how fast I go.”

“Mm. In which case,” she began, rising, “I don’t wanna interrupt so I’ll just go grab a coffee. Don’t break anything,” she added as she stepped away.

He smirked. He was truly starting to enjoy her teasing. It was just so friendly, the way she spoke to him. And...his thoughts were bleeding over into his report, he realized with a start. Those small thoughts managed to get sandwiched in the middle of a sentence about Ton Hoang.

Whoops.

He quickly edited those unrelated snippets out and continued his task. By the time Evelyn returned with her coffee, he’d narrowed down a sequence of events for the future of the case -- aside from interviewing the lawyers, which he expected would take time. They’d need to set up appointments, given they had no evidence to call upon, and undoubtedly the lawyers would wait until they had their ducks in a row. Aside from that, however...

To Evelyn, he outlined to her his desire to return to Montgomery’s estate so he could use his features to search for additional clues, namely how far the wireless signals went and if the home was receiving any from outside sources. Second, he wanted to check Montgomery’s L.A. residence and office as well, hoping that the victim had moved the thumb drive they were looking for to one of the two locations, and if not, they’d at least be able to build more of a profile on the victim that way. Third, he wanted to interview those closest to Montgomery himself.

Once he was finished speaking, he waited, and after a few moments’ time she spoke up.

“We can set up interviews pretty easily,” she began. “Montgomery is set to have a wake on the 15th. Most of his family are here already, as far as I know, so that shouldn’t be too hard. The lawyers will probably play the system as long as they can, though, waiting days or weeks or months if possible -- we’d be better off leaving them until we have some way to pressure them to show.”  

Then, sounding exhausted already, she intoned, “Either way, we’re in for a grind.”

“In which case,” he replied, “perhaps we should start with Montgomery’s residences.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Agreed. Is the report done?”

He nodded. “You can check it if you like,” he offered.

“I’ll have to,” she returned. “I’ll need to add my own perspective, at the very least. Think you can handle contacting the family to set up interviews?”

“Not a problem,” he agreed. He’d have to do them one at a time, though; he had to verbally speak to make calls to humans. He started those while Evelyn read his report and started adding in her own words, ultimately setting up five interviews by the time she concluded her part of the report.

Once he checked it, he was actually surprised. She was fast -- almost unnaturally so, he noted. Even factoring in her occasional pauses, clearly thinking things through, she managed roughly 82 words per minute.

Not beyond human ability, he admitted, but that still came out to more than a word per second. She must’ve written up a great deal of reports in this job, he concluded, impressed.

Granted, he could do 256 words per minute (being a literal computer was kind of amusing sometimes) so he was already a minimum of three times faster than her, but still. For a human her speed was definitely notable.

It wasn’t too long before their desk work was completed -- less than two hours since they clocked in -- and then they were off. In the car, Evelyn started to set her dashcom* to direct her to Montgomery’s residence (their first stop), but Connor stopped her, already having the route calculated. He told her when and where to make turns for the half-hour drive, keeping up with traffic changes in real time, and got them there faster than her dashcom could’ve.

The home was in a suburban neighborhood, and he reflexively scanned things as they approached the home. Everything was well-tended down this snaking road, veering in gentle twists between roads, and numerous cars were parked on car-lots and on the curbs. A few humans were about, doing maintenance or walking dogs or talking in small gatherings.

Not a single android was in sight, he noted.

“You know what’d be cool?” she said as they got out of the vehicle. Without waiting for his response, she answered, “If you’d stop making all of my devices obsolete.”

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. But if it makes you feel any better,” he offered, “I can’t make a decent cup of coffee.”

She inclined her head. “Well, that’s one thing I’ve got, I guess. But I swear to God, if you turn around and get some coffee machine feature, I will scream.”

“I’ll just file that away under ‘Ways To Make Evelyn Scream’,” he commented, amused.

She gave a laugh. Then, as they headed to the door of Montgomery’s two-story suburban home, a sound caught their attention from within. They both stopped dead, glancing at one another, and Connor took the opportunity to analyze the sound.

For a suspended moment in time, he replayed the noise in his own mind, concluding that it was the sound of a drawer being shoved closed -- not gently, but with excessive force. Someone was within.

He asked quickly, “Would it be likely that Montgomery’s relations would come here, possibly to pack his things?”

“Not when there’s no car out front,” she answered, already reaching to her belt.

He took another glance at the street, but none of the vehicles in sight -- aside from Evelyn’s Mustang -- were close enough to suggest which one, if any, might belong to whomever was currently inside the home.

“An invader,” he concluded, already striding to the front door to check it. It was unlocked, he found, though undamaged; the digital lock had been hacked open. He sent Evelyn a glance over his shoulder, relaying as much.

She gestured him aside. “I’ll go in this way, you find a side door,” she directed under her breath.

“I’d rather be the one taking that risk,” he returned as quietly.

“I’m the one with the firearm,” she shot back. “Go.” She inclined her head to her left, around the side of the house.

For a split second he was conflicted. From a logical standpoint, that was smart: the person with ranged defense could easily distract any opponents while the one without snuck up from elsewhere. But from an emotional standpoint, he didn’t want her in that kind of danger.

During that split second, he struggled with himself, a war of tactical advantage versus emotional impulse. A feeling of nostalgia rose as he fought to determine the priority between the two, reminded of his first investigation alongside Hank.

After a heartbeat of debate, logic won. He gave a firm nod and headed off, moving around the home as quietly as his shoes would allow, keeping low so he wouldn’t be seen through the windows. Soon he came upon a side door -- unsurprising for this type of home -- and checked it. Still locked.

He hacked it with a touch, the physical lock clacking as the digital code released it. He pushed it open, listening, and found he’d entered the kitchen area. He could see three open doorways from here; following the sound of rummaging led him further left, towards the rear of the home. He caught a glimpse of Evelyn through the middle doorway as he moved, hands low in front of her, her firearm at the ready.

He hugged the doorway ahead of him, looking into the room beyond -- some form of sitting room, he deduced, with comfortable furniture. Listening closer, he heard the creak of footfalls further to the right and ducked into the next room to follow it.

Now that he’d pinpointed the intruder, though, he encountered a new problem: this room’s door was closed. He’d undoubtedly be noticed if he opened it. Still, reminded that Forbes could potentially be in danger going by her path, he gripped the lever handle and gave it a slow, testing twist. Unlocked, he determined, though it had a physical keyhole on his side of it.

Assuming the room beyond was Elias’ home study and, by extension, for the intruder to be looking for valuable case files, he moved slowly, avoiding making the slightest noise--

--right up until he heard Evelyn’s voice clearly call out, “Don’t move! Hands where I can see them!”

The target of her forceful order gave a startled shriek and Connor dropped pretense, swinging the door open to take in the situation.

His assessment had been correct, he saw at once: this was a study. A single bookshelf, desk, computer, and chair filled one half; the other half had merely a low, oval coffee table with a sofa and two chairs situated around it. And currently there was a woman behind the desk, illuminated by the window on her opposite side.

She was black with blue eyes, her head shaved, wearing an ensemble that was almost eerily identical to Evelyn’s. She also had two cameras on her in easy sight, one at her left shoulder and one anchored to her belt, as well as a half-visor over her right eye he didn’t recognize. He scanned the female at once, finding a laundry list of criminal accusations -- and no convictions. Not a single one went through, he found with surprise.

[Sasha Porter; born 3/15/2012; 5′9″, 137.2lbs]

She already had her hands in the air, and she called out, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t shoot, I’m here legally!”

“Legally?” Evelyn echoed. “Identify yourself.”

“Sasha Porter, I’m a P.I.,” the woman declared. Then she seemed to notice Connor, giving him a double take but clearly more concerned with the gun trained on her.

Evelyn went from suspicious to sputtering, “Y-you’re a -- you’re a private investigator?” she checked.

“Yes,” Sasha insisted.

Jutting her chin, Evelyn demanded, “Show me an I.D.”

Moving slow, keeping one hand in front of her, Sasha did so, reaching down to her belt and withdrawing an I.D. wallet. She opened it, showing Evelyn.

To him, Evelyn said, “Connor, please check it.”

Not a problem. He strode closer, keeping aware of Sasha’s hands as he did so (just in case), and she turned the I.D. towards him offering as he neared. He scanned it as soon as it was close enough for his gaze to pick up on the details, checking the credentials.

It was legitimate, he concluded at once. Issued on 9/12/33, Sasha had been in this profession for the last five years. With this, he was even able to connect her to thirty-eight successful convictions. She got another commission completed roughly every two months.

She was good at her job.

He gestured Evelyn to back down, saying, “It’s real.”

With a sigh, she relented, holstering her weapon. Sasha gave a heavy exhale, too, patting her chest, and put her I.D. back in her pocket.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Forbes demanded.

“Investigating, what’s it look like?” Sasha returned, tone sharp. “What are you, anyway? LAPD?”

Evelyn nodded. “Yeah. I’m Sergeant Evelyn Forbes, this is Detective Connor,” she introduced, gesturing him.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Sasha complained.

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t get that a lot in your profession,” Evelyn returned. Then, giving Sasha a vague wave, she asked, “You recording?”

“While I’m on the job? Always,” Sasha confirmed, giving Connor a glance. “You an android?” she asked him.

“Jacket give that away?” he returned dryly, moving to join up with his partner.

She gave him an annoyed look.

“Hey,” Evelyn began, getting Sasha’s attention. She gestured own her eye, saying, “What’s this you’re wearing?”

“Camera/scanner combo,” Sasha told her. “Doesn’t record, but it can take pictures and has a number of visual settings.”

“Ooh. I should get me one of those,” Evelyn commented.

“Good luck with that, it’s new tech -- just released a couple days ago,” Sasha told her. “Super expensive.”

That would explain why Connor hadn’t been able to identify it, then. He checked, “What’s it called?”

Giving him a curious look, Sasha answered, “Heimdall Elite. Kinda pretentious, if you ask me.”

He logged that, creating a file for it. It didn’t take but an instant to have it named with all of its identifying markers and logged with all the information he could glean from the internet.

Evelyn commented, “Cool. Now who hired you, and what are you looking for here?”

Sasha gave her a dumb look. “You know I’m under no obligation to answer either of those questions. Gotta protect my clients. You understand,” she said -- not a question.

“Mm,” was Evelyn’s response. She paused then, thoughtful, and Connor was hit with a sense of impatience.

“Why are we waiting?” he asked her.

“Because she’s recording,” Evelyn returned, crossing her arms.

Good point. As long as a private investigator was present and recording, the police were limited in what they could do -- and, given she had active cameras going, what they were willing to do.

Sasha gave them a wave. “You can wait outside. Or just check some other rooms. Don’t let me get in your way.”

“You’re directly in our way, actually,” Evelyn told her.

Shrugging, Sasha said, “I got here first. And you know I can’t take or even move anything. Let me finish up my job, then you can do yours. Deal?”

Evelyn sighed, relenting, and moved back out towards the hall. He kept pace with her, taking stock of the area he hadn’t yet seen. The hall led directly to the front door, the study completely opposite the front door, with more doorways opening to a living room and dining room with a staircase right in the middle of it all.

“Pretty nice place,” he noted.

“Yeah -- I’m not buying it, though,” she commented, glancing around.

Looking towards her, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Lawyers usually get penthouses and mansions, not family homes in suburban neighborhoods,” she explained. “This is tiny and much more familial than his other residence. It doesn’t add up -- I’d bet this was just a show home.”

He could definitely see that, he admitted. Thinking on it, he decided to run a check, searching through what few databases he currently had access to; finding the deed and former owners of this home, he said, “This was Montgomery’s childhood home. He inherited it. Technically, it belongs to his son now, but Henry hasn’t been here in over a decade.”

Nodding, Evelyn worked out, “Then this is more likely his personal office than anything.” She glanced around, thoughtful, before starting to ascend the stairs. “In which case, there’s gotta be something here worth finding,” she was saying.

He trailed behind her, sending a glance down the hall -- checking on Sasha -- as he went. She was still busying herself with her digging, picking up stacks of papers before replacing them and investigating the drawers and bookshelves. Confirming that she was obeying the private investigator restrictions, he left her be.

Four doors sectioned the second floor, he found: two on their left, one on their right, one a few steps ahead. All were open, allowing him to note that the master bedroom was the one furthest to the left with a den of sorts on that side as well. The door to their front was a bathroom, and the one to their right was a spare bedroom.

She was heading for the den as she directed, “No touching anything you don’t have to, and if you move anything, put it right back where you found it.”

He was familiar with the P.I. laws, so he replied, “I’m more than capable of following the law.”

“A reminder never hurt anyone,” she pointed out.

Fair.

He left her to the den while he headed for the master bedroom and began his search.

It was about as fruitful as searching Helen Baker’s apartment had been, Connor found close to twenty minutes later. He’d looked absolutely everywhere, checking every drawer, examining the walls for hidden compartments, scanning for abnormal power lines, even checking every single article of clothing in the wardrobe and closet.

Nothing significant or noteworthy came to light. His conclusion: either Montgomery had kept all crime-related business out of his home, or he’d kept it out of his bedroom.

Giving up, he checked on Evelyn then, finding her sitting on the floor with a circle of papers around her, clearly having placed them there.

“So much for not touching anything,” he noted, striding in to take a closer look. “What did you find?”

“A pattern,” she explained, starting to gesture certain parts of the papers.

Each one seemed to have a different theme -- some were printed emails, some were excerpts from cases or books, some were collections of notes -- but he saw what she did: a sequence.

Time, date, place, and some kind of key word -- either a noun or an adjective and noun paired together. 5:23pm, November 11th, Donovan’s, red corvette; 2:17am, August 6th, Bookman’s, ATM; 9:02pm, April 27th, Franklin Blvd, yacht; it went on, a total of fourteen clues laid out together.

Impressed, he asked, “How did you notice this?”

“It stood out from the rest,” she answered absently. Then, glancing up at him, she checked, “Do you have all this memorized?”

He nodded. “You should put them back,” he said, but she was already doing so, arranging them almost haphazardly in between a series of other stacks.

