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daisybeewrites · 3 years

Text

Sorry, I’m Married

word count?: 3.5k

warnings: canon-typical violence, i don’t describe it graphically tho, just a minor skirmish. happy ending :)

requested? no

ship: dousy/daisy johnson x daniel sousa & dad!coulson

hey guys! i wrote this on a whim after hanging out in a dousy group. i was inspired by the chat at the end of the fic. as always, thank you for reading!! and drink some water ;) fic under the cut!

Neon lights reflected off rough concrete walls as Daisy’s combat boots walked down the steps to the underground club. Light up signs glowed and glittery heels flashed as crowds of people surged and stepped on the technicolour dance floor. The sequins of her dress reflected spotlights that roved the entry area. There were booths with cushy red banquettes lining the walls near the bar, giving college girls a place to rest their feet and hotshot businessmen a table to sip beer. Currently, the club was full, young men and women crowding the bar and dance floor. Decades night, Daisy deduced, as most of the inhabitants were wearing flashy dresses or denim bell bottoms. Deke would’ve loved this, she thought. I wonder how Deke is doing…

Daisy’s mind drifted as the light up jukebox in the corner switched songs. She didn’t spot the target anywhere, so she pushed in a quarter, chose her favourite 80s hit, and watched as the jukebox queued her song. The vibrations of the speakers were reverberating through her, pumping her adrenaline up. Good, more energy for a fight if I need it.

Three leather stools were open at the bar—one by itself, and two side by side. She nodded at the bartender and sat in the single empty seat. Her comms crackled in her right ear, reminding her of why she was here in the first place.

“Dais, can you hear me?” She located where Coulson was speaking across the room, sitting in a wooden booth near the side exit. He casually leaned back and sipped his drink.

“Loud and clear,” Daisy mumbled.

“New intel from HQ just came in. The weapons the target is dealing? Alien tech.”

“Great, she said sarcastically,” said Daisy, clearly annoyed.

Coulson laughed. “On your 3.”

Daisy rested her elbow forward on the bartop, scanning the selection of alcohols as a premise to look down the row of people to her right. She noticed two young lads dressed in all black suits, carrying briefcases. There was no way these guys were in charge of the illegal operation. Well, at least they won’t be a problem if it comes down to a fight, she thought.

As Daisy’s eyes roamed the club, she locked eyes with a muscular, bodyguard-type with a small, raised scar over his eye. She smiled then turned around. She recognized the uniform he was wearing as standard bouncer garb, but his side-piece was not. CF380, Princetown standard issue. Daisy signaled his presence to Coulson.

“These guys? Again?”

Princetown was a group of rich, privileged sons of international diplomats and of heads of large corporations. They slipped through the FBI’s fingers like sand. Now, they had alien tech. No diplomatic immunity would allow them to get out of an arrest now.

Coulson nodded behind her. She subtly turned her head and glanced in that direction. Wearing an overly expensive silk suit and holding a glass of champagne, stood Luca Casagrande. Son of the Italian Minister of foreign affairs. Notorious for his parties, wealth, and lack of self-control. He winked at a blonde waitress who slipped him a piece of paper, which was very obviously not a bill. Daisy rolled her eyes. Criminals these days are so stupid, she thought.

Coulson bit back a laugh at Daisy’s reaction. “Alright, Daisy, you’re up.”

“Remind me again why I was chosen for this part of the mission?” she murmured while sipping her drink to hide her words.

“Because, you’re good at it.” Coulson went quiet for a second then added, “And I'm not Casagrande’s type.”

Daisy flashed her eyes in Coulson’s direction, frustrated. She mentally went over the calming exercises May taught her. Deep breath, exhale. Let’s do this.

Daisy slid off the barstool, and approached Casagrande slowly. He only looked her direction when she sidled up next to him.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s a beautiful girl like you doing out here all by yourself?” A smooth, accented voice inquired.

Daisy bottled up a sarcastic remark and stocked it on the shelf for later use. Only Daniel is allowed to call her sweetheart.

“Well, I was hoping,” she blinked up at him, batting her eyelashes. “to find some product. Heard you had all the good stuff. I'm lucky I even caught you here, considering your reputation.”

“Geez. Laying it on a little thick aren’t we?” Coulson couldn’t help it. The snort Daisy covered up as a cough was too hilarious.

Luca smiled. It was charming, but unsettling. “Oh? And what reputation would that be?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Daisy countered. She looked around before continuing, “Look, I've got pressure on me to deliver. I’d appreciate it if we talked business before pleasure.”

“Hard to get.” Luca’s eyes sparkled. “Alright. Let’s talk business.”

He leaned over the bar and signaled the bartender to bring him two glasses of whiskey on the rocks. Once a glass was in his hand, he gestured to Daisy’s. “You don’t drink?”

“Not when I'm on the clock. My employers frown upon it.”

Casagrande nodded. “I see. So, what type of product were you looking for?”

“Anything I can sell. Uncle Sam called and said they need a next gen advantage for soldiers. Weapons, maybe?” She ran a finger down the lapel of his suit. “They pay generously.”

“You work for the US military.”

“We have a... mutual understanding.” Daisy flashed a brilliant smile. It was kind of fun playing an undercover persona.

Luca studied her face. “I don’t get details?”

Daisy scoffed, “Of course not. Son of a foreign diplomat, it’s a risk the US can’t take. If other countries found out…”

“Yes, I understand," He responded carefully.

“And I understand that you also do some dirty business with governments.”

A menacing half-smile rose on his face. “Only the beautiful ones.”

Looking up into his eyes, Daisy felt the same disgust that had been worn by everyone at the mission briefing. Au contraire, Luca seemed to find Daisy extremely attractive.

“Why don’t we—”

“No.” Daisy internally cringed, but on the outside she seemed relaxed and blasé. She risked a glance at Coulson, to see his reaction. His entire body was rigid. She didn’t blame him. Hearing some douchebag proposition your daughter...yulgh. She wished Daniel was here to watch her back, too... this guy was getting under her skin. Everything about Casagrande pushed her buttons.

“No?”

“No,” Daisy affirmed, tilting her head. “Business first. We can talk about any other deals after.”

“But there is a possibility?” He cheekily remarked.

Not a chance in hell, Daisy thought. “Maybe. But for now, I need to move product ASAP.”

Luca mulled thos over and sipped the burning whiskey. “I may have some contacts that could help you. In return, what will you give me?”

Though the question was innocent, his intentions were obvious. That was exactly what she wanted.

“Depends on how good the product is.” She stepped a little closer “It’s a little crowded in here, don’t ya think?”

He pushed off the bar, inches from her. He smelled like overly expensive cologne, and not the good kind. “I'm meeting some business associates out back in a few minutes. We’ll make a deal after that.”

“Would they happen to have anything I could—”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I do business privately.”

Daisy faked a sweet smile and resisted the urge to punch him.

Luca took two steps toward the back door, then turned around and strutted back. He tilted his head towards her. “A good luck ki—?”

BRing. BRing. Bzzzzz.

Best. Timing. Ever. Daisy shot Luca an apologetic look before picking up.

“Hello? Oh, Dad! One sec.” Daisy took the phone off her ear, and whispered to Luca, “It’s my Dad. He’s in the hospital. Doesn’t know what my real job is.”

She brought the phone back up to her ear as Luca irritatedly glanced around.

“Dad? Yeah... No, I'm fine, how are you feeling?... That’s great, Dad.” She winked at Luca and held up a finger. Daisy was glad he didn’t notice Coulson over her shoulder, also on the phone.

“I'm with some friends…” Luca raised his eyebrows. “Luca Casagrande... He does business with my marketing firm.”

Daisy waved Luca away after noticing him checking his Rolex twice in ten seconds. He nodded and headed out back. She made sure he was out of earshot before alerting Coulson.

“Coulson, he’s headed out.”

“Yup, QJ-6 is on the way. I’ll stay to watch his lackeys.”

Daisy gave the bartender a tip and walked towards the back door, grabbing her gauntlets from behind the bar. He dipped his chin and continued wiping down the counter.

As she walked into the chilly night air, Daisy was greeted with silence. Droplets of water dripped onto the leather of her boots from the rooftop. The concrete crunched in the darkness of the alley. Light from the streetlamps was scarce, melding shadowy corners with the dim alleyway.. Daisy could hear faint music through the brick walls of the club. A smirk formed on her face as her pick from the jukebox played. Walking towards the street, she checked behind the moldy trash bins for a sign that Casagrande was hiding. The opening guitar grew louder as the safety of a gun clicked off behind her.

“So,” Daisy raised her hands up. It was a trap. “what happened to your business associates?”

Luca chuckled behind her.

“You’re not stupid. You can figure it out.”

Daisy slowly turned around to face him.

“You bluffed to see if I would follow you.” She wasn’t surprised. She had counted on this. “You’re a decent liar.”

“So are you.” Luca lowered the gun a bit. “Who are you? CIA?”

“That’s classified.”

Luca laughed, haphazardly slinging the pistol to the side in a grand gesture. “Of course it is.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that the government and I have a mutual understanding.”

“But that isn’t the whole truth, is it?”

Daisy smirked. “Of course not.”

Technically, this was true. Her status as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was protected knowledge, no one but people inside her agency and a handful high-ranking world intelligence officers were aware.

Daisy decided he might as well know who she was. He was going to be locked up in a max-security cell pretty soon, anyway.

He fell against the wall as Daisy hit him with a small quake, just enough to get her point across. His expression was one of pure shock.

“You- Y- You’re…”

“Mar—”

“Daisy, what’s going on?” Coulson must have felt the vibrations. She didn’t think she had hit Luca that hard. Daisy could hear the quinjet approaching, the comforting vibrations of the engine helping to calm her nerves. She stepped toward Luca.

“You have two options: come peacefully with me, or I call the cavalry to take you in by force.”

Luca stayed on the ground, silent. He reminded Daisy of a pouting toddler.

This toddler had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Coulson’s voice came through her ear. “Daisy, do you ha—”

Daisy’s blood ran cold as she received static from the other line.

“Coulson? Coulson?!”

Wide brown eyes turned to watch Casagrande’s smirk grow.

“Problem?" He said smugly.

Daisy quickly knocked him out with the mini-ICER she kept inside her boot and ran back inside. Opening the solid metal door to the inside of the club, she registered the panicked screams from the main room. As she hurtled through the plain hallway towards the crowds, she wished she had a way to tell the backup team that they were flying into trouble. He must’ve known we’d be here. How did he know we’d be here?

The walls were a blur as the confusion and fear from the civilians in the club became palpable. The door squeaked on its hinges as Daisy threw it open. She didn’t see Coulson anywhere. Actually, she couldn’t see anything at all. An EMP. Cool. Fun. Alright. That’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Wandering the crowds, Daisy tried to find a way to contact the team. Surely they had a landline in here?

The bartender pulled her aside as she passed him. He silently pointed to the jukebox. It was the only thing still on and functioning. Of course, Daisy didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before!

She walked to the jukebox and searched the sides for a dial, a button, something... Aha! She unlatched the panel and bent down to dial Piper’s number. She pressed the call button while her vision grew blurry. Her eyelids drooped. A sluggish head turn towards the dance floor gave a view of unconscious bodies asleep next to each other. Daisy tried to stand, to walk to the nearest victim of the sleeping gas. A burning zap that seemed to travel through her veins rendered her unconscious. I have to find Coulson…

Daisy knew she probably shouldn’t have left Casagrande in the alley by himself. She was playing right into his hand.

Coulson was more important.

Coulson. What would he do?

Daisy slowly tried to open her eyes. She felt like she had a hangover. The light was dim, the floor beneath her cold as ice. Her hearing slowly came back as she took in her surroundings. A pair of black dress shoes blurred into her frame of vision.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Coulson’s voice flooded her with relief.

“What happened? Where…?”

Coulson helped her sit up against a rough stone wall. “I have no clue. Best guess? An Italian castle.”

Daisy was suddenly very awake. “We’re in Italy?”

“Hey, I said best guess.” Coulson pointed his fingers to the ceiling. “I heard footsteps up there earlier.”

Daisy just nodded. Last time she was in Italy, she had a hell of a lot better time. For starters, no one zapped her with— wait, what was she hit with?

“What was that weapon I was hit with? It felt like it was melting my insides.” The thought scared her. The only other time she had felt that type of pain was when... she didn’t like to think about it.

“You know the alien tech that Casagrande was running?” Daisy nodded. “Yeah, it was that.”

A loud groan solidified Daisy’s frustration. Her eyes closed while she tried to concentrate. She tried to feel any vibrations near her, to soak up anything that could signal where they were. Instead of feeling the vibrations of a mountain or a plane, she felt footsteps. Coming closer, closer... Daisy opened her eyes.

Luca entered the chilly cell through the thick steel door. She would have quaked him back about a hundred feet if it weren’t for Coulson’s hand on her arm.

“You two seem comfortable. Can I get you a drink? Water? Coffee?” His smile was smug and irritating.

Coulson replied before Daisy could. “No, we’re good thanks. How about instead, you give us some answers. Starting with: where are we, and who’s your source?” His voice got harder and colder as he went on. Luca acted unfazed.

“No. You are insurance. You have physical evidence of my illegal trades. I was going to leave you on the curb, but then this guy,” Luca pointed over his shoulder at a soldier then slapped the short lad on the back. Daisy recognized him as one the short lads with briefcases at the bar. “This guy had to go and shoot you with the Widow’s Bite!”

Coulson's eyes grew wide in recognition. Daisy could connect the dots herself.

“You stole Black Widow’s weapons?” They said in unison. Coulson and Daisy looked at each other and fell silent. By Daisy’s profile, if they kept acting surprised and in awe, he would keep giving them answers.

“Yes, I did. Amazing right?” Luca stared off into the distance. “Last month I hired a thief to get into the Avenger’s Compound. She got a copy of Stark’s old hard drive, picked up some old relics, modified them with alien metal stolen from Hydra. But every time I tried to open it, it would corrupt my servers. I took the damn thing to every hacker I knew, now they all want to kill me because I crashed their servers. Some of them used to be part of the Rising Tide, when they were still young and hotheaded. They told me about a hacker named Skye. She disappeared, never heard from again. She has no information on her. She has no records. Not even in the top intelligence departments of America. She doesn’t exist.

“But Daisy Johnson does. Daisy Johnson, a hacker who rose in Skye’s place. Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“And you need us to get to her,” Coulson finished. “I hate to burst your bubble, but we’re expendable. You’re better off throwing us in the ocean than you are waiting for her to come.”

Luca seemed to be seriously considering this. Then he nodded. You’re right, I need to up the ante. Raise the stakes a little.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he turned on heel and swaggered down the hallway. “Bring them.”

Two soldiers came in to get Daisy and Coulson. They reached down to grab Daisy, and she swiftly brought her head forward to hit theirs. Stunned, the soldier took a step back, giving Daisy time to stand up before she gave a hard kick to his stomach. The other soldier was similarly impaired, having taken a startlingly strong punch to the jaw from Coulson. The crack! of the bone echoed off the stone walls. Daisy quaked them against the wall for good measure, realizing they hadn’t taken her gauntlets. Coulson was waiting by the door.

“Let’s go.”

They ran through the halls, following where they thought Casagrande might have gone, stopping in several rooms on the way to hide from Casagrande’s soldiers. They ran into him at the front of what was, indeed, a stone castle. He stood on the uneven steps gazing out at rolling hills and cottony clouds hung high above a choppy lake. The wind blew hard, just enough to make you wish for a sweater from someone warm and comforting. It was all quite picturesque.

Except for the criminal standing in front of them.

“Congrats, you escaped! I’m so glad.” Luca smiled and opened up his arms.

“Somehow this guy still sounds smug. We just escaped from his prison and this guy still thinks he’s won.” Coulson turned to Daisy.

Daisy shook her head and shouted, “Hey, Luca! The fight’s not finished yet!”

“Really, sweetheart? Because it looks to m—”

He was interrupted by a violent quake in his direction. She strided over to where he was struggling to get up.

“It looks like what? I can’t hear you.” Daisy rested her hands on her hips.

“It looks as if you are lost. Even if you escape, you have no way to get home,” he wheezed.

