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noladyme · 3 years

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Skip To My Lou, My Darling - Chapter 4, Hunted Hunter I

The road so far…

Lulu’s relationship with Dean Winchester ended before it began; when the hunter informed her, that he thought angels had put them in each other’s path. He wanted free will, and didn’t believe their emotions were real. Now Lulu is on the path of living a new life; one without supernatural beings, angels – and the man she feels deeper for than anyone she’s ever met before or after.

Our story continues in season 7

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

“Honey, grab me that roll of duct tape…”, Pete said. He was closing another cardboard box of books for me. I handed him the roll, and went back to the task of folding up clothes to put on top of the box of volumes I was packing myself. Pete came up behind me, and snaked his arms around my waist. “See?”, he said, while kissing my neck. “When you pack boxes half books/half clothes, they’re a lot less heavy”. “You’re right”, I muttered.

I turned around and kissed his cheek. He smelled nice; musky – but it lacked something. A certain note of smoke and charcoal. Gunpowder, I thought to myself. I tore myself from the thought, and grabbed another towel for the box. “Isn’t this Raul’s?”, Pete said; and held up a flannel shirt. “No… it’s mine”, I said. “Sort of”. Pete lifted a brow at me. “An ex?”, he jeered. “And you still have his shirt? What does he have, that I don’t?”, he grinned. I chuckled. “Taste in music”, I jeered; and went over to turn off the stereo, which had been playing Nickelback non-stop, since Pete arrived to help me finish my packing.

“The truck is waiting, muffin”, he said. “We need to finish this”. I lingered in front of a drawer in my dresser. “Yeah… Could you take down a few boxes?”, I said. “Sure”, he said; and walked over to take my hand. “Hey… this is the right move. Buddies going out of business like that… It’s the next step for us”. I nodded sadly. Pete grabbed the lightest box, and left the studio apartment I’d spent the last few years in.

We were moving to Kansas City; the home of my alma mater – where I’d been offered a position as a 3’rd grade teacher. Pete was going to focus on his music while I worked. He’d nabbed a gig as a bartender; and would also be going on a tour of Missouri about a week after we arrived, with his band. Sweet as he was, he was also a bit clingy since I’d agreed to go with him to Kansas. I was honestly looking forward to a full month to myself; without him hovering over me.

When I was sure he was gone, I opened the bottom drawer in the dresser; and lifted the fake bottom I’d put in it. Grabbing my utility jacket; I took the angel sword from the drawer, and slid into the inside pocket I’d sown into it – specifically for this reason. I also took my flask of holy water; and threw it in my purse. “Honey-sweetie-bunch?”, Pete said from behind me; making me jump. “What’s that? Secret drawer of toys?”, he winked. “Something like that”, I smiled; trying to hide the surprise in my voice. “Just a gift from a friend”. “The ex?”, he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Nope”, I said; and stood up. “Last box”, I said, and gestured towards the cardboard box on the floor. Pete grunted. “My back is killing me…”. I rolled my eyes, and picked up the box myself, as he held the door for me.

As he closed it behind us, he ran his hand over the carved sigil on the wood. “No surprise you didn’t get much of a deposit back”, he muttered. “Come on”. I looked at the sigil, sighed; and followed my boyfriend down the stairs.

---

A little over week later I was stood in my new kitchen, kissing Pete goodbye. “I’m gonna miss you so much”, he breathed into my hair. “Me too”, I said. He slid his hand down my arm; brushing the almost invisible scars there. “Just remember, I’m coming back. Ok?”, he said. “You’ll be fine. Think happy thoughts. And no more weird occult books”. “Uh huh”, I muttered. Pete still thought my scars were from a suicide attempt. “I love you”, he smiled. “You too”, I said. He leaned in and pecked my lips. “Bye”.

I closed the door after him, and took a deep breath. Thank god, I thought. “Hello, Lulu”, a voice behind me said. I grabbed the kitchen knife on the counter, and turned around quickly. My eyes widened. “Castiel?”, I croaked. I put down the knife, and rushed over to embrace the angel. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t reciprocate the hug. “What are you doing here?”, I asked.

The angel strolled through the combined kitchen and living room, seemingly taking in the sights. He looked a little worse for wear; red marks around his eyes. “This is your home now”, he said, more as a statement than a question. “Yeah… me and…”. “Pete”, Castiel said. “I saw him leave. I decided against making myself known”. I narrowed my eyes. “I appreciate that… but you still didn’t tell me why you’re here”, I said. My breath hitched. “Are they…?”. “Sam and Dean are alive, and somewhat well”, he muttered. “Things have happened to me since we last met. I have gained powers beyond your comprehension. As a gesture of compassion, I’ve decided to let you know that I will no longer be watching over you”.

I stepped backwards from Cass; feeling a sudden chill all over my body. “You’ve been… watching”, I muttered. “Why?”. “As a favor to Dean. But I have more important things to tend to, than his emotions”. I made a scoffing laugh. “You’ve been reporting to him? About me…”. “Only on your wellbeing. I haven’t given him details on your life. Only that you live and thrive”, Castiel said. “And I won’t be doing that anymore. You are on your own. I have a final gift, as a thank you for your former loyalty”. He put his hand to my chestbone, and a surge of pain went through my entire body. I yelped in pain. “Now angels will not be able to find you. I will have mercy on you in the upcoming battle”. “What? Cass, I…”. He was gone.

I sat down on a chair; my hands shaking. Dialing up the only number I could think of, with bated breath, I waited for the call to go through. “Agent Fisher speaking…”. “Bobby?”, I croaked. “Who’s this?”, the old man grunted. “It’s Lulu…”. There was a pause. “It’s been a while… Why no calls?”, he asked. “I’ve been... trying to move on”. “I figured that… just thought you’d let your Uncle Bobby know how you were doing. Are you still into leisurely reading about the occult?”. “Yes…”, I admitted.

I’d been receiving calls from Bobby about once a month since I left South Dakota with Castiel. He’d had me look up creatures and ghosts I knew he could easily find info on himself. I figured he wanted to keep me studying up to keep me warm for potential hunting in the future. In spite of the thrill I’d felt helping the Winchesters and him solve the case of both the bloody countess and the myling; the thought of actually hunting myself, was much too farfetched. And it reminded me of someone I didn’t want to think about. I’d stopped calling Bobby back a good six months earlier.

“What’s wrong, kid?”, Bobby asked quietly. “I just had a visit from our winged friend”. “You saw Cass?”, he asked. “What did he do to you?”. “I don’t know. It was painful. He said angels wouldn’t be able to find me… What’s going on, Bobby?”. “Same as always”, he grunted. “End of the world… that sort of thing?”, I said. “Something like that… He’s put some markings on your bones. Old enochian... It’ll hide you from angels”. I heard him take a deep breath. “Sweetheart, it’s good to hear your voice. Are you ok?”. “Yeah. I guess… In spite of the angel bad-touching me. He was saying some weird things. About watching over me”, I muttered. “Apparently, he quits. So, if you could tell Dean, that would be great”. “Lulu, it’s not like that…”, Bobby began. “You don’t have to defend him. I’m sure he just thought he was doing the right thing… again”, I said. “I just wish he’d make up his mind. Be in my life, or not”. “From what I hear, you’d prefer the not”, Bobby grunted. “What do you mean?”, I croaked. He didn’t answer. “Bobby!”. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you… Wanted to make sure you were ok”. “Dammit, Bobby. What is it with you hunters?”, I growled. “Can’t help it, kid. You grew on me”. I smiled to myself, as Bobby continued “You would have made a great hunter. Or at least researcher. You were my favorite assistant, you know”. “So you stalked me?”, I chuckled. “I have a friend with a computer”, Bobby grunted. “Kansas City?”. “Yeah… for now, I guess”, I said. “And the boyfriend?”, Bobby said. “Is he aware that it’s for now?”. I sighed. “Just… please let him know. Tell him I’m fine, and to…”. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “I will”, Bobby said. “Bye”, I croaked. “Goodbye, kid”, he said. I hung up.

---

Some months later, I was at work; ignoring phone calls from Pete. He’d been calling non stop since I moved out of our shared apartment, and into a hotel room. His texts were constant, and I was reeling from lack of sleep, due to my neighbors in the hotel keeping me up with loud fights.

As I said goodbye to the kids for the weekend, my phone once again rang. I closed the door to my classroom, and finally relented – picking up the call. “Pete. I told you…”. “Lulu…”. There was that voice that had always made my heart flutter – and I had missed so bad I could feel it in my bones, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not. “Dean… hi”, I said. “It’s been a while”. “Yeah…”, he sounded choked. “What’s wrong?”, I asked. “It’s, uhm… It’s Bobby. We lost him, Lulu”. I gasped raggedly. “Bobby’s dead?”, I croaked. “Yeah. He’s gone”. “I’m so sorry, Dean”, I breathed. “Me too… He had some stuff he wanted you to have”, Dean said quietly. “We’re in Kansas. I was wondering if I could drop them by”. The thought of seeing my former paramour again made my breath hitch. “Uhm… yeah. I’m in…”, I began. “I know”, he muttered. “Tonight? It’ll just be me. I hope that’s ok”. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there”, I said quietly. “See you”, he said, and hung up.

I had to sit down for a moment. Bobby was gone. And I was about to see Dean for the first time in almost three years. My heart was racing; and when my phone rang again, I picked it up immediately.

“Dean?”, I rasped. “Who’s Dean, honey?”, Pete’s voice asked. I sighed. “No one, Pete. I asked you not to call me again”. “Lulukins, I miss you so bad it hurts”, he said “I can’t do this right now. I just heard about a death in the family, and I…”. “Do you want me to drop by? I could bring a movie…”, Pete almost pleaded. “No, that’s not necessary. Just… please leave me alone”. I hung up.

I drove back to my hotel – heart frayed, and at the same time jumping out of my chest. Knowing what had happened the last time I saw a Winchester just having lost someone they loved, I picked up a bottle of bourbon, and for Dean’s – and my own sake – I got a pie and canned whipped cream as well. I spent a good while in front of the mirror, pretending that I wasn’t trying to make myself look nice.