Concerned that she might be mixing them up, he said, “I wish you’d gotten my attention before you pulled all those out. I could’ve put them back exactly as they’d been.”

She pulled out her phone. “I took pictures before I removed anything,” she informed him. “But you’re right -- I’m sorry about that. Guess I’m still just used to working alone.”

As she’d been for the last year, he reminded himself. The habits she must have developed from the lack of a partner...he’d definitely have to fight her now and again, if only to remind her that he was there and he could handle himself. She’d already displayed some of that loner mentality, he realized then, despite her visibly trying to include him the rest of the time.

“Not to worry, I’ll help you break those habits,” he teased, “whether you like it or not.”

She smiled at him, and he heard Sasha ascending the stairs then.

To Evelyn, he said, “Our rival is on her way.”

Blowing out a sigh, Forbes nodded. “I think it’s in our best interest to take our leave, then,” she concluded. “Let her do her thing. We can come back later.”

Agreeing, he gestured ahead, directing, “Ladies first.”

The look she gave him, then, was a kind of amused suspicion, like she was surprised by his politeness.

Somewhat offended, he retorted, “What? I’m not allowed to have manners?”

“Nah -- I’m just not used to it,” she explained, heading out. “Excuse us,” she said to Sasha as the P.I. passed her at the landing.

Sasha stepped aside, watching them go. “Y’all done?” she checked.

“For now,” Connor answered. “Good luck on your investigation.”

Eyes narrowing with suspicion, Sasha returned, “You, too.”

Once they were on the road again, Connor noted, “So, she was interesting.”

“You think?” Evelyn prompted, curious. “What makes Sasha Porter so intriguing?”

“For one thing, she was dressed almost identical to you,” he noted.

“I am immediately offended.”

He chuckled, then continued, “For another -- she has blue eyes. That’s exceedingly rare. Most likely, she has European ancestry in her -- and if not, she’s a mutant of the most beautiful variety.”

Smirking, she quipped, “Well, you already sound smitten.”

“I am immediately offended,” he shot back.

Laughing, she said, “Seriously, though, I agree. Those eyes are gorgeous on her. If I were a lesbian, man...” She gave a soft whistle.

With a dry laugh, he pointed out, “You’re married, so you wouldn’t do a damn thing.”

“How dare you crush my hopes and dreams,” she complained.

“Besides which,” he pressed, “she’s a P.I. You’re a cop. You said it yourself: the professions don’t mesh.”

“Sounds like a great premise for a rom-com,” she returned. “Maybe some good drama in there, too. I can see it now: she was a detective with LAPD, hard-driven and no-nonsense,” she intoned with a deep, narrative voice. “But while on a case, she crossed paths with a private investigator -- and what they found took them down a path of intrigue, betrayal, and romance--”

“Enough,” Connor laughed, waving her to silence.

Giggling, Evelyn relented. “So,” she prompted, “how about we actually get to work? Can you set up a timeline for those settings?”

Not a problem. He’d organized them by date and put pins in a mental map of where they’d taken place, linking them together, while they’d been talking. He said now, “Already done. It’s...interesting,” he offered.

“How so?”

“The locations are very random,” he explained. “They’re all over the state, not just L.A. I’m thinking they’re most likely related in terms of who or which entities own the areas -- there’s just no pattern to their locations.”

“Unless there’s more locations and we just don’t have that information yet,” she suggested.

Plausible, he admitted. “Maybe. But we should hold off on that until we have more to go on.”

“Agreed. You ready to go digging in a lawyer’s corner office?” she checked.

“More than. Let’s get this done,” he said, feeling more determined by the second. It seemed everything they found on Montgomery only deepened the mystery, rather than unraveling any of it.

It they didn’t find any solid leads after today, he feared it would become an obsession for him, the puzzle too great to ignore. Yet, weirdly, he found himself liking that concept: that he’d find a case he literally couldn’t put to bed.

In a sense, the deviancy case had never been solved, and to a small degree he was still curious about it. But the way things had gone, he’d ceased to care about why it’d happened -- it was just a good thing it had. And, to an extent, he didn’t want to solve it, either. A part of him felt protective of the mystery, liking keeping it unsolved meant he was protecting his fellow androids.

No, the deviancy case was perfectly fine left cold. But this one -- Montgomery -- was a damn good substitute, drawing his focus and intrigue. He couldn’t wait to see where it went from here.

--

* Dashcom = an abbreviation I came up with for “dash computer”, as I assume they’ll be incredibly popular in the near future (especially for government officials, like the police and FBI) and will very likely be referred to as such.

--

[>>>NEXT>>>]

[bearpillowmonster]

Assassin’s Creed 4: Black Flag Review

I'm going to split this review up in a sandwich so we'll have some good then some bad then a overall but it will be a lot of list of thoughts and just things about the game. I only ever played Brotherhood other than this so you can have that to go off of for reference. I've had dreams about this game before I played it and while I knew that it would never meet the expectation of those dreams, it still surprised me at how good it did.

The good. There are parts where the wind will blow your ship hard enough to make you change course and you have to steer against it, that sounds like one of the easily finicky features but I had no problem at all, it was welcome. This really is a definitive pirate experience, the good, the bad, and the ugly. You can sync watch towers to teleport from one part of the island to another or if you sync all of them in that island then you can just fast travel from anywhere there rather than traversing the entire map (whole diff island). There's a Mayan outfit that you can collect tokens for throughout the game, so I got it and it has some neat perks my only complaint is that it has no hood. You have a scope to check out ships and what level and cargo they have so you know whether to bother plundering them or not. The shipmates sing songs (which are called shanties) whenever you're sailing which really kind of brings it to life which and you can collect these shanties in the form of flying pages so they can sing new songs. You can rescue pirates and add them to your crew, whether they're castaways stuck at sea or need your helping fighting guards, I always liked recruiting in Brotherhood. Every time you get on the ship, the crew cheers, I love it!

You can technically see a beefy ship and watch it tussle with other ships until they chip it down, as long as you get a blow in then you can still plunder it but you still have to take out the crew, especially the captain. You have a blow dart so you can tranquilize people but it's only a limited time before they wake up unless another guard finds them then they can wake up faster. You can change the colors of your sails but I think it would have been more effective to have the sails act as an upgrade so certain ones will give you better speed or something, just something that would have been cool but you can upgrade the ship through other means so that's cool. You can skin animals and use their hides to create armor or upgrades to health or whatever but I rarely ever hunted anything so it's not necessary at all but I appreciate that you can skip the cutscene of actually skinning it. Which is another thing that's not all that bad but something to point out, you don't have instant health vials like you do in Brotherhood, you just kind of have to work through it, if you're good then it's not a problem though. One more thing...BLACKBEEEAAARRRRDDDD!

The bad. So I played this without subtitles...because I couldn't find how to turn them on, then I did find it in the main menu settings towards the end, I really hate that but it's my bad, just a disclaimer for how my experience went. However the story isn't all that great or big, it's kind of just whatever, half the time I'm not sure what relevance some characters have to the plot but it's not a big deal, this isn't really a game for story but that doesn't mean it doesn't have good scenes. There's a windmill that sounds pretty cool but climbing up it is a pain in the rear partially due to controls, it took me so long to figure out and do it properly. James Kidd is a douche, enough said. There's a certain person you have to kill when you get marooned which doesn't make much sense to me because I had a berserk dart (meant for the crocodiles but again I barely hunted so I saved it) so why couldn't I have had the option to use that? 

Glitches and stuff. When you open chests, it's a bit finicky and you have to be in a certain spot, same with when you knock someone out, it will say "loot ammo" but you have to be in the right spot even if it gives you a button prompt (towards the head). I was on a trailing mission and was in the final stage where they have a conversation before the cutscene, so I was hiding in a bush, didn't move because I was listening. They almost finished the convo when it said "target lost" which if you know AC games, there's a vicinity where you need to be in, I was well within that range and I was practically in the exact same spot when I succeeded the second time. In the last part of Havana, I was looking for the target, using eagle vision and such but he didn't show up. I went everywhere in the green area, I even ended up taking out every person in the area and nothing. I looked it up and sure enough the guy who was supposed to be there, didn't spawn! I had to exit the animus and go back in to restart the mission. (he was on the close side of the church). I infiltrated a naval base and in order to capture it, you need to go into the war room. I took out the officers then went  there, in the middle of the cutscene of me opening the door, some guy back-stabbed me, there was no way I could have defended from it. A similar instance happened (but without the cut-scene) in the jungle. I died to a jaguar I believe and respawned but when I respawned, the little summary of the island showed up where it gives stats for what collectibles you have and stuff, it take up a 1/3 of the screen so I couldn't block any attack from it in the quick time event because I had no idea what button to press. I mentioned the Mayan outfit, with collecting the tokens, Edward will say "One more to finish my collection" after collecting so many which gets your hopes up but chances are that you'll need more, he says it too early. I went after a courier and I was right behind him whenever the chase started and I guess the game didn't like that so he rubberbanded away at an unreasonable speed. A shipmate glitched out of the ship and just hung there in mid air while I sailed.

Major rant. Back in the day it was cool to collect stuff because you would usually get something cool out of it and it was mysterious but with the internet now, it's just not mysterious so it doesn't work as well, so why not tell people what doing something will reward you? Especially if it sounds boring like "Animus Fragments" which are nothing more than balls of light. I ended up looking it up when I was around 75% done with the game which means I could have collected at least half of them right? (there are 200!) I'm not a completionist but alas the reward is too good...a skeleton crew! I wanted to end it as decked out as I could because I'm not usually one for post game content either but I did a nice big roundup of these fragments, but not quite all of them...I looked more into it and apparently you need to do challenges and the fragments are just a piece of the bigger picture...so alright, a lot more work but I WOULD still do it in order to get the skeleton crew. It even involves online missions I believe and I'm not up for that. But then...I figured out all of this requires you to more or less 100% the game which means you don't get it UNTIL POST GAME. So you finish the game and you don't even have it for the end, it doesn't even show up in cut-scenes (which wouldn't be a big deal but given the circumstances-) It's just not worth it, you can't even save after the main missions are done apparently so you get to just roam around with it for a little bit. I would rather it not be in the the game at all than tease me like it did, what a let down, what a sham! I was going to say how GREAT this game was but this made me mad because of how promising it was. There aren't even mods or bypasses or anything because it's an AC game.

The overall. It outdoes Brotherhood in the gameplay but the story for BH was better. In the end, I had more fun with this one for sure but I'm going to dock it for the misinformed skeleton crew, save yourself the hours of trying to get it. I will however say that if you are into pirates then check this game out! Like even if you're only slightly into them or have some sort of soft spot, try it! I played KH3 in the Caribbean and while I liked the world, I never thought I would be so giddy over a bunch of pirates like I was with this game. However this apparently connects to AC3 in some way, so I didn’t understand it, I might or might not try that one, not sure yet, I hear it’s sort of weak but if you want to understand the ending to its fullest then you should probably plan on playing AC3 either before or after or just look it up and spoil it, whichever you prefer. If there’s anything I’m wrong about or you want to convince me to play AC3, everything’s welcome, be my guest.

[fanfic-from-a-67-impala]

When Mary Met Kelly...

Characters: Mary Winchester x Kelly Kline, Castiel, Sam, Dean

Word Count: 3932

Summary: As Kelly's due date approaches, Castiel calls Mary over for some motherly advice.

Warnings: angst, pregnancy (nothing more than you see in the show), death

And, like, obviously this is Mary-positive. If you don't like it, then don't read it!

A/N: Whew! Made it just in time for @spnsafficchallenge​. Almost had to ask for an extension for my own challenge. This took an insanely long time to write.

Adds a few days between 12.22 and 12.23, but otherwise canon-compliant.

When Mary met Kelly, she knew she wasn’t supposed to.

It’s been a long week. Mary is recovering from the Men of Letters’ brainwashing. She feels jumpy, like she had too much coffee, and she hears a soft droning sound in her ears that she can’t get rid of. Sometimes, when she first wakes up or is about to fall asleep, she thinks she might be in that room in the compound again, trapped in her own mind.

But she’s not. She’s safe in the bunker with her boys, and everything is okay.

Castiel is missing. He ran away with the mother of Lucifer’s child, and the boys aren’t very happy with him. Dean has uttered a few choice words about him that Mary would have scolded him for if she thought it was her prerogative.

She’s not sure what to think when Castiel’s name pops up on her phone.

“Mary, I need your help,” he says.

“Castiel? What is it?”

“It’s Kelly,” he replies. “Her due date is approaching, and she’s asking questions that I’m… I’m less than qualified to answer.”

Mary hears him sigh through the speaker, filled with disappointment and maybe shame.

“What do you need from me?” she asks.

“I’m texting you coordinates to a house in North Cove, Washington. How soon can you be here?”

She checks the time on her phone. “Tomorrow night?”

“Good. Mary, thank you.” He lets his voice trail off, as if he wants to say something more.

“Castiel?”

“I realize this is too much to ask, but you must keep this from Sam and Dean.”

She sighs. Lying isn’t the first step she would have chosen toward starting over with her boys. But if she can help, if she can find out where Kelly is hiding, she could at least give them that.

“Of course.”

When Mary met Kelly, she was exhausted.

She’s driven for twenty-four hours straight, stopping only at two gas ’n’ sips. Her eyes are closing even as Castiel opens the door to her.

“Thank you for coming,” he says.

She drops her bag on a couch, surveying the room. “Nice place.”

From the outside, she assumed they were hiding out in some abandoned shack. She imagined rotting wood and battery-powered lanterns. Instead, the soft light of a lamp sitting on the end table illuminates the couch cushions and the coffee table and the chair in front of the television set.

It reminds her of her house in Lawrence.

“It’s modest,” Castiel admits. “It was the best rental I could find in such a short timeframe.”

Mary hears footsteps padding down the stairs.

A woman, her belly bulging beneath her dress, rounds the corner. Her eyes land on Mary, and she flings a hand out to the railing behind her with a gasp.