Daisy rolled her eyes. Coulson walked up behind her, squatting down beside Luca and using a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

“We’re resourceful. And while we were hiding from guards in some of your fancy tech rooms, we found an old sat phone. They’re easy enough to use, all we had to do was phone a friend and tell them exactly where we are,” Coulson explained.

“Ah, but you don’t know where we are, sweetheart.” His rebuttal was pointed at Daisy. She decided it was her turn to prove him wrong.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You counted on us not being able to crack your hard drive’s encryption and get past your feeble firewalls. That took less than five minutes. The only remotely hard part about hacking you to find our coordinates was trying to read everything in Italian.” Daisy laughed.

Luca tried the wiggle away from them. “If you have my hard drive, then you know there isn’t anything of importance on there.”

As she pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her boot, Daisy exchanged a look with Coulson.

“You’re right, there isn’t anything of value on that hard drive,” she said. “There are about 100 other files I downloaded from your personal computer that do have important intel, though.”

Coulson pulled a face and sucked in a breath. “Yikes.”

“So, I guess if you’re arresting me, there isn’t any chance we could ever do business, if you know what I mean?”

Daisy mentally pulled that bottle off the shelf and dusted off her sarcastic remark.

“Sorry, I’m married.”

Daisy locked the cuffs into place and stood Casagrande up. Two quinjets touched down thirty minutes later, one with a team of agents to search the castle, and one to take Daisy and Coulson home. Agent Piper met Daisy on the ramp of QJ-6, something metallic and glittery in her hand.

“Thanks for holding onto it.” Daisy hugged Piper before taking her ring back.

“No problem. Wouldn’t want this rock to get lost in the field!” she laughed.

Daisy slipped the smooth metal on her finger and sagged into the jump seat next to Coulson. She rested her head on his shoulder, softly gazing at her hand.

“I can’t wait to be home with Daniel.”

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A/N: heeeey! this fic was inspired by @starkmaiden ‘s post in a dousy group i’m in. thank you!! if you have a request, question for me, or want to be added to my taglist go visit my ask box! i love each and every one of you :)

#daisy johnson x daniel sousa #dousy #timequake #dad!coulson #quakersquares #marvel fic #ashby's fics #agents of shield #aos writer #phil coulson #skye #fluff #happy ending #angst

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irishmacguirefucker · 4 years

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Headcanon that because the entire gang lives in each other’s pockets, for the most part, things like colds usually move through the whole gang like a wave, only ever sparing few from those brief days of sore throats and sniffles.

It started with Jack. The boy ran around in the rain and mud for nearly 15 minutes before Abigail finally got the 4-year-old boy to come in

Two days later the kid was coughing and sneezing and sniffling through the night. Inevitably that meant Abigail got sick while taking care of him. Ever the mother, she did her best to ignore it and take care of the tail end of his sickness.

Mary Beth and Tilly noticed the mother looking particularly exhausted for a day or two and eventually offered to pay for the woman to get a nice hot bath in the nearby town. After much protest from the mother, they wore her down. So Tilly watched Jack for a few hours, and Mary Beth snuck Abigail out of the camp to go have a few hours to herself.

To make less of a scene, the ladies shared a horse, rode out on one of the extra horses at camp. While Abigail was extremely appreciative of the gesture and felt much better after a hot bath (with Mary Beth guarding the older woman’s things), it would inevitably be Mary Beth's downfall. The close quarters involved with sharing a horse infected the young romantic.

And so just as Abigail got better, Mary Beth began sneezing. And because Mary Beth, Tilly, and Karen could be particularly inseparable at times, it was hardly a surprise when they got it not two days after Mary Beth.

Despite the obvious cold the three of them seemed to be sharing, Ms. Grimashaw couldn't exactly be out three sets of hands. So they were all given lighter duties and a lot of Hosea provided herbs to keep them from being too miserable.

Now you would think, seeing how quickly this sickness had made its way through the ladies, that the rest of camp would avoid them. If only Sean possessed even the slightest amount of foresight.

Just as Karen was on the tail end of her cold (still contagious, but only a sore throat leftover), the redhead decided he had waited long enough and started his usual pestering of the woman once again. The two of them shared a few beers (“To celebrate my loves newfound health!”), and then once they were less sober a few kisses. Sean never stood a chance.

Lo and behold, the young man catches a cold. And makes it known. To everyone. However, he didn’t mean to let people know. His original plan was to pretend he wasn’t sick, mainly because it had taken him an hour of sweet-talking just to get Karen to sit with him at the fire that night. He had told her that the MacGuire genes don’t catch a common cold and dammit if he wasn’t gonna stand by that.

And so the man tried to replicate his usual energy and attitude. That is until he tries to chase down Karen for playfully stealing his hat, and gets so dizzy he eats shit right in the middle of camp. And manages to sprain his wrist, making him not only bedridden but ultimately useless to Susan in the way of chores.

Sean, ever the walking inconvenience some days, had also managed to dump his cesspool of cold germs on his usual drinking buddies. Unfortunately, that meant Uncle, Lenny, and surprisingly and to his extreme distaste, Javier got sick.

Every time Sean walked past Lenny's tent he got various items thrown at him. A spoon pinged him in the head across the camp and he actually looked a little impressed at his annoyed best friend’s aim. Javier also appreciated the action, as he walked by to hide a dry snakes skin in Sean’s bedroll to scare him. Petty? Yes, but also deserved. Uncle honestly just used it as an excuse to sleep even more than usual.

Unfortunately, Lenny hates being unable to help and basically tries to lob around hay bales and take night shifts on the guard, all well constantly wiping his nose on a handkerchief and sneezing so loud it scared birds from the trees. Needless to say, he was quickly taken off guard duty and sent to have a good night's sleep.

Now you would think “Lenny and Javier are smart, they would notice how quickly this sickness spreads and be more careful.” And you would be right. However. You forgot about Uncle. Uncle in his usual lack of Acknowledgement to the consequences of his actions managed to get Swanson, Bill, and to everyone’s extreme detriment, Dutch, sick with this cold.

Swanson and Bill aren't too bad, Bill has no issue taking frequent breaks from various duties, and Swanson literally continues as if nothing is wrong (considering everything else he has going on..).

The real issue is Dutch.

Molly is a bit of a germaphobe when it comes to gross sickness, so while she felt a little bad about it, she immediately left and shared Abigail and Jack's tent until it was over. (But if you really asked her, she might tell you it was because she’s already sick of his constant whining and couldn't handle it anymore.)

Susan and Hosea are seasoned in the care and constant tolerance of a sick Dutch, so much so that it’s not uncommon for them to bring him some tea that subsequently knocks him out for 12 hours straight. It took them years to develop the perfect recipe but damn if it doesn’t work every time. At this point it’s most likely that nobody else gets it, but here are some honorable mentions as to what the other camp members are up to.

Sadie: basically fucked off the guard duty as much as possible and kept like 8 feet from anyone she suspected might have ANY trace of it. She did not get sick

Arthur: was around in the beginning to help out but the moment Sean got it, he basically went off to go do some work. He came back briefly to drop off some money and the moment he heard Dutch sneeze he all but ran out of camp.

Charles: was there most of the time but the entire camp is like 90% sure he is immune to mortal sickness. Nobody has ever seen him have so much as a sniffle.

John: Also spent most of his time on guard duty, Hosea basically made him do it because a sick John is a whiny John.

Hosea: Also around but kept a good distance from anyone who might be sick. And if he did get to close he was berated by Susan, since he already had that cough.

Pearson: Got it from Karen begging him for some of his good whiskey and was immediately taken away from handling food. He spent most of his time fishing and drinking. He got very sunburnt.

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immacaria · 3 years

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Family

Hello there! So this for Sangchengber Day 5: Family and it brings as a jealous Nie Huaisang, a amused and overprotective Nie Mingjue and a tired Nie Zonghui. There are some OCs of mine in there and I ask for forgiveness right now if their names are horrible or shitty. I hope you enjoy this and have a nice day!

For almost two years, Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng were living together now. Almost two years that Huaisang had to deal with his roommate’s beauty and stupid. Really, how come that he didn’t notice Huaisang’s pining over him? More than two years and Jiang Cheng didn’t ask or did a thing to acknowledge him for goodness’ sake! Not a thing at all! Now, he was here, attending to a fucking wedding party while his crush was back at their house doing God knows what!

“A-Sang!” An aunt of his father’s side sang on his ear, throwing an arm over his neck. “My little A-Sang! How big you are!” She laughed, taking a full gulp of her drink. “Another wife, do you believe it? Your uncle has no shame!”

“Auntie, I think you have drunk enough.” Huaisang said, getting the glass from her. Just because he didn’t remember that one, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to look after her. ‘Well, until she passes out or go pester someone else. Whatever comes first.’, Huaisang thought as she nodded in agreement.

“But it’s true, you know?” She said, leaning into him, looking at the recently married couple bitterly.

“What’s true, Auntie?” He sighed, looking around for a savior. Anyone would do, truly.

“The rumors. That your uncle is marrying again because the first one couldn’t have children.” She explained, looking at the groom strangely. “Poor Mei, that’s what I think.” She breathed deep. “Poor Mei didn’t deserve this. She loved this asshole too much.”

“What do you mean, Auntie?” Alright, even if Huaisang didn’t like being there, the last family gossip always lifted him up. Even if it was just a little. “Do tell more.”

“Please, sweetie.” The woman said, looking directly at him, strange and suddenly sober. “Everybody knows that your brother and the oldest of the twins Jades of Gusu are nothing but boyfriends. One’s already out for love.” She chuckled, looking around for Mingjue. “And you, everyone knows that you are way over hills for the youngest of the Jiangs.”

“What do you mean, Auntie?” Nie Huaisang turned fully to her, curious and intrigued.

“Oh, sweet and innocent A-Sang. Once your father is dead, Mingjue is going to take over the business. But after his death, what happens?”

“I will still be here?” Huaisang said quietly, not liking what was going to happen next already.

“Oh, dear…” She said, touching his cheeks, eyes filled with pain and pity. “Everybody knows that you know nothing about your family’s business.” She whispered, stroking his eyebrows sadly. “Nobody expects you to, A-Sang. That’s why your uncle is marrying that whore. Anyway, enjoy the party, A-Sang. While it lasts.” She disappeared in the crowd, leaving Huaisang alone with his thoughts. ‘Why? Why would that woman do that to me?’ He groaned, turning to the waiter passing by.

“Do you guys still have whiskey?” He asked.

“Plenty of it, young master.” The waiter smiled at him, before vanishing in the kitchen, chuckling with the gentle ‘thanks’ of Huaisang. “Here it is, younger master Nie.”

“Thank you, Wu.” Huaisang smiled at him. “Bring me the whole bottle, would you?”

“Of course, young master.” He smiled, simpatectelly. After he brought the bottle, Huaisang decided that nobody would ruin his already horrible night even more, not even his own family. Maybe that was the real reason why he went to the dance floor, maybe it was the alcohol, but the fact was that he went to the dance floor, fearing nothing.

As his favourite music blasted through the speakers, he let his body move on his own, not caring for what the others were saying, doing or thinking. His heart was already broken, his head still full of thoughts, horrible thoughts. ‘No!’, he thought. ‘Tonight nobody can hurt me!’ he smiled as Blackpink started to play. ‘Not anymore.’

“A-Sang!” A cousin of his called, waving at him. “Do you know the choreography?” She yelled, throwing her stilettos away, almost hitting a cousin of theirs.

“Of course!” Huaisang answered smiling widely as Kill This Love blew through the amplifiers. “Uhuu!” He laughed, dancing and singing along with the other girls at the wedding. He kept dancing and singing as all the playlist played out, drinking and joking around with everyone, caring even less if Jiang Cheng liked him or that girl in his class with every passing second. “Let’s kill this love!” He chanted, dropping a little of the whiskey on the floor.

“Huaisang!” Mingjue screamed over the noise. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing!” Huaisang laughed, drinking a little more. He didn’t care if he passed out, he was having the time of his life. And nobody would stop him.

“And drinking!” His cousin, TongTong, said beside him. “Do you know I love you?”

“Yes. And I love you too!” He yelled back as Mingjue threw him over a shoulder. “Da-Ge!” He turned to him, completely ultraged. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you home.” Mingjue retorted, putting the nearly empty bottle on a table nearby. “You are too drunk, Huaisang.”

“No! I was having fun!” He reached for the bottle. “Funkiller!” He screamed at the top of his lungs before dissolving in a mess of giggles.

“You’re absolutely wasted.” He sighed, dumping his little brother in the backseat of the car.

“No, I’m Huaisang.” Giggled as Mingjue started to leave the parking lot. “Da-ge…” He called, lifting a hand to him. “Auntie said that Uncle is marrying that whore so he could take over father’s business.”

“I’m still here.” Mingjue patted his head. “As long as I’m here, you will be fine. And father’s business too.”

“But, Da-Ge…” Huaisang groaned, turning to him.

“Go to sleep, A-Sang. No uncle of ours will take over father’s business.” The older one threw his own jacket over the other’s shoulders. “Da-Ge will resolve everything.” He stroked Huaisang’s hair, smiling sadly at his sleepy brother. “No need to worry.” Was the last thing that Nie Huaisang heard before dozing off to a dreamless sleep, the first of many nights since he moved on with Jiang Cheng.

Sincerely, he didn’t know the exact reason him and Cheng had moved in. At first thought, Jiang Cheng’s brother, Wei Ying, was moving in with his boyfriend, Lan Zhan, and Nie Huaisang needed a place near the Art Institute after he got accepted. At second thought, Da-Ge could always buy him an apartment, but he prefered to go living with his long-life crush and best friend.

Now, here he was, sleeping on his older brother’s backseat while he drove around the city, giving him time to think, sleep or do anything Huaisang wanted to. But, what Huaisang wanted to do right now was go home and hide from all the world for the rest of the weekend, just eating and watching Netflix with Jiang Cheng. And, yet, he really didn't want to deal with Jiang Cheng saying that he was irresponsible, that all he and Wei Wuxian knew was to party and just get themselves fucking wasted and a lot of other things. So, nah, not coming home tonight.

Because of that, when he woke up, Huaisang looked through the window in front of him, trying to calculate if they had already arrived at his apartment or not. He really didn’t want to deal with Jiang Cheng’s grumpiness and all of the Jiangs brothers’ dramas tonight (nor the rest of the weekend, to be true).

"Da-Ge…" He whispered, getting up slowly. "Where are we?" Huaisang asked, putting Mingjue’s jacket on.

"Almost at your home." Mingjue answered, making a soft turn. "Your husband called four times already." He smirked as his little brother came to sit on the seat next to him. “Apparently, you are two hours past your bedtime.”

"Who?" Huaisang asked, putting the seat belt on. “I don’t have a husband. Nor bedtime. I’m not living with you anymore.”

“If you say so…” The older smiled fully, stopping in front of a small building. “Here we are.”

“I don’t want to go in, Da-Ge.” He whined, turning to him slowly, after some time.

“Why not?” Mingjue asked, entering in the overprotective mood instinctively. “What did that Jiang do to you? And don’t you dare lie to me, Huaisang, because I know he did something to you. You never drank how you drank today, Huaisang! Actually you never drank anything stronger than… Than… I never saw you drinking before, Huaisang!” He waved around, looking terrified. “So, please, please, what happened? You can tell Da-Ge. Da-Ge will protect you from that monster!’ He held Huaisang’s hands, searching for the younger’s eyes.

“Da-Ge!” Huaisang looked up to him, exasperated. “Jiang Cheng did nothing wrong!” He huffed, feelling the little squish Minigjue gave to his hands. “It’s not Jiang Cheng’s fault I still have a crush on him, beside I got worried about you and dad…” But Mingjue wasn’t hearing anymore, too shocked to process anything else. “And you aren’t even listening.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, before yelling. “Da-Ge!”

“What do you mean ‘still have a crush’? When did you get a crush on that kid?!” Mingjue grabbed him, pulling him closer. “And he doesn’t love you back? Fuck business’ friendship, I’m going to commit a murder.” He whispered in Huaisang’s hair. “Don’t worry, A-Sang, Da-Ge is here.” He patted his back.