When the door knocked, I sprang over to it – then paused, as to not make myself seem too eager. I opened the door, and there he stood.

“Hi…”, I croaked. “Hey”, he whispered. We stood in silence for a moment, before I stepped aside. “Come in”. Dean stepped into my room, and looked around. “This is… nice”, he said. “It’s a dump. But it’s cheap”.

He looked at me with sad eyes. I stepped over to him, and put my arms around his neck; hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry”, I whispered, as tears began flooding my eyes. “Bobby…”. He slid his arms around me. He smelled different than I remembered. More crisp. “Yeah… It sucks”. He pulled back. “A drink?”, I asked. “Sure…”.

He went to sit down by the small table in the room, and I handed him a glass of whiskey I’d already prepared. “How are you? Both of you?”, I asked, not wanting him to think I was specifically concerned for him. “We’re good… considering”, he muttered. “You? Anything weird going on here?”. I frowned, and sat down across from him, lifting my glass, and taking a sip. “I’m ok. Just sad to hear about Bobby. What happened?”. Dean looked down. “He was shot… in the head”. My breath grew ragged. “And he’s not coming back… like you did”. He looked at me; his eyes strangely distant – like he was looking at a complete stranger. “No. He’s gone for good”.

I lifted my glass. “To Bobby”, I muttered. Dean lifted his own glass, and clinked mine. “To Bob”, he said, and drank. I held my breath for a moment, and let it go once he put down his glass again.

I went over to the fridge, and got out the pie; cutting two slices. He looked at me intently. “Cream?”, I asked. “No thanks”, he said quietly. I frowned to myself, and looked over my shoulder at him; as I got two forks from the small kitchenette drawer, and placed a plate in front of Dean. “Sorry about the mismatched silverware. Like I said, this place is a dump”. He half smiled, and shrugged.

I sat down with my own pie, and cut a piece. “Eat up”, I said, and put the piece into my mouth; savoring the sweet taste. “Not hungry?”, I asked. He shook his head. “Not really…”. “It’s pie, Dean”, I said. He looked at me, and grabbed the fork; finally taking a piece himself – suddenly almost devouring it with insatiable hunger.

“So, you really haven’t seen anything strange around? No weirdness at all?”, he asked; his mouth full. I stood up, and went over to grab the bottle of whiskey from the counter. “No… why are you asking?”. He shrugged. “I just thought… After Bobby, someone might come for you”. The way he said it was as if he didn’t really care. “Are you asking about Cass?”, I said. “Oh, no… He’s dead too”. My jaw dropped. “Cass is dead?”. “Yup. Sort of… drowned”.

I poured him another glass. “You seem… indifferent”, I muttered. He looked at me coldly. “He was… my friend”. “Yes”, I nodded. “You’re not upset about him being gone?”. Dean suddenly smiled. The sight gave me shivers. “He was put to good use”.

I stepped backwards, heading for my jacket. “You going somewhere?”, Dean grunted; his green eyes hard. I smiled softly at him. “No, just needed something in my pocket”, I said, and slid my hand around the handle of the sword there. “You said you had something for me”, I muttered, and held the blade to my chest; keeping my back to him. I could see him shift in his chair, as his movements where mirrored in the water tap. He rose, and walked towards me; making a chill run down my spine. “I lied”, he said. “I just needed a good look at you before I eat you, and take your form”.

I spun around, and slashed at him; making him jump backwards. Leaning back on my right foot, I sprang forward again; the blade going through his gut. He simply looked at me – grinning. “What are you?”, I snarled. “Beyond your comprehension, human”, he hissed.

I pulled back the knife, and sprang for the door; the creature looking like Dean blocking my path with inhuman speed. “No, you don’t”, he chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you?” “You don’t know the half of it”, I sneered, and slashed at him again “That doesn’t hurt me”, he smiled, and jumped at me.

I hacked at his hand, parting it from his arm; as he looked on in wonder. “Now I’ll have to grow a new one, you bitch!”, he growled.

Suddenly the door blew open, and two people I was very happy to see sprang inside. “Lou! Get back!”, the real Dean growled. He threw a glass jar of some kind of liquid at the creature; and as it splintered, and the monster was covered by the stuff, it began screaming in pain – smoke coming from it’s skin. “Let’s go!”, Sam yelled. I grabbed my jacket, and ran down the hall – Dean grabbing my hand as we went. As we passed the reception counter, Dean threw a wad of bills at the guy behind it. “She’s checking out!”, he snarled, and with a hand on my back, he led me out of the door to the street.

Sam and Dean flanked me, and we walked down the street. “Just walk; don’t run”, Sam muttered. “Pretend everything is fine”. “What’s going on?”, I asked. “Later”, Dean said. “Keep moving”. I tried my best to look inconspicuous, and walked between the two men as if we were just taking an evening stroll. “I left my purse… my wallet”, I whispered. “You won’t need it”, Dean grunted. “This way”.

He pushed me towards an alleyway, where a station wagon was parked. Something was wrong – Dean wouldn’t be caught dead in this suburban-mom nightmare. My breath hitched. “Who are you?”, I said; and pulled out the sword again. “What are you talking about?”, Sam asked. From another pocket, I produced my flask. “Drink!”, I snarled.

He let out a breath, and grabbed the flask; drinking from it before handing it to Dean, who did the same. “We could still be shifters”, the elder brother muttered, and handed me back the flask. “Silver coated…”, I said; and held up the flask. “Good girl”, Dean said; the corner of his lip lifting.

“Hey!”, a loud voice yelled. I looked in its direction, and saw another Sam. “Get in the car”, Dean said; and opened the door to the back seat for me, slamming it shut after I got in. The brothers jumped in the front seat, and Dean put the key in the ignition, turning it. Only clicking sounds came from the engine. “Come on, you piece of crap!”, he growled, and turned the key again. The other Sam ran towards us, and slammed his palms on the hood of the car. Dean turned the key, cursing below his breath; and the engine started. He slammed down the pedal; and drove straight at the copy of his brother, making him roll over the hood, and onto the ground.

Dean raced down the alley, and turned onto the busy street.

We drove in silence for a while; leaving the city behind us. My heart was racing, and I almost thought it was my own body shaking, when I felt my phone vibrating in my back pocket. It was Pete. “I can’t talk!”, I said. “Honey, where are you? There’re police at your hotel!”, he almost yelled. “I’m… The family thing”, I said. “I should be with you”, he said. “You really shouldn’t. And stop calling”. I hung up.

Dean looked at me in the back mirror. “Boyfriend?”, he asked. “Ex”, I muttered. He held my gaze for a moment, before returning to the road. “Can you turn on the radio? I need a distraction from the guy who’s hand I just chopped off”. Sam turned on the radio. “Pop Radio. All night for your listening pleasure”, a cheery voice said. A soft guitar began playing. “Lying in your arms, so close together. Didn’t know just what I had. Now I toss and turn, ‘cuz I’m without you. How I’m missing you so bad…”, the song began.

Dean turned off the radio again. “We need CD’s for this piece of junk”, he grumbled.

After about 30 minutes of driving, we pulled up at a dreary looking motel. The brothers led me into a generic looking rented room. Once inside, Sam locked and bolted the door. I stood for a moment, just looking at the two men in front of me. This time it was really Dean – I was sure of it. He was a little older – a few crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes, which in no way to away from his handsomeness. In a strange way, they added to it. His green eyes sparkled, and his lips drew upwards into a soft smile. I sprang into his arms; and he held me tightly, as I buried my face in the crook of his neck. Musk, gunpowder and whiskey. He was warm, and his arms enveloped me in that familiar and comforting way; that yet had me feel like I was touching him for the first time, and sent delightful heat straight to my core – and to my heart. Yeah. This was Dean. As I pulled back, I had to fight the urge to brush my lips against his.

I turned to Sam, and he pulled me close, kissing the top of my head. “Hi, Lulu”, he said quietly. “Sorry about the abrupt kidnapping”. “It’s ok. Figured it was life or death”, I smiled. The brothers both let out a soft chuckle.

I went to sit down, my legs shaking slightly. “You live dangerously, Lou”, Dean said. “Two years, and you just let me walk in to your place?”. I shrugged. “I took precautions”, I said. He frowned. “I poured holy water into his drink, and had him eat with a silver fork”, I said. “That’ll work against demons and shifters, not leviathans”, he muttered. “What?”, I grimaced. “No one told me about any leviathans. And I don’t know what those are”. “Gods original monsters”, Sam said. “Bad guys”. I scoffed. “That became quite apparent, when he mentioned eating me”.

I sighed. “So, he was lying, right? About Bobby being dead? Cass?”. Sadness marked both the brother’s faces. I drew in a short breath. “No…”, I whimpered. “Gunshot… with Bobby”, Dean muttered, not meeting my eyes. “Castiel?”, I whispered. “We’re not sure…”, Sam said. “He… brought them here. The leviathans”.

I closed my eyes, and shook my head. “He came to see me a while back. Talked about watching over me”. I sent Dean a look. He seemed uncomfortable. “Bobby told us”, Sam said. “He also mentioned you were in Kansas”. “He’d been keeping track of me, after I stopped returning his calls”, I replied. Dean frowned. “You kept in touch?”. “Did some research for him”, I said. “Greenbrier Ghost in West Virginia ring a bell?”. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You tracked down the husbands grave”, Sam smiled. I nodded.

Dean sat down across the table from me. He raised a worried brow. “Bobby had you hunting?”, he grunted. “Not exactly”, I said. “I was just looking up stuff for him”. Sam chuckled. “But he was heading in that direction with you, wasn’t he…?”. “I think so…”, I muttered “He wanted me studying, I know that much”. Dean shook his head in frustration. “What?”, I asked. “He should have left you alone”, he muttered. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What… Like stay out of my life, and not have angels following me around?”, I smirked.

Dean looked away, and cleared his throat. “We move on tomorrow”. “Move on where?”, I asked. “I have to go to work on Monday”. Sam frowned. “You should probably call in sick”, he said quietly. “Or dead”, Dean added.