“It’s all right,” Castiel nods to her.

Her shoulders drop, eyes softening at his assurance.

“Kelly, this is Mary Winchester,” he explains, “Sam and Dean’s mother.”

“Their mother?” Kelly exclaims in surprise. “You can’t be—you’re… You look…”

Mary gets this a lot.

“It’s a long story,” she answers reflexively.

Castiel clears his throat. “I asked Mary to come. I figured we could use someone with experience in this area.”

Kelly slowly makes her way to them. She rests one protective hand over her bump. She has the glow of a soon-to-be mother all the excitement and fear in the world wrapped into one body, something Mary hasn’t seen in ages.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mary,” she says.

When Mary met Kelly, she felt her resolve crumble.

Castiel senses her exhaustion and leads her to a spare room.

Angels don’t need sleep, she remembers him telling her one night. She usually tosses and turns, struggling to fall asleep, in strange places, but the thought that he’ll be outside eases her worry. She imagines it eases some of Kelly’s worries about her baby’s safety as well.

Mary wakes with the sun. It filters through the sheer-curtained window.

She holds her cell phone in her hand. She meant to call the boys as soon as Castiel closed the door behind him last night, but she must have fallen asleep before she dialed.

A soft knock sounds.

She climbs out of bed and opens the door. Kelly stands in the doorway in a bathrobe, greeting Mary with a smile. Now that Mary’s head is clearer, less sleep-deprived, she takes in the softness about Kelly, the peacefulness, her comforting smile. She would have described her as angelic before she knew what angels were.

“Good morning, Mary,” she says, her voice sweet.

“Morning,” Mary replies. “Please, come in.”

Kelly follows her into the room. “Castiel picked up breakfast. It’s downstairs if you’d like.”

Mary thinks back to the last time she ate—a soggy ham sandwich from a gas station in Oregon.

“That sounds great,” she says.

Kelly nods to the phone in Mary’s hand. “Did you get a chance to call your sons?”

Mary stammers. “Uh… sorry?”

“That was the plan, wasn’t it?” Kelly says. “Scope out the place, make sure we were really here before you gave them our address?”

Kelly speaks softly, her gentle smile still in place. Mary almost wishes she were angry. Her eyes flicker away from Kelly’s.

“How did you know?” Mary asks.

“You had a look,” Kelly shrugs. “I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?” Mary repeats, laughing faintly. “You’ll make a great mom.”

Kelly’s smile fades for only a moment before it returns.

“I didn’t call them,” Mary says finally. “But, Kelly, they don’t want to hurt you. Or your baby.”

“But they will,” she says. “They’ll kill us both if they can’t take away the thing that makes him special.”

Mary wants to argue, but she can’t. She’s heard the way the boys talk about the child growing inside Kelly. Lucifer, junior. The devil’s spawn.

“Mary, please.” Kelly places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Just give us a day to prove to you that what we’re doing is the right thing.”

Mary sighs. The last time she lied to her boys about where she was, she almost lost them. But what could be the harm in one day?

When Mary met Kelly, there were questions even she couldn’t answer.

The scent of fresh paint tinges their senses as they stand in the nursery, admiring the mural covering one wall.

“It’s beautiful,” Mary says.

Kelly runs a hand over her belly and gazes at the painting as if she’s about to say goodbye to it. “It’s a work in progress.”

Mary thinks she sees a sheen of tears in Kelly’s eyes before she blinks it away.

Kelly twirls a thin paint brush in her hand, but she picks up a wider, lightly brown-stained brush from the wooden bench and holds it out to Mary.

“Do you want to help me?” she asks.

Mary shakes her head. “Oh, no. I would only ruin it.”

Kelly laughs like Mary made a joke. She takes Mary’s hand and places the handle of the brush there.

Kelly’s touch is warm, like everything else about her. Mary feels it in her shoulders and her toes and her heart. It’s soothing, almost healing.

“You’ll do fine,” Kelly assures her. “I think everyone has an artistic side.”

Mary, who has only ever used paint to draw devil’s traps, raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?”

Kelly shrugs. “Not at all.”

Mary can’t help the small laugh that escapes her, and Kelly choruses in.

“Either way, you’d be doing me a favor,” Kelly says. “It needs to be finished before this little guy is born, and I don’t think I have much time left.”

Kelly’s gaze disappears into something Mary can’t read.

“Are you nervous?” Mary asks.

Kelly hums. “I’m excited. But I don’t want it to end, you know?”

Mary doesn’t know, but she listens as Kelly continues.

“I feel like I barely had any time with him, and now…”

Tears well up in Kelly’s eyes. She shakes her head disapprovingly as they fall down her face.

“God, I’m sorry,” she chokes, scrubbing at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Mary remembers this part of being pregnant, the flood of hormones and the mood swings.

She places a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Kelly laughs softly at herself.

Mary holds up the brush in her hand. “Want to teach me how to work this?”

Kelly turns around and pops open open a paint can, half full of glossy green paint, then another beside it on the bench, then another.

“Well, I've been making it up as I go.” She waves a hand at the mural behind her. “Go ahead and add whatever you think fits.”

A wide, windblown tree fills most of the painting, its delicate, winding branches bare against the sky-blue background. Mary watches as Kelly dips her brush into the green paint and begins to brush light strokes of bright green onto the branches. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, her free hand at her lower back while she leans backward to look at her work.

Mary tears her eyes away to look at the empty landscape and realizes she doesn't have a creative bone in her body. She turns to the paints behind her instead. The can of white paint is nearly full.

She dips her brush in the white and, before she can talk herself out of it, draws a half circle where the sky meets the grass.

By the time she has finished, Kelly has covered half the tree in leaves and steps back.

“A sunrise,” Kelly says, gazing at Mary’s painting. “It’s perfect.”

The corners of Mary’s lips tug upward. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Kelly’s smile turns into a wince as she rubs her back.

“You okay?” Mary asks.

“I’m fine,” Kelly assures her. “Just need to sit down.”

Mary takes her arm and leads her to the chair in the corner of the room. Kelly collapses in the chair gratefully.

“How you feeling?” Mary asks again.

Kelly groans, sitting up in the seat. “Did you have backaches when you were pregnant?”

“I did,” Mary nods. “All I wanted to do the few days before I gave birth was lie in bed. But your body forgets what it feels like afterward.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “That’s how Sam came around.”

Kelly laughs for a moment, but it fades quickly into a saddened, fearful grimace.

“Mary?” she whispers.

Mary pushes a stray lock of hair behind Kelly’s ear. “Hm?”

Kelly’s eyes flutter closed and open again as she takes a deep breath.

“I’m dying.”

Mary squints at her for a second. “I don’t understand.”

“When a nephilim is born, its mother dies,” Kelly explains. “It happens every time.”

When the words finally sink in, it feels like a punch to her gut. “But…” she manages. “But that doesn’t mean you…”

Kelly nods, and Mary trails off.

“I can feel it,” Kelly says, rubbing her belly. “And it’s okay. I’m okay with this.”

But Mary’s not.

When Mary met Kelly, she didn’t realize it would be the last time.

Mary paces the floor of the living room, feeling Castiel’s eyes following her from his chair. Kelly said good night to them both and went upstairs an hour ago.

“There’s a way out of this,” Mary mutters. “There has to be.”

“There is no other way, Mary,” Castiel says.

“There’s always another way.” She keeps her shouts hushed so as not to wake Kelly. “What if you healed her while she gives birth?”

“Not even I have the power to heal the wounds inflicted by mothering a nephilim.”

“Is it too late to, you know,” Mary stumbles, “terminate?”

“She wants to carry this child to term,” he says. “He has to be born, and he will bring us paradise on Earth.”

“And we’re supposed to let an innocent woman die for it?”

“It’s not our decision.”

Mary pauses her pacing to huff out a sigh, running her hands through her hair.

“This isn’t right. This… this isn’t fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Castiel says.

She can see the regret in his eyes. She knows it must be weighing on him, helping a woman to her death. She wills herself to look at it the way he seems to, but she can’t.

Mary tosses and turns in bed. She decided against the unappealing thought of starting the day’s drive tonight, choosing instead to stay the night in the house.

Everything about this is so different from what she was always taught to do, to save people. Letting Kelly die so a nephilim, the child of Lucifer, can live goes against everything she was raised to believe.

She can feel herself finally drift off when her door creaks.

Her eyes fly open, and she shoots up in bed. Without her trusty gun on her nightstand, she curls her hands into fists instead.

The dim yellow light from the doorway silhouettes a small figure, rounded at the middle.

Mary squints. “Kelly?”

Kelly closes the door behind her and inches toward the bed.

“Are you okay?” Mary asks.

Kelly sits next to her, dipping the mattress. “Mary, can I tell you something?”

Still tense, Mary nods.

“I’m scared,” she admits. “I’m scared of dying.”

Mary has been around many things she knew were going to die, most of them at the end of her blade or by a bullet from her gun. But someone as loving and good as Kelly?

“And I know I shouldn’t be afraid because it’s for the best reason.” Kelly wraps her arms around her belly. “I’m dying for my child.”

At those words, Mary feels all the anger she felt, at Lucifer for causing all this, at Castiel for doing nothing, even at Kelly for letting herself die, fade away.

She takes Kelly’s hand in hers. “You’re dying for your child.”

Kelly breathes a sigh of relief, like she’s been screaming into a void for years, and now someone finally hears her. Mary pulls her into a hug, running her hand up and down Kelly’s back, and the two of them sit there in the dark, leaning against each other.

When they finally break away, Kelly curls up on her side, hugging the side of the bed. Mary wraps an arm around her as she sinks into the bed as well and lets herself drift off again.

When Mary met Kelly, she realized what a second chance meant.

Mary leaves the house the next morning and arrives at the bunker the morning after.

“Just had to tie up some loose ends,” she explains to the boys.

They don’t question it, only welcome her back and tell her about the latest development: Lucifer is free.

As they work on another plan to trap him, Mary scans articles on the computer and pages of books, but she catches her mind wandering to Kelly, what would happen if Lucifer found her.

“Mom?” Sam says, snapping her out of the thought. “You okay?”

She brushes it off, telling him she’s fine. She can tell he knows there’s something she’s not telling him, but she says nothing, even when they decide the best way to deter Lucifer is to find Kelly.

They find a massive power outage tracked to a house rented by an alias they recognize as Castiel’s. She peeks at the screen and isn’t surprised to find the same address where she’d visited only days before.

She almost feels relieved. Now her boys know what she knows, and she can see Kelly again, see that she’s safe.

The ride to Washington is mostly silent, save the bits of planning, anticipating. As they approach the town where Kelly and Castiel are staying, Mary has a hard time sitting still, shifting in her seat and tapping her fingers on the dashboard.

“Seriously, Mom, you good?” Dean asks. “I know this is a lot to take in, especially after… I mean, you can take it slow if you need to.”

Mary nods. “I’m good, really. I guess I’m just nervous.”

This is true, but she was also thinking about Kelly. She’s had an entire day to worry, but now she’s thinking about the more miniscule things about her. Her smile, her eyes, the way she holds her hands over her stomach as if protecting her baby.

She thinks about how Kelly’s son will never know these things about her.

Suddenly, she turns around to face her boys so she can see Sam in the backseat.

“I want you to know—both of you—that being here with you… I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Mom?” Sam questions, narrowing his eyes at her.

“In case I don’t get the chance to tell you later,” she says. “I love you boys.”

Dean glances between her and the road. Concern lingers in his eyes as well, but he says only, “We love you, too, Mom.”

When they arrive, Castiel meets them at the door. They explain that Lucifer could be on his way here and that they need to take Kelly into hiding.

“She can’t be moved,” Castiel argues.

His eyes meet Mary’s questioning ones and nods. Kelly is in labor.

Almost on cue, a groan sounds from upstairs.

“I’ll go check on her,” Mary says. She bounds up the stairs, no longer caring about how anxious she must seem.

She rounds the corner to Kelly’s room to find her sitting up in her bed, back against the headboard. Her face grows softer when she sees Mary in the doorway.

“Mary,” she pants.

“Hey.” Mary walks around the bed to meet her. “The boys are downstairs with Castiel.”

“Is everything okay?” Kelly asks, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling, her face and chest covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Fine,” Mary lies. “Everything’s fine.”

Kelly nods before her face contorts in pain and another yelp escapes her. She braces her hands on the side of the mattress, but Mary takes them instead, and Kelly squeezes her hands.

“Okay,” Mary says as the contraction seems to end. “I think they’re less than five minutes apart now. It’s almost time.”

Kelly moans, her breaths heavy and staggering.

Mary reaches up to tuck Kelly’s hair behind her ear. “How you doing?”

“I’m dying,” Kelly says softly, tears welling in her eyes.

Mary strokes Kelly’s hand with her thumb. “I know.”

Kelly smiles at her softly. “But that’s okay,” she whispers, “because wouldn’t you die for your sons?”

For the first time through all of this, Mary understands. She understands why Kelly is putting herself through all of this only to die, and she knows the feeling of sacrificing everything for her children. Kelly is dying so her son can live, and to Mary, it becomes the most familiar feeling in the world.

“Yeah,” she admits, tears forming in her own eyes.

When Mary met Kelly, it wasn’t enough.

Kelly’s scream rips through the room, the loudest one yet, the most full of agony. Mary sits beside the bed wanting so badly to do something but feeling completely helpless.

The screaming dissolves into soft crying as sobs rack Kelly’s body. Through the tears, she mumbles unintelligible words that sound almost like a prayer.

Mary sits down on the bed beside Kelly and wraps her arms around Kelly’s shoulders. She leans into Mary, holding tight to her.

“Okay. It’s okay,” Mary murmurs into her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”

She can feel Kelly’s trembles begin to wane as she takes deep breaths.

Mary holds her through another contraction, then another.

“I…” Kelly pants. “I think it’s time.”

Mary nods. “Okay.”

As she pulls away, Kelly latches onto her arms, her eyes wide with panic.

“I’m right here,” Mary says.