“Da-Ge!” Huaisang pushed him away. “He doesn’t know and neither do I want him to.” Huaisang murmured, leaning back into his seat. “Just… Just take me to another place, please.” He closed his eyes, not working the energy to talk with Mingjue or anyone else and, yet, expecting him to argue. But the older one just hummed in agreement and drove away (still shooting a murderous look at the small and beige building).

After that, the Nie brothers went to an old apartment of theirs. Even if Mingjue wanted to stay and take care of his younger brother, he had responsibilities with their dad’s enterprises, trips to do and new deals to make. Nie Huaisang didn’t blame him, he did all of it so he didn’t have to, that’s all. His Da-Ge only wanted him to be happy, doing what pleased him.

At first, he planned to pass only a day there, but then a day became two and, suddenly, it was Wednesday and Huaisang had even put a foot out of the loft since the party. Nie Mingjue came to visit him everyday, not commenting on what he was doing, nor saying what was happening in the world around them.

"You really didn't check on your phone since we got here?" Mingjue sighed after Huaisang asked how TongTong was doing along with Zonghui.

"No, it died three days ago. The only charge here is from my old one.” He shrugged, making coffee for them. "And I couldn't find my old one."

"I see." He took the mug from Huaisang's hand. "Have you explained why you didn't go to college this week?"

"Nope." He chuckled, popping the "p". "I didn't even manage to work up the courage to get out of here, Da-Ge, let alone actually talk to someone.”

"And what the hell were you doing here all this time?" Mingjue sighed, putting the mug down.

"I'm painting again. And drawing. I forgot how cool and relaxing it was, to just paint and don't worry about anything else." Huaisang smiled, playing with his cup. "Do you want to see them?"

"Yeah. I do, A-Sang."

“C’mon, they are in my room.” He led the way to his bedroom, even though it was usually the other one who used it in his freetime. Seriously, since he had moved in with Jiang Cheng the only places he went to was the college, Mingjue and Xichen’s house, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan’s apartment and his own apartment, beside the shopping nearby. ‘When did I get so old?’, he thought as he showed some drawings he had made that week. ‘When did I get so domesticated? And A-Cheng still says that the only thing I do is partying.’

“These are pretty cool. Thinking about putting it in your portfolio?” Mingjue asked, smiling to the scenes of birds and bees, to the neighbour’s drooling dog smiling back at him and to the… “Wait, what’s this?” He squinted his eyes, not quite believing in himself. “Is it Jiang Cheng--”

“Nope, this is personal, Da-Ge!” Huaisang pulled the paper from his hands, hiding it beneath his pillow, breathing deeply. “What about the other ones? Did you like it?”

“Yes, but I’m more interested in the one beneath your pillow.” He crossed his arms, smirking at him. “Was the young Jiang here these days?”

“No, Da-Ge, A-Cheng is at home, studying and, probably, hitting on a girl in his class.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he only talks about her! He’s always like Hua Mei this, Hua Mei that. She is gentle as a morning breeze and smooth as a petal.” He murmured, pouting. “That little shit didn’t even notice that it was always me, me, who was there for him. Not Hua Mei.”

“A-Sang, don’t take it wrong, but you should get back because your man asks me about you every single day!” Mingjue said, sitting on the bed. “Every single day, the Jiang boy asks where are you? Why aren’t you going to class?”

“He does?” Huaisang turned to him, momentarily forgetting his paintings.

“Of course, he does.” Mingjue huffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s getting annoying.”

“Oh!” He said, fidgeting his nails, stopping for a while. If it was true what Mingjue was saying, maybe, just maybe, Nie Huaisang had been a little bit too blind too, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He just had to muster up the courage to get out of the loft and actually talk to his crush. “Do you know if he is in class now? Or something like that?”

“For what I know, he is currently in class, sending you messages a mile per hour.” Mingjue fished the phone from his back pocket, looking at its screen for a second. “A cousin of us does the same classes as Jiang Cheng and said she would keep an eye on him for you.”

“Which cousin? A-Hua? I remember she wanted to be a veterinarian.” He said, laying behind him. “Or it was A-Liang?”

“A-Hua. Wang Hua Mei.” He smirked as realization came to his didi, his eyes widening with every minute. “Yes, our little cousin Wang Hua Mei who is a lesbian and a veterinary student.”

“I was jealous of A-Hua? The little A-Hua?! No!” He hid his face with his hands, howling dramatically. “I can’t believe this! Please, tell me TongTong don’t know this.”

“Of course I know this, sweet cousin. I know everything that happens in this crazy family, including the affairs and jealousy.” TongTong laughed, smiling. “Aaand you should thank me too. I made damage control on that video of us dancing. In the wedding.”

“What video?” Huaisang looked between his fingers, fear cradling at his insides.

“The one where you scream Fuck Jiang Wanyin so many times it became the name of the video.” Nie Mingjue said, smiling too.

“And to best everything, Let’s Kill This Love is blasting in full volume.” TongTong sat by his head, caressing his hair. “You really know the choreography, uhm?”

“Of course I do.” He mumbled, trying to hold the tears back. Now Jiang Cheng wouldn’t look at his face ever again. “I really screamed Fuck Jiang Wanyin?”

“It’s the name of the video, A-Sang, dear. What do you think?” She sighed, eyes looking fondly at him.

“Oh, gods! A-Cheng isn’t going to look at me ever again, Da-Ge!” Nie Huaisang groaned, trying to not scream too loudly. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know, fight back, try to talk with him, change your name and move to the USA.” Nie Mingjue shrugged, getting up. “Either way you choose, you will have to get out of this loft, get your things in your apartment and know that your family is by your side. Now, get up, hand me that painting of the Jiang kid and let me be the judge if it will go to your portfolio or not.”

“What painting?” TongTong said, perking up.

“Da-Ge!” Nie Huaisang screamed, but pulled the painting from beneath the pillow nevertheless. He may not know what he was going to do right now, but he knew that his family was going to be by his side at any circumstance. Because that’s what you do when you are part of the Nie family, you take care of each other and let yourself be taken care of.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, maybe the idea of bringing Nie Mingjue, TongTong, Nie Zonghui and A-Hua wasn’t the greatest idea Nie Huaisang ever had in his life, but they were family and certainly would intervene in the talk he was about to have with Jiang Cheng. If they did, then he would accept Nie Mingjue’s advice and move to the USA as quickly as he could because they were going to start screaming with Jiang Cheng and one another and Nie Huaisang would be kicked out of his home. And if there were a few things that he couldn’t stand, being humiliated was on top of them all.

“Okay, listen. I’m going to talk to him, okay? No need to shout or intervene or pull any weapon I didn’t manage to find before we came here, alright?” He turned to them, trying to look like the personification of calm and collected. “It’s just a talk, nothing that I can’t handle. There’s nothing to panic over. Everything is fine.”

“A-Sang, dear, you look like you want to be everywhere minus here.” TongTong said, passing him a fan. “Here, you forgot this at the party.”

“Thank you.” He said, breathing deep as he looked for the spare key they usually let hidden on his plants. “Ah, here.” He pulled it out, shaking it a little. “Breathe, Huaisang, it’s very unlike that he is going to be home now.” He whispered, behind his fan, looking to the sides. “Everyth--”

“Nie Huaisang.” Jiang Cheng growled, coming out of the kitchen, hearing an apron and yielding a knife.

“Da-Ge!” He yelped, running to hide behind Nie Mingjue. “Help”

“Haven’t you said that you didn’t need our help?” Nie Mingjue snickered, looking at him over his shoulder. “It’s just a talk, nothing I can’t handle. It was something like that, right?”

“Shut up.” He murmured, making himself look smaller.

“Hold yourself, kiddo.” Nie Zonghui rolled his eyes, a hand inside his jacket. “Put the knife down, Young Master Jiang.”

“Why the hell didn’t you answer my calls?! Or my messages?!” He said, walking to him. “Excuse us. Can you leave?”

“Ooh, I like him. He has no brain cells, just pure and beautiful anger.” TongTong whispered to A-Hua, smiling like crazy.

“Jiang-xiong has brain cells, he is just too worried with Huaisang-gege and kind of angry too.” She whispered back, laughing behind her hands. “They are kind of cute together, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Good propaganda too.”

“TongTong!” She slapped her arm as the other just shrugged.

“Let go of the knife and I will step back.” Nie Mingjue said, looking amused at him. “Now, Wanyin.”

“Fine.” Jiang Cheng turned around, scowling as he put the knife on the small cafe table Jiang Yanli gave them. “Happy now?”

“Yeah…” The oldest Nie of the room stepped aside, smirking at him. "For now."

"Why didn't you respond to my messages, Huaisang? Just because of that video?" He said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yes?" Nie Huaisang said, hiding behind his fan.

"That's it? Yes?" He crossed his arms. "No more explanation?"

"I panicked, okay? I thought you weren’t going to look at my face ever again and hide.” Nie Huaisang started, knowing fully well that he would start rambling. “I was angry at you, okay? Every single time you opened your mouth, you would talk about Hua-Mei this, Hei-Mua that and I was getting jealous, alright? To worsen everything, when I arrived at the party, my fucking aunt simply glued on me and would let go, insisting that my uncle was marrying another woman so he could get children and usurp Dad’s company because Da-Ge insists that he is not dating Lan Xichen. But everybody knows that they are dating. And nobody believes that I could command it because I’m just the ‘poor and innocent A-Sang’!”

“Huaisang. Huaisang. NIE HUAISANG!” Jiang Cheng screamed, clapping his hands together. “Breathe!” He instructed when Nie Huaisang looked at him.

“No! Now that I started, I will finish. I was angry at you, I was angry at my poor Aunt who did nothing more than tell me gossip and I was angry at Hua-Mei without reason.” He pointed at her, fan furiously coming back and forth in front of him. “So, I started drinking and Wu brought me a bottle and I got another from who knows who and then TongTong asked if I knew how to dance Let’s Kill This Love. Of course I know how to dance it. I remember dancing, drinking and not caring even when Da-Ge put me on his shoulder and carried me out of there.”

“Why didn’t you come home?” Jiang Cheng crossed his arms again.

“Because I couldn’t look at your face, see you praising someone else and deal with the Jiang brother’s drama while drunk and dealing with my own drama and drinking. I was fucking wasted, A-Cheng, my hangover was horrible and I didn’t left the loft for nothing but do go get some groceries.” He answered, rubbing his face. "That 's it! Happy now?”

“So you're telling me that you got jealous over me and Hua-Mei, who is a lesbian and have a girlfriend…”

“And cousin.” The girl added, smiling.

“I didn’t know that at the time.” Nie Huaisang grumbled.

“And cousin, angered yourself in the wedding, got yourself drunk, started dancing with your another cousin and screamed Fuck Jiang Wanyin seventeen times in a row while singing Let’s Kill This Love?” Jiang Cheng carried on, lifting one finger to each action he quoted. “That’s why you didn’t answer my messages?”

“My phone died and I didn’t have a charger nearby.” He shrugged, still slowly fanning himself. “Sorry.” Jiang Cheng stayed silent, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. Some moments passed and nobody said a thing, just looking at each other as if trying to determine what was going to help next.

“A-Cheng, say something, please.” Nie Huaisang begged, when it all got too much for him.

“So, you like me?” Jiang Cheng said, looking uncertain of himself.

“Yes, A-Cheng, I like you.” He smiled as TongTong groaned behind him and A-Hua chuckled.

“Good, don’t this again or last time I will break your legs.” He took the knife back, walking to the kitchen. “I’m making dinner, put the table.”

“Okay, okay.” Nie Huaisang smiled, following him, chuckling when he heard Nie Mingjue said begrudgingly.

“Did he just use my threat?”

“Yeah, he did.” Nie Zonghui said, chuckling too.

"I'm liking him even more." TongTong said as A-Hua agreed with her. "We are staying for dinner, aren't we?"

"Yeah. I'm fucking hungry." Nie Mingjue said and Nie Huaisangī wouldn’t be happier than he already was.

“Just so you know, I like you back. Since we were in school.” Jiang Cheng whispered to him, nudging his arm with his elbow.

“Does this mean we are dating?” He whispered back, a smile forming on his lips.

“I think so. What you think?” He smiled back, returning to where he was cutting the vegetables before.

“Yes! I love you!” Nie Huaisang jumped at him, kissing his face.

“Careful, you idiot, I’m holding a knife!” He screamed, but soon he was laughing too. And if Nie Mingjue and the others looked inside the kitchen and screamed at them for delaying dinner with their smooches, Nie Huaisang didn’t care because now he was truly happy! He was dating his childhood crush, his family were by his side and happy for him and even if there were things that were kind of bad in his life, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Alone or not.

#sangcheng #sangchengber #sangchengmonth2020 #sangcheng month #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #nie zonghui #my ocs: nie tong and wang hua mei #im sorry if this names are shitty #i tried to be as accurate as possible #jiang cheng #drunking #this was kind of funny to write

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spn-safeandsound · 4 years

Text

16. The Yellow-Eyed Demon

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x22; Devil’s Trap

Word Count: 9,163

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, murder, blood

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating for a while. This is the last chapter in season one. I hope you enjoy! Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlist in Pinned Post!

Dean shakily snapped his phone shut. "They have Dad."

Even though Julia and Sam already knew that, having Dean confirm it made everything feel worse. If Dean was shaken that meant things were bad; he was their rock who was hardly scared of anything and to see him so upset made things so much worse.

"Dean..." Julia said hesitantly, wanting to comfort him in some way. Dean was focused, though, grabbing the Colt from the nightstand between their beds and tucking it into the back of his jeans. "What are we going to do?"

"We got to go," Dean said quickly, grabbing his duffle bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Why?" Sam asked as Julia went to make sure everything was in her bag; when she was satisfied that everything was in place, she zipped it close.

"Because the demon knows we're in Salvation, all right?" Dean slipped on his jacket. "It knows we have the Colt. It's got Dad—it's probably coming for us next."

"Good," Sam declared. "We've still got three bullets left. Let it come."

Dean whipped around to face Sam, his eyes wild. "Listen, tough guy, we're not ready, okay? We don't know how many of them are out there and we're no good to anybody dead. We're leaving now."

"Sam," Julia touched his arm for only a second. "Let's go."

An hour later, they were a hundred and some miles away from Salvation. Sam was still sulking about the fact they left Salvation but Dean wasn't worried about it and Julia ignored him in order to text Abby for help.

"I'm telling you, Dean, we could have taken him," Sam spoke up tensely.

"What we need is a plan," Dean changed the subject. "Now, they're probably keeping Dad alive so we just gotta figure out where."

"You think they're gonna trade him for the gun?" Julia asked him, briefly looking up from her cellphone.

Dean nodded in confirmation but Sam shook his head.

"What?"

"Dean, if that were true, why didn't Meg mention a trade?" Sam's voice trembled. "Dad, he might be—"

"Don't!" Dean cut him off.

Sam sighed, thinking that Dean was in denial. "Look, I don't want to believe it any more than you but if he is, all the more reason to kill this damn thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job."

"Fuck the job, Sam!" Dean grunted.

"Dean, I'm just trying to do what he would want. He would want us to keep going."

"Quit talking about him like he's dead already," Dean scolded his brother. "Listen to me, everything stops until we get him back, you understand me? Everything."

Sam was quiet for a moment before speaking up again. "So, how do we find him?"

"Maybe we got Lincoln," Dean suggested. "Start at the warehouse where he was taken."

"I don't think the demons will leave a trail," Julia interjected.

Dean nodded. "You're right," he agreed. "We need help."

"Well, I reached out to Abby," Julia told the brothers, looking at the text that Abby sent her. "She can't leave her hunt but she told me that we should go to Uncle Bobby's house."

"Bobby Singer, huh?" Dean hummed. "If he actually wants to help us. He and Dad had a falling out a couple years ago. I haven't seen him since."

"He's probably over it. Besides, he's not gonna turn away the Winchester boys when they need help. He adores you two."

Dean sighed and pressed on the gas pedal. "Looks like we're heading to Sioux Falls, then."

Julia was right about Bobby; he let them right in, giving tight hugs to all three of them. Despite the fact that he was glad to see him, he had to make sure they were really them—especially since they called ahead and told him what was going on. He handed a flask of holy water to Julia and she took a sip—with no reaction, she quickly went to Bobby's desk, reading the large book on demons that he got out for him.

"Here you go," Bobby handed Dean the flask of holy water and the flask that he didn't offer Julia; she assumed it was alcohol.