I looked between the two men, my heart in my throat. “What’s going on?”, I croaked. “What’s a… leviathan?”. “Nasty sons of bitches, with one goal”, Dean said. “To eat”. I grimaced in confusion. “Us… humans”, Sam said. “Wow…”, I muttered. “That sounds… terrifying”. I swallowed hard. “And they were coming for me, why?”. Dean stood up, and went over to the minifridge to grab a beer. Sam looked at his brother, then moved his eyes to me; giving me a slight shrug in explanation. “Oh…”, I said. “They’re after you, and the…”. “People we care about, yeah”, Sam said.

I laughed and shook my head. “Just when I thought I got out”, I said. “You did get out, didn’t you?”, Dean asked, taking a swig of his beer. His eyes were hard. I nodded. “I stopped returning Bobby’s calls about a year ago. Suddenly, sadness took over me. “I wish I’d…”. Tears welled up in my eyes. “I loved that cranky old bastard”. Sam put a hand on my shoulder, and squeezed it. “We know”.

I wiped my eyes in my sleeve, and let out a deep breath. “The… other Dean said he left something for me”, I said. “It’s why I said yes to him visiting me”. The Winchesters looked at each other for a moment, before Sam stepped over to his bag, and grabbed a leather bound journal – much like the one their father had left them. “Sam, no”, Dean grunted. “He wanted her to have it”, Sam said. “Must have a had a reason for it”. Dean furrowed his brows in exasperation. “Yeah, he wanted her to hunt. And she’s not doing that”. “Not your call”, Sam said.

He handed me the book. It was a collection of notes on supernatural creatures; scribbled in a familiar hand. The curses written in the margins made me smile slightly. This was Bobby’s journal. “He left this for me”, I whispered. “Sort of”, Sam said. “His death came as a surprise, so he didn’t exactly have a will. But there’s this”. He opened the first page of the book, and pulled out a note from a small pocket in the leather. “If found, deliver to Lulu Moore”, it read. “I can’t be the only one with that name in the country”, I muttered. “You’re probably the only one he knew”, Sam said.

I turned over the note. A message was written there. “If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. There’s no other reason for this thing to be in anyone else’s hands. Lulu. Take care of this book. It contains most of the research you did for me, with my own additions. There are also writings from before we met, that I think might come in handy, if you ever come across those two knuckleheads we both know. Stay safe, kid. But don’t stop reading. - Garth, if this is you; stop reading my private notes. Give the book to the woman I meant it for. Bobby.”

I let out a deep breath, and closed the book; holding it tightly to my chest. “If you read this note, you knew I was helping him”, I said. Sam looked down. “I knew. Dean didn’t”. “You knew?”, Dean growled. “You know how I feel about her hunting!”. “Yes, that’s why I didn’t tell you”, Sam retorted. Dean shook his head, and laughed sarcastically. “Anything else you didn’t tell me?”, he snarled. Sam looked at me. “Pete…”, he muttered. “Bobby kept me up to speed”. Dean frowned. “Who’s Pete?”. I met his eyes. “Oh… the boyfriend”. “Ex”, I whispered. “It didn’t work out”.

Sam looked out the corner of his eye at his brother. Dean took another swig of his beer, before putting it on the counter. “Get some sleep. We leave early”, he grunted. “I’m going to pack the car. I’m telling you, because I tell people things”. He grabbed a duffle from the floor, and left the room – slamming the door behind him.

“That went well”, I muttered. “He’s just… in pain”, Sam said. “Take my bed”, he said, and gestured for one of the two beds in the room. I shook my head. “Couch is fine”, I said, took off my jacket; and went over to lay down.

I pretended to be asleep when Dean reentered the room. “She out?”, he muttered. “Think so”, Sam whispered. “Good”, Dean said. “We need to get her somewhere safe, and move on. She can’t be around us”. “Around you, you mean”, Sam answered. “Not having this conversation again…”, Dean replied, and I heard the mattress of his bed creaking as he laid down. “Dean…”, Sam whispered. “Goodnight, Sammy”, Dean said.

---

When I woke, Dean was packing up his bag, and Sam was gone. I sat up on the couch, and stretched. “Sleep ok?”, he asked. “Yeah… coffee?”, I rasped. He zipped up the bag. “There’s a vending machine by the reception”, he said. I stood up, and grabbed my coat. “I’ll get it”, he muttered without looking at me. “I can get my own coffee”, I said. “You shouldn’t go out alone”, he grunted. I sighed. “I’m going”, I said, and reached for the doorknob. “Lou, come here”, he said. I turned around. “What, Dean?”, I said. “Just… please?”, he asked more warmly.

I stepped over to him, and he held out a small handgun. “This is a .45. It’s like mine, just… better for you. Smaller”. He pulled out a magazine. “Push it in. Pull back the barrel once”. He showed me the mechanism of the gun. “Safety off, safety on. Pull the hammer…”. “Point and shoot”, I said. He put the gun in my hand. “Exactly”. He looked into my eyes, and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something important; before he looked down again. “Grab me a cup, would you?”. “Yeah…”, I whispered, and stuck the gun into my pocket.

Outside, Sam was closing the trunk of the car. “Coffee run”, I said. “You want anything?”. “I’m good”, he smiled. “You armed?”. “The reception is just over there”, I chuckled, and gesture towards the place I was going. “But yeah. .45”. Sam nodded. “You good, Lulu?”, he asked. I shrugged. “As I’ll ever be, I guess”.

My phone rang; Pete’s name blaring up on the screen. I rolled my eyes. “I gotta take this”, I muttered, and picked up the call. “Pete…”. “Lulu, where are you?”, he said. “I’m… with family”, I said, and began walking towards the front desk. “Those two men you left with… They’re bad news”, Pete exclaimed. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me”. “The cops are looking for them”. “How do you know…? And how do you know I’m with them?”, I asked. Pete paused for a moment. “Some people saw you… Honey, I want you home. Safe”. “Pete, stop calling me honey, and… just stop calling me”. I hung up.

Once back at the car, I handed Dean his coffee – receiving a grunt as a thank you. “Who was on the phone?”, Sam asked. “Pete”, I muttered. “The police are looking for you… and me, I think”. Dean looked across the parking lot, as if scanning it for unwelcome company. “Let’s go”, he grunted. “Where are we going?”, I asked, sipping at my paper cup. “You’re going somewhere safe”, Dean said. “We have a job”. “And where is safe?”, I asked. “Yeah, where?”, Sam smirked. “She’s not going with us to Lincoln”, Dean said grimly. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Then take me back to my hotel”.

The brothers looked at each other. “It burnt down”, Sam said. “Shortly after we left the city”. He handed me a newspaper, showing me an article with a headline suggesting arson. I wondered why Pete hadn’t mentioned the fire. “All my stuff was in there…”, I sighed. Dean’s eyes widened. “Your books? Records?”, he gasped. I shook my head. “No, that’s all at my… at Pete’s apartment”. Dean let out a relieved sigh. “But my wallet with my driver’s license, my credit cards… everything”. Sam’s brows raised. “Good. That’s good, Lulu”, he said. “That means they can’t track you using them”. “The leviathans?”, I asked. He nodded. “I’m really in it again, aren’t I”, I sighed. “That you are, sweetheart”, Dean grunted, and opened the door to the back seat for me. “Let’s get you out of it”.

---

We drove north for a few hours in silence, taking small roads. Suddenly, Dean’s phone rang. He picked it up, holding it to his ear, while manning the steering wheel with his free hand. “Hello?... Frank. Thanks for getting back to me… Yeah, look we need… No, look… She’s not… Frank!”. He let out a frustrated growl, and slammed the phone on the dashboard. “No luck with Frank?”, Sam muttered. “He won’t take her”, Dean grunted, and looked at me in the mirror. “I guess I’m going to Lincoln”, I smirked.

Sam cleared his throat. “Seward, actually”, he said. “Sammy…”, Dean growled. “Just, give it a rest, Dean”, Sam sighed. He handed me a paper clipping. “Five similar deaths in the same house; over the span of 50 years”. “What are you thinking?”, I asked, as I looked over the article covering a strange story, involving a toaster in a bathtub, and a man electrocuted to death. “Sounds… ghosty”. “Ghosty?”, Dean grimaced. “Nice word, Daphne”. I sent him a menacing look in the mirror. “If anything, I’m Velma. I don’t just get by on my good looks, Fred…”. Dean muttered something below his breath.

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah. Probably ghost”, he said. “The other deaths included a man who choked on a piece of carrot in his garage while working on his car, and another who fell of a ladder set up in the living room”. “That sounds… weird”. “Ghosts usually are weird”, Dean grunted. I shook my head. “No, I mean, who brings a toaster into a bathroom?”, I said. “A killer?”, Dean said exasperatedly. I sighed. “Was the guy married?”, I asked. “Yeah…”, Sam said. “To a woman… with hair”, I smiled. “Wouldn’t there be a hairdryer in the bathroom?”. He seemed to ponder my words. “She might be bald”, he muttered, “And the carrot in the garage? Who brings vegetables to fix up a car?”, I asked. “Sam would…”, Dean smirked. “Well, Sam’s special”, I grinned.

“So!”, Sam said, trying to divert the conversation. “Speaking of married. I heard Raul and Chad…”. Dean had told him about our conversation at Bobby’s house. At least part of it. “Yeah… Right before I saw you last”, I said. Deans eyes were fixed on the road in front of him. “And they’re happy?”, Sam asked. I nodded and smiled. “I think so. They moved to San Fran. About to adopt”. “That’s great!”, Sam smiled. “When this job is done, we can put you on a bus there”, Dean muttered.

I suddenly felt rage streaming through my body. “Pull over”, I said. Dean frowned. “Pull over, or I’ll jump out of the car while you’re still driving!”.

Dean stopped the car beside an abandoned gas station. I got out of the car, and walked down the road in the direction we’d been coming. I heard a car door slam behind me. “Lou!”, Dean called after me. “Get back in the car!”. “Screw you!”, I called back. “I’m going home”. He must have run after me, because suddenly his hand were on my shoulders, and he forced me to turn around. “What home? Your hotel is burnt down, and the police are looking for you; after you skipped town with two fugitives. Top it off; we got leviathans tracking you”. “And you”, I snarled. “You’re safer with us… for now”. I laughed sarcastically. “Oh, now you want me around…”. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, he frowned. His green eyes were on fire.