She helps Kelly down the bed, where Kelly gives birth.

Mary wakes up on the ground. She hazily remembers seeing the faint outline of a baby in the blinding light that knocked her out. She ignores the pounding from her head as she pushes herself off the ground.

At the foot of the bed, where there should be a crying baby, are only Kelly’s feet, lying still—too still. Kelly lies flat on the bed, hands slack on her stomach. Her eyes, which Mary last remembers glowing yellow, are glazed over, unblinking.

“Oh,” Mary gasps. She covers her mouth with her hand and shuts her eyes tightly, as if, when she opened them again, Kelly’s would be full of life.

She opens her eyes, only to be met with Kelly’s glassy ones again.

A year later, Mary returns to the house.

From the bunker, she drives alone to North Cove and finds the now abandoned once-home of Kelly Kline. The porch is even older and more weathered than she remembers, and mold grows on the wooden panels.

She sneaks into the house through the unlocked door. The living room is dustier and mustier but still familiar to her as the place where she met Kelly. She climbs up the creaking staircase and finds Kelly’s room.

The boys mentioned earlier that they burned Kelly’s body. The sheets are still tousled on the mattress from when she died. Mary walks around and kneels next to the bed, the same spot where she held Kelly in her arms.

She smooths out the pillow and places a kiss on it.

She walks toward the room where she stayed, but instead, the half-opened door of the nursery catches her eye. She peeks inside at the half-assembled crib lying on the ground, chuckling softly.

The mural greets her as she steps into the room. Kelly added some clouds to the landscape after the day Mary spent with her. She also finished the tree and added something red among the leaves. Upon closer inspection, Mary sees that it’s the beginning of an apple Kelly never got to finish painting.

Suddenly, tears prick Mary’s eyes and she begins to sob. Right there, in the middle of the would-be nursery, she collapses to her knees and curls in on herself. She cries for Kelly and everything she could have done, the time Mary could have spent with her, in this world. She cries for the complete helplessness she’s felt since the night Kelly died and for the sadness she hasn’t let herself feel until now.

Then, she remembers Jack.

Mary met him in the apocalypse world. She tried so hard not to grow attached to him, but she couldn’t help it. She sees so much of his mother in him—the goodness, the innocence.

That was the point to all of this, wasn’t it?

Mary stands up and walks to the paint bench. The cans preserved the paint inside them, even after a year. Mary dips a brush in the red paint and finishes the apple. She paints another beside it, then another, and she paints the letters of the alphabet in the banner above the tree.

When she’s finished, she steps back and looks at the wall. She imagines, if she were here, Kelly would have that soft smile on her face as she gazed at the completed mural.

When Mary met Kelly, she was complete.

Tags: @ellie-andthemachine @gaybrieljax @emerald-watermelon-199 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife​

[at-least-cry-a-little]

May Satan bring us together

I wrote another vignette for the Coffee shop/Neighbours AU, it’s a continuation of this first one  :) 

Carl has barely opened the tuna can when he hears it.

“Meow?”

He curses internally before turning around and facing, for the third time in just one week, his neighbor’s cat. That little stripped devil’s spawn. He would think it was a stray if the lady from the 2nd floor, Carol, hadn’t warned him about her.

“You… are being greedy.” He whispers to the animal.

She looks up at him tilting her head. “Meow?”

Carl sighs, knowing he’s given up even before she gets up to rub her entire flank against his calf.

“I hate you.” Carl confesses, setting the can on the floor and heading to the cupboard to get another one for himself.

The cat devours the food with a blissed out expression and Carl rushes to finish his sandwich so she won’t make him give her some of it as well. He stares at her as he chews. Her slender and dark figure makes a striking contrast against the kitchen tiles.

“If you’re going to keep this habit of breaking and entering in my flat I’ll have to call you something other than “cat”.”

She doesn’t even raise her head this time, too focused on getting the last bites from the bottom of the can.

“I’m calling you Satan.”

Eventually, Carl lets himself slide to the floor. He hadn’t realized how tired he actually was until now. The animal moves quickly to his lap, sniffing his hands first, in search of more food, he guesses, and burring herself on his sweatshirt when she accepts there’s nothing else to eat.

“You can pretend to be cute all you want but I’ve seen you hunting rats in the back alley. You’re not fooling anyone, you know?”

She purrs in answer.

Fuck.

“I’m not even a cat person.”

Satan rubs her head against his hand as if forgiving him for his blatant lies.

He spends a while there, scratching softly behind her ears, too relaxed to get up and go to his bed. The only noises in the kitchen are Satan’s soft purr and the hum of the fridge.

He hears the door of the 4th floor apartment when it shuts.

“Sounds like your owner is home now. You should get going girl.”

Satan doesn’t even flinch.

Carl doesn’t want to move. And he specially doesn’t want to meet his neighbor for the first time at 1 in the morning. But he also guesses he would be worried if his pet wasn’t home when he came back from work at ungodly hours of the night.

He remembers Carol’s warnings about their neighbor being an asshole while he gets up, the animal still in his arms. But this man can’t get angry at him for bringing his cat back, right? He wonders just what level of assholery Carol was talking about as he goes up the stairs. It’s not like he kidnapped her, she has her ninja ways of getting into his flat.

He’s still worrying about the different ways his conversation could go in his head when he knocks on the door.

He hears a muffled “…the fuck?” and then a louder “Coming!”

He could leave Satan in the door and run downstairs.

As soon as that thought crosses his head, she opens a big, yellow eye and looks judgingly at him.

By the time he’s finished telling himself that cats cannot read minds, the door is already creaking open and it’s too late to bail.

The door opens and there is his neighbor. The man stands still for a second, taking the sight of Carl carrying his cat in. If he’s half as shocked as Carl is, he hides it well.

He’s wearing an apron over a washed out white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and he looks so… domestic, that it could almost be a different person.

But it’s Negan. It’s definitely Negan.

“Hey kid… I see you’ve found my girl, thank you.”

Carl sees Negan’s large hands approaching him and taking the ball of fur from him. His fingers are warm when they brush his own.

“C’mon. I was just finishing dinner.”

“Mm no, no, actually I…” Carl tries to refuse him, even as he’s being dragged in by a firm and on his shoulder.

“I hope you like spaghetti.”

This is surreal.

“You… are… my neighbor?” he had made his mind to the idea that his neighbor was probably a workaholic who worked in some office until late at night or a night guard, given the weird schedules that never aligned with his own.

“It certainly seems like it.” Negan says disappearing into the kitchen for a second.

“I should… I should head back to my own ap…”

“Have you eaten dinner?”

“I… actually have.”

“It was probably prepackaged shit or a sandwich, or a ridiculously small portion of either of the two. That doesn’t count.”

Carl doesn’t know how to answer that and, as he’s thinking of a comeback, Negan sets a plate full of warm, mouth watering pasta in front of him, and his stomach makes a sound that makes Negan smile knowingly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Shut up.”

“I do love it when you’re bossy… Lucille! I see you sniffing that pan, don’t even think about it!”

Oh. Lucille, huh? He can’t help but think Satan suits her better.

But Carl doesn’t say that. Instead, he shoves a forkful of pasta in his mouth and tries (and fails) to suppress a moan. This is the best meal he’s had in the whole week he’s been living on his own.

“You’re definitely trying to make me fat.” he whispers, and hopes Negan hears “thank you” because that’s what he is trying to say.

[jumpthethunder]

SQ Week July 2017

Here is my entry for Day 1: Sharing A(nother) Child

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11457618

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12566135/1/SQ-Week-Summer-2017-Day-1-Just-a-Sweet-Babe-Alone-in-the-Woods

Or read on below the link!

                      Just a Sweet Babe, Alone in the Woods

      It took 3 days, 15 hours, 27 minutes, and 49 seconds before the nearly constant wailing, soiling, and spitting up became too much. To be quite honest, it was rather a lot longer than she'd thought she'd last after the first 24 hours had proved rather more difficult than expected, but she was loathe to admit defeat, especially in the face of such a...tiny...foe, so she had hung on until the anxiety rising in her chest and the headache pounding away at her temples was simply too much to handle. With a twirl of her hand and an exasperated huff she summoned the one person that she knew would take on this challenge, whether she wanted to or not.

      "What the-?!" Emma Swan spun around twice, taking in her surroundings. The Queen couldn't stop the exaggerated roll of her eyes as she took in the grilled cheese sandwich hanging half out of the other woman's mouth as Emma's brow furrowed first in confusion and then in trepidation as she realized where she was and who had brought her here. "Your Majesty..." she grumbled around her lunch still held between her teeth.

      "Miss Swan, kindly remove your food from your mouth before addressing me." Emma glanced down as if she was only just then remembering the grilled cheese, quickly plucking it from her lips and holding it awkwardly in her hand, looking about for somewhere to put it. Another eye roll accompanied the subtle wiggle of the Queen's fingers, the sandwich vanishing from between Emma's grasp in a puff of purple smoke.

     "Hey! I wasn't done with that." Emma whined, slouching and very nearly pouting before she remembered who it was she was dealing with and straightened back up, arms crossing over her chest as she backed up half a step and regarded the Queen suspiciously. "What do you want now? Come to give me another speech about how worthless I am? Got any more mirrors to throw me into?" Emma's tone was scathing and defensive, not even a week before she'd been nearly killed by the woman standing before her, yet now here she was looking at her with an expression that was disturbingly similar to the one Regina gave her when she thought she was being a slightly endearing idiot. The Queen seemed to realize she was being just a tad too transparent, quickly turning her back on Emma and waving her hand nonchalantly.

      "No dear, nothing quite so dramatic. You can relax." She turned back to face Emma, trying her best to school her features and look superior and disinterested.

      "Relax? Good one." Emma quipped sarcastically, but her body language did shift to something ever so slightly less defensive as she let her eyes wander around the vault. Things were different in here now that the Queen had decided to make it her make-shift home base. The entire place was lit with candles, too many to count, some on the stone shelves carved into the walls, some hovering in the air at varying heights. There was more velvet, more regal (and slightly gaudy) furniture, and a chandelier in the middle of it all (which Emma suspected might be made entirely out of actual diamonds) that refracted the glow from the candles all over the room making everything look like it was shimmering. It was, Emma had to admit, cozy, elegant, and hauntingly beautiful. Shaking her head and bringing herself back to the moment, Emma was about to once again push to find out why the Queen had dragged her away from lunch with her son if she didn't intend to hurt her when a piercing cry erupted from behind a deep purple canopy in the far corner of the vault. She rushed to the canopy, pulling it back and feeling her mouth fall open at the sight below her.

      "Is that? What is...?" She rounded on the Queen, anger obvious in her glare. "Did you steal someone's baby?"

      The Queen looked almost insulted, her shoulders shifting as she drew herself up even straighter than usual, a hand coming up to rest on her stomach.

      "I did not steal that child. I...found it."

      "Found?!" Emma's tone was incredulous, her body moving to place herself protectively between the child and the Queen.

      "Yes, Miss Swan. Found. It appears someone abandoned that child in the woods, one of the fools from the Land of Untold Stories I have no doubt. Seems they couldn't be bothered to care for this part of their story."

      "So you've what? Been babysitting? Are you going to keep it? Hoping to raise an evil spawn of your own?" The Queen glared and stalked forward, invading Emma's personal space and causing her to place both of her hands on the edge of the basinet behind her as she leaned away from the Queen's hissed reply.

      "I'll have you know I have been caring for this child, a child that no one else was looking after or even seemed to give a damn about, on my own. No harm has come to her, and none will if I have anything to say on the matter." The passionately protective expression in the Queen's eyes was 100% Regina and it had Emma's anger faltering, her own voice coming out hushed when she replied.

      "So why am I here?"

      The Queen averted her eyes, letting them fall to the still whimpering infant behind Emma's back who, as if on cue, released another eardrum shattering screech.

       "I can't get her to stop doing that."

      "And you want me to what? Help? What do you expect me to do? You have way more experience with babies than I do."

      The Queen turned away and began pacing, her hands clasped in front of her stomach, clenching and unclenching in a way Emma knew meant she was struggling with something, warring with herself likely over how much wanted to share, to give away to this woman she called her enemy. Emma let her pace, glancing back over her shoulder at the red-faced and clearly very upset child writhing her little limbs as she gurgled and sputtered away in the basinet. Despite her cries, Emma could tell she was a beautiful child, her eyes were large and brown, her head holding a dusting of soft nearly golden hair, and she clearly had one powerful set of lungs. When the Queen spoke again she was facing away from Emma, the tightness in her shoulders and the slightest quiver to her voice the only things giving away just how hard getting the words out of her mouth was for her.

      "I need your help. I need you to take her. I can't...I don't have any feel for this and she clearly doesn't care for me. It would seem that Regina was the half with the natural gift for mothering." There was a pain lacing those words, an ache that pulled at Emma's heart but before she could dwell on it too long she found the baby girl in her arms, wrapped in a soft blanket (one that looked shockingly like her own hand-knit one), her cries quieting instantly and her eyes looking up in wonder at Emma, who gulped down her sudden nerves and gave her a small, hesitant smile. She was about to press the Queen for more information, question her motives and insist she tell her the whole story behind the child when she felt familiar magic wrapping around her body from the feet up and knew she about to be transported away. As the purple cloud started to obscure her vision she could just make out the Queen turning to her, her eyes watery and brow pinched, her gaze fixed on the child.

      "Goodbye little one. This is your best chance."

      Emma's heart clenched, the longing so clear on the Queen's face that in that moment she couldn't see her as anything other than a lonely woman desperately trying to make a connection with someone, anyone, even if that someone was only a baby.

      When Emma reappeared it was, to her surprise, in Regina's bedroom, where she found the other woman rushing from the bathroom, her hair still damp from a shower while she hopped on one foot trying to slide a shoe on while the other dangled from her fingertips. The shoe fell to the floor and she very nearly followed it when she spotted Emma before her and let out a surprised little yelp.