"What is this, holy water?" Dean studied the flask.

"That one is. This—" he showed him the other flask and took a sip of it. "is whiskey."

Dean drank the holy water and passed it off to Sam before taking the whiskey Bobby offered him.

"Bobby, thanks," Dean said gratefully as Sam took a sip of holy water and whiskey. "Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure we should come."

"Nonsense," Bobby waved him off. "Your daddy needs help."

"Well, yeah, but the last time we saw you—I mean—you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything," Dean reminded him; Julia smiled to herself and continued looking through the book, stopping on the page about devil's traps.

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" Bobby shrugged indifferently. "John just has that affect on people."

"Yeah, I guess he does," Dean chuckled lightly while Sam nodded in agreement.

"None of that matters now," Bobby clapped Sam and Dean's shoulders. "All that matters is that you get him back."

"Uncle Bobby," Julia called for him, reading the rest of the writing about devil's traps. "Where did you get this book? It has great info."

Bobby walked around the desk and stopped at her side. "Key of Solomon? Your daddy gave it to me," he told her. "It's the real deal, all right."

Sam drifted to Julia's other side, scanning the page. "And these protective circles, they really work?"

"They do," Julia confirmed before Bobby could say anything. "If a demon walks into one, they can't move and they're powerless. There a few under the floorboards at home."

"It's like a satanic roach motel," Bobby added.

Sam chuckled while Dean walked over to them. "You two know your stuff."

Bobby smiled slightly. "I'll tell you something else, too. This is some serious shit you three stepped in."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam looked at him curiously. "How's that?"

"A normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four," Bobby informed them. "This year, I hear of twenty-seven so far. You get what I'm saying? More and more demons are walking among us—a lot more."

Julia raised her eyebrows and wrinkled her nose, alarmed. "Do you know why?"

"No but I know it's something big," Bobby shook his head. "The storm's coming and you boys, your daddy—you are smack in the middle of it."

Before Sam and Dean—or Julia, for that matter—could say anything, Bobby's dog, Rumsfeld, started barking loudly. Bobby stiffened and headed over to the window to see what was going on.

"Rumsfeld, what is it?" the barking abruptly stopped; Bobby looked back at Julia, Sam, and Dean. "Something's wrong."

The door burst open and Meg appeared, easily stepping into the house. Julia and Sam backed up as Dean inconspicuously grabbed the flask of holy water.

"No more crap, okay?" Meg snarled at them.

Dean screwed open the flask and advanced on her. Meg waved her hand and he went flying, straight into one of the huge piles of books. He ended up knocking it over and falling unconscious.

Sam protectively stepped in front of Julia and Bobby while Meg laid her eyes on him.

"I want the Colt, Sam," she said sternly. "The real Colt—right now."

Julia grabbed Sam's arm and slowly backed away into the living room, Bobby right by her side. Their goal was to get Meg to follow them and get stuck under the devil's trap that Bobby had painted onto the ceiling. It was working so far; Meg was steadily approaching them.

"We don't have it on us," Sam lied to her. "We buried it."

"Did I say no more crap?" Meg called him out. "I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed. First, Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun and then he leaves the real gun with you chuckleheads," she entered the living room, standing right under the devil's trap; Julia had to hide her smirk. "I mean, did you really thing I wouldn't find you?"

"Actually," Julia spoke up, her eyes flicking from Meg to Dean, who was now standing behind her. "We were counting on it."

Meg turned around to look at Dean and, when his eyes went to the ceiling, she followed his gaze. The devil's trap loomed over her, making her unable to move a single toe.

Dean smirked at her, anger blazing in his green eyes. "Gotcha."

Julia, Sam, Dean, and Bobby quickly got to work. Julia grabbed her journal to make sure the exorcism she had memorized when she was a kid was correct and she had all the right words and pronunciations, Sam and Dean got a chair and tied Meg to it, and Bobby went to salt the doors and windows and grab a flask full of holy water.

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask," Meg drawled, staring over at Sam and Dean.

Dean nor Sam responded to her but Meg did earn herself an eyeroll from Julia.

Bobby came back into the living room. "I salted the doors and windows," he told the three of them. "If there are any demons out there, they ain't getting in."

Dean nodded at him and slowly walked over to Meg. "Where's our father, Meg?"

"You didn't ask very nice."

"Where's our father, bitch?" Dean casually corrected himself.

"Jeez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" she scoffed before adding mockingly, "Oh wait, I forgot. You don't."

Julia could feel Dean's energy flip; his anger about his father and the whole demon situation had turned much darker—he was furious and he was going to do whatever it took to get information out of Meg. On the other hand, Meg's energy was pure black, swimming with evil and darkness. It was horrible to experience but her brief run-in with the yellow-eyed demon had been much, much worse.

Dean moved quickly, leaning over Meg with his hands clenched around both arms of her chair. "You think this is a fucking game?" he shouted at her. "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

"He died screaming," Meg answered calmly. "I killed him myself."

Dean glared at her, pure hate in his eyes, and harshly slapped her across the face. Julia flinched as Meg's head whipped to the side from the blow but she quickly looked back at him with a smirk.

"That's kind of a turn-on," she said slyly. "you hitting a girl."

"You're no girl," Dean sneered.

Julia exchanged a knowing look with Bobby; they both knew that Meg was possessing someone and the girl she was wearing was more than likely innocent. Bobby stood from his leaning position from the wall and beckoned Dean into the study. Dean followed him with Julia and Sam on his heels.

"You okay?" Sam asked his brother, concerned.

"She's lying," Dean declared. "He's not dead."

"Dean, you got to be careful with her," Bobby advised him. "Don't hurt her."

Dean gave him a bewildered look. "Why?"

"Because she really is a girl, that's why."

"What are you talking about?" Sam wondered.

"She's possessed," Julia told them. "Meg is possessing that poor girl's body."

Dean glanced back at Meg, who was glaring at him, before turning back to the others. "Are you trying to tell me that there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there?"

Bobby and Julia nodded in unison; Dean briefly looked at Meg again.

"That's actually good news," he stated, turning to Julia. "Jules, you still have that exorcism memorized?"

"Yeah," she nodded in confirmation. "and I have it in my journal just in case."

"Good girl," he praised her; she flushed as he turned to Sam and Bobby. "Let's send this bitch back to Hell."

Julia grabbed her journal, opening it up to the pages she bookmarked, while Dean and Sam went to stand in front of Meg. Meg's eyes flashed from Julia to Sam and Dean.

"Are you gonna read me a story?"

Dean angrily gritted his teeth. "Something like that," he looked over to Julia. "Go on, shortcake."

Julia immediately started to recite the exorcism. "Regna terrae, cantate deo, pasallite domino..."

She kept going as Meg smirked at Sam and Dean. "An exorcism? Are you serious?"

"Oh, we're going for it, sweetheart—head spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards."

"...Tribuite virtutem deo..."

Meg flinched as Julia ended the first phase of the exorcism, grunting in pain. Julia immediately looked to Dean and Sam, wondering if she should keep on going.

Meg looked over her shoulder at Julia and then back at Sam and Dean. "I'm going to kill you. I'm gonna rip the bones from your body."

"No, you're gonna burn in Hell," Dean shot back at her. "Unless you tell us where our dad is?"

Meg smiled smugly at him.

"Well, at least you're get a nice tan," he snarked and then nodded at Julia. "Jules."

"Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversaii, omnis legio, omnis congregation et sectra diabolica—"

Meg jerked and cried out in pain, trying to fight off the effect that the exorcism had on her. "He begged for his life with tears in his eyes," she shouted at Sam and Dean. "He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat."

Julia continued. "Ergo...

"For your sake, I hope you're lying," Dean leaned over Meg again, pure rage covering his face. "Cause if it's true, I swear to God that I will march into Hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches. So help me, God!"

"...Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, santana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae..." the room started to cool, wind coming out of nowhere and blowing things around. "...Hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine. Quem inferi tremunt—"

As Meg made another noise of pain, Dean glared at her. "Where is he?"

Meg gave him a dirty look that was full of pain. "You won't just take dead for an answer, will you?"

"Where is he?"

"Dead!"

"No, he's not!" Dean screamed at her. "He is not dead! He can't be!"

Sam gave his brother a look of concern and Dean turned to him, sensing eyes on him.

"What are you looking at?" he asked Sam before turning to Julia. "Keep going."

"Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, domine. Ut eccelsiam tuam secura tibi facias litertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos."

Meg screamed but Julia kept going.

"Ut inimicos sanctae eccelesiae humiliare digneris..." Meg's chair started moving, forcing her around the devil's trap. "Ut inimicos sanctae, ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus audi—"

"He will be!" Meg shouted, cutting off Julia.

"Wait, what?" Sam looked down at her in shock.

"He's not dead but he will be after what we do to him."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Dean asked her harshly.

"You don't."

Dean nodded at Julia to keep going. "Julia!"

Meg spoke up before Julia could start up again. "A building, okay? A building in Jefferson City."

"Missouri?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Where? Give us an address."

"I don't know," Meg was breathing harshly.

"And the demon—the one we're looking for—where is it?" he insisted.

"I don't know," Meg repeated. "I swear! That's everything. That's all I know."

Dean stared down at her for a long second, his jaw clenched angrily, and then looked back at Julia. "Finish it."

"What?" Meg protested. "I told you the truth."

"And I don't care."

"You son of a bitch, you promised!"

"I lied," Dean shouted back at her. "Julia!"

Julia wanted nothing more to send Meg back to Hell but the more she thought about it, she wondered if it was a good idea. The girl that Meg was possessing had dropped from seven-stories—if she exorcised Meg, the girl would die. She was sure of it.

"Julia?"

Sam looked as hesitant as Julia did. "Maybe we can still use her," he suggested to Dean. "Find out where the demon is."

"She doesn't know," Dean spoke lowly.

"She lied!"

"Sam, there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there," Dean reminded him. "We've got to help her."

"We're gonna kill her," Julia walked over to them at the same time as Bobby.

Dean gave her a strange look. "What?"

"You said she fell from a building," Bobby backed her up. "That girl's body is broken. The only thing keeping her alive is that demon inside. You exorcise it and that girl is going to die."

Dean inhaled deeply before adopting a stern face. "Listen to me, all three of you. We are not gonna leave like that."

"She's a human being."

"And we're gonna put her out of her misery," Dean snapped at Bobby. "Julia, finish it."

Julia knew that Dean was right but that didn't make her feel any better about what she had to do. At the end of it all, though, she knew it was best to put the girl Meg was possessing out of her misery. She had never been possessed but she knew that it was terrible on the victim.

"Dominicos sanctae ecclesiae, terogamus audi nos. Terribilis deus de scantuario suo deus israhel. Ipse tribruite virtutem et fortitudinem plebe suae. Benedictus dues Gloria patri!"

The exorcism worked. Meg screamed as her head was thrown back and black smoke escaped from her mouth. Once the black smoke disappeared, the real Meg Masters' head fell forward, chin pressed against her collar bone.

Julia snapped her journal closed and rushed over to Meg, seeing the blood drip steadily out of her mouth. "She's still alive," she told Dean, Bobby, and Sam after feeling Meg's slow pulse. "Call 9-1-1 and get some water and blankets."

"Thank you," Meg managed to whisper as Julia untied her wrists and ankles from the chair.

"Shh, shh," Julia shushed her gently. "Just hold on, okay?"

"Here," Dean and Sam hovered behind the girls. "Let us get her down."

Julia nodded and stood up. "Be careful."

Meg's bones creaked as Dean and Sam gently picked her up, making Julia flinch and start tearing up. She couldn't stand the girl's cries and whimpers of pain; she felt such sorrow for her and all that she went through.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam apologized as they lowered her to the floor. "It's okay, it's okay."

Julia grabbed a throw pillow from Bobby's couch and gently laid it under her head before kneeling next to Sam.

"A year," Meg wheezed quietly. "It's been a year."

"Shh," Sam comforted her. "Just take it easy."

"I've been awake for some of it," Meg continued. "I couldn't move my own body. The things I did—it's a nightmare."

Tears fell down Julia's cheeks at Meg's admission. It was times like this that Julia questioned God. How could he let good, genuine people like Meg suffer at the hands of evil?

"Was it telling the truth about our dad?" Dean asked her.

Julia gave him a sharp look. "Dean."

"We need to know," he insisted.

"Yes," Meg confirmed breathlessly. "but it wants...you to know...that...they want you to come for him."

"If Dad's alive, none of that matters."

Bobby entered the living room, a glass of water and another blanket in his hand. He handed the water to Dean, who held up Meg's head and helped her drink. Once she was done, Sam gently laid her head back down on the floor.

"Where is the demon we're looking for?" he asked her.

"Not there," Meg's breathing was slower now. "Other ones. Awful ones."

"Where are they keeping our dad?"

"By the river...Sunrise..."

"Sunrise?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "What does that mean? What does that mean?"

"Stop, Dean," Julia sternly before looking down at Meg to comfort her. "It's gonna be okay, Meg. You're safe now."

Meg smiled weakly at her as her heart stopped beating her and breathing stopped. That smile was still on her face when Sam closed her eyes. Julia sighed and bowed her head, saying a prayer for Meg and hoping that she would be going to Heaven where she would be in paradise.

"You three better hurry up and beat it before the paramedics get here," Bobby told them only minutes later as they all walked into the office-dining room.

"What are you gonna tell them?" Dean wondered.

"You think you guys invented lying to the cops? I'll figure something out," Bobby took the Key of Solomon off his desk and handed it to Julia. "Here, take this. It belongs to you."

Julia took the book with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby."

"Thanks for everything," Dean added. "Be careful, all right?"

"You just go find your dad," Bobby clapped his shoulder. "And, when you do, you bring him around, would you? I won't even try to shoot him this time."

Sam chuckled. "We will."

They arrived in Jefferson City six-and-a-half hours later, thanks to Dean's crazy-ass driving. They stopped just outside of town, in an empty field next to the train tracks, in order to make sure all their weapons were ready to go.

Sam and Julia occupied themselves as Dean checked the weapons, flipping through the Key of Solomon. Julia quietly answered any of Sam's questions—to the best of her abilities, anyway—but kept glancing over at Dean, who was quiet and melancholy.

She pointed out the devil's traps to Sam before she walked over to Dean's side. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean said shortly, adding more holy water to their weapon's duffle.

"You're not, Dean," she squeezed her hand through his arm to wrap hers around his waist. Dean easily gave in and relaxed in her hold, pressing his forehead to her hair; she rubbed her thumb against his back to comfort him. "Everything is going to be okay."

"You don't know that," Dean murmured.

"Well, I have faith and I have hope," she replied into his bicep, her lips brushing against the old leather of his jacket. "And you're Dean Winchester. You're invincible."

Dean scoffed slightly and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "Jules..."

Julia lifted her head and happily received the quick peck he gave her on the lips. "I know."

She could feel what he couldn't say. He was grateful and loving and nervous and scared. He was glad she was here with him and Sam and he was glad that she was his and he was hers. She felt the same way. Julia loved him—she was in love with him.

It's funny how you don't notice something—or how you feel—until it comes down to a scary situation. Julia had already known that she liked Dean as more than a friend but she didn't realize she loved him until now. She would die for Dean and she would kill for Dean and she would comfort Dean and she would do anything for him—she was oblivious until this moment.

And she wanted to tell Dean that she was in love with him but she couldn't. Dean wanted to take their relationship slowly and she was pretty sure that she had never heard him say those three words before—not even to Sam. Plus, with the fact that Sam was within hearing distance made her hesitate as well. He didn't know about her and Dean.

Until now, anyway...

Sam appeared out of nowhere and it was Dean who noticed him first. He quickly pulled away from Julia, where they were pressing their foreheads together, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Julia faced Sam, wrinkling her nose. "Oh, hi, Sam."

"Hi there," Sam smirked triumphantly at his best friend and his brother. "So, how long has this been going on?"

"None of your business," Dean said gruffly, unwrapping his arm from around Julia and getting back to work on the weapons. Julia gave Sam a pointed look, silently telling him that she give him details—non-sexual details, of course—later when they were alone.

"You're quiet," Sam changed the subject knowingly.

"Just getting ready."