I pushed him away from me. “Three years, Dean!”, I growled. “You called it off; didn’t want me around, because I’d be safer… and because of free will… Well, guess what! I’m using my free will, to get away from you. Congrats. You got what you wanted”. I stomped away from him.

“Yeah. Call up Pete. I’m sure he can pick you up. Bring you home… See how long he can keep you alive!”, Dean called after me. I turned around, enraged. “Jealousy, Dean? Really?”, I snarled. “You trying to tell me you didn’t jump into the first warm bed you could find, after Cass brought me back to Denver?”. His eyes flickered. “I didn’t… Not right away”. He met my eyes again; looking hurt. “Not like you”. “What do you mean?”, I croaked.

He ran a hand down his face; clearly regretting his words. “Sam… went away. I thought he was dead”. He let out a deep breath. “I was alone. Bobby told me to go find you, but you were already… So, I went somewhere else. I couldn’t face being alone”. My heart dropped into my stomach. “It was… serious, I take it”, I muttered. He nodded. “Lisa… and her kid. She was… is, a really great person”. I took a deep breath. “That’s good. I’m happy for you”, I lied.

I wanted to run away; and to scream and cry. But all I could do was stand there, and pretend that he hadn’t just ripped my heart out; and thrown it on the ground, before stomping on it. “It’s over, Lou. Has been for a long time”, Dean said. “Doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business”, I whispered. He tilted his head, and parted his soft lips. “Isn’t it?”, he asked. “No. You chose to not make anything of… this”, I gestured between us.

He sighed. “I came back for you, Lou”. “You never let me know”, I said. “You could have showed yourself, instead of being a creepy stalker, and sending your winged boyfriend to watch over me”. “I spent a year grieving my brother, and missing you!”, he croaked. I looked him square in the face, and pushed hard at his chest. “In the arms of someone else”, I cried out.

“You moved on as well”, he said quietly. “Pete…”. “Was a sad break! For god’s sake, the man listens to Nickelback!”, I whimpered. “Why do you think I stayed in touch with Bobby? Other than the fact that I loved the old son of a bitch… It was my only link to you”. A tear escaped my eye. Dean stepped towards me, reaching for me; but I shrugged him off. “I can’t take back the last three years. But I never meant to hurt you”, he said. I scoffed. “Angels put us together, right?”, I rasped. “That’s why you’re saying this”. “I’m… not so sure anymore”.

I wiped my eyes, and took a deep breath: “What do you mean?”, I asked. “Fate… She’s a bitch, but meeting her taught me something about free will”, Dean muttered. “Fate?”, I asked. “It’s a long story…”, he grunted. “Point is; fate, or angels, or whatever; might have put us in each other’s paths – but we still have choice. Free will”. “To do what?”, I asked. “To act on what’s between us, or not”. He took a tentative step forward. “We can choose not to be together… Or we can choose the opposite”.

“You chose to stay away”, I whispered. He nodded sadly. “Yeah… Because I’m an idiot”. “You really are”, I agreed. Dean put a hesitant hand on my arm. “Please, just come with us”, he pleaded. “For whatever it’s worth, I want you safe. And me and Sam are pretty much the only people I know who I trust to keep you that way, right now”.

I looked into his eyes. His whole being radiated warmth and compassion for me in that moment – and something else. Something I knew what was, but was still too heartbroken and confused to accept. “Ok”, I whispered. “I’ll come with you”. Dean gave me a relieved smile, and opened his arms slightly, as if to embrace me.

I walked past him, and got back into the backseat of the car. Dean got in front of the wheel, and gave me a hard and confused look in the mirror.

---

#dean winchester #dean winchester x oc #dean x oc #dean winchester fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #sam winchester

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largemouthbassnation · 4 years

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SECOND CAST Pomme de Terre, MO Musky / GoPro (unedited) My buddy Keith and I took our annual Pomme de Terre Musky trip for a weekend in late September.

#Missouri muskies #musky fishing #pomme de terre

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awakeningofthedeath · 5 years

Text

Awakening of the Death Chapter #31

The sound of twigs and leaves being crushed under horses hooves were a great contrast compared to the sound of hooves and chariots on cobble stones to Jack’s ears. He took in the sights and smells of the thick wooden areas of the state of Missouri, as he wrapped his arms around Hellen’s waist holding onto to her as she guided their way. The air had a humidity that seemed thicker then what he’d experienced in London; yet it had a cool evening chill. Through the trees, the stars were of the multiples, and could clearly see the constellations. He noted that they seemed rather different in this side of the world compared to the east. He could see that of the big dipper to the north as well as countless counterparts.

Though it was dark, even with eagle vision, Hellen had no need. For she trusted the horse, and her senses to find her way home. She felt a tightening sense of reminiscing and uneasiness as they rode through the woods of her homeland. Her heart pounding as another mile was made toward the homestead that was her childhood home. Jack’s arms around her were as secure as if she was in a thick wool blanket. Comforting and warm. Hellen at first teased Jack as they mounted the horse about taking advantage of the position.

“What do you mean by that Hellen?” He asked.

Hellen gave a quiet laugh. “Oh Jackass, tell me you don’t think about sliding your hands down my trousers to “keep warm”.”

Jack could only roll his eyes in a humph. “I wouldn’t want us to fall off when the guide is distracted.”

Hellen gave a cheeky smile. “So you thought of it after all.”

Jack would only shake his head and kiss her forehead, to which Hellen caught his face with her free hand and pulled him in for a kiss.

Hellen felt Jack leaning into Hellen’s back, she could feel his breath as he breathed in and out of her. She looked to see that he was falling asleep. Hellen was thankful that she’d forced Jack to tie a rope around them both to the saddle with a break away knot incase they needed a quick escape from the horse. Turning her head towards him, Hellen kissed Jack’s brow. She noticed that her had a musky smell that was sweet and earthy like rain. She continued down the bath, cross a few creeks and large hills. In her thoughts, she’d thought about the twelve years of hardship as an assassin; how she thought that pleasantries were a mere dream. She thought of the only few men she’d admired, only to turn out to be false in convictions.

Yet, her thoughts always returned to the two men in her life. Her father, Jeremiah and Jesse James. What would they think of Jack if they were still alive. Jesse would of worked with all his might to get Jack to join the gang. Perhaps Jack would of been best at train robbery. Perhaps he would of done better stealing the Piece of Eden over her; least he wouldn’t had made a scene causing him to be captured like she did. But Jeremiah. Her father. He would of given the blessing to Jack of courting Hellen. She even dared imagined that if things were different, perhaps Jack would of asked her father for Hellen’s hand in marriage. Jeremiah would of probably said yes regardless, thinking he would of tamed his renegade daughter. Yet the problem with fantasies and dreams, you can never have them come true once they are gone, the people you care for and admire. Hellen fought the tears as she thought of them, mostly her father. Twice she was off sight when two men who were scum of the earth, one of them still roaming the country, shot the two most important men of her young life in cold blood. Her knuckles tightened on the split reins as she thought of it, swallowing the bitter taste to follow with a spit on the ground off the horse’s left side.

When the bitterness settled down, Hellen felt comforted as in his sleep, Jack tightened his grip around her. Hellen smiled, leaning into Jack. “I love you Jackass.” She whispered. “Thank you.” Hellen then looked up into the heavens, seeing a shooting star. Hellen smiled, thinking that her father was probably watching her from above. “I love you too pa. I hope I make you proud. I’m going home. Hope the mice didn’t make a mess, let alone get into the desk again. But if there is, it wasn’t my fault. Haven’t done that since I was seven.”

Jack shifted in his sleep, moaning into continuousness sleep. Hellen continued in silence, feeling the cadence of the horse into the night.

Hours had past, Hellen and Jack no trouble making their way through. Hellen had to ride quietly through the surprisingly grown town of Liberty, then to head north for another ten miles, then a turn towards the east where the town of Kearney still stood right where Hellen left twelve years ago. The difference though was settle, yet surprising as Hellen saw painted sighs advertising a sight Hellen never thought be possible. They advertised the grave site and the home of the famous outlaw himself. Jesse James. Hellen curse the individual who advertised Jesse’s final resting place.

What sick son of a cow would make money out of a dead man?

Hellen made a mental note to ask Zerelda about it, if the old woman is still alive.

The other reason, Hellen prayed that no one would see the old homestead that belonged to her mother’s family for years. From what Hellen understood, her mother’s family moved to Missouri to escape the growing dangers back east and to start a tobacco farm free of slaves. Then during the border wars, Jeremiah and Clara meet by unknown circumstances, courted and married, even in the midst of war, and when her grandparents died by cholera, Clara and Jeremiah inherited the land. Even after Clara died giving birth to Hellen, Jeremiah fought the war and had his friend Zerelda Samuel and her slaves care for the land on the side, even when they themselves faced hardship, Zerelda also helped raised Hellen.

The dawn was half an hour away before rising, and Hellen turned the horse towards the northwest through an old path. She found a dirt road hidden among a grove of trees where nestled in a hidden meadow with a large untended patch of land was an old homestead house. The site caught Hellen’s breath. The house had a dark wood almost black with an old door locked in place, a step on the porch was missing, two rocking chairs were pushed to their sides. Hellen took a deep breath she didn’t know she was holding. She turned to see two gravestones facing the western side of the house. A tear fell from her eyes.

Ma. Pa. I’m home.

Hellen gave herself a minute to gather herself before she turned and kissed her sleeping passenger on the nose. “Wake up handsome. We’re here.”

Jack moaned and yawned.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked in a low sleepy tone.

“Long enough.” Hellen admitted.

“Why didn’t you wake me? Hellen you look tired!” Jack’s face examined Hellen’s tired face. She looked as if she had been in deep thought for a long time. He looked up and saw the homestead in front of them as Hellen untied themselves from the saddle. Jack dismounted, brushing his backside and legs of the light summer shaded horse hair from him. Hellen followed in pursuit and lead the horse to the barn where she untacked the horse and rubbed it with a brush. She took the horse to an overgrown round pen where the horse gladly began to work on eating the grass.