      "Emma?! What are you doing here? Are you alright? Henry just called in a panic and told me you were abducted by magic from the diner in the middle of lunch. It was the Queen wasn't it? Did she hurt you?" Her rapid-fire questions stopped suddenly when her eyes fell to the small hand that popped up from the bundle of blanket in Emma's arms. "What in the world are you doing with a baby?"

Emma couldn't help but laugh as Regina's tone mimicked the Queen's so closely that she found herself wondering, not for the first time, just how different they really were, deep down. Not that she would ever voice that particular opinion because she was fairly certain it would earn her a fireball to the face, which again left her with the sense that the two halves of the other woman were really more alike than either would ever admit. Regina rushed forward while Emma was lost in thought and snatched the child from her arms, her expression softening as she took in the chubby cheeks still streaked with tears from her earlier bawling.

      "The Queen found it. Her."

      "What??" Emma watched as Regina's hold on the baby tightened almost imperceptibly, clutching the infant protectively to her chest.

      "She said she found her abandoned in the woods. I think...I think she wanted to keep her."

      "Like I'd ever let that happen! If she thinks she's going to get her hands on this innocent child again and use her as a pawn in her ridiculous plots she can think again! I will not let her hurt this child." Regina scoffed, her tone a near growl and her eyes flashing purple. Emma held her hands up to placate her, moving forward cautiously.

      "Whoa, calm down Regina, and maybe stop squeezing her so tight." Emma gestured to the baby with a crocked smile and she could see Regina deflate as she too looked at the little girl in her arms and relaxed her grip. Emma reached out, smoothing down the baby's hair and allowing one finger to run gently down her cheek, wiping away the last of her tears as the little girl cooed up at her.

      "How did you get the baby away from her?" Regina's voice was almost a whisper, clearly distracted by the now content child in her arms.

      "She, um, she...I think she gave her to me...to us." When their eyes locked Regina could read the look of hope, mixed with a healthy amount of apprehension, on Emma's face. She raised one sculpted brow and squinted her eyes, taking in every nuance of the other woman's expression.

      "Us, dear?"

      "Well...um, she gave her to me but she said you were the one with the mothering instinct, and then she sent me here, to you. So...yeah, I think she gave her to us." As she spoke the baby girl reached out and wrapped her tiny fingers around Emma's, attempting with every bit of strength in her little arm to pull it to her mouth, which Emma allowed only to let out a surprised little gasp when the infant began sucking on it vigorously. Regina chuckled, causing Emma to blush though she wasn't sure way.

      "It would seem that someone is hungry." A bottle appeared in the blink of an eye and as soon as it neared the child's lips she surrendered Emma's finger and began eagerly sucking down the formula. The expression that settled on Regina's features was one of pure bliss and as Emma stood watching the two of them together, the little girl staring adoringly up at the woman who'd known exactly what she wanted, she couldn't help but think that the Queen had been right.

      "You really are a natural at this, aren't you?" Regina's throaty laugh surprised her.

      "I have experience, that's all. Let me guess, the Queen called you in when she couldn't get this little darling to stop crying, am I right?"

      "How did you know that?"

      "Because it was the same for me with Henry. For days after I brought him home he wailed and wailed and wailed. Nothing I did comforted him, my presence actually seemed to make it worse. I was such a mess I even turned to your mother for help."

      "What happened?"

      "You already know the answer to that Emma, you already know the whole story." Emma was puzzled for just a moment before she remembered the shared memories Regina had given her, the ones based largely on her own life with Henry from before Emma had entered their world, and she let her eyes drift closed as she allowed them to come into focus in her mind. Ever since she'd returned to Storybrooke she'd tried to forget the memories Regina had provided when she'd written a new life for her and Henry because something felt invasively intimate about allowing herself to dwell on them, like she was seeing into Regina's deeply personal moments that she really should never have been privilege to. Regina spoke, as if reading her mind,

      "It's alright Emma, I knew what I was doing when I gave you those memories. I didn't have to give you mine, I could have invented whole new ones. I chose to give you what I did and I accept what that means."

      Emma blushed furiously, feeling the weight of Regina's words as the baby finished off her bottle and began to fuss. Regina vanished the bottle and was about to raise the baby to her shoulder to burp her when she gave Emma an odd look and moved towards her, Emma's eyes widening with every step closer Regina came, knowing what it was Regina was intending to do.

      "Oh no, no Regina. I can't." She tried to back away but found herself very quickly bumping up against Regina's dresser.

      "Oh but you can Emma. I know you, I know what you're capable of." The smirk on Regina's lips was infuriating as she thrust the baby into Emma's arms and flicked her hand causing a burping towel to appear draped over Emma's shoulder. Emma lifted the baby and looked into her face with an expression that read pure terror and Regina couldn't help but laugh. "The mighty Savior, afraid of baby."

      Emma glared at her while she placed the baby on her shoulder and searched her memories for ones not quite her own of doing this very thing with Henry. She allowed muscle memory to take over, pleased (and a bit disgusted) when not even minutes later the infant gave an outrageously loud burp and spluttered up warm formula all over the towel.

      "Whoa there, kid, did that all come from you?" She pulled the girl off her shoulder and wiped her chin tenderly, booping her gently on the nose and earning herself a happy little gurgle and two playfully kicking feet. "You're pretty damn cute, you know that?"

      "Language Emma."

      "Come on Regina, it's not like she can understand me."

      "Still. It's bad form." As Emma moved the child, whose eyes had begun to droop, back into the cradle of her arms she found herself captivated by the look on Regina's face as she watch the two of them. Minutes passed silently and Regina moved closer, her hand coming to stroke the fine baby hairs as the little girl's breathing started to even out and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. The whole moment took Emma's breath away, the baby somehow feeling safe enough in her arms to fall asleep, the woman standing before her with a look of absolute awe on her face, the shared memories of Henry when he was this young dancing behind both of their eyes.

      "So..." Emma was the first to break the silence, never good at letting the quiet settle around her.

      "Indeed." Regina replied, sensing the weight of Emma's unspoken thoughts.

      "She doesn't seem to have anyone else, at least not anyone that wants her."

      "Except the Queen, it would seem." Though Regina tried for casual disinterest, Emma could sense the pain and conflict radiating off the other woman at the mention of the Queen. Almost as if trying to comfort herself, Regina reached for the baby and Emma handed her over without a second thought. Another silence fell between them, Regina clearly lost in her own mind as her fingers danced over the little girl's arm and cradled a chubby hand in her palm.

      "Her best chance." Emma muttered, almost unaware she'd spoken aloud until Regina looked up at her questioningly. Emma blushed, looking sheepishly down at her feet and clearing her throat. "As she was sending me here with the baby she looked right as us and said 'This is your best chance.' I think...um...I think she meant us." Regina's expression turned from questioning to thoughtful.

      "We have done well with Henry."

      "We?"

      "Yes, 'we' Emma."

      "So are you saying you want to try to do this...like, together? Me and you and a baby? Cause that's a whole different ball game than sharing custody of a teenager."

      "Look Emma, if you don't want to do this just say so. I understand it's a big undertaking but I'm not going to leave this child on her own and we both know that Storybrooke has no foster system so if you're suggesting we give her to Maine's social services-"

      "No! Of course not. God Regina, I wouldn't wish that life on anyone, you know how I feel about that." Guilt flashed across Regina's features at Emma's response and she rushed to apologize but Emma cut her off before she could. "Look, Regina, I'm just saying, this is going to be huge. It means a ridiculous amount of change for our lives, for Henry, for everyone."

      "For you and your pirate." Emma paused at Regina's comment, having completely forgotten about Hook and how this would look to him, but found herself responding with only a second's hesitation,

      "I don't care. Hook can deal. This is more important. If we're her best chance then we're her best chance." She wasn't really sure why she responded this way, why she knew deep down with every bit of her gut that she wanted to do this, to raise this child with Regina. Up until she'd seen the little girl in Regina's arms, seen the way the two of them looked at one another, the way Regina looked at her with pride when she'd succeeded in burping the infant, she hadn't even realized she wanted more children. Having children at all had never been in her plan and, though she wouldn't trade Henry for anything, she had never planned him and never truly wanted to be a mother. But now, standing here with Regina looking at her like the words coming out her mouth were possibly the most wonderful things anyone had ever said to her, she knew with a certainty that she'd never before felt that this was what she wanted and who she wanted it with.

      "Emma, do you know what you're saying?" Emma closed the last inches between them, one hand coming to rest on Regina's shoulder, the other cupping the hand that was cradling the sleeping child.    

      "Yeah Regina, I do. I want this. Me and you, we are her best chance. We can do this together. I mean, look at her, we already are doing this together."

      The smile the spread across Regina's lips was slow to start out, spreading wider and wider until it was so bright and so incredible that it was nearly blinding.

      "I don't understand you, Swan."

      "Yes you do. You really, really do."

         The Queen watched through the mirror in her vault as Emma magicked a crib into existence at the foot of Regina's bed, tears streaming down her face as she reached out with one shaking hand to the images in the glass before her. She watched as Regina placed the infant on her back, wrapping the baby blanket, the one the Queen had actually spent the past three days knitting for her (she'd grown quite adept at knitting once upon a time, back when Regina and she were still one, still a frightened teenager trapped in the walls of a castle trying desperately to fight against the rage eating away at her soul), tightly around her and bending to place a kiss on her forehead before reaching over and taking Emma's hand, looking at her with a sort of loving wonder the Queen swore she could feel in her own blackened heart. Emma returned the look with a ducked head and a shy smile, squeezing the hand holding her own before the two women gave the sleeping girl one last look and exited the room, no doubt heading to Regina's study to discuss the implications of this unforeseen new addition to their family, likely over a glass or two of strong cider.

      Once she was sure they were downstairs the Queen wiped away her tears, glamoured her make-up back to flawless perfection, and magicked herself into the room where the little girl she'd saved from the woods slept peacefully, something the Queen had only managed to get her to do once when the child had literally screamed herself into an exhausted slumber.

      "Goodnight, little one. You'll be safe now. Your new mothers, though they may both be painfully self-righteous, will fight for you and love you more than they love themselves." She reached out, tentative, worried that her touch would wake the child and send her into another crying fit. When the sweet girl continued to sleep she allowed herself another moment before taking a chance and bowing to place a kiss that mimicked her other half's before whispering, "You have nothing to fear from me. I promise you, I may not be good enough to raise you, but I will never hurt you."

      "Good to know." The familiar lilt of her own voice coming from the doorway behind her startled her, causing her to straighten and spin around. Regina cocked an eyebrow at her and shook her head. "Did you really think I would leave her unprotected? I knew the minute you entered this house that you were here."

      "Then why didn't you rush in to stop me?"

      "Because I didn't think you were here to do her any harm."

      "I'm not."

      "Like I said, good to know." The Queen huffed, looking rather irritated with both herself and Regina, before she moved away from the crib and began to raise her hands in order to transport herself away. "Wait-" Regina reached out and clasped fingers around her wrist, stopping her magic before it could swell to the surface. Regina waited until the Queen looked her in the eyes before finishing her thought. "Thank you."

      "What, dear Regina, could you possibly be thanking me for?"

      "For her." Regina inclined her head towards the crib. "For saving her, and for doing what was best for her." The Queen scoffed, tugging her arm from Regina's grasp.

      "Don't read too much into darling, I simply couldn't put up with that thing's pesky shrieking any longer." Regina saw through the lie in a second, they both knew it, but she allowed the Queen her dignity and didn't call her out on it.

      "In that case you better go before she wakes, the do have a habit of making rather a lot of fuss." Regina's smirk was knowing, and the Queen scowled, sparing one last look at the child before she backed away and threw up her arms, disappearing in an instant.

      Regina turned back to the crib, feeling her heart surge as she watched the steady rise and fall of the beautiful baby girl's chest. It was ironic, the Queen, despite all her "evil" deeds and despite all the pain she'd caused, somehow in her own way always seemed to give Regina exactly what she needed. She'd protected her when she was a helpless young Queen, she'd defended her from her mother's manipulations, she'd given her strength in the face of a world that left her to fend for herself, she'd provided her the insanity she needed to cast a curse that allowed her a second chance in a world without all of her past baggage. And now she'd brought another child into her life, a child that would cement the ties between herself and Emma, a woman she loved desperately no matter how much she'd tried to fight it. It would seem the Queen was, once again, and in her round-about fashion, giving her everything she wanted but wasn't quite strong enough to reach out and take on her own.

       There was just one problem, one thing causing her heart throb painfully within her chest. While she had everything, everyone she could ever want within her grasp, the Queen, who she knew deep down wanted all the same things, was alone once more. And this time it was so much worse than all the times before, so much worse than when she'd been locked away in the castle, so much worse than when she'd been sentenced to banishment, so much worse than the past couple of decades when Regina had kept her pushed further and further into the recesses of her heart and mind. It was worse because now the Queen was truly alone, truly without any of Regina's hope, Regina's love, that had always lingered within in her, even at her darkest. As Regina turned back to the still slumbering infant she placed her hand gently on the soft, pudgy stomach, feeling it rise and fall with each small breath.

      "I do believe she loves you, sweet Princess. Perhaps, in time, you can teach her how."

[mnranger5]

Big Bass Bash 2019, The Boat Drama is Finally Over, Lake of the Ozarks, MO, 4/26/19 – 4/29/19

4/26/19

Early in the drive to Lake of the Ozarks, Aaron and I timidly joked about how it wouldn’t be our spring fishing trip if we didn’t have some kind of drama.  There is so much truth to that…  From blown out bearings, to malfunctioning trolling motors to dead batteries, we’ve experienced heartbreak on our trips that we’ve almost become accustomed to.  As we rolled down I-35 to Des Moines, something big was brewing…

Rewind to four weeks ago.  I pulled the Ranger out of the garage from it’s LONG winter slumber.  It was going to Lighthouse Motorsports for an oil change and tune up on the motor.  In the fall of 2018, I started having a weird issue where I’d lose power once I got up on plane.  I need that that fixed ASAP, before the spring trip to Missouri.  Lighthouse took about 2 weeks to finally diagnose the problem as a bad fuel filter.