Sam nodded. "He's gonna be fine, Dean."

Dean didn't answer but Sam nor Julia expected him to. Sam went back to the Key of Solomon and read the last of the page about Devil's traps. "Hey, J, come here."

Julia patted Dean on the lower back, earning herself a small smile, and made her way over to Sam. "What's up?"

"If we draw one of these on the trunk, could a demon get in?" he whispered quietly.

"No," Julia answered softly, shaking her head. "Unless the trap is broken, no demons will be able to get inside."

Sam nodded and pulled out two white wax pencil from his bag and handed one to her. Julia nodded, realizing what he wanted done, and went to the trunk where Dean concentrating on packing the weapons.

While Sam went to the other side of the trunk, she wiped off the dirt that had been coated on Baby from the stretch of driving more than thirty hours in two days. She started drawing a devil's trap on the space she cleared off.

"Dude," Dean huffed, walking over to Sam. "What are you drawing on my car?"

"It's a devil's trap," Sam answered casually. "Demons can't get through it or inside it."

"So?" Dean's eyes flickered over to Julia, where she was just finishing up. "You too, Junior?"

Julia gave him an apologetic smile and tossed the pencil back in Sam's seat. "They turn the trunk into a lockbox."

"So?"

"So, we now have a place to hide the Colt while we go get Dad," Sam explained patiently.

"What are you talking about? We're bring the Colt with us."

"We can't, Dean," Sam shook his head. "We've only got three bullets left. We can't just use them on any demon. We've got to use them on the demon."

"No, we have to save Dad, Sam," Dean argued. "We're gonna need all the help we can get."

Sam sighed, irritated, and finished his devil's trap. "Dean, you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets? He wouldn't want us to bring the gun."

"I don't care, Sam. I don't care what Dad wants," Dean declared firmly. "And since when do you care about what Dad wants?"

"Dean, Sam, come on," Julia sighed. "Now, more than ever, is not a good time to fight."

The brothers either heard what she said but chose not to acknowledge it or they were just ignoring her.

"We want to kill this demon!" Sam exclaimed. "You used to want that, too. Hell, you're the one who came and got me at school!" Dean scoffed and shook his head. "You're the one who dragged me back into this. I'm just trying to finish it!"

"Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that?" Dean retorted. "You both can't wait to sacrifice yourselves for this thing but you know what? Me and Jules, we're the ones who are gonna have to bury you."

Julia pressed her lips together, already devastated at the mere thought of Sam being dead.

"You're selfish, you know that," Dean continued when Sam sighed. "You don't care about anything but revenge."

"That's not true, Dean," Sam argued; Dean scoffed. "I want Dad back but they are expecting us to bring this gun. It they get the gun, they will kill us all. The Colt is our only leverage and you know it. We cannot bring that gun. We can't."

Honestly, Julia didn't know what to think. Both Sam and Dean had good points but there really wasn't a right way to do this. She was more inclined to agree with Sam, though, but she didn't speak up. She was merely a bystander in this fight or back-up when they needed it. Sure, she'd fight like hell but she wouldn't call the shots.

Dean was quiet for a moment before he agreed, "Fine."

"I'm serious, Dean!"

"I said fine, Sam!" Dean raised his voice, very obviously annoyed. He took the Colt out of his pocket and put it close to Sam's face, obnoxiously shaking it, before throwing it into the trunk.

"There's an hour until sunset," Julia spoke up, opening her door. "We better get going."

Dean and Sam nodded, both of them getting into the Impala.

They parked the Impala in a free parking lot by the Mississippi River before they started to walk around to see if they could find anything that related to what Meg had told them before she succumbed to her injuries.

The weather was absolutely beautiful and being by the river during summertime reminded Julia of her summers at home. Lake Michigan was practically her home during her least favorite season. The heavenly breeze, the smell of the water, the crashing of waves, the cheerful cries of kids playing with their friends, siblings, and parents...it was one of the truest forms of nostalgia for her.

"Hey, check it out," Dean said suddenly, stopping Sam and Julia and pointing at the nearest apartment building. "I think I know what Meg meant by sunrise."

The apartment building had a large sign in front of it, declaring the name of the company who owned it. Sunrise Apartments.

"Wow."

"Son of a bitch, that's pretty smart," Dean looked reluctant to give the demons any kind of compliment. "I mean, if these demons can possess people, they can possess almost anybody inside."

"Yeah and make anybody attack us," Sam pointed out.

"So, we won't be able to exorcise them," Julia hummed. "It's a building full of their pick of humans."

"They probably know exactly what we look like, too," Sam added. "And they could look like anybody."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "This fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it," Sam agreed with him while Julia nodded. "All right, so, how the fuck are we going to get in?"

Dean pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "We can pull the fire alarm," he suggested. "and get out all the civilians."

"But the city will respond in seven minutes," Julia wrinkled her nose.

Dean nodded. "Exactly."

Within five minutes, the alarm was pulled by Sam and was blaring loudly from almost every part of the building. In the seven minutes that it took the firemen to get to the building, Julia, Sam, and Dean planned out what they were going to do. Dean and Julia would distract one of the firemen while Sam broke into their truck and stole two firemen uniforms. They would go in and Julia would wait by the fire escape to wait for their call before climbing up the apartment.

Julia and Dean joined the group of civilians coming out of the apartment and waited a minute until they approached the fire chief.

"Hey, what's happening?" Dean asked him, acting nervous. "Is it a fire?"

"We're figuring that out right now, sir," the fire chief replied politely. "Just stay back."

"We've got a dachshund upstairs," Julia made her voice shaky and forced herself to tear up. "He pees when he's nervous."

"Sir, ma'am, you have to stay back," the fire chief repeated patiently and started escorting them back to the group of apartment owners.

Once the man left them, Dean turned to Julia with an excited look on his face. "I've always wanted to be a fireman."

Julia grinned at him, melting from how adorable he was. "That's cute."

"Well, I was thinking more sexy than cute," Dean smirked down at her. "Would you like that better?"

Julia flushed and shrugged. "I like you both ways, Dean Winchester, but..."

"But what?"

Julia flashed him a sly but sexy smile. "I think I would prefer the sexy version."

Dean's eyes darkened. "Oh, baby," he groaned quietly so he wasn't overheard by any of the people they were standing next to. "When this is all over, we're getting ourselves a hotel room and we're not leaving for a week."

Julia giggled. "Promise?"

Dean snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, letting her feel his semi-hard cock. "Does this feel like a promise?"

Julia shook her head in amusement and buried her face against his chest. She pressed a chaste kiss between his pecks, near where his heart would be.

"Dean, Julia!" Sam approached them, looking annoyed by their flirting in the middle of a very serious situation. "Let's go!"

Dean and Sam quickly changed into the firemen uniforms that Sam snatched and grabbed holy water, salt, and a EMF device. Dean made sure that he gave Julia a good-luck kiss—it was kind of freeing that Sam knew about them now—before he and Sam made their way into the apartment building.

Julia stood on the first level of the fire escaped, waiting until Sam and Dean called her with the location of the apartment the demons were holed up in. Her phone rang only six minutes after the brothers left, telling her that they were on the third floor and it was the third apartment.

Julia raced up the stairs, climbing as fast as she could to the third floor. She counted the windows, hoping that every apartment had two, and chose the one that was likely to be the third apartment. She was able to unlock the window with the knife that Dean got for her and, when she slid it open, she sighed in relief when she saw John passed out and tied to the bed.

She could hear a commotion going on outside of the bedroom but she ignored it for the moment, climbing into the apartment. Once she was securely inside, she rushed over to the bed, checked John's pulse—she was very relieved to know that he was still alive—and started untying the ropes around his wrists.

There was a lot of banging going on in what she assumed was the living room and kitchen but it died down within seconds.

"Julia?" she heard Dean call. "Jules, are you here?"

"In here!" she told him loudly, taking out her flask of holy water. "I found your dad!"

The door quickly opened and Sam and Dean walked in, staring at their father in shock.

"Dad?"

"He's still breathing," Julia informed them.

Sam sighed in relief while Dean went to her side. He started shaking his father, trying to get him to wake up. "Dad, wake up. Dad!"

"Hold on," Julia cautioned him, screwing the cap off her flask.

"What are you doing?"

"He could be possessed," she answered Dean. She poured some water on John's face, relieved when nothing happened and he started to wake up. "All good."

"Julia?" John groaned groggily. "Why are you pouring water on me?"

Julia laughed lightly as Dean gave John a worried look. "Dad, are you okay?"

"They've been drugging me," John gave a non-answer. "Where's the Colt?"

Of course that was what he was worried about.

"Don't worry, Dad, it's safe," Sam assured him.

"Good boys, good boys," John breathed.

Dean and Sam helped John off the bed, wrapping his arms around each of their shoulders, and started carrying him out of the bedroom, following Julia. Just as they were about to reach the kitchen, where the door was located, it was burst open by a fireman and a mail carrier.

Julia immediately turned around. "Go, go!" she urged the brothers. "The fire escape."

Sam shut the bedroom door behind them and, while the fireman demon was destroying the door with his ax, he sprinkled a line of salt in front of it. Meanwhile, Julia was helping Dean and John out onto the fire escape.

"Sam, let's go!" Dean called urgently.

Sam hurried over and climbed out of the apartment, handing the salt to Julia as he helped Dean with John. Julia poured salt on the window sill just as the demons broke into the room and quickly followed Sam, Dean, and John down the rusty escape.

When they reached the ground, Julia and Dean held onto John while Sam went for the Impala. As he was crossing the alleyway, he was tackled to the ground by a demon.

"Sam!" Julia shouted in shock as the demon started wailing on him. "Go," she told Dean. "I've got your dad."

Dean sprinted over to the demon, who was close to killing Sam, and kicked him in the face. The demon hardly reacted and turned his head to the right; Dean went flying through the air and landed on the windshield of the nearest car.

"DEAN!"

The demon continued to beat Sam up when, out of nowhere, there was the sound of a gun going off. The demon was shot in the head; he flickered with an orange light before falling to the ground, dead. Julia looked over at Dean in absolute shock and saw the Colt in his hand, aimed right where the demon had been.

She quickly pulled herself together. "Let's go!"

Dean shook himself out of the daze he seemed to be in, put the Colt back in his jeans, and ran toward Sam. "Sam!" he exclaimed. "Sam, come on!"

Sirens started to approach them. "Hurry!" Julia urged them, keeping her hold on John. "Dean, Sam, we have to get out of here!"

Dean finally got Sam to his feet and Julia helped John walk over to them. Once she got the first aid kit out of the trunk, she joined Sam in the backseat and Dean took off.

She made sure she stopped Sam's bleeding, pressing some gauze against the cuts on his face. Once the blood stopped, she made sure to disinfect the wounds, ignoring the winces and grunts of pain that Sam gave.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chanted under her breath the whole time.

By the time she was finished putting butterfly bandages on the cuts that needed to stay closed, it was pitch black outside and they were arriving to a nearby safe house that the Petersen-Alexander family owned.

Once they entered the cabin, Julia demanded that John and Sam take a seat while she salted all the doors and windows. She took out one of the large containers of salt hidden under one of the kitchen cabinets and Dean volunteered to stay with John and Sam and salt the windows in the dining room-kitchen.

Julia took care of the rest of the cabin, including three bedrooms, the living room, and two bathrooms. It only took ten minutes to take care of the bedrooms and bathroom and she was in the living room when Dean joined her.

"How are they doing?" she asked him quietly as he saddled up to her side.

"They just need a little rest, that's all," Dean replied, wrapping an arm around her waist. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she deflected; and she really was fine, despite the fact that had been scared out of her wits only two hours earlier. "How are you?"

"I'll survive," he grumbled. "Hey, do you think that we were followed?"

"I have no idea but I doubt it," Julia sighed, finishing up the last window. She turned in his arms, wrapped her arms around him, and rested her head on his chest. "We got this place for a reason. It's secluded and so far away from civilization it might as well be in the middle of Russia."

Dean snickered slightly, resting his chin on the crown of her head. "I don't think that made any sense."

"Russia is barren, Dean," she told him matter-of-factly. "I'm pretty sure that the people who live in New York City outnumber the whole population of Russia by, like, two times."

"Hmm, okay, smarty-pants."

"Mmm," Julia hummed. "I'm glad you brought the Colt. If you hadn't..."

"I'm not going to say I-told-you-so but..."

"But?"

"But I told you so," Dean sighed, his amusement fading. "Jules..."

"Hmm?"

"You know that demon I shot? There was a person in there."

Julia's heart fell at the reminder. She wasn't mad at Dean and she certainly didn't blame him for anything. He had saved his brother's life—the person he loved most in the world—and there wasn't really another choice. They couldn't exorcise him and he was on the brink of killing Sam.

"Dean," she rubbed his back with her thumbs. "You didn't have a choice."

"Yeah, I know," Dean agreed quietly "but that's not what bothers me."

Julia moved her head so her chin rested on his chest, looking up at his beautiful freckled face. "Then what is bothering you?"

"Killing that guy, killing Meg..." he swallowed harshly. "I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch," he confessed. "For you or Sam and Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just, uh...it scares me sometimes."

Usually Julia would know what to say to Dean that would comfort him. But what was she supposed to say to his admission? Thank you? That was awkward and by the way Dean was talking about it, she didn't think he was appreciate that. That being said, she knew how he felt; she'd do anything for the Winchesters, Bobby, her dad, sisters, brother-in-law, niece, and aunt. She was in the same boat as him.

"It shouldn't," John declared as he and Sam walked into the living room. "You did good."

Dean pulled away from Julia and gave his father a look of surprise. "You're not mad?"

"For what?"

"For using a bullet."

"Mad?" John scoffed lightly. "I'm proud of you. You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you—you watch out for this family. You always have."

Instantly, Julia was suspicious. This wasn't like John—one time, when Dean sixteen and Sam was twelve, he got into huge trouble for stealing peanut butter and bread from a gas station so he could feed Sam. He was arrested and, when the police called John, he told them that Dean could rot in jail for stealing. At that time, he was looking out for Sam, too, but John sure didn't appreciate it.

And there were many times after that when Dean took care of Sam in John's absence. So, either he changed his attitude within the past few days, or something was wrong. Julia squeezed Dean's hand as a warning and he squeezed back right away, signaling to her that he was suspicious too.

It couldn't be a coincidence that the lights started flickering at that exact moment. The wind blowing around the trees suddenly harshened. John walked over to the nearest window and looked out at the woods around them.

"It found us," he told Sam, Dean, and Julia. "It's here?"

Sam bristled. "The demon?"

John nodded and ordered, "Sam, salt the doors and windows."

"Julia and Dean already did that."

"Well, check it, okay?"

"Okay," Sam agreed and left the room.

John turned to Dean now. "Dean, you got the gun?"

"Yeah."

"Give it to me."

Dean pulled the Colt out of his jeans but hesitated when John stuck out his hand for it. "Dad, Sam tried to shoot the demon in Salvation but it vanished."

"This is me," John insisted. "I won't miss. Give me the Colt, hurry. Son, please."

Dean grabbed Julia's hand again and pulled her with him as he backed away from his dad.

John shook his head angrily. "Give me the gun," he ordered firmly. "What are you doing, Dean?"

"He'd be furious that I wasted a bullet," Dean muttered. "He wouldn't be proud of me, he'd tear me a new one."

Obviously Dean had been thinking along the same lines as her.

John blinked as Dean raised the Colt, aiming it right at his chest. "You're not my dad."

"Dean, it's me," John insisted.

"I know my dad better than anyone and you ain't him."

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Dean retorted. "Stay the fuck back."

Sam rushed back into the living room, eyes wide with shock at the scene he walked into. "Dean, what the hell is going on?"

"Your brother has lost his mind," John told him.

Julia rolled her eyes and looked over at Sam. "He's not your dad."

Sam blinked in shock. "What?"

"I think he's possessed," Dean stated, upset. "I think he's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to them, Sammy," John pleaded to his youngest son. "

Sam immediately turned to Dean and Julia. "How do you know?"

"He's...he's different."

"You know, we don't have time for this," John pointed out. "Sam, you wanna kill this demon, you gotta trust me."

Sam looked back and forth between his father and Dean and Julia, trying to decide what he should do and who should he trust.