Jack looked at the house he assumed was Hellen’s childhood home. It looked humble and rustic. Jack only saw these homesteads in photographs and drawings in the newspapers in London. He walked towards the porch, lifting up the chairs and found a round tin tray that smelled of tobacco smoke and leaves. This one had a natural vanilla taste, even if it had been over a decade. Hellen joined Jack on the porch and searched for a spare key. There was none in sight. Either Zerelda or Collin took the key. Hellen knelt down, pulled her tools for picking locks and made the task of unlocking her childhood home. With only a couple of minutes of getting through the old keyhole, a click made the announcement of permission granted to enter into the homestead. Pushing herself up, Hellen grabbed the brass door knob and turned it open.

With a click and a creek, the couple was greeted by an hold dusty smell. The furniture was covered in dust. three chairs covered in blankets, a table with two tin plates sat place with a chair knocked over. The house had a fireplace with a holder for pots and kettles. A belly stove sat near the small area Jack assumed was the kitchen. On the west side near the fire place was an old writing desk with a small shelf of books, an old tobacco pipe Hellen recognized too well rested there. The rich cherry wood with carvings of a horse and eagle around it still had some tobacco leaves in it. Jeremiah would often smoke his pipe in the evenings after supper as he read the documents. Resting on the dest was an old journal that she knew that he’d dedicated his time too. One of its pages still close to her pocket. Though Hellen never understood, but she knew this old recording document passed on generation to generation was possibly the cause of the invasion of the templars. Hellen walked into the room. Memories flooding her mind as she looked at the bison run that laid in front of the fire place. Jack watched as she looked at the home around. As she looked, Jack went to the writing desk, and noticed the contents. Along the journal was a photograph of a couple in a wedding. He recognized the groom as Jeremiah, and the bride right next to him must be Hellen’s mother. She was smaller than Jeremiah, but more a resemblance of Hellen’s hair and eye shape, which proved that Hellen looked more like her father than what Jack first thought.

He noticed the old journal, its leather cover showed its age of what Jack assumed to be over a century old; yet it’s cover and pages with in such distinct condition that it carrels looked that old at all. Carefully he turned to the first page where it dated 1755, the first page was written in small writings, all except for the bolder font larger than the others in the title.

“Liam O’Brien.”

Jack had recalled learning of that name. An assassin that was formally associated with the infamous traitor Shay Cormac.

As he thought of beginning to read, he heard the sound of knees banging on the wood floor. Jack turned, setting the book down, and saw Hellen on her knees towards a spot off to the right side of the fireplace. Her body was shaking as she looked down towards something on the floor. Jack walked towards Hellen, his heart racing with concern.

Was she exhausted from the long ride? Is she sick?

As Jack stood behind Hellen, he looked downward to where Hellen was staring at. On the wood floor was a massive dark stain that was almost pitch black. The shaping of the stain was large and wide enough to recognize a similar shaping of a human. Jack knew that over a decade later, the markings of Jeremiah Patterson’s death was still present. He knelt down to Hellen’s level, placing a hand on her trembling shoulders.

Before Jack could say anything, Hellen choked out a sob, he pulled her in as Hellen buried her face against his chest. He sat upon the floor, laying down towards the large bison rug, spooning her in closer to her. He could feel the hot tears of grief that were held back far too long soaking through his coat and into his skin. Hellen found sanctuary in him, to which Jack found that when his mother died, he had no one to comfort him. His life after that was a living hell; and yet, when in a homestead with a woman he felt he knew longer then what they had in reality, he felt release too. Though no tears emerged from him. For his were silent. But Hellen, she needed liberation.

“Why?” Hellen’s muffled sobs asked him. “What did my father deserved to die like that?” She cried harder than when Daniel nearly raped her months prior. Jack stroked Hellen’s hair, and they both held each other. When exhaustion took over Hellen, he carefully shifted her into a more comfortable place on the rug, her head on his arm, and both fell asleep; but not before Jack released a silent tear for his Hellen. In this ghost of a shell of her childhood home, Jack for the first time, allowed sleep to take him.

#awakening of the death #jack the ripper #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Assassin's Creed #oc #original #original characters #jeremiah patterson #missouri #kearney #jesse james #greif

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chelsfic · 6 years

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Save the Best for Last James Patrick March x OFC -- AHS Hotel fic. Part 1 of 2

A/N: So I’m catching up on seasons of AHS that I missed due to life. I’m on Hotel right now. Needless to say I have a thing for Mr. March. Lord help me. Also: to all my followers who follow me for Star Wars (or Marvel...or Bright...or what not) sorry I continually jump from fandom to fandom

Summary: Minny was an aspiring actress/dancer until an accident permanently injured her leg. She’s down on her luck and staying at the Hotel Cortez when she captures the attention of the Hotel’s owner.

The Hotel Cortez seemed to collect misfits. Minny moved to Hollywood pursuing her dream of becoming a famous dancer and leading lady. But her dream was dashed when she took a bad step off a trolley. She survived the accident, but the fall broke her ankle and resulted in a permanent limp. She would never dance again and nobody wanted to see a gimpy girl in the pictures. These days she was rather dismally employed as the assistant in a shabby dress shop. The Cortez was a short walk from work and the price of a room was amazingly reasonable. Minny never questioned the owner’s generosity in offering her a discounted rate. By now she’d learned to shut up and take what she could get.

She’d been living at the Cortez for a few months and she was used to the strange habits of its residents and visitors. People checked in but rarely checked out. Workmen went missing. The girls in the lounge were invited up to Mr. March’s room and never seen again. Minny kept her head down and tried not to attract attention to herself. She just wanted to save up some dough and get out of this town.

One night the lounge was unusually quiet. Minny found herself alone in the enormous dining area, sipping a coffee and reading a dime novel. She was so enthralled with the story that she didn’t notice Mr. March’s arrival until his shadow fell across the page.

To tell the truth, she was scared of the hotel’s owner. True, he’d never been anything but professionally cordial to her. True, she didn’t know *exactly* what it was that people whispered about him. But there was something in his eyes that frightened her and warned her to keep her distance.

“Mr. March,” she murmured, sticking a finger in the paperback to mark her place. “How do you do?”

As she looked up at him through her long, curled lashes she couldn’t deny that he was a handsome man. His flawless smooth skin and dimpled cheeks gave him a look of boyish innocence. But his rich, deep voice and broad shoulders spoke of a man’s power. She’d felt a thrill of attraction to him from the first moment she’d laid eyes upon him...but still, she’d stayed away. Until now.

“Good evening, my dear Miss Dashgood. May I join you?” he carried a tumblr of amber-colored liquor in one hand and an ornamental cane in the other.

Minny quailed inside but fashioned her lips into a polite smile and nodded her head, “Of course, Mr. March!”

“Why don’t you call me James, dear, it’s too dreadful to hear such formality at the dinner table.”

Minny blushed at his familiarity and murmured in reply, “James.”

A brilliant smile lit up his face in response, “That’s better! Now, tell me everything there is to know about you.”

His sudden interest in her could only be attributed to the absolutely empty lounge and his own boredom. Still...Minny didn’t have anyone in the whole world to talk to. So she told him everything: growing up in Missouri, working in service at the Governor’s estate, saving the money to go out west and follow her dreams. The accident, the injury, the loss of everything.

James tutted sympathetically at the conclusion of her tale of woe. He stared into his empty glass for a moment before replying with a light in his eyes, “But now you’re here! In this grand hotel! New friends, new adventures await you, I’m sure of it.”

He spoke with such unabashed optimism that Minny couldn’t help catching his positive outlook. She beamed back at him and found herself falling into his eyes--which weren’t as a dark and frightening as they’d once seemed. She felt a horrid blush creeping up her neck and along her cheeks as they sat watching eachother.

“I don’t suppose,” he said, adjusting his waistcoat and shifting in his seat, “that you would accept an invitation to continue this conversation in my suite?”

Now Minny blushed in earnest and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, “Although I might have worked in show business, Mr. March, I promise you I’m not that type of girl.”

James smiled and looked...almost relieved.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t think so. So, I will stop pestering you and wish you good night.”

Minny watched his tall, lithe figure as he strolled from the dining room with a predator’s grace. Her book sat forgotten on the tabletop in front or her.

***

She was right, of course. It was boredom that drew him to her that evening. For the next night she sat in the crowded lounge for over an hour watching him mingle and carouse without sparing a single glance in her direction. Finally, feeling unaccountably naive and stupid, she stood up and fled the noisy room, her awkward, limping gait highlighting the ignominy of her wasted evening.

Tears pricked her eyes and her ankle ached as she hobbled across the lobby to the gleaming bronze elevator. She heard footsteps hurrying up behind her and a large, warm hand grabbed her shoulder as she stepped inside. Turning, she saw James stepping into the elevator behind her. He pressed a button, she hardly knew which one, and turned his sardonic, charming gaze on her.

“Now, now, my dear. I can see that you’re upset with me for being so beastly by ignoring you this evening,” his deep voice seemed to fill the small space of the elevator and Minny felt a thrill go up her spine at being the object of his undivided attention at last. “But you mustn’t be angry with me. You see...you wouldn’t like to be my companion this evening. *This* evening I have a hunger inside me that I think...well, I don’t think you’re ready for *that* quite yet…”

His words confused her. Her head was full of his voice and his eyes and the delicious musky scent of his cologne. He stepped forward and she found she had to tip back her head to maintain eye contact. His tall, powerful body was just inches from hers but they didn’t touch. His presence was so overwhelming she hardly had concentration enough to take in his words.

She shook her head as if to regain her senses and finally responded, haltingly, “I was angry, James. I thought maybe...maybe you…”

He smirked as the words faltered in her mouth and finally reached forward, stroking his fingers down the side of her pale, delicate neck.

“I *do* like you, darling,” he responded, reading her thoughts. “That’s why I must protect you from my...darker tastes. I’m saving you…for dessert.”