T – minus two weeks until the fishing trip.  I picked up the Ranger from Lighthouse and went straight to the lake.  She fired up beautifully.  I idled through the Crystal Lake channel and gave her some throttle.  Immediately, I began experiencing the same power loss.  Nothing had been fixed.  In fact, it had gotten worse.  After limping one lap around the lake, the 2009 Mercury killed multiple times, even while idling.  I recall texting Aaron that I am sure the boat would be fine, but deep down, I wasn’t so sure…

Back to Lighthouse.  I was worried. After some more testing Lighthouse thought the problem might be a bad fuel pump.  Getting a new pump from Mercury could take several weeks due to it being on backorder.  This was a big problem.  They continued testing it at the shop while I contemplated a contingency plan.

Then Dyan opened a real can of worms: “What if you bought a new boat?”  Oh boy.  I quickly created a Craigslist/Marketplace add for my boat and furiously scoured the internet in search of a new boat.  But I am particular.  It had to be perfect.  The exact color, features and most of all, the right price.  About the time I came to the conclusion that I’d need to order a boat if I wanted to get all the options I was looking for, Lighthouse called me back.  They think the motor problem was just a bad $10 spark plug?  Serious?

Four days until departure, I picked up the Ranger and took her back to Crystal Lake.  She fired up without missing a beat and raced around lake sounding better than ever in the 7 years I’ve owned her.  Whew.  Crisis avoided.  Hopefully we can finally avoid some drama on the fishing trip….  For fun, I decided to leave my boat ad on the internet, just to see what kind of offers I might get...

The drive into the Ozarks was long and uneventful (in a good way).    We did make a mandatory stop at Bass Pro in Columbia for lures and licenses as well as a lunch stop which included this humongous 16” party sandwich.  

Aaron catches a fish that size on Saturday or Sunday, we will be driving home with some money!  As we continued the drive into Columbia, I told Aaron about the motor debacle and how it kind of “opened the door” for me to look at new boats and possibly sell my boat.  By this point in the drive I already had 3 people who saw my listing and had requested test drives when I returned from the trip.  In addition, I had a guy named “Greg”, who wanted me to cancel all my test drives because he was planning to buy it, sight unseen, no test drive necessary, as soon as I got home.  Okay, whatever you say Greg…

At 4:00, we arrived at Village Marina and dumped the boat into the lake.  It was bluebird sky with light winds and temps well into the 70’s.  Just a perfect afternoon for fishing.  And it wasn’t long before we began catching either.  Aaron and I both pulled in a couple of small bass each on the shakey head and drop shot.  About an hour into fishing Aaron hooked up with this chunker casting a shakey head up on the shoreline.  

We worked Jobson Hollow cove for a couple of hours before venturing toward the channel. 

Out near the primary points, we came across this monster long-nose gar.  It may have wound up in the boat a bit untraditionally, but no doubt, what a cool looking fish to see up close.  

This gar must have been nearly 40” long and close to 10 pounds.  Had I known the long-nose gar had teeth like these, I probably would not have been so eager to have my hand up near its huge mouth.  Yikes!

Once in the channel we actually had really good luck picking up a half dozen bass on soft plastics, including these couple of short ones. 

Once again, drop shot (4” pumpkin dreamshot) and shakey head (7” black & blue ribbontail) were really on fire.  

But, with BBQ ribs, au gratin potatoes, baked beans and Texas toast being served up hot at home, we blew across the glass-like lake to get some food in our bellies!  

And to top it off, home made chocolate chip cookies.  We’re eating good now!

4/27/19

5:30AM: Alarm clocks went off.  As Aaron and I contemplated our gameplan for the day, there were scattered thunderstorms in the area.  We took refuge under the covered dock, staying dry from the downpour.

The plan was to be the first boat on the Shady Oaks Resort cove just to the north of mom & dad’s house.  

We felt like our best chance to get a good fish in the morning would be working as much un-fished water as possible.  Then once other boats move in, and we’re no longer the first boat making casts on a particular area of water, it could be time to look elsewhere.  At 6:30, we took our first casts in the cove.  By 6:35, thunder boomed above use, and lightening magnificently lit up the sky.  And that was that.  

We made our way back over to the dock and decided to wait out the storm.  I can deal with a lot on the water – cold, wind, snow and rain – but I don’t take any chances with lightening.  So instead, while other anglers braved the heavy thunderstorm, Aaron and I made our way inside for quite possibly the best breakfast sandwiches being served on the lake.

As we conversed with mom and dad over breakfast, the rain pelted the metal dock just beyond the deck.  We were pretty lucky to have the comfort and convenience of 5 star accommodations and hospitality while all the other anglers were getting soaked and cold.  But, at least one of those anglers braving the elements weighed in a 7.93lb bass within the first hour of the tournament.  As Josh always says, “You gotta risk it to get the biscuit!”  This guy was risking some serious storms for a giant fish!  And it ended up being worth it.  That fish would go on to win the $100,000 Big Bass prize for the tournament.

Finally, around 7:30, Aaron and I were able to get out on the water under some light rain.  But it didn’t last long.  The cold and rain gave way to warm sunshine within the hour.  We fished the cove we had intended to start in, as well as a couple other bays in Jobson Hollow, picking up a couple of VERY short fish.  

Although the forecast was calling for extreme winds, at the moment, they were very light.  We made our way across the channel and began fishing main channel points at the Village of Four Seasons.  Aaron started chucking the Alabama Rig (Chandelier Rig) and almost immediate hooked up with this largemouth who was parked right on the shoreline.

We continued deeper into Four Seasons when the wind suddenly kicked up.  And it was fierce.  Sustained winds were 25mph out of the SE with gusts between 40-50mph.  It seemed like the winds in the channel were just as bad as the winds in the coves, so Aaron and I braved the rough waters and fished the rock ledges at mile marker 2.  I tried my best to keep the boat on a parallel line between us and the wall with about 30 feet of spacing.  Even though we were super close to the wall, the boat was situated in 40-70 FOW.  We were casting right up on the wall and slowing letting it fall down the shear cliff.  We picked up a flurry of fish, but none of them biggin’s.

We were getting pounded by the wind, so we decided to push back across the channel.  I could never have prepared myself for such a bumpy and chaotic ride. While the Ranger did fine slamming into the 3 foot waves, I broke the tip on one of my St. Croix rods, nearly lost another (if not for Aaron’s miraculous save) and broke the mount on my front trolling motor.  Uh oh, Greg is not going to be happy about that!

Back in Jobson Hollow, we desperately tried to find some quieter water, in the deepest parts of the cove we could find.  Unfortunately, the only fish swimming around there were the smallest fish in the lake.

We finished the day with not much to show for it except some sun and wind burn.  

We buzzed over the The Boathouse at Village Marina where we met up with Mom, Dad and Brianna for a couple of cold drinks before dinner.  

The Boathouse is definitely my new favorite watering hole on the lake!  

And little did we know, the feast that awaited us at home was fit for a king.

Yep, that is tenderloin roast beef with mash potatoes and green beans.  Off.  The.  Charts.  I am pretty sure I rolled off to my room directly from the dinner table.

4/28/19

Aaron and I were pretty confident in our approach to catch fish on Day 1, so we planned to continue it.  After all, we had caught WAY more fish than any of the other anglers we spoke to, so no need to change it up.  All we needed was a little luck that one of those bites was a 5+ pounder.

Once again, we started in my parent’s cove. This time working the point in our first casts.  I was pitching a drop shot while Aaron bounced a shakey head along the bottom.  On my first cast. I got bit and reeled in this feisty little two pounder with my parent house in the background.

A great way to start the day.  Made the windy, 40 degree morning a bit more bearable.  We cast everything in the tacklebox over the next two hours, not picking up a single nibble.  We worked way deep into the cove, which was packed with boats casting the spawning flats and pre spawn staging areas.  But we couldn’t muster another bite.

With only a single non-prize-worthy fish to show for the morning, we headed home for a hearty breakfast which was made to order!  Aaron went with the omelet, while I opted for the ham and eggs!  

This is like staying at an all-inclusive property!  Eat and drink whatever we want, whenever we want.  We feasted, warmed up, regrouped, and figured out a new game plan for the rest of the day.  

Aaron and I made our way to the shorelines of Birdsong Hollow.  We cast up and down this cove for nearly two hours picking up only one short fish.  We then changed directions and headed out to the choppy main channel.  We knew we’d get beat up in the big surf, but we felt like it gave us our best chance for catching a pre-spawn swamp donkey.  I was throwing the biggest bait I have, the YUM Flash Mob Jr, rigged similar to Aaron’s presentation yesterday.  Casting it on my 7’ heavy rod with 80lb braid, I was probably going to throw out my shoulder - but it would be worth it if we got a big strike.  Around noon, we got a strike, just not the giant we were looking for.

About the same time, Aaron hooked up with a fish on his spinnerbait.  The way this fish was spazzing in the water made it apparent it wasn’t a bass.  Instead, it was a nice little channel catfish.

We continued fishing the afternoon jumping from one spot to the next.  We worked a couple back creeks in Jackson Branch Cove as well as the rip rap around the Hawaiian Island.  Finally we made the trip back into Jobson Hollow where we finished the day pitching the docks around Village Marina.  

While I was getting hung up on submerged dock cables on nearly every cast, Aaron was busy catching this bass in front of the waterfall.  A good way to end the day.

We loaded the boat up at Village, and headed out to the Grand Glaize Park for the awards ceremony.  Finally, the sun was starting to warm things up, and attendance was much better this year than last.  I’d guess about 300 people were there which represents about 5% of the total anglers in the tournament.  

The 7.93lb bass hung on to win the event and was caught on a Crock-o-gator jig.  Rounding out the top four was a 7.11, 7.06 and 6.83.  Once again, these fish were caught using the same presentation Aaron and I used at various times thought the weekend.  Spinnerbait, shakey head (w/ 10” worm) and jig.  All it took was to drop the right bait on the right size fish at the right time.  Just as it happened to them, it could have just as easily happened to us.  That’s what makes this tournament so special.  Anybody can win on any given cast!

Unfortunately for us, gas money was not offered for MN anglers this year.  Instead they gave it to Colorado, California, Michigan and South Dakota.  But in an unexpected turn of events, my name was called for an early bird registration prize.  It was worth $500!!!

That night, we once again feasted.  Homemade Momma-cotti, salad and garlic toast.  To. Die. For.

Although the tournament weather left a bit to be desired, it was an absolute blast fishing the in the Big Bass Bash and staying with my parents again.  I can’t think of anything I’d change with the hospitality, except, maybe Mom could churn up some homemade ice cream next time.  Haha!  

And while we were fishing, Brianna, Nana and Grandpa didn’t have much for downtime.  

They spent the weekend sharing milkshakes, mini-golfing, playing at Minor Mike’s arcade, Dog Patch USA, and cooking for us fishermen.  And lots of Cooper time!

They even made me this sweet apron with all my favorite things!

The 2020 Big Bass Bash is April 18 & 19, 2020.  I’ve already got it on my calendar!  No way I’d miss out on another trip to see Nana and Grandpa with my best fishing partners!

4/29/19

The drive home seemed WAY quicker.  Aaron and I continued to joke about Greg, who had contacted me several times throughout the weekend about the boat.  He was hot for my boat, and needed it today.  I told Greg I wouldn’t be home until the afternoon but he was welcome to come by and see it this evening.  He told me, “I am not coming by to see it, I am coming by to buy it.”  Okay Greg!  Greg claimed he had “17K, cold, hard, cash.”  I’ll believe it when I see it.

During the bumpy seas on Saturday, I lost one of my Humminbird Gimbal mounting screws.  It’s currently somewhere 100’ underwater in the Ozarks. Greg probably wouldn’t be happy about this!  We stopped quick at Bass Pro in Des Moines so I could pick up a new one.  Unfortunately, they were out of stock of the $10 screw, but the guy working behind the fish finder counter offered me a free extra one he had!  Are you serious?  Bass Pro just gets better and better every time we stop in.  Around 4PM, we pulled up to the house and Aaron went on his way.  Brianna and I had a date at the car wash to clean up the filthy boat.

Later that evening, Greg did indeed show up to the house.  He gave the boat about a 30 minute lookover before stating he wanted to buy it.  The whole thing was surreal.  Was I really selling my boat?  I hadn’t even stopped to consider that if I went through with this, it would be the first time in seven years I wouldn’t be boat owner on fishing opener.    

Sure, that boat has been a thorn in my side and caused me more drama on the water than I care to mention.  But the happiness that little Ranger has brought to my life has been priceless.  I was blessed to find that perfect little boat 7 years ago in Indiana.  At the time, I paid $16,000 for a three year old boat with 11 hours on the motor (the MSRP was $26,345).

We drew up some quick paperwork and Greg made good on his claim by throwing down $17,000 in cold, hard, cash, onto to deck of the boat.   Yep, my little investment in floating happiness, netted me $1,000 more than what I paid for the boat in 2013.  There is no doubt, the Ranger brand holds it’s value!  In less than an hour, the transaction was completed.   I handed Greg the keys to the boat and asked him to send me pictures every now and then.  We hooked up the Ranger to Greg’s truck and he cautiously pulled out of the driveway, as I had done so many times in the past.  I watched from the driveway as he towed my baby away.  It was a very sad moment.  No more Ranger.

But it also meant, no more DRAMA!  And even better, it was time to start shopping for a new boat!  Stay tuned.

[faygosmayhem]

Story Time #3- Final Fantasy & Me: Part Three

Landmines EVERYWHERE: 

I love Final Fantasy XII. I also hate it with seething contempt of 10,000 scorned and angry Cactuars. When the game launched I couldn’t even let myself get excited. I was deep into a period of ‘permanent grounding’ that cut me off from the world and everything else I loved (another story for another time). I stayed that way from February to December of ‘06, miserable and only getting worse. Come Christmas my parents gifted me with Final Fantasy XII. I thought it needlessly cruel at the time because they were still holding all of my electronics hostage and I had no way of playing it, but I came to understand that in giving me the game they were also giving back most of the things they had taken. 