But the demon inside of John was right; they didn't have time for this. "Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered before raising her voice. "Christo."

John blinked, his eyes changing from his usual chocolate brown to a hazy yellow. The same yellow eyes that the demon at the Holden's house had. He chuckled lowly. "I almost had you."

None of them could even take a single step before each of them were thrown to separate walls, hovering a foot or so into the air. Julia grunted in pain, pressure building in her abdomen and lungs. Dean and Sam weren't fairing any better, both of them struggling against the force the demon had them in.

The demon picked up the Colt and examined it, shaking his head. "What a pain in the ass this thing's been."

"It's you, isn't it?" Sam spat through gritted teeth; the demon nodded. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

"Well, you found me," the demon shrugged.

"Why didn't the holy water work on you?" Julia asked with some difficulty, tilting her head upwards to try to ease the pressure on her lungs.

The demon looked over at her and laughed. "You think something like that works on something like me, Julia?"

Sam clenched his jaw and struggled against the demon's force. Unfortunately, he was unable to move. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Oh, that would be a neat trick," the demon drawled mockingly. "In fact, here—" he put the Colt on the coffee table. "Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy."

Sam locked his gaze on the Colt but after a few seconds, nothing happened.

"Well, this is fun," the demon sighed wistfully as he walked over to Julia, studying her with curious eyes. "I could've have killed you a hundred times today, but this...well, this is worth the wait."

Julia flinched as he reached for her, cupping her cheek roughly. "Get your hands off of me!"

"Aw, so precious," the demon clicked his tongue. "You're as threatening as a fruit fly...And they say you're the Chosen one? Please."

"Get away from her!" Dean shouted, trying to get out of the demon's hold.

The demon laughed and left Julia, wandering over to Dean. "Your dad—he's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit. He says hi, by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Let him go or I swear to God—"

"What?" the demon cut him off. "What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice," he stepped closer to Dean. "You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter."

"Who, Meg?"

"The one in the alley?" the demon continued on. "That was my boy. You understand?"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"What? You're the only one that can have a family?" the demon narrowed his eyes. "You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" he smirked. "Oh, that's right. I forgot; I did. Still, two wrongs don't make a right."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean growled at him.

"I wanna know why?" Sam spoke up. "Why'd you do it?"

The demon looked over at Sam. "You mean why did I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess?"

"Yeah."

The demon scoffed and turned back to Dean. "You know, I never told you this but Sam was going to ask her to marry him. He'd been shopping for rings and everything."

Julia pressed her lips together sadly; Sam and Jess were so close to a happy ending, so close. It destroyed her to know that Jess was dead and Sam was never going to have a normal life again.

"You wanna know why?" the demon backed away from Dean, making his way toward Sam. "Because they got in the way."

"In the way of what?" Sam asked, voice hard.

"My plans for you, Sammy," the demon said simply. "You and all the children like you."

"Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh?" Dean interrupted, hoping to get the demon's attention off of Sam. "Cause I really can't stand the monologuing."

The demon scoffed. "Funny," he walked back over to Dean. "But that's all part of your M.O., isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain, mask the truth."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"You know, you fight and you fight for this family but the truth is, they don't need you," the demon lied. "Not like you need them. Sam? He's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you. And your girl over there?" he nodded at Julia. "She'll get over you soon. It'll be like you never existed."

"Shut up!" Julia shouted at him. "God, you talk more than my sister."

The demon rolled his eyes at her and Dean shook his head, silently telling to keep her mouth shut.

"I bet you're real proud of your kids, too, huh?" he got the demon's attention again, smiling sarcastically. "Oh, wait, I forgot. I wasted them."

The demon took a couple steps away from Dean and bowed his head. And then Dean was screaming in pain and the demon was looking back up at him.

"DEAN!" Julia and Sam shouted in unison before Julia continued, "Stop! Stop it!"

Dean's chest started bleeding heavily; it looked like he had a waterfall of blood falling over him, dripping down his chest and staining his gray t-shirt.

"Stop!"

"Dad! Dad," Dean grunted desperately, trying to get through to his father. "don't you let it kill me!"

The demon continued to attack Dean.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as Julia cried in fear. "No!"

"Dad, please," Dean whispered before his head drooped and he fell unconscious.

"DEAN!"

Suddenly, the demon paused and, when he spoke, there was pain and sadness in his voice. "Stop. Stop it."

Julia saw the change in his energy as John took control of his body. The three of them dropped to the ground, the demon's force no longer holding them; once she steadied herself, Julia rushed over to Dean's side, putting pressure on his wounded chest, and Sam reached for the gun, aiming it at his father.

Julia patted Dean's cheeks, trying to wake him up, all the while looking between him and Sam and John. His energy changed again and the yellow eyes appeared; the demon was back in control of John's body.

"You kill me, you kill Daddy," he taunted Sam.

"I know," Sam said harshly and lowered the Colt, aiming at John's right leg and pulling the trigger.

The bullet shot strait into John's left thigh; his body flashed with a white light but it didn't kill him like they had expected it to. John's body still fell to the floor, though, and as soon as he was down, Dean woke up, wheezing.

"Dean," Julia sighed in relief. "Thank God."

"What's happening?" he breathed.

"You lost a lot of blood, so stay still, okay?" she advised him. "Sam's checking on your dad right now."

"Is he okay?"

"Sam, how's John looking?" she called over to him.

Sam didn't get to answer; John suddenly gasped loudly, his back arching severely.

"Sammy!" he shouted desperately. "It's still alive. It's inside me, I can feel it! You shoot me, you shoot me in the heart, son!"

Sam shakily raised the Colt, aiming at John's chest.

"Sam, don't!" Dean protested as loudly at he could. He tried to sit up but Julia had to take most of his weight. "Don't you do this. Don't you do this."

"You do this, Sammy!" John ordered his youngest son. "Shoot me, son! I can't hold onto it much longer! I'm begging you! We can end this here and now! Sammy!"

"Sam, no," Julia shook her head at Sam.

"Sam..."

Sam lowered the gun and a half-second later, John's mouth opened and black smoke erupted from it. It quickly left the cabin through the floorboards, leaving John to stare at Sam in disappointment.

They didn't have time to just sit around and accuse each other of what they did wrong. Dean was severely wounded and John wasn't much better. Julia and Sam quickly scooped them up and helped them out of the cabin and into the Impala.

Julia slid into the backseat behind Sam, who was going to drive, and opened the first aid kit that she, thankfully, didn't put away when they arrived. She ripped open a few packages of gauze as Sam started to drive and passed one patch up to John to press against his bullet wound.

"Hold on, Dean," she breathed, pressing the gauze to his bloody chest. "Just hold on for me, okay? You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

The closest town with a hospital was an hour away; Sam drove as fast as he could and, within less than a half-hour, they were only ten minutes away.

"Just hold on, all right," Sam spoke up as John groaned in pain, having put on a new patch of gauze on his wound. "The hospital's only ten minutes away."

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy," John grunted. "Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye-to-eyes on this? Killing this demon comes first—before me, before everything."

Sam looked in the rearview mirror, checking on his brother and best friend. Julia was still putting pressure on Dean's wound, stroking his hair every few seconds, and Dean was halfway unconscious, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to stay awake.

"No, sir," he finally replied to John. "Not before everything."

John shook his head in disagreement.

"Look, we've still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left," Sam said optimistically. "We just have to start over, all right? I mean, we already found the demon—"

(Gif is not mine)

#supernatural rewrite #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x original character

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wakandascrystal · 4 years

Text

BET. II

Erik x BlackReader

Summary: Erik and his friends place a bet to get with you little does he know who you and family are.

Part 1

......................................

“Ahh Ray Charles.. Ray Sings, Basie Swings. How did you know? I’m going to enjoy this..“ Your father held the vinyl closely reading all the fine print on the back of the casing.

“How could I not? Ray was all you listened to back then. Your one and only obsession.“ You smiled fondly at the older man. He seemed to be really happy about the gift. That made you feel good. Job well done.

He called one of the four men that stood guard around his office. Dressed in black suits with black earpieces. One hurried towards him. With quickness he took the vinyl from his hands and pulled out the vinyl to insert it into the gramophone.

He dropped the needle and Oh, What A Beautiful Morning started playing. Ray Charles voice filling the wide space. Your father's office was the backdrop of your childhood when you were still innocent and hopeful. You used to run between the wooden chairs and hide behind the large curtains. Minding your blissful business.You missed these days but thinking about the past did nothing but let pain into your heart. Now you were back years later, a grown women. Wiser, intelligent and sometimes harsh.

Your father's smile took you out of your train of thought. He seemed happy these days. You didn't live with him so seeing him was a treat. You would told anyone this but you were much closer to him the your mother. There were reasons for that, none that made your mother seem unfit but you felt more willing to share your woes and problems with your father. It just felt right.

Next moment the guards left, moving swiftly and closed the door behind them. Offering much needed privacy. While they left he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“Thats is not true, Ray is not my only obsession...speaking of..how is your Mother doing?“ He carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened.

“For a divorced couple you both do sure ask about each other a lot.“ You placed your bag on his wooden table and sat down on the leather chairs. Your large dreadlocks laid down the sides of your body.

“She is the Mother of my beautiful children how could I not care about her well being Y/N?“ He was being sarcastic to cover up his true feelings. He felt bad that you had figured him out already. He sometimes forgets how in ture you are with people's motives and emotions.if only he knew that you didn't judge him one bit. You loved that he wanted her back but you couldn't make your mom fall for him. Not after what happened.

“I guess, but I know you miss her ...and not in that way in the other way...in the making a 4th child way.“ You took a sip of his whiskey since you already decided to be cheeky with him.

“Y/N!! I am your father!!“ He gently reminds you.

“And I am your daughter, who can see through your bullshit....I have a good idea! Marry her again!!“

“Y/N!“

“Okay I'm sorry about swearing but you know i'm right.“ You cross your legs and arms.

He leaned back and siped what was left of his whisky. A coy smile on his face thinking about his ex wife.

“How are the twins by the way?”

“They are fine. Somewhere in Spain, partying. They are young, Dad. Let them live okay. Don't do what you did with me. Look, now i'm a introverted bitch who cares more about her hair care collection than a real relationship. Call them ...ask how they are doing...show them ...that you care even if it looks small. We love affection.“

“Okay I won't be strict on the boys and ill send them love letters every 2 seconds”

You rolled your eyes

“- But your mother will defendant be strict with them. I can't help you there. Speaking about relationships..you still up on my offer?”

You let out a sigh thinking about his offer.

“No..I love you dad but i have to decline.I appreciate it I really do but..but you know I'm not a fan of your line of work... and I know what your gonna say. The money raised us, yes and it came when we really needed it. It's a double standard but I can't have someone with such a risky ...lifestyle. I worry about you and Uncle Ronny too much already. Just for my piece of mind I can't go out with the men you have in mind.“

“Don't worry sweetheart. Your old man understands.“

“I mean do you know any teachers, bus drivers, an IT guy...hell you know any barrestas.“ He laughed and your sense of humour.

He was glad you were very open with him. Unlike your younger brothers you had reached maturity that surprised him but sometimes you being alone with no one did worry him.

“Dad Im happy. Don't worry. I really dont need a man. I'm good.“ You tried to convince him.

“I wouldn't be this...concerned if ...if you were active.“

“No! I'm not having this conversation with you.“ You were shocked. He had due restriction when it came to your sex life.

“Baby listen you can't be ...scared your whole life. I know what happened when you were young and I know how damaging that experience was to you. You were so young and brave-.“

You cut him off.

“Brave? I wasn't brave dad. I just.....I just layed there and he-” Your voice cracked. You squeezed your thighs remembering the pain “..I Know I can't think like that, that a man who wants me will treat me that way but ...it's so hard. The thought of opening up to a stranger ..it's bit crazy.”

You wanted him to knew you were afraid but at the say time you didn't. You wanted to live up to this strong daughter image but you had your moments of weakness. Bearing them deep in your soul was better than reliving them.

“You forgave him, made some calls and you took care of him.”

“Is that what we calling murder now.“ You pushed your hair back.

“You know you didn't have to do it.“ He leaned back into his chair. The smirk on your face worried him.

“I'm glad I did.“

“but... you became stronger. I dont think you should let that event lead you stray from love..potential love. You are-”

“Putting a bullet through his head was never going to take the pain away.“ You whispered

“Does it make me a bad person that I loved the sound of his ...agony... The scream he let out when Uncle Ronnie started cutting off his fingers. Does that make me a bad person?” You voice was soft and dry.

“You wanted revenge....Anyone would have. You a good girl Y/N. You deserve to be happy, I'll make sure of it. If anyone tries anything. I mean anything with you. They so much as move a hair out of place. Call me and they will wish they were never born.“

You wink at him trying to lighten the heavy mood

“Speaking of that..... I did met someone!“ You looked down fearing his reaction. It was bad timing but you wanted him to know

“Really now?“ he looked surprised.

“Yes..and I have his number. He seemed kind and he said he came out of a bad break up about a year ago. I'm not sure about him but he..he made feel comfortable.“

”Well I’m very happy to hear that. When are you planning to meet the young man.“

“I’m not sure maybe tomorrow maybe next week, maybe never.“

“Okay then. Tell me when you or if you do meet him. But I do need to leave unfortunately. I'm leaving the country for a bit. Business of course but please do get comfortably. I will see you in 4 days.“

You got up from your chair and gave your father a hug. He was warm and large just how you liked. Your face rested on his chest. Hearing his calm heart beat.

“Thank you for being understanding, for being patient with me and supportive. Please stay safe and come back in one piece.“

“Always. Now please. Get some rest. Eat something.” He gave you a kiss on the cheek and you left his office.

You strolled making your way to your ride. You instructed Frank, your driver to take you to the Hilton hotel. You had been living there since you arrived. The suite you booked was beautiful and you wish you could live there forever. There were no memory, no stress, no anxiety, no fears. when you layed in your bubble bath in the lavish hotel room you at peace. Milky bubble bath sat still around your curvy brown form, hair up away from the fragranced soapy water.

You remember telling your father you didn't need a man. That was true you didn't need one but having someone would be nice. The gilded hotel rooms, marble floors and first class flights to any country. They would be so much better with someone. Someone who cared and loved you. Maybe giving Someone a chance would a right start but you really didn't want to date. The process seemed tedious and time consuming.

But Erik seemed....different. Well that's what you thought. He was a gorgeous black man, there was question about that but beautiful men are everywhere. Your priority was finding someone with a good heart, maybe some who is simple. No flashy lifestyle. Someone would have patience and be slow with you.

Taking a chance climbed out of the warm tub heading to get your phone on the messy bed...Wrapped in a towel you decided to call him.

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

“You are a punk, look hoe I'm beating your ass.“ Erik shouted

They were in a heated basketball video game. The guys had brought drinks, weed and snacks to Coles place. It was a friday so they wanted to unwind.

“Trey, I will body you next round I swear. How could you let this fool win.” Jadyn complained

“...And you put money on this nigga.“ Trey called Cole out.

“”What? I thought I could win...I really did have it..“

“Don't lie! You never had it.“ Erik mocked him.

“Ahh I wouldn't be talking if I was you ...shawty still hasn't texted your ass..“ Cole gave back the same energy.

“..She will ..just give her time.“ Erik really didn't expect you to take time long to text him. It pissed him off. He underestimated your thirst.

Any girl with half a brain would have texted him by now. He was used to that. There was no instant gratification with you. He felt ashamed a bit that you didn't fall to his feet and he tried to avoid talking about the bet.

“..Stop all that..just reload the next game..i'm going to the bathroom... “

He up and left. Minutes later he heard Cole telling him he had a phone call from an unknown number.

“Let it ring...“ He shouted back as he dried his hands

“So E who’s calling you so late. Its almost 11. Early booty call.“

Erik made his way back to the living room.

“Nah all my booty calls are saved. I have Friday Linda big Titties, double cheek up Nikki, Lisa Titties could be bigger ....and my absolute favorite.....Nasty Keke. Now that bitch is crazy. “

“Call it back maybe it's an important call from the hospital or something.“ He stopped playing the game.

“Man why would you say that...playing with my guilty conscious and shit.“

He dialed up the number and called it.

It would be an understatement to say he did not expect your voice. It was sweet with just enough of nervousness to make it sound more attractive.