With that he dipped down and pressed his mouth over hers. His lips were impossibly soft and gentle. She’d seen the way he stalked and prowled around this hotel and could never have dreamed that he was capable of such a soft touch. She moaned into the kiss and melted against him, clinging to his lapels for support. James wrapped his arms around her tiny form and deepened the kiss, plunging his velvet tongue into her mouth and nibbling her lips.

Minny was dizzy, lightheaded, absolutely drunk on his kiss. She found herself panting and mewling as his wandering hands stroked her bottom through the thin fabric of her dress. She thought, rather hysterically, that she could die from this. That he could simply go on kissing her until she stopped breathing and she would be happy to give her soul over to him. It was madness. She could feel everything--his darkness, his power, the danger that lurked in his wake--she didn’t care. She wanted this to last forever.

But just like that, it was over. He pulled away from the kiss and gazed down at her with hooded eyes, stroking his fingers through her mussed hair.

“Mmm…” he moaned approvingly and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “You see, dear? You’re far too sweet to gobble up all at once.”

With that he turned away, releasing the STOP button and stepping out of the elevator back into the lobby.

Minny stood, leaning her weight against the side of the elevator and catching her breath. She really wasn’t sure what she’d gotten herself into.

#ahs hotel #james patrick march #james march #fanfic #american horror story #evan peters #chelsfic #James March x ofc

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shabbazzorganics · 3 years

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(via Shabbazz Organics Delta 8 Kush - Shabbazz Organics)

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wineanddinosaur · 3 years

Text

Wine 101: The U.S. Regions Outside of California You Need To Know

Inspired by one of VinePair’s most popular site sections, the Wine 101 Podcast takes an educational, easy-to-digest look into the world of wine. This episode of Wine 101 is sponsored by Columbia Winery. As Washington’s original premium winery, Columbia Winery proudly carries a long legacy of discovering and celebrating exceptional Washington wine. Our rich history, as well as the distinct terroir of the great Columbia Valley, allows us to craft wines that embody Washington’s unique spirit and curious nature. Columbia Winery offers a collection of rich and deliciously enjoyable wines inspired by the diversity of Washington’s best growing regions. Created through visionary wine-making, and unrelenting curiosity: Columbia Winery.

In this episode of Wine 101, VinePair Tastings Director Keith Beavers steps outside of California to talk about what winemaking looks like around the country. He traces back to early vine planting, and the factors that led Americans to eventually move away from European grapes to their own hybrids and native species. One such factor was a pesky louse called phylloxera, which wiped out 85 percent of European species, but was eventually resolved by a team of French and American scientists.

Unfortunately, shortly after finding a way to deter the louse, Prohibition came into effect. It was difficult for Americans to regain momentum after the ban was lifted, but winemakers and wine lovers alike reemerged with a new palette for sweet, high-alcohol wines. This shaped winemaking for decades to come, until The 1976 Judgement of Paris crowned a California wine and reinstalled American fine wine values.

This excited American vintners around the country, and after the creation of American Viticultural Areas in the 1980s, U.S. winemaking began to look different. Today, the country’s producers are celebrated for the attention they pay to climate, soil, and a diversity of niche and native grapes. Consequently, there are new and exciting wines popping up everywhere from Long Island to Texas.

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My name is Keith Beavers. And just thinking like, wow, Disney bought Star Wars. And I get to watch Star Wars…

What’s going on wine lovers? Welcome to Episode 27 Of VinePair’s Wine 101 Podcast. My name is Keith Beavers. I am the tastings director of VinePair. Hello, how are you? I’m fine. I mean, we’re not going to talk about all of the wine stuff happening in all the places outside of California, but there’s some places you have to understand that are really cool you probably already know about. But also let’s have a discussion about what’s going on in the future of American wine. Why not?

This title is a little insane, right? Outside of California, what do you need to know about wine in the United States? And we still haven’t talked about all of California, but this is going to lead into a very interesting conversation I want to have with you wine lovers out there. We’ve talked about Sonoma. We’ve talked about Napa. We’ve talked about the Central Coast. We did not talk about the Southern part of California. We did not talk about the Northern part of California. There are other wine growing and producing regions in California that are stunning. Stunning wine like the North coast, Mendocino, Clarksburg. And in the South, there’s Temecula, which is an emerging wine growing region.

But in this episode I think we should talk about what’s going on outside of California because the United States is a wine drinking, wine growing, wine producing, vine growing, viticultural, vinicultural country. The thing that Thomas Jefferson aspired to back in the day with a bunch of hit or miss, because of the lack of knowledge with plant morphology and science and botany and all the stuff that we have now that we didn’t have then. I mean, really it all began because we had people coming from Europe to this country, and it was just part of their lifestyle to have wine. It was part of their food, was part of their dinner, it was part of their meals. So planting vines and making wine from those grapes was a natural thing to do.

And the fact was that in the colonies and the Eastern Coast, there were a lot of problems with climate and pests and all this stuff. It didn’t really work that well, but while that was happening, we were still forcing it to happen, if you will. Before the Civil War, we had vines growing in the Ohio Valley. We had vines growing in Erie, on Lake Erie, which we still do now today. We had vines growing in Missouri, we had vines growing in Texas. We absolutely had vines growing in Southern California. That’s where California wine kind of began with the missions of the Franciscan monks over there in the West Coast.

And what we were doing on the East Coast, back in the day, we had no idea what the West Coast was doing. It was just kind of all over the place. I mean, I’m sure people knew what other people were doing, but there wasn’t email. It was hard to get information from one coast to the next coast and from one part of the country. From the Midwest even to the East Coast.

And it was a rough go for a while there. I mean, we were Europeans planting European vines in this new soil and this new land with tons of climatic and natural challenges, and it didn’t really work that well. But then we found, “Hey, there’s actually these native grapes here in the United States or the colonies or whatever. Let’s plant these.” And the result was wine, but not the kind of wine that we were used to in Europe. So we were like, nah, let’s try and make this vitis vinifera thing works. So we keep on trying to make that work and in doing so, it just so happens that every once in a while, a natural crossing of a European variety and an American variety would come about. It’s called a hybrid.

And this hybrid would have some aspects of the European variety, but it would have the hardiness and ability to survive in the climates in this new land. The only problem was: Wines made from American vitis labrusca or whatever they’re called now, and these hybrids, would often have this really odd distinct, musky, animal smell to them that they called “Foxy”. I mean, we knew now that it’s a compound called methyl anthranilate, and it’s very unique to these American varieties and hybrids. And we also know now the best way to get rid of these is to pick early, harvest early, or age for a long time in cask, or just rack the hell out of it until it’s gone.

And there were a lot of them that had this sort of unfortunate aroma to them, but there were also some that didn’t, there were some successes. And to this day they’re still being used. Hybrids with names like Catawba, Delaware, Isabella, and the really most famous one was Norton. There’s also ones called Seyval, Seyval Blanc, Vidal all these different names. A lot of them are white. Not all of them are red. Norton is one of the most successful red ones. We have another one called Baco Noir. And if we weren’t forcing Merlot and Cab and Chardonnay into these soils, we were just using these hybrids and we were trying to develop our wine culture through these hybrids.

That’s why California is so important. Because in California, these European varieties tended to do well. The mission grape, which is the grape that kind of started the wine thing in California, was brought to California by Franciscan monks. That grape is actually a native Spanish grape, and it traveled all the way around the world, and it finally made it to California. They call it the mission grape because it was planted in the missions going all the way up from San Diego to Sonoma. So that’s a vitis vinifera variety, and it did just fine. So when Cabernet Sauvignon, Zinfandel, Chardonnay, Merlot, Cab Franc all these varieties start doing well, then we start focusing on them.

Of course, the mission grape is always around, but it’s a vitis vinifera, so this is how it starts working in California. It’s why all eyes were on California, but of course so was the Gold Rush. The Gold Rush happened in California. So there’s all this attention on this state. And it just so happens it was a great place to grow certain vines. But while all that was happening, wine was being grown in Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, the Ohio Valley, Lake Erie, Missouri. Even though it wasn’t really working that well, we were doing it. We had these hybrids. And then what happened is this louse called phylloxera starts attacking all the vines in Europe and in the United States, kills 85 percent of European vines. It goes crazy in the United States as well, starts depleting our vines all over the place. It took us a while, I think it was four or five years to figure it out. We figured out through a collaboration between the Americans and the French. We figured it out. We never killed phylloxera. It’s still around, but we figured out how to combat it by using American rootstock, because phylloxera is an American louse, and putting American rootstock on European vines.

Therefore, the phylloxera is like, “Oh I don’t know what that is, I don’t want to. I guess I’m not hungry. I thought I was hungry, but I’m not hungry.” And this whole thing led to us actually making hybrid vines proactively, instead of like, “Oh look, a new grape popped up because of nature.” No, we actually started making them, thousands and thousands of different hybrids to put out there. Not all of them made good wine or made wine at all, or could make anything that was remotely like wine. But a lot of them did. Hundreds of them did. We made thousands of them, and hundreds of them could make wine. And a lot of places in the United States held onto this for a while, because it was the one way the wine could be made. And we got out of this whole phylloxera thing. California had the eyes of the world on it after the Gold Rush. Things were happening, which we’ve talked about in previous episodes.

And then in 1919, we decided to make it illegal to drink alcohol. And that basically ruined all the progress we had made up until that point. And then in 1933, it decimated pretty much the entire alcohol industry. We emerged out of that, but we emerged out of that with a sweet tooth. The wine we were drinking in Prohibition wasn’t dry red wine or complex white wine. It was really sweet, high-alcohol hooch. That’s what it was. And that’s what we were used to. So coming out of Prohibition, it was very hard for us to figure out what fine wine or what good, fine dry red or white wine was. And it wasn’t until the 1960s that we kind of figured it out. People like Robert Mondavi were inspired by the winemakers that kept the thing going in Napa after Prohibition. And it was in California that we started seeing really nice, fine red wines and that kind of inspired other wine makers.