This time, I was also given a guide to go along with it. At the start, and probably against my better judgement, I tucked the guide away with the rest of them for use only after had gotten through the game once, as usual. I had gotten a good half-way through before I decided to take a peek to look up some information on where I could find a particular spell. ‘Just that one thing,’ I told myself as I flipped through to the index.

 Of course, as I was going through a picture happened to catch my eye. Unable to help myself, I went back to it to check if I was really seeing it correctly. The picture was of 12 treasure coffers neatly lined in rows of four along a beach, with a note beside it in big,bold, lettering warning not to open ANY of them. I read a little further and discovered that this was one of four spots in the game where opening the treasure causes the best weapon in the game to disappear forever. 

At that point I nearly threw the game out the window, who does shit like that? There is absolutely no way for that to be discovered on your own, as the game makes no mention of it anywhere. I could have continued playing as I had planned, but if the game was going to pull tricky crap like that I was going to be in for one hell of a second playthrough. So, already about thirty hours into the game I scrapped the file and played it over while following the guide, grumbling about it the whole way. Turns out there’s more than one section in the game that’s nearly impossible without help if you don’t want to spent countless hours banging your head against the wall. 

Final Fantasy XII is hard. Not only does it have a lot of complex puzzles and tough enemies, you basically have to program the AI yourself or the party is going to be completely ineffective. It really doesn’t help that the game makes you pay for those little bits of code either.  It takes a lot of repetitive grinding to get through everything, and I can’t tell you how many hours I spent looping the zones over and over for LP, and Gil. 

The story is probably the most mature in the series, and full of socio-political intrigue and complicated scientific concepts. I used to play the game with a dictionary handy so I could decipher what the hell Vayne and the Judges were talking about. The cast of characters is rather polarizing for me, containing one of my all-time favorites, Balthier the debonair sky-pirate, and my least favorite of all the games- Penelo.

 I didn’t like her character from the start, I found her voice annoying, had an unexplained problem with her attitude, and absolutely could not stand her costume and hairstyle. The true reason for my hate of her, however, is that in my version of the game, for some unfathomable reason, her AI would set off EVERY SINGLE TRAP in the dungeon- even with Libra on. I had to switch her out or control her manually to stop this from happening, and since I was doing my best to level the party evenly just leaving her alone was not an option. By the end of the game I was so fed up with babysitting her I used to kill her on purpose out of spite. Yeah, I could've saved myself the effort by just making her the leader when it was the girls’ turn to grind, I found it much more enjoyable to watch Fran walk instead- her tail physics were hypnotizing. 

Final Fantasy XII caused a lot of frustration for me. There were several times I wanted to just set it down and never think about it again, but in the end it became the game I’ve spent the most time on. The game is very long and some of the individual fights can take upwards of 4 hours (I went to go make sandwiches twice while fighting Yiazmat, about 50 million HP is a little much, don’t you think devs?), but became one of the most rewarding once everything was completed thanks to that stupid Sky Pirate’s Den feature. 

If you’re reading this and skipped XII for whatever reason when it first launched, I recommend looking into the new re-master, Zodiac Age. It’s been tempting me for a while, I was actually at the Distant Worlds concert in Pennsylvania when the information on the remaster was first leaked by the game’s composer, I just don’t know if I have the will-power to pick it up again. 

A Visually Appealing Corridor Simulator: 

After finally finishing XII in ‘07, I didn’t touch a Final Fantasy game for about four years. Not like there really was anything to touch, exactly- but that’s beside the point. During those four years my life took a rather interesting turn, and I found myself immersed more in Tabletop RPGs and MMOs than anything else. It wasn’t until 2011, a year after I left my life in Arizona behind and moved to Pennsylvania that I once again found myself as the recipient of a shiny new PS3 and a copy of Final Fantasy XIII. 

I’m very glad I was able to go into this game with very little expectation, else I would’ve ended up disliking it a great deal more than I did. For the most part I don’t hate the game, but I can understand why a lot of people do. Final Fantasy XIII mostly just makes me sad because of what the game could have been. All those beautifully designed and intricate set pieces were reduced to nothing but bland hallways because of an attempt to appeal to a larger American audience, mostly due to the fact that the game was released cross-platform for the Xbox 360 as well. 

There are a lot of problems with Final Fantasy XIII. The characters are annoying and not very fleshed out, the plot is not cohesive and almost indecipherable, and about 80% of the game is walking down a never-ending hallway, and they don’t even get around to fully fleshing out the mechanics until the game is almost over. 

Despite all of this I thought the game was OK. I was impressed by the cut-scenes (the one at the end where they all roll up to Eden during the hover-bike race on the backs of their Eidolons is a personal favorite), thought the fast-paced combat was pretty fun, and had a pretty good time making fun of the ridiculous characters. The ending was another very serious “WTF?” moment, but pretty much the whole game up to that point had been, but I do admit to tearing up when Sazh is re-united with his son. 

I was even thankful, though a bit disappointed, to find out that I didn’t even need to play the game all the way through again to complete it. That is, until I tried to do it. It’s no secret that completing a Final Fantasy game, or any RPG for that matter, takes a great deal of time and dedication to repetitive action. Completing Final Fantasy XIII, however, was the most mind-numbing endeavor I’ve ever attempted. Prepare yourselves for a rant involving lots of math, because this shit got real (I’ll set the math between lines so those that really don’t care can just skip it). 

To get one of the gold trophies, you need to own one of every weapon and accessory in the game. The only way to get most of these things in the game is to upgrade them using Gil and drops acquired from monsters. The only way to make money in the game is by selling monster drops. The item worth the most is a 25% drop from the hardest enemies in the game. Even If you execute the strategy needed to kill them absolutely perfectly, which is incredibly tricky, it still takes 5-6 minutes just to kill ONE of them, and there are only about seven or eight different spawn points for them in the game (don’t quote me on that), most of them in the same zone. 

In order to upgrade everything I needed by the time I was ready to tackle this challenge, I needed about 1.5 million gil. The 25% common drop from the monster is worth 150,000, and you need SIX additional abysmally rare drops from the same creature in order to get every character their best weapon. In a perfect world, you need to kill around 40 of these stupid things for the money alone, and I would about quadruple that value for the rare drops. In an imperfect world, there are also days where you have no luck, mess up the strategy and take too long to kill the monster, or get killed yourself and get set back. 

The fastest way I found to get everything I needed was to use the long hallway right before the final boss where one of the creatures spawns at the beginning. There”s a save point at both ends of the hallway and it’s littered with other difficult encounters that can yield some other items worth a decent amount of money if done correctly. Passing through this hallway in one direction fighting everything takes about 30 to 45 minutes. Using some easy zone-out manipulation you can fight a grand total of THREE creatures in the span of about an hour and a half. 

For the final stretch of this game I spent upwards of eight hours a day, everyday, for the span of about two whole weeks doing nothing but running down that hallway fighting the same monsters, in the same patterns, over and over again until I finally had everything I needed. This reason alone is why I will never again touch a copy of Final Fantasy XIII. 

Want More? Hell No. Well...You’re Getting It Anyway 

XIII-2 and Lightning Returns were games that served almost no purpose. Even though the end of XIII didn’t make a whole lot of sense, it was still an almost complete resolution that didn’t really leave any loose ends. Aside from the obvious ‘to make money’ there was no real reason to give us another entry for a story that most people were unimpressed and dissatisfied with, rather than making the games that were already announced that the fan base was dying for. 

There’s an optimistic part of me that wants to believe that XIII-2 was created mostly out of desire to fix the gaping flaws of the game that came before and give the fans and developers a chance to see what XIII should have been.That satisfies me, until I remember that they ended it with a cliff-hanger that needed yet another game to resolve. 

I did enjoy playing XIII-2, and was happy to finally have a more complete version of the world from XIII. What they did with the story, however, was not something I was a fan of. The plot of XIII was complicated enough. Throw in time travel, world paradoxes, and non-linear story telling, and you get something so contrived it’s not even worth trying to piece together. 

By time Lightning Returns finally graced us with its presence, I was done. I played the game for about two hours, became infuriated that the game was based around mechanics I absolutely loathe and set it aside. I didn’t even bother looking up the end of the story on YouTube- by that point I really didn’t care. I don’t think I’ll ever be desperate enough to pick it back up again. 

What We’ve All Been Waiting For:

Think back on the past ten years of your life. While doing that, remember that during that whole period, the devs of Final Fantasy XV were working on the same project. I can’t even begin to imagine what that cycle must of been like for those people, and what a triumph it must have been to see it finally on the shelves. 

It’s even harder to reconcile what we got with how long it took them to make it. The incomplete feeling of the story from XV is very hard to deal with thinking back on just how much time they took to tell it. Part of me gets it; DLC, money, also making realistic games is hard and takes forever. I absolutely understand that the developers were trying to take a new angle with the series, and that they didn’t want to get to crazy with ham-fisted storytelling like pretty much every other installment, but even with the DLC we’re still missing some pretty significant chunks of the narrative. 

Honestly that’s about my only complaint about the game, and it’s with good reason. 

I fell more in love with the characters of Final Fantasy XV than I have with any other form of media. The casual interactions and mannerisms of the four boys are so heartfelt, so real, and such a joy to watch. From that first moment spent pushing the car to the opening notes of ‘Stand By Me’ (which is now my favorite into sequence in the series), I could tell that these characters were something special. The first time I heard Ignis’ exclaim “That’s it!” after staring idly at a random sign at a diner my heart fluttered, and I was completely charmed. The first time Prompto sang the victory theme I knew I was hooked for good. 

Something about these boys just makes me happy. Not only are they all so nice to look at, but their mannerisms and interactions really make you want to know them. I really don’t understand how this game got away with having such fantastic characters in a terribly fleshed out story. While playing, I cared deeply about what happened to the four boys (and still do, as evidenced by how much time I still spend in the fan community). When they laughed, I laughed. When they were sad, so was I. When they were hurt, I couldn’t wait to get out there and ruthlessly murder the cause of it. I wanted to know everything about them, and found myself filling in my own information when there was none offered (particularly with Ignis, because that boy gets ZERO backstory). 

It’s no secret that I’m obsessed with this game, and likely will be for quite a while still. Even with the problems I have with the story, it’s still at the peak of series for me. I can only hope that in the future they fill in the holes, and we can keep the boys with us for a long time still to come. 

Well. That was a thing. All total I spent about 18 hours writing this out, and had more fun with it than I’ve had writing anything in a while. Final Fantasy is such a huge part of my life and it was almost astonishing to look back and really remember what each of these games mean to me, and why nothing will ever replace them. 

Thanks to anyone who took the time to read my long-winded rambling, you are wonderful. If you’re feeling a nostalgic as well, then I know I’ve done my job right. It will be interesting to see what else comes out of this little experiment of mine. 

Until next time

~Faygo

[samanthapagesof]

The Ranch Family-Part 2

June

Living in a world where all true sense of humanity had vanished haunted June. Worse than that of the screams from the slaughterhouse above her home. Home only in the sense, of a place to live with the people you call family. She tried time and time again to make it feel like home but in turn, she was met with failure. A failure that rang through as her oldest Jan, named from a mixture of the month he was conceived and Junes father's surname, Janison. June found it ironic because she had him at a young age and in spite of her father's constant abuse and rejection. Jan felt no love for his mother or father, only love for his “treats”, his ironic nickname for his preferred drug at that time. June and Septs used to beg and plead for Jan to stop with drugs but the sweet escape always drew him back and those begs and pleads turned into heads down and found bliss in ignorance.

Being a mother of a drug addict takes a toll on the soul. Her natural mother instincts had never really developed, she had a hard time wanting to spend time with him. For he was supposed to be a tool she used against her father but turned into a mistake she thoroughly regrets but truly wants to make peace with his existence and learn to endure. But to June he was the constant reminder of her horrific childhood.

Yearning to move from beneath a death house, June searched for any funds she could get her hands on to move as far away as she could with her genetic baggage, she begrudgingly called,  her family. While June had a very apparent disconnection towards her children and their father she felt responsible for their well being. Because in reality, it was her fault her husband lost his job along with all of his money.

Three months before the very intentional conception of Jan, June was a young free-spirited girl with long beautiful thin blonde hair, sun-kissed skin and flowers tucked into every crevasse of her body, living on the streets in protest of the most recent government scandal. Planning her revenge against her father, using the only weapon he didn't have, the lack of a mindless organ between her legs. There she meet a strapping lawyer type, defined muscle and a devilish smile drew her in faster than the regular dosage of LSD she incorporated into her everyday routine.

He was walking to work and ‘happen’ to stumble upon the cause of his evenutal downfall, June. Three months later June was gitty to find herself pregnant and in a courthouse attempting to sue her father with Sept by her side and all of his earnings backing them. Only to end up losing the lawsuit for lack of physical evidence, the judge stated: “we simply can’t base the foundation of this accusation on the words of an angry estranged child”. Losing any humanity left in June and all of Septs money with it.

Years later upon her search for the forever home, she felt obligated to provide for her spawn and their father, and then there it was. A simple 3 bedroom 4 bathroom ranch house with a little over two acres about 120 miles from the nearest city.

There she found liberation from city life and replaced the smell of death and decay with the smell of fresh air and freedom.

 THE MORNING

It was any normal day, she awoke and went about her routine, 45 minutes of yoga and meditation at sunrise then off to tend to her garden. Looking onto the plot of land she’d acquired she had started to imagine converting it to an animal sanctuary, “animals were always better than people” June always said.

However, disregarding her dreams she still had to focus on basic responsibilities as a provider, she listens for Feb walking around his room and bathroom and tries in vain to revive Jan, Sept is long gone, he has a long commute. She decides for a cliche breakfast, she places three different kinds of the cheap-cereal on the table with the option of almond milk, so watered down it tasted like water with a loose almond in it and packs Febs lunch. Peanut butter sandwich, they couldn't afford Jelly this month. She’d be lucky if Jan woke up before 4 PM and actually spoke to her, rather than run to the door like she had the plague.