“Hey“ Erik’s voice involentarly went high as well and all the 3 men in the room with him looked at him.

“Are you alone?“ You asked. Erik signaled them to turn of the games and stay quiet then proceed to put the call on speaker.

“Yeah It's just me. I..I didn't expect you to call.“

“Oh ...Im sorry. Its just I feel like calling is better? Don't you think?“ You waited for him to answer. Tip toeing around your room.

“Don't apologise...I mean..Yeah..Calls are more personal. Makes the person in the other end feel..... real.“

All 3 men knew Erik was talking shit but for a small moment Erik forgot about the Bet. It was actually nice to have a female call him like this. It had never happened before. They always just texted him. Texted him where to pick them up and when to. They never really wanted to get to know him.

“Did your father like the gift?“ He asked

“Yes, he did. He’s a big fan of Ray.“ You hated how nervous you were. It really annoyed you. You didn't understand because you weren't this emotional when you meet him back at the music store. Why did you feel like this now. You liked how deep his voice was, You tried not to be affected by its smoothness.

“ - and hows that heart of yours?“ Erik remembered the lie he had told before.

“His doing much better now that you called. You made a brother wait 2 weeks.” You let out a playful laugh

“Believe or not but I have other things to deal with...but you're very corny Sir. Do you know that?“

“Yes. I'm just trying to be myself. Corny all day. How was your day Y/N?“

“Well, I facetimed my brothers, Dwayne and Dean. They on vacation right now. Then I visited my dad. I actually gave him the ...gift today. Now i'm at home...its a hotel but still.. Nothing much really and you? A handsome man like you surely has tons of women -“

Erik knew that in order to gain your trust he had to destroy any doubt you might have about him. That yeah, a tall, handsome man could be available like that.

“Its 11: 20 and Im on the phone with you ..what women?”

The line went silent for too long. You didn't know what say. Erik and his friends could hear your soft breaths. You were lying face up on the bed now.

“You still there“ he asked.

“There’s a Japanes restaurant downtown... Nine o'clock sharp. Tomorrow.“ You hold your breath.

Erik stood up and did a victory dab and the men smiled

“Let me pick you up, Where do you live?“

“No you dont have to...you know what yes“ Erik thought your outburst was strange but he didn't dwell to much on it.

But that would be hard to explain. Why you had a 6.2ft armed guard following you at all times ....at any given moment he was always next to you. You didn't want him to see that. It would be too early to explain to him. Joe, your bodyguard didn't like leaving you alone. He would meet your father's wrath if anything happen to you. So you would have to talk to him and make sure he stays low.

You would just cross that bridge when you got there.

“......Yeah. I'm excited.“

You regretted saying that. It just came out to fast. You really didn't want Erik to think you were forward.

“Me too.“ Your heart melted a little. For some reason you thought he would make fun of you.

“Have a nice night Erik. I'm going to bed now."

"Okay goodnight Princess."

You bit you lip and hung up before you moaned out loud. Rolling around in bed you giggled from the adrenaline from the pet name paired up with his voice. You couldn't believe what you just did. You felt a sense of victory. You felt proud of yourself. You hoped Erik felt the same.

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

He hung up and the boys went wild with excitement.

" fuck that....I'm not letting you anywhere near my girl no more. You too smooth nigga." Trey said laughing with excitement.

"She eat that shit up like breakfast. I hope yall have got my cash ready."Erik said

“You better send us some evidence though.“ Trey reminded him

“Yeah whatever. I need to leave anyway get ready for my date and shit. I think i'll stop by Tati’s house first. That girl knows how to throw it back. I'm out.“ He got his belongings and left. Meanwhile you left to call Joe. He had rather stand guard outside the hotel door then inside. He liked to give you your private space. You called him.

“Joe could you come in for a bit i need to talk to you.“

“Sure.“ By the time you had slipped into pjs he was standing in the living room area.

“Joe...Please take a seat. There is something i need to tell you....“

“Yes “ the incredibly large man sat down legs wide on the soft couch.

“I'm going on a date tomorrow.“ You would be lying if you said you didn't expect his reaction to the new.

“..and who the fuck is that punk.“

Joe had watched you grow up in front of his eyes. he was assigned to you when you were 12. He knew you better than most people in your life so he cared for you a lot and he had his own way of showing it.

“Joe please. He’s nice. And he's taking me out tomorrow.“

“Is he that nigga that was bugging you at that music shop. Him and his friends were acting too fresh for my liking. Eyeing you like a piece of meat. “

“okay i get it men are weird but the reason i called you in ..was to ask you ...to not come.“

“Forget it. If something happens to you ..your father will kill me.“

“I know...Its just i dont want him to know. Can you at least just keep a low profile.“

“Okay. I'll try...but if he so much as hurts you ill...“ You covered his mouth quickly.

“I think you forgetting that i can take care of myself.“

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

🌸Tiny Taglist🌸

@fd-writes

@sheisexcellent1

@writerbee-ffs

@asguardianslut

@chaneajoyyy

@toniilaney

#erik x reader #Erik Killmonger #Erik #killmonger x reader #killmonger #killmonger imagine #erik s #Erik Stevens #imagine #erik imagine #black reader

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

Text

Hell’s Bells || Oscar and Kaden

TIMING: Before dinner with Regan and the scream LOCATION: The Silver Bullet PARTIES: @forfuchssake and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Just a normal night at the Bullet with some friends

It’d been entirely too long since he’d gotten to spend some good old fashioned quality time with his nephew and Oscar was more than ready for Kaden to show him this hunter bar. There was something to be said about the sense of community and comradery that all hunters seemed to share. It didn’t matter if it was a warden, slayer, or a fellow beast hunter-- that connection stood. They all had a duty to protect people and it was something that bonded them all together. As usual, he donned his favorite leather jacket for a night in the bar. When he picked Kaden up, he gave his arm a playful nudge and joked, “You excited to show an old man hunter like me all the good haunts?” He followed Kaden into the bar and instantly became engulfed in the energy. The buzz of chatter in the air and the stories he could pick up if he concentrated was contagious. They ordered a round of beers from the bar and he asked, “See anyone you know around tonight?”

“So long as you don’t embarrass me, old man,” Kaden said with a smile, returning the nudge. The Silver Bullet was home away from home. At least that’s what he kept telling himself it was. Somehow the more he went, the less that seemed to be true. Still, he was hoping that having Oscar with him would make it feel a little more like home again. Or a lot, depending. “Hey, Sam,” he said with a wave as they walked in and headed to the bar. As they took their beers, Kaden glanced around. “I know most of the regulars here,” he said. Then again, maybe he spoke too soon. “Or I did.” Admittedly he didn’t swing by as often; he found himself spending time with Regan more often than not. Shit, did he recognize anyone here other than Sam? His heart sunk a moment and then his eyes locked in on a table with some familiar faces. “There,” he said with a nod and led them over. Kaden greeted the table as they got there. “Devin, Mads, Kyle, this is my uncle Oscar,” he told them, introducing the hunters sitting at the table to his uncle. “It’s a whole ass family reunion tonight.”

“Me? Embarrass you? When have I ever done anything like that,” Oscar joked with a hearty laugh. The Silver Bullet was just the vibe he was looking for. Meeting new hunters had always been one of the fun parts of the job. Not many could relate to the challenges they faced on a day to day basis and Oscar could only hope that Kaden was utilizing this community. It was important to have a healthy outlet for this shit and these guys understood. He waved to Sam and ordered his beer. He looked to Kaden who seemed to be looking for familiar faces. “You did? You really are getting domestic on me,” he retorted with a laugh until Kaden pointed out a table. There was a somewhat mousy looking one that Kaden called Devin. He looked really smart and he’d bet anything he was a warden. One had to be good with their words to work with the damn fae. Mads looked tough, but gorgeous. He’d definitely be buying her a drink. Kyle was drinking a Natty Light and Oscar did his best not to judge. “Good to meet everyone,” his eyes landed on Mads, “Especially you.” Everyone gave him a welcoming wave. “So, who here has some fun stories tonight? This town I’m sure there’s some good ones.” Not surprisingly, Kyle was the first one to pip up, “Well, last week I killed an ustra. Tricky bastards those ones,” he exclaimed slamming his can down on the table.

Kaden rolled his eyes at Oscar’s ribbing. “Yeah well, keep it in check if you can stand to, alright? I know it’s going to be a tall order for you.” It was strange how quickly all of his worries about this evening faded away as he saw the group and sat down with his drink in hand. This was fine, normal, even. Well, his version of normal. Certainly not what most people would have considered normal. He let out a small sigh as he took a drink. “Shut it,” he grumbled under his breath. He’d never seen himself as the type to settle into anything, hell he’d always planned to model his life after Oscar’s in a lot of ways. It hadn’t bothered him just how “domestic” his life had become until his uncle decided to point it out. It almost felt like an insult coming from him. And he didn’t even know the half of it. As Oscar flirted with Mads, Kaden rolled his eyes again, but a hint of a smile was still on his face. Of course Oscar zeroed in on Mads. Made sense. And he could sure do worse. “An ustra? Shit, good for you, Kyle. I saw one the other week. It nearly got me. I only got out bec--” The words caught in his throat. He only got out of it because a werewolf helped him. Putain. “You lose the plot, Langley?” Devin asked. “Are you lying to us? Come on, there’s no way you took one by yourself,” he finished with a huff. Kaden wanted to crawl into a hole. He took an awkward sip instead. “Fuck off. I had something caught in my throat. It was definitely an ustra. I got a lucky shot in right at its eye. That was it. How about you fucking let me finish speaking next time, Porter, huh?”

While Oscar was a little put off by Kyle slamming a can down on the table, he was impressed with him taking down an ustra. From what he knew, they were tricky bastards. You had to avoid their venom or you were surely done for. What had surprised him was that Kaden had gotten defensive while speaking of his own ustra encounter. He raised a brow and let him finish. “Glad you’re both alive to tell the tale. I’ve never seen one myself though maybe that’ll change in this crazy town.” He gave Kaden a pat on the back and chuckled, “No need to get defensive, Junge. I’ve seen you take down worse. Devin here’s probably just mad he hasn’t seen one.” Devin seemed to huff something under his breath and Oscar took another swig of his beer. He turned to Mads and gave her a devilish grin. “What about you, Mads? You look like you could kick my ass.” As much was true and damn attractive at that. She smirked and responded, “You’re right, I could kick your ass, but you caught me on a good night so I won’t. What I can’t believe is that these guys over here are bragging about an ustra. That’s child’s play.” She threw back the rest of what looked like whiskey on the rocks before she finished, “Meanwhile, I just took down an asanbosam. Fight an agile tree vampire then we can talk about who the real badass is here, boys.”

Kaden’s first instinct at the word defensive was to bite back, and he nearly did. Until Oscar finished speaking. Right. A bit of a smile crept on his face. Devin seemed less thrilled by the assessment. “That may be true. However, I’ll have you know there’s a banshee in town that I’m working on tracking, I’m sure I’ll have a kill more impressive than your ustra soon enough,” Devin assessed, cleaning his glasses as he waxed on. At the word banshee, the beer he was sipping seemed to aim right for his windpipe and Kaden beat his chest a moment as he tried to get his breath back. Shit, shit, fuck, putain de merde, fucking shit fuck, fuck. “What’s wrong with you, Langley?” Kyle asked. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he sputtered between coughs. Fuck, fuck, he had to focus, think quick. “I was just cracking up at the thought of you bagging a banshee. The fact you even think there’s one in town is fucking laughable. You know how rare those are?” Devin’s feathers looked ruffled and he was practically steaming. “Have you not heard the screams? Seen the broken glass? You have to know as well as I that--” Kyle waved his beer can in Devin’s face to make him stop. “Yeah, yeah, no one cares, dude.” Kaden exhaled, trying not to let it be a full on sigh of relief. His stomach was in knots and they were only a few minutes into the evening. He was going to need a lot of refills tonight, that was for sure. “Asanbosam? Pft, big deal. Took down one of those, too.” If they could just stick to the undead, that’d be great. “I mean, alright, a witch helped a little but only after I saved her life. Let me know when you go up against a vrykolakas. Then I might be impressed.”

When Devin mentioned tracking a banshee, it came as no surprise to Oscar he was a warden. While he respected the crap out of what they did and what they went up against, he much preferred his life as a beast hunter. Not nearly as much wit and watching your words required. “A banshee? Can’t say I’ve heard of one this side of the Atlantic, but the death rate in this town is probably appealing to them,” Oscar mused though he was taken aback by Kaden sputtering on his drink. Had he missed something funny there? There was a certain tension to Kaden still that he couldn’t quite place. He gave him a few good pats on the back and pressed, “It’s not far fetched, I mean hell, we saw a bies on my first night in town. If there is a banshee in town, I’m sure we’ll all hear it soon enough.” Especially given they all had more sensitive hearing than most. There must have been some sort of weird rivalry going on between Kaden and Devin that he wasn’t all that interested in entertaining. Kaden was better than that. Thankfully, with Kyle’s influence, Devin seemed to be dropping it. He couldn’t help but laugh at everyone one upping each other. He gave Kaden a joking nudge. “Nice job taking down an asanbosam… though I will say I’m sure Mads looked way better while doing it.” He gave Mads a sly wink to which she responded with a coy grin. “Vrykolakas are rough, too. Haven’t worked with too many spellcasters, but a slayer back in Prague helped me out with a pricolici. Worst of both worlds, those arschlochs.”

Kyle muttered something about them all sounding like nerds as he slammed his can of shitty American beer down on the table. Oscar rolled his eyes, had to love the younger generation. “You’re not going to make it long with that kind of attitude. Different monsters require different weapons and fighting tactics. It’s one thing to enjoy the fight, it’s another to be stupid.”

“Sure is,” Kaden mumbled into his beer. Hell the death rate was half the reason why Regan was employed in the town. Funny enough. If he left to go to the restroom to go vomit,would anyone notice? “Yeah but bies can’t get on a plane and fly across the ocean. Just because you think you heard a barn owl once doesn’t mean it was a banshee or that she-- it’d even still be in town, putain.” Still Oscar’s last comment churned a pit in his stomach. Of course they’d hear it. They all would. When she screamed for someone’s death, half the town could hear it. It was a wonder she hadn’t come across a warden yet. For a brief moment Kaden’s eyes caught Devin’s and he wondered if he would be willing to kill the other man for Regan’s sake. He looked away just as quick. Vomiting in the restroom was feeling more like a necessity. No, he wouldn’t be willing to take someone’s life, especially not another hunter’s. Right? The beer in front of him was starting to look like an enemy to the knots in his stomach. Focusing on whatever was going on between Mads and Oscar seemed less upsetting, surprisingly, he turned his focus there, away from Devin. “Well we know she looks better than you, so not surprising” he said with his own half smile. He had little doubt they’d be leaving without him by the end of the night. Fine by him. Oscar deserved some fun. He was always good at finding it. I would be nice if Kaden could remember how to have fun right about now but the thought of pricolici just flashed a vision of Montgomery’s trophy room in front of his eyes. Shit, why was he so fucking off tonight?

“Don’t worry, Kyle can be our cannon fodder. That is what he was trained for, right?” Kaden ribbed. Kyle didn’t seem to know what that meant but he did know it was an insult. “Man, shut up Langley. No one cares about your fancy lineage, dude.” Kaden went to roll his eyes but as much as he was joking, he really didn’t enjoy seeing more dead hunters. “Calm down. I didn’t say shit about that, you did, But seriously, if you want any help or tips let me know. No bullshit.”