And there’s a lot of activity going on in California. Then in 1976, The Judgment of Paris showed that the wine from California was winning awards that would beat out French wine. And that was our watershed moment. And we became the winemaking country that Thomas Jefferson had always wanted. But before that, things were even happening North of California in Oregon in the 1960s. There were winemakers up there that had left California to go make wine there because they wanted to make Pinot Noir. They wanted to plant it and vitis vinifera wines in the Hills of the Dundee Hills, around Portland. And people were like, “Nah, that’s not going to work.” So they went and did it because someone told them they couldn’t do it. And in doing so, created what is now the Willamette Valley and one of the most sought after places for Pinot Noir in the country, and in the world. And that was all happening before we had these things called AVAs and North of Oregon, you have Washington state, which just even a little bit later than that started saying, you know what? We can do wine as well, and that’s where the Columbia Valley started coming into play.

While all that was happening, wine was still being made in New York. Actually the Finger Lakes had a huge industry of wine being made. It was still kind of hybrid-y, and there was a Concord grape, and they were trying Riesling at this point, and all the different kinds of cold, like winter-hardy vines. And then in 1976, The Farmer’s Winery Act was passed in New York. And then you have these winemakers out in Long Island buying up potato fields and turning them into wineries. And then from 1978 to 1980, we created what’s called the American Viticultural Area, which is our way of having an Appalachian system in the United States. It is nothing like the Old World in Europe. It is a very loose, very lenient system. It’s basically used to demarcate an area if you can prove it has a certain kind of unique soil type and unique climate, but it can also be political — it’s America. It’s just what we do. But when we created that, the first one was awarded to Augusta, Missouri, which is old school, they’re still making wine there. Even after Prohibition and through all this time with The Judgment of Paris, Missouri was still making wine, and they were the first ones to apply, they got an AVA. Then after that, the second one was Napa Valley. And then from the 1980s, until literally last week, we have been adding AVAs to our land. A lot of the AVAs we had rushed in between the eighties and the nineties. But I was told by one of the hosts of the VinePair Podcast last week that there was an AVA that was being awarded to Hawaii.

I was talking to a winemaker in Washington state that said about two weeks ago, since the recording of this podcast, there’s two new AVAs in Washington state. And I guess you could say for a long time, we didn’t think about any of this stuff, right? I mean so what? It’s California! That’s what’s important.

It’s New York. It’s Washington. It’s Oregon. Those are important places because of the track record. But there’s other places that work in the United States that make great wine. The thing is, we’re a big country. And it’s not going to work in every place, but if we’re smart — we’re getting smarter and smarter, the people making wine in this country, the things that they’re coming up with is incredible. They’re thinking about the soil, not the vine, they’re thinking about the climate, not the vine. And then once they get the climate and they get the soil, then they find the vine that works in that soil. We’re finally at a place in our history in America where we’re willing to try whatever does well in whatever soil.

There’s an Austrian grape called Grüner Veltliner. It is awesome from Long Island. It is delicious, but the thing is no one knows what Grüner Veltliner is, so it doesn’t do as well, but in the future, it could. ‘Cause once it catches on, people will know that variety as well there.

And maybe Long Island Grüner Veltliner will be a thing. And it could be. We’re only 240 something years old. We had 10 years of Prohibition, and we had to come back as a country from that. Our drinking culture is still kind of young. We actually had a stunted growth, if you will. So the thing is, what you should know is that yeah, Oregon makes amazing Pinot Noir in the Willamette Valley and all of its sub regions, but Oregon also makes amazing Cab Franc, amazing Pinot Gris, amazing Riesling, amazing Müller-Thurgau. And there are other wine regions in Oregon in the South like Rogue Valley that are doing great things.

You should know that in Washington state, they were once really well-known for the Riesling, but now they’re really more known for their Merlot. And now they’re also really known for their Cab, but they really should be known for their Syrah, but not enough people are making Syrah in Washington state because it seems like it’s just Cab and Merlot and Riesling are more popular, but if you’ve ever had a Syrah from Washington state — Columbia Valley, Rattlesnake Hills — they’re beautiful. They’re peppery and dark and wonderful. You should know that in New York state, they make absolutely stunning, amazing Riesling, and now they’re known for it. But there’s also a great Cab Franc coming out of the Finger Lakes.

There’s also a great Merlot coming out of Long Island. The Grüner Veltliners coming out of Long Island. There’s a lot happening. In that area now it’s getting more and more popular and more people are understanding the soils. You should also know that Virginia is making absolutely stunning wines right now that sets it apart from every other wine region in the country. They’re making amazing wine from a grape called Petit Manseng, which is a blending variety from Bordeaux. They’re making amazing Viognier, Pinot Noir, Cab Franc, Merlot, Chardonnay. And the beauty of Virginia is all these wines are elegant. There’s more acidity in the wines in Virginia than anywhere else in any other region in the country.

You should also know that there’s wine being made in Arizona. Actually I had some great red wine in Arizona. I had one of my favorite white wines ever. A white wine from the grape Malvasia from Arizona that was absolutely delicious. You should also know that there is wine being made in New Mexico. Some of the best sparkling wine in America is being made in New Mexico. You should also know that Texas is doing something really special. The thing about Texas, fun fact is that’s the home of T.V. Munson. That’s the guy who worked with the French to figure out that American rootstock on European vines helped stem the tide of phylloxera. So that’s pretty cool. So he was also a hybrid guy, so he created hundreds and hundreds of hybrids. So Texas has always been kind of a hybrid winemaking place. And the few AVAs that are emerging out of Texas, like the Texas High Plains up in the Northwestern part of the state or the Texas Hill Country, which is right smack dab in the middle of the state. There are things happening here, where vitis vinifera vines are being grown and they’re successfully being grown. Like Merlot, Tempranillo, Syrah, and some of them are being blended with hybrid grapes. And the success rate is stupendous. I recently had a Texas red: It was Merlot, Tempranillo, and a hybrid called Ruby Cabernet. The wine was awesome. And for me, it was like, this is an American wine. It is absolutely an American wine because of the blend.

And they’re still making wine in Augusta, Missouri. It’s the first AVA in America. I recently had a red wine from the Norton variety from Missouri, and it was awesome. It was meaty, juicy, and soft, and great. But when it comes to vitis vinifera, the thing is, we are still working on it in the United States. We still have a long way to go. And the best way that we can help this along, is we have to understand that we’re not always going to be a place that makes a lot of wine to get all over the place. We also have really weird laws. Post-Prohibition laws gave every state its own, “Go ahead and create your own law.” So every state is its own country of wine and liquor laws.

But the way we can do this is we have to visit these places. We have to go to Virginia, go to Texas, go to New Mexico, go to Arizona. Go to New York, go to Oregon, go to Washington. Of course, go to California. I mean, the places that you can get wine all over the place is one thing. But go to places that don’t do the production to get across the country. And it’s not because they don’t make good wine, it’s because they’re making good wine, but in smaller amounts, because they’re concentrating on quality not quantity. And that’s where America’s going. And I think that’s what’s exciting about American wine.

I want to thank Sean Hails, winemaker at Columbia winery in Washington for some great info on this episode.

If you’re digging what I’m doing, picking up what I’m putting down, go ahead and give me a rating on iTunes or tell your friends to subscribe. You can subscribe. If you like to type, go ahead and send a review or something like that, but let’s get this wine podcast out so that everybody can learn about wine.

Check me out on Instagram. It’s @vinepairkeith. I do all my stuff in stories. And also, you got to follow VinePair on Instagram, which is @vinepair. And don’t forget to listen to the VinePair Podcast, which is hosted by Adam and Zach. It’s a great deep dive into drinks culture every week.

Now, for some credits. How about that? Wine 101 is recorded and produced by yours truly, Keith Beavers, at the VinePair headquarters in New York City. I want to give a big shout-out to co-founders Adam Teeter and Josh Malin. I also want to thank Danielle Grinberg for making the most legit Wine 101 logo. And I got to thank Darby Cicci for making this amazing song: Listen to this epic stuff. And finally, I want to thank the VinePair staff for helping me learn more every day. Thanks for listening. I’ll see you next week.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article Wine 101: The U.S. Regions Outside of California You Need To Know appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/wine-101-regions-outside-california/

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johnboothus · 3 years

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Wine 101: The U.S. Regions Outside of California You Need To Know

Listen Online

Listen on Apple Podcasts Listen on Spotify

Or Check Out the Conversation Here

My name is Keith Beavers. And just thinking like, wow, Disney bought Star Wars. And I get to watch Star Wars…

I want to thank Sean Hails, winemaker at Columbia winery in Washington for some great info on this episode.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article Wine 101: The U.S. Regions Outside of California You Need To Know appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/wine-101-regions-outside-california/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/wine-101-the-us-regions-outside-of-california-you-need-to-know

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abdito · 7 years

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Up with the sun this morning, looking for musky. (On Fellows Lake, north of Springfield, Missouri)

#ozarks #missouri #sgf #lake #sunrise

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mnranger5 · 5 years

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Goodbye Ranger 170VS, 4/29/19

Early in the summer of 2013, I got the boat itch. I was 34 years old, and had never owed a boat. I didn’t know the first thing about owning a boat, maintaining a boat or trailering a boat from one lake to the next. One thing I did know: I loved to fish. So naturally, a boat was what I needed to fuel my fishing passion.

I started scouring Craigslist, iBoats.com and boattrader.com. I knew I wanted a Ranger, small enough to fit in the garage, and new enough where I hopefully wouldn’t have to worry about fixing things and maintenance. I looked at many local boats, including one with my mom! It was a beautiful candy apple red, 21’ Ranger, located in Farmington. It was a magnificent boat, but it was WAY too much boat for me. Plus, I had my heart set on a black boat. I had seen sparkly black bass boats on the lake, and I was sold on the look. I quickly found out that small black bass boats proved difficult to find in MN.

I expanded my search to out of state. That’s when I found it. A seller from Indianapolis had a 2009 Ranger 170VS. It was only 17’ in length and would fit (snugly) in the garage. I contacted the seller immediately to inquire if the boat was still for sale. The boat had been on the market for some time and he had recently reduced the price from $20,000 down to $18,000. He was motivated. The boat was 3.5 years old, but was virtually brand new. There was only 11 hours on the 4-stroke Mercury. Within a couple of days, I had struck a deal to buy the boat for $16,000, and made arrangements with the seller to pick the boat up in Lafayette, Indiana. On Saturday, June 22, 2013, I picked the Ranger up. I was a boat owner for the first time in my life.