“You ready for your rinse and meds?” she asked Jan. He nodded hesitantly. “Fine, eat something so the painkillers don’t slow you down as much this time” June responded. After Feb forced down a quarter of his soggy cereal it was time for his lengthy medication process, a cocktail of pills with a brutal saline rinse and scrub down. To try to numb the pain June would force analgesic cream down his throat to protect the little muscles that were left. He felt the medicine kick in, and his struggle would lessen and relaxation would overcome him.

Off to the the bus she walked him, practically carrying him in his sedated state. Then as any good mother would do she waited till the bus would roll off. Then back inside to check  Jans vitals, a skill she developed out of necessity, after his drug affiliations matured from more subtle vices, such as marijuana and cigarettes, to straight heroin and cocaine. His munchy induced naps advanced to comatose episodes, so reluctantly June learned the basics from a family friend used to be a nurse.

Jan had an irregular but steady heartbeat for someone with enough drugs in their system to sedate three men twice his size. “How his heart hasn't stopped yet, I will never understand. What is the drive that keeps him breathing” She whispers to herself as she walks to the hallway. 

She retired to her sanctuary, a little shack-like building in the far right corner of the garden. Where she has a clear view of both Jan & Feb bedroom windows on the second floor, not able to see into them but rather gather glimpses of them when they walk by, and the slightly blurred window to her and Septs bathroom. She felt justification for wanting to take time for herself while still able to oversee her children and their father. She sat down welcoming the silence of the sanctuary she had crafted from trash and junk from previous owners. She began to medicate herself with a very potent cannabis, falling into her mind. In this state, June found her true and pure inner peace, a total euphoric state of mind. Her eyes roll back and then nothing. In her sanctuary, June is to be undisturbed and in total solitude. Her definition of her own perfect world, absent from distraction or annoyance.

Hours later and Feb has come home from school and did what he was taught to do, ring a bell that is wired to the inside of June's palace of peace to signify he was home and with a simple nod and half-cocked smile June would signal she noticed him and he was free to do as he pleased.  

The hours roll by June, and she is forced to leave her peaceful practice and go do wifely and motherly duties, she winced at the thought of wife and mother being used to describe her. She begins tidying up leftover clutter, which means moving a pile of trash and junk to a different spot and starts dinner. In the kitchen, still somewhat entranced her ears ring so loud she's unable to distinguish actual noise from the constant orchestra in her mind. Hearing muffled movement above her, she writes it off as an understandable side effect of this weeks batch.

Moving around the house in a mental fog disconnected from the outside world, she meanders from room to room touching this and moving that. The distant faint sounds turn to crashes and pounding on the floor above her head, it was coming from Feb’s room. Tripping over her own feet she makes it to Feb’s room and finds the door stuck, something was jamming it from the inside. She throws her body against is and the door swings open, and she jumps onto Jan trying to rip him from his almost lifeless little brother Feb. Sept appears as from nowhere and screams piercing June's ears she feels her grip being pulled off, she stands back and watches Sept fight to rip Jan off Feb. She floats up out of her body and then...

SLAM.

The sound of Jans head cracks on the floor, his body falls limp and Feb’s eyes roll back into his head like a bowling ball. Both Feb and Jan fall unconscious.

[manchattanskyline]

Downtown to Midtown and Back Again.

Manhattan Bridge, Manhattan- side traffic exit

A sleepless , and I mean totally sleepless, night followed. I was at the reception desk at 6 am , sharp, being firm but fair to begin with but this quickly deteriorated into out-and-out begging for a room on the other side of the building. I was given sincere apologies and informed that another room would be free, the following day. One more night in the noisiest room from Hell. OK, it had to be done. We didn’t have a choice. Being terribly stiff-upper-lipped about the whole thing, I decided that this was not going to ruin the holiday, or even the day. I slapped on some make-up on my far-travelled, sleepless, dehydrated face and we set off in to the slightly warmer climes of -2 degrees C. It had snowed the day before so I thought it would be a good idea to go all the way up to Central Park, while the snow was still hanging around, so that we could see some iconic ‘New York in the snow’ sights. Despite the joys of free wifi in the hotel and the excitement of using Google Maps in New York, it was a bit further than I’d anticipated. We soon stopped at a lovely looking coffee shop called Think Coffee, at the lower end of the hugely historic Bowery.  The Bowery has seen some good times, bad times and downright dangerous times. From being one of the first roads built in New York, showing Houdini’s first solo show and spawning the birth of punk rock in America ( see CBGB’s &  The Ramones ) there’s a rich history and culture about the place, although the lower end is now mainly populated by restaurant equipment and lighting shops.

There are still some original stores here, like the cash register store which has been selling and repairing the things since the turn of the century ( the 1900 one). There are some beautiful old fashioned elaborate models in the window, as well as rows and rows of spare parts, inside.There’s also The Bowery Mission, a men’s shelter set up in 1879, and at it’s current location since 1908, which still provides help and shelter to Lower Manhattan’s homeless.   A lot of the shops and buildings have laminated posters in their windows, telling you the history of that building. I think we managed to read most of them, over the next ten days, but I’m sure there are a few that eluded us.

The Bowery, Downtown

The Bowery, Downtown

We settled down in the warm – sweet- pastry smelling coffee shop to a crispy  artisanal ( I use that word with a wry smile) almond croissant and a steaming- creamy cappuccino. Sat in the corner window on a real leather seat, at an impossibly small table, we had a perfect view of the whole world passing us by. Every age, race, gender and sexuality passed by that window, as two NYPD cops were handing out leaflets on the corner of Bleecker St and The Bowery. What struck me was how much interaction there was between the NYPD and the general public. Despite the corruption which we know still exists within the organisation, it’s clear that New Yorkers do, ultimately, trust their police force. They know that they keep their city safe, that they have and will continue to sacrifice much, for New York and it’s visitors. In the UK, we rarely have anything to do with our Police force unless we’re in trouble, as a suspect or a victim! People were having cheerful conversations with these cops, thanking them for their work and wishing them a good day. As one older woman touched the arm of one of the cops, all I could think was ‘ are you crazy, he’s got a gun!’. And they do have guns. And batons. And stab proof vests. I have my opinions on armed Police but here, in this city, with it’s issues and it’s not so distant history, I found myself feeling a little more open minded on the subject.  There’s an eclectic 1990s mix-tape playing in the coffee shop and suddenly it’s the Spice Girls. New York is already giving me so much life, so much to see, so much to hear, so much to smell. What have we given New York? The sodding Spice Girls. I feel like I ought to rush up to the counter to apologise. I could have sat in that window seat for the next ten days, just soaking in the action on that cold street corner. We had a good way to go yet and so we bundled back up, taking care to dispose of our individual items in the appropriate recycling bins, and pushed on, back up The Bowery, towards Midtown and Central Park.

Each new block gradually became a little busier with more business-types. The buildings got newer, shinier, squarer and taller and we found ourselves walking over more and more subway vents and bigger crossings. A note about crossing the road in New York. First of all, a really good way to judge a native New Yorker, or someone who’s been here more than twenty-four hours, is to see how far out in to the street they stand when waiting to cross. new comers (like us) dilligently stay on the pavement (sidewalk) whilst inevitably looking the wrong way first. Natives stand a good few feet out, confident that not only are they looking the right way, but that are close enough to the sidewalk to jump back from a speeding truck and far enough out to accurately judge the first opportunity to cross.

About those ‘walk’ ‘don’t walk’ signs. First off, the original style ones were replaced in 2004 when the city replaced them with pictograms (a white pedestrian for ‘walk’ and a red hand for ‘don’t walk’. This does make me a little sad but it also makes it a lot safer for the hundreds of thousands  of non-English speaking visitors and new residents of the city. Secondly, you learn pretty quickly that these signs are an optimistic suggestion, at best, and a dangerous assumption at worst. Whilst here are enforced rules in New York regarding jay-walking, from what I could gather the general rule is ‘walk’ means you can cross but the traffic might still run you over, a ‘don’t walk’ means you can cross but the traffic will actively go out of it’s way to run you over. If there is no sign, look both ways, say a little prayer and run across with your eyes closed, keeping at least one other person (a loved one if needs must) between you and the oncoming traffic.

We passed men practising ballet at the barre, in what looked like a shop window but which was probably a studio / gym. we casually spotting a giant red Jeff Koons “Balloon Rabbit” in the foyer of an office building and lamented the deaths of what seemed like hundreds of discarded Christmas trees, permeating the air with their piney-scent as they lay on their sides, covered in a very festive dusting of snow and awaiting their fate (Sssssssh, don’t tell them!). There were tiny dogs wearing coats and shoes and women with huge leather tote handbags and even bigger headphones. The air felt crisper and cleaner as we approached the lower East side of the Park. Suddenly the soaring Empire State Building, the ominous Trump Building (this was only days away from the inauguration) and the ornate Plaza Hotel give way to wide-open walk-ways, trees, grass and sky. Sky! Something we hadn’t seen an awful lot of since crossing 14th St and passing the Flat Iron Building  There was a incredibly smug-looking woman running in Central Park. To be fare, who wouldn’t be smug if that was your local running track, and although our faces hurt from the cold and our legs ached from the rather epic trip from Lower East Side to Upper West side (yes, yes, we should have taken the Subway) I was nothing but ecstatically happy.

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Jeff Koons’ Balloon Rabbit

The Flatiron Building

The Chrysler Building

Central park Ice-Rink

That bridge, Central park

I felt like I knew my way around Midtown better than I did Downtown, only because that’s the area I’d stayed in before but having already had a glimpse of the more residential and daily-functioning of Downtown, I was realising how showy and over-polished the upper areas of Manhattan were. This is where the iconic skyscrapers and word-renowned department stores and, yes, the money, reside. All these things make for great photos and certainly have the ‘wow’ factor but they are also the tourist traps and the over-priced attractions and are a million miles away from the soul of New York. This is one version of New York, one of a hundred, that gives you a totally different experience of the city from the one you had a block away.

A quick jaunt in to the park and out again on the lower West side at Columbus Circle, along  West 59th street, back to The Plaza (where we’d be having afternoon tea on Friday) and then back down Fifth Avenue at a leisurely pace towards our main food destination of the day, the world famous Katz’s Deli. After turning the map round a few times to re-orintate ourselves and almost bumping into Helena Bonham-Carter (yes, really) we arrived at our neon-lit destination. You know, the one in ‘When Harry Met Sally’ , where Meg Ryan demonstrates to Billy Crystal the acting skills of the female species. A quick scan of the walls of the giant dining area, every inch covered with photos of the deli’s owner and staff with movie stars, sports personalities, politicians and the odd U.S President, proves that that’s not all it’s known for. What Katz’s does best, beyond the fame and the hype and the celebrities, is really, really, really, really, really good food. We opted for table service as the counter service ordering was a little confusing and we really needed a sit down. I had the pastrami on rye, with pickles, and a home-made lemonade (Katz’s own brand). The meat was hot, the bread was soft and the pickles were amazing. The sandwich itself was huge and whilst I ate half without a struggle, the second half proved a struggle and was beaten I ate some meat off the remains half and then had to concede that I was already way past being just ‘full’. My dessert tummy was not, however, and so we both ordered a plain New York cheesecake. It would have been rude no to.

Katz’s, That’s all!

Always busy and the huuuuge serving counter.

Pastrami on rye, lemonade and a whole plate of pickles

Even Leo’s been here.

As we slowly (very slowly) rolled back down Houston St towards The Bowery, we passed two stalwarts of the Lower-East side culinary scene: Russ & Daughters and Yonah Shimmel’s Knish Bakery, both Jewish in origin and both promising familiar and mind-boggling delicacies, alike. We resolved to return and visit these establishments, later on in our trip.

When we returned to our hotel room, we were tired and aching and full to bursting. It would have been dangerous to lie down so we caught up with a bit of social media, posted some photos and watched a bit of TV. The local New York channel was concentrating on the up-coming inauguration and the protesters we had passed, on Fifth Avenue. living in a city I was, of course accustomed to seeing familiar streets not he news but this was different. This was world famous streets and world changing events that we had ben privy to, just a few hours ago. Before we got too comfy and fell asleep, we took a quick look at the map and went on a min-advendure to Little Italy. Mr Manhattan has Italian heritage so we were interested to see a) how much of it still there and b)whether or not we had room for a canoli. it was well and truly dark now and as it was a Tuesday evening, also pretty quiet everywhere. We had a bit of a reccy and made a not of some places we’d like to come back to, to eat, and then found ourselves in a gorgeous old corner cafe, Caffe Roma. Proudly situated on the corner of Mulberry and Broome, this place had been here since 1880 and didn’t seem to have changed much. A large glass display counter showcased plate after plate of pastries, cakes and biscuits. The decor was most definitely original and the chairs were the old decorative wire kind, and reassuringly uncomfortable.

display counter of wonders

Old School

Espresso and canoli

Original ceiling, light fitting and shelves

Outside sign

Turns out we did have room for canoli, and an espresso. We had a further mooch around the neighbourhood, now being squeezed by the ever-spawling Chinatown to the South and the multi-million dollar brownstones of Greenwich Village to the North. Having long been deserted by all but a handful of the descendants of those brave and trail-blazing immigrants, the popular restaurants and bakeries remain but you know that no new arrival to this city could ever afford one of those apartments, five stories above our heads, sporting a smart fire-escape and potted palms.

Welcome

A small selection of Ravioli

Oldest Cheese Store in America

Sofia’s, Mulberry Street

With no room left in our tummies and no elasticity left in our leg muscles, we sauntered back to the hotel, and our Subway train soundtrack.

Manhattan Bridge from our hotel window. No zoom.

Read the first entry of this travel diary, here. New York Travel Diary: Day 0

New York Travel Diary: Day 1. Downtown to Midtown and Back Again. A sleepless , and I mean totally sleepless, night followed. I was at the reception desk at 6 am , sharp, being firm but fair to begin with but this quickly deteriorated into out-and-out begging for a room on the other side of the building.