There was clearly some sort of rivalry between Devin and Kaden that Oscar wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to understand. A banshee being in town really wasn’t all that far-fetched. Considering the death rate, it’d be the perfect spot for one to call home and there would probably be lots of screams. It was only a matter of time before one revealed itself if there was a banshee here. He took a chug of his beer and shrugged off the whole debate, “Sure, they can travel. Time will surely tell.” Hopefully, not paying too much mind to Devin would help shake off whatever tension was there. He’d have to ask about that later though he figured that’d be a message. By all indication, Mads seemed interested in him and he had no intention of wasting that momentum. He laughed and agreed, “Damn right, she does. Though that could be said of her versus anyone in this bar. Maybe she’ll still give an old man like me a fighting chance.” Her smirk told him everything he needed to know though her response let him know she wasn’t going to make it easy. “I’d consider it, though I do think you should at least buy a girl a drink first. I may be able to kick your ass, but I’m still a lady.” With a nod, he answered, “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He turned to Kaden and asked, “Need another beer, Junge?” He looked a bit perplexed to see just how untouched his beer was. “Actually, I’m getting you another one. Don’t let a nice Spatan like that get warm.” He gave Kaden a big pat on the back before he went off to grab another round for himself, Mads, and Kaden. He asked Sam for their drinks and brought them back over to catch the tail end of Kyle and Kaden’s conversation. “Seriously, kid, it’s got nothing to do with clout. In a town like this, you gotta know what you’re up against. No one wants to see your obituary in the paper.”

Kaden knew it was only a matter of time until a warden ran into Regan if they weren’t already hunting her but he still hoped time wouldn’t tell, that she could be spared that part of supernatural life. Anyway, it was fun to see Mads giving Oscar a hard time. And nice to not have to worry about his own bullshit. “Are you suggesting that he’s not a gentleman?” Kaden asked Mads, feigning surprise. “I can assure, this,” he said, gesturing to Oscar, “is a gentleman through and through. He does owe you a drink, though,” he said with a smile. It was easy though to focus on someone other than himself. Plus, the sooner that Oscar left with Mads, the sooner he could head home, maybe stop by and see Regan. Putain, he felt like he became such a stick in the mud. “Oh?” He almost missed that Oscar was talking to him. How he could feel so utterly alone at a bar surrounded by people was a wonder. “Right, sorry. Thanks. Do you need any help getting the--?” Oscar was already gone before Kaden could finish asking. He didn’t need help, anyway, Kaden knew that. He always had things covered. Somehow his uncle always had life figured out. Kaden thought he had his figured out, too. But hey, he could take some comfort in the fact that he had more figured out than Kyle did. “I’m not going to die. I got this covered,” Kyle said before chugging the rest of his beer. “Look, I got this tattoo. It’s for protection. No way am I going to kick the bucket for at least five years.” Kaden pinched his nose and shook his head, unable to stifle the laughs at seeing what looked like a generic tribal tattoo on Kyle’s arm. “If you say so, ‘dude.’ Good luck,” Kaden said through laughter. “I hope you didn’t pay too much money for that.”

As Oscar was walking back with all three drinks in tow, he wished he could turn the hunter hearing off from time to time. A protective tattoo? Was this Kyle guy an absolute idiot? It’d be a miracle if he made it five more days let alone five more years. It sounded like there was no talking sense into that thick skull of his, so he opted to not push it any further. He was much more taken with Mads anyway. If Kyle wanted to be a dumbass, that was his prerogative. He set Kaden’s and Mads’ drinks down in front of them and shook his head, “Pretty sure you got scammed, Kyle. Don’t let some tattoo make you forget just how dangerous what we do is.” Okay, maybe he hadn’t entirely let that slide. Was he a cocky bastard himself? He sure was, but he knew his shit. There were very few beasts out there that he couldn’t recognize and have some recollection of the best way to kill them. Without that knowledge he’d have been a long ficken time ago. He’d had just about enough of Kyle’s shit and Kaden seemed over it, too. Seeing if Mads wanted to get out of here after they finished this round seemed like the best idea. There was a wry grin on his face as he asked, “So how are my chances looking now that I’ve been a gentleman and brought the prettiest lady in the bar a drink?” Mads rolled her eyes at him playfully and answered, “I decided you were coming home with me when you first joined us.” A woman who could kick his ass and knew what she wanted and went for it. His wicked grin only widened and he placed a hand on her lower back as he slid onto the stool next to her. “I’m sure Kaden here will appreciate not having to chauffeur me back to my hotel. I’d say I’m cramping his style, but that would be a lie.”

Kaden made a mental note to ask Luce if she saw Kyle in the shop and if it was her that pulled a prank on him and robbed him of his money or if that was where she drew the line. It’d be an entertaining conversation either way, he had a feeling that much was true. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand talking to Kyle and he couldn’t bear to be alone with Devin, he was too afraid he’d give himself away. Come on, Oscar, flirt faster. Right on schedule, his uncle practically leaned over and winked at Mads across the table. Very subtle. Still, he was thankful. It was odd watching him flirt with women at a hunter bar meanwhile he wasn’t trying to pick up anyone himself. Hell, he had someone to go home to. So much of it felt wrong but at the same time, he wasn’t really sure he’d trade it. Looking around the bar, the allure, the comfort, it felt hollow. Not completely but it wasn’t what he remembered. But he was happy to see Oscar was having a good time. And was about to have a better one. “You’re right, old man. Some of us have better shit to do at home. And people,” he said with a coy smile. “No offense to you, Mads. You can do better, though.” He downed the rest of his beer and gave Oscar a pat on the shoulder before turning to head out. “Have a good night,” he said and gave a small wave before heading out and going home back to a quiet night at home, something that oddly felt more normal now. Who would have guessed.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #writing #oscar #forfuchssake #hell's bells

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streetsavoir-faire · 3 years

Photo

Born Name: Damien Quincy Rodriguez

Age: 22

Birthday: May 26th 1998

Overview:

Mother: Catalina Rodriguez (39 February 19th, 1981)

Father(s): Michael Rodriguez (41 April 24th, 1979) Richard “Einstein” Jones (50), Fagin Jones (47)

Mother’s Occupation: Unemployed, Student

Father’s Occupation: Fast Food worker, mechanic, Odd-jobs in a diverse field. Warehouse work, delivery, MLM’s, production, etc.

Family Finances: Lower Class, Skirting Poverty

Other Close Family: Francis “Frankie” Corbyn (41) - ‘Uncle’, Ignacio Alonso Julio Federico De Tito (24) - Big Brother, Oliver Saluki-Sykes (20) - Little Brother, Rita Saluki-Sykes (29) - Sister,

Pets: Dorothy - Redish/pink betta Fish, Tiny - Tito’s Rottweiler/Pitbull Mix

Home Life During Childhood: Before he was found and taken in by Fagin? Horrible. Dodger suffered abuse from parents who were far too young and immature to have children. They didn’t want a kid, and they made that very clear to Dodger from the very moment they brought him home. He was never shown love or compassion from his mother or father. He was barely taken care of and owned one toy in his five or so years of living with them. He suffered emotional and physical abuse and spent many nights on the streets, unsupervised. Often, he was locked out of his house for ‘misbehavior’. Eventually Dodger just decided to stay out there and spent his nights under a bridge before eventually Fagin took notice of him and eventually gained his trust and brought him home.

After Fagin, his childhood was still a little troubled. Their family was poor, and often struggled to find money for food, luxuries or heat. Even struggling, Dodger much preferred his found family as he got to learn what it was like to have people that loved him. Even with debt collectors, facing abuse from the Sykes’ and occasionally needing to eat small inconsistent meals, or cuddle up together instead of having heat in the house. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

What Did His or Her Bedroom Look Like: When Dodger moved in with Fagin he quickly took over the apartment’s storage loft and claimed it as his own. While it was dangerous (there was no barrier to stop anyone from falling back into the living room below) and a little drafty (there was also a nifty hole that gave him access to the roof) - it was home for Dodger. With a mattress tucked up into the corner and the rickety ladder to get up and down (that he himself rarely used), it was perfect for Dodger. Sure - it wasn’t all the spacious or child-friendly but... it was his favorite.

Any Sports or Clubs: Dodger didn’t go to school - and therefore he didn’t participate in any clubs or organized sports. Instead he went with Frankie to his theater group, spent time reading with Einstein & Fagin or scaled buildings and played made up sports with Tito.

Favorite Toy or Game: Dodger’s favorite toy (and something he still cherishes to this day) was a small teddy bear that Fagin got him the first night he came home. It’s over a decade (closer to two) old and is worn beyond relief, but Dodger still keeps it in his bedroom. As a child he carried it everywhere and was incredibly protective of it. It has plenty of tears and stitches that Fagin fixed himself - but Dodger loves it all the same.

Schooling: Again, Dodger didn’t go to school. He left his home before he would have been enrolled and while Fagin and Einstein tried to get him into school, Dodger simply couldn’t handle the hours away from his new family, nor could he deal with how overwhelming the whole concept was. So instead, they all did their part homeschooling himself and Tito over the years. He’s got plenty of street smarts and owes everything else he knows to Fagin, Einstein and Frankie.

Favorite Subject: Reading with Fagin & Einstein. (And reading plays with Frankie since he was so dramatic)

Popular or Loner: Popular (not in school obvs)

Nationality: American

Religion and beliefs: None

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Tyler Posey

Movie/Era Representation: Alone

Complexion: Smooth, olive skinned, freckled

Hair Colour: Naturally Black / Currently Dyed Blue

Eye Colour: Brown

Height: 5′10

Weight: 153.4lbs.

Build: Athletic/Slim

Tattoos: A very large and ever growing collection --> See here

Piercings: 14mm Gauges in ears, nose piercing, snake-bites (re-pierced), eyebrow piercing (re-pierced)

Common Hairstyle: Typically sweptback, sometimes a mess when he wears a hat or beanie, usually tries to keep it semi-long, swept to the side (x is a common look)

Clothing Style: Casual street wear. Ratty jeans, ripped jeans, dirty jeans. T-shirts, muscle tanks, sweatshirts. Backwards hats or beanies. Worn black and white converse. Nothing fancy. You’ll tend to see a red bandana somewhere on his person. Sometimes he wears it around his head, sometimes around his neck, occasionally tucked into a pocket or around his wrist. But it’s always somewhere.

Mannerisms: Likes to drum his fingers or drum on things in general, also a knuckle cracker. Tends to move a lot because he’s high energy.

Usual Expression: Smiley babe

Health

Overall (do they get sick easily)?: Yes. A combination of terrible care to himself and drugs makes Dodger extremely susceptible to getting sick. He’s a perfect picture of what not to do health-wise and it shows.

Physical Ailments: Mildly Anemic,

Disorders: None

Neurological Conditions: None.

Allergies: Latex, mangos, cats,

Grooming Habits: He showers, unlike most #men he is not a 3-in-1 kind of guy, so he knows how to use separate body wash, shampoo and conditioner. He’ll wash his face every morning & every night and brush his hair and shit but he’s not over the top. Shaves if his facial hair gets longer than a mild scruff. Keeps the boys tame.

Sleeping Habits: Inconsistent. Dodger has no real sleep schedule, but he tends to sleep just about anywhere when he needs to. He’s the least picky about how he sleeps and falls asleep easy.

Eating Habits: Uh, he eats. Sometimes. Some days it’s eating for a village, some he skips for a day and is like ‘oh yeah oops.’ It depends. So I’d call this inconsistent as well.

Exercise Habits: He’s always exercising just by association. He walks/runs everywhere and climbs shit and is doing his free running/parkour all over Swynlake.

Emotional Stability: Fair. He tends to stay cool and tries to be the mediator when it comes to trouble. Dodger tends to be the one who keeps it together and stays calm when they’re in a situation. The relief, really. However when he does slip, he can get emotional quickly. Fun-fact: Dodger never yells. He may say things firmly, angrily, etc but he won’t yell.

Body Temperature: Runs warm.

Sociability: A social butterfly.

Addictions: Drugs (weed, alcohol, pills, etc).

Drug Use: Daily, addicted. The hard stuff isn’t daily (weed is... multiple times a day), but more every few days, once a week.

Alcohol Use: Often.

Your Character’s Character:

Bad Habits: Drugs. Drumming on objects or idly, cracking his knuckles, zoning out mid-conversation, scratching the back of his neck, smoking, manipulating people.

Good Habits: Loyalty, offering his help, extending manners, being kind.

Best Characteristic: Openness.

Worst Characteristic: Pride

Worst Memory: Being beaten within an inch of his life & having to leave his family and home behind and flee the country.

Best Memory: Being officially adopted as Fagin & Einstein’s son.

Proud of: Holding his job at the garage. Getting his gig at Pixie’s. Still being in a relationship (new record).

Embarrassed by: His inability to get his music off the ground, how he’s still in the same place in life when everyone else seems to be getting somewhere or doing things.

Driving Style: Does not drive.

Strong Points: His passion and drive. His ability to bring things and people together.

Temperament: Carefree and easy going.

Attitude: Optimistic & outgoing.

Weakness: Coming off as too confident, cocky.

Fears: Being abandoned/being alone again, his family getting hurt or dying.

Phobias: Being abandoned.

Secrets: An open book. Perhaps the one secret he has is knowing that Roscoe abused Oliver.

Regrets: Going to William Sykes and trying to buy them time to pay back their loan.

Feels Vulnerable When: He’s with his parents.

Pet Peeves: People who brag about their money. Charities, but not charity.

Conflicts: Having money in the family. Having Roscoe married to Rita when he fucking hates him but wants Rita to be happy.

Motivation: Support for Fagin & Einstein/to make them proud.

Short Term Goals and Hopes: To start picking up more gigs and getting music off the ground.

Long Term Goals and Hopes: To be able to fully financially support himself and the fam through his music and that he can quit his real job and do what he loves.

Sexuality: Pansexual

Exercise Routine: Running all around Swynlake like a crazy man.

Day or Night Person: Night - that’s when the action is.

Introvert or Extrovert: Extrovert

Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist

Likes and Styles:

Music: Punk Rock, Rock, Alternative,

Books: Any book that Fagin & Einstein used to read him

Magazines: Playboy (lol)

Foods: Quesadillas

Drinks: Coke, whiskey, vodka, rum, Gatorade,

Animals: Any are cool

Sports: The made up ones he’d play with Tito, Free running,

Social Issues: Domestic Abuse, Child Abuse, Women’s Rights, Magick Rights,

Favorite Saying: Absotively Posilutely

Color: Red

Clothing: Jeans, T-shirts.

Jewelry: Gauges, lip rings, nose ring, eyebrow stud.

Games: Poker, Rummy, Uno,

Websites: Not a huge internet person (because he didn’t grow up into it like most kids his age). He uses Twitter a lot though. Youtube just to watch things. Used to use the ‘Hub’ quite a bit ;)

TV Shows: Doesn’t really watch TV, but when they could pay for cable, anything ridiculous. He was a fan of the Crocodile Hunter if only because Tito and himself would mimic that show and get into so much trouble.

Movies: Again, he’s not really well versed in movies but.. I’m sure he was into shit he wasn’t supposed to watch when he could get ahold of them. Fight Club, Lethal Weapon, Die Hard, etc.

Greatest Want: To be happy & with his family.

Greatest Need: Affection.

Where and How Does Your Character Live Now:

Home: Dodger now lives in Benbow (2D) and honestly his biggest complaint is simply being on the second floor. He would much prefer an apartment he has to climb higher to break into (since who uses the door?). However, he doesn’t like the apartment nearly as much as he loved the old rickety apartment they lived in back home. He misses his loft and all the weird things that made it perfect. This apartment isn’t terrible - sure, the door sticks something fierce and it’s a little cramped for five people but... it’s fine. And the neighbors aren’t the worst, it’s just... never felt right. It’s still home, if only because home is determined by the people living there more than the place itself.

Household furnishings: A mish-mash of things. Nothing in the Jones household is a set. It’s all second-hand or used items that they got when they could and when they could afford to. That means everything from the tables and chairs don’t really.. match like they might in a normal household, but none of them really mind. They’re just grateful to have them in the first place.

Favorite Possession: The bear Fagin got him when he first came home.

Most Cherished Possessions: The bear Fagin got him when he first came home (shocker) - though a worn red bandana that he took from Fagin also comes in close second. He’s almost always wearing it somewhere. Also the stuffed Reindeer from his first Christmas. The beat up guitar that the whole gang pulled together to get him.

Neighborhood: Benbow

Town or City Name: Swynlake

Relationship with Family: Great! Dodger is incredibly close with his found family. He would lay his life on the line or do anything for all of them. He’s closest to Fagin, but only because that man gave him everything in life he’s ever needed when no one else would. He loves his family so much though. Even if he annoys the absolute piss out of Frankie & Rita, he couldn’t be happier.

Car: Doesn’t have one

Career: Part-Time Mechanic, Part-Time Musician, Part-Time