The first time the grils saw the boat they were just as excited as me. Get this, they even asked to sleep in the boat (in the garage) that night. Who was I to say no? Pajamas: check. Dolls: check. Books: check. Ready for a slumber party!

As excited as I was to be a boat owner, I had no idea how to actually get the boat from the trailer, and into the water. I met up with my buddy Jesse at Lake Byllesby in Cannon Falls.

Jesse showed me all the in’s and out’s of my boat. He also told me to start wearing a hat because the wind made my hair look completely ridiculous.

But most importantly, he showed me how to launch and load the boat from the boat ramp.

I distinctly recall the first time I tried to put the boat in the water by myself. After talking with one of the guys from a local bass club, I identified Circle Lake as good first lake to practice launching/loading the boat without a crowd watching me. So Dyan and I headed over to Circle Lake on 6/25/13 for an afternoon of fun. Dumping the boat in the lake proved to be a piece of cake. And fishing was successful too. This was the first fish I caught in my new Ranger!

Loading it up for the day proved a bit more daunting. But hey, it was the first time doing it by myself.

Five days and two lakes later, Dyan and I successfully launched and loaded the boat in front of the big crowds at Crystal Lake. The launch was crazy hectic with weekend warriors, but we pretty much looked like pro’s. I also caught my first Tiger Musky that day!

2013 had some really fun adventures as well.

I took the boat out to Bismarck, ND to visit Mom and Dad, and we dropped the Ranger in Nelson Lake, a power plant lake!

The early morning steam rising off the 85 degree water made this an eerie yet cool place to fish with Dad. Dad even took home the prize for biggest fish of the day. The only time he ever won that award in the Ranger!

Dyan and I also spent an entire weekend in the Ranger roaming Lake Pepin and the deserted sand bars.

Virtually the entire summer of 2013 was spent on the water. Every free weekend was Dyan and me trailering the boat from one lake to another. It never got old. Why did it take so long to buy a boat?

In July, Aaron and I fished our first bass tournament together. Not gonna lie, I was super nervous. Not only did I have the smallest boat, smallest motor and least amount of fishing experience, we had to launch and load the boat in front of all these semi-pros.

To this date, I have yet to put my finger on what caused our success other than dumb luck, but Aaron and I found a school of 3 to 4 pound bass that bit on just about every cast. We ended up with a sack of fish weighing about 21 pounds and won the tournament!

In an August tournament, Jesse and I won Big Bass in the Ranger with this 4 pound lunker. In the process of landing the fish, my super high quality (Wal-Mart special) landing net broke and landed somewhere in the bottom of Cedar Lake!

The money we earned on this fish went toward buying a real net from Cabelas.

2014 was just as busy on the water as 2013.

The kids got into boating as we had them fishing, tubing and swimming in the lake.

On fishing opener in 2014 at Prior Lake, I got my first taste of bed fishing when I plucked Miss Piggy off her spawning bed. What a thrill. I fished for this big girl for nearly an hour before she finally opened that big mouth and chomped on my worm.

It got to the point that we absolutely loved taking the boat to new lakes. Each one was unique, and more of an experience because each one seemed to involve it’s own adventure. Here is a list of all 32 bodies of water we’ve had the Ranger 170VS on:

Crystal Lake (Burnsville, MN)

Marion Lake (Lakeville, MN)

Lake Byllesby (Cannon Falls, MN)

Lake Minnetonka (Wayzata, MN)

Prior Lake (Prior Lake, MN)

Lake O’Dowd (Prior Lake, MN)

Spring Lake (Prior Lake, MN)

St. Croix River

Minnesota River

Mississippi River

Missouri River (Bismark, ND)

Nelson Lake (Center, ND)

Sweet Briar Lake (New Salem, ND)

Lake Auburn (Victoria, MN)

Balsam Lake (Balsam Lake, WI)

Lake Pepin (Lake City, MN)

Orchard Lake (Lakeville, MN)

Lake Mille Lacs (Onomia, MN)

Cedar Lake (Aitkin, MN)

Cedar Lake (New Prague, MN)

Lake Mazaska (Faribault, MN)

Shields Lake (Faribault, MN)

Cedar Lake (Faribault, MN)

Sakatah Lake (Waterville, MN)

Tetonka Lake (Waterville, MN)

Lake Jefferson (Cleveland, MN)

Lake of the Ozarks (Eldon, MO)

Lake Okoboji (Arnold’s Park, IA)

Mike Minnewashta (Arnold’s Park, IA)

Lower Gar Lake (Arnold’s Park, IA)

South Lindstrom Lake (Lindstrom, MN)

Chisago Lake (Lindstrom, MN)

Probably my favorite adventure ever on the Ranger was in August of 2014. Dyan and I took a 101 mile, 9 hour round trip excursion from Eagan to the Afton via three waterways - the Minnesota River to the Mississippi River to the St. Croix River.

The experience took us underneath the flightpath of MSP, gave us a picturview window of downtown St. Paul and showed us real quick how out of our element we were when we had to navigate Lock & Dam #2, in Hastings, MN.

By 2016, the Ranger was starting to push past her prime. I (who are we kidding? The marina) had to start doing more than just preventative maintenance. I had just had knee surgery in the spring of 2016. I was antsy to get out of the house after being cooped up rehabilitating. I talked Dyan into braving the strong currents of the Mississippi River with me.

We fished all day avoiding catastrophe (due to the current and me almost falling in the river because of my bum knee) on a couple of occasions. While on the river, I had an unfortunate run-in with a gigantic submerged tree and the trolling motor. Let’s just say, that was the beginning of the end for that motor.

Later on that summer, Aaron and I had to forfeit a tournament due to the trolling motor and battery issues. Over the next week I watched youtube videos on fixing the cable drive of the MotorGuide, which temporarily worked. Just long enough for me to catch this giant 5.27lb bass on Lake Marion. My personal best to date.

But the trolling motor continued to give me fits the rest of the summer.

By 2017, we had much bigger issues than the trolling motor. On our way to the Ozarks, we nearly lost a trailer wheel when the bearing overheated due to some heavy duty braided fishing line that somehow worked its way into the bearings.

This incident caused me to do an entire refurbishment of the the trailer prior to the 2018 season. I (the marina) put on new bearings, hubs, tires, as well as updated the trailer with full LED lights. While in the shop, the motor had an issue with the fuel float. I won't pretend to know what it was, but it was sure expensive to diagnose and repair.

Also in 2018, I finally got fed up and replaced the trolling motor. The days of not knowing which direction the boat was going to go when giving the trolling motor some juice were finally behind me. And the money pit continued as soon as Aaron and I got the boat on the water for the first time and realized the cranking battery was dead. By May of 2018, I had spent more money YTD on the Ranger than I had in all the years combined since 2013.

And 2019 started off with more fixes. This time, I spent nearly $300 having the shop diagnose what was thought to be a bad fuel filter or faulty fuel pump. Neither were the correct diagnosis. The issue ended up being cheap spark plugs.

The Ranger is a great boat and has been almost like a companion to me over the years. She was always ready to hit the water as soon as I said, “Let’s go!” This blog would not exist if I never would have bought her. The original premise of this blog was to document my experiences on the water in that little boat. Obviously, this blog has come a long way since then, but the Ranger deserves the credit for encouraging me to write!

But now, she’s getting older and doesn’t fit our growing family. In the past two years, we have not gone out as a family of 7 because the boat just isn't big enough for us.

Although we made it work when the kids were younger, I am not sure that boat ever was big enough for all of us. Hell, I am not sure there is a boat in existence that is big enough for all of us! But we didn’t let the size deter us from having some memorable trips to the lake.

And that brings us to where we are today. Given the problems I had been having with the Ranger, I was ready to sell. I had contacted a couple of local marinas and they were willing to give me between $9,000 and $11,000 if I traded it in on a new boat. Not too bad of a value considering I paid $16,000 for it, and owned it for 7 years. So I decided to list it on Facebook Marketplace for $17,000. I knew I was way overvaluing it, but hey, it gave me room to negotiate. I was hoping to get $12-13K.

The boat was listed for 5 days. In that time, I had 12 people make serious inquiries, with 3 setting up appointments to test drive it. I must admit, I was a bit relieved. Relieved in that despite the issues I had with the boat people were still interested in this 10 year old vessel.

Then a guy named Greg messaged me. He was very interested in the boat. From the moment Greg reached out to me, he was hook, line and sinker. Greg even went as far as telling me to cancel the test drive appointments because he was planning to bring COLD HARD CASH when he stopped by to buy it. There are some flakey buyers out there in cyber space, so I tried my best to not get my hopes up. I was anticipating Greg to go silent at some point and never to be heard from again. But that wasn't the case. For 3 straight days Greg messaged me over and over asking questions about the boat. I felt like many of my responses to home were disappointing such as, “No Greg, the trolling motor is not linked the the Humminbirds.” “No Greg, the trolling motor is not Minn Kota.” “No Greg, the rod box doesn’t fit a rod over 7′.” I felt like all my responses were going to deter Greg from buying the boat, but every time his counter was, “I can work with that.”

As it turned out, Greg was a real guy and not just some cyber punk wasting my time. Greg showed up at my house and looked the boat over before signing paperwork that transferred the title over to him. And the craziest part about it, he really did bring $17,000 in cold, hard, cash. Fat stacks of $100 dollar bills!

It was a surreal moment. The boat was no longer mine. However, I just received $1,000 more for the Ranger than what I originally paid for it! How is that possible? Quite the return on my investment!

Despite the great deal I had just made on the boat, it was painful to watch my baby pull out of the driveway destined for a new home. I watched the Ranger head down the street, knowing I’d never see her again. Only when those brand new LED tail lights were out of sight did I finally head inside. I was no longer a boat owner. But, I now had some discretionary money burning a hole in my pocket... What shall we buy Dyan?

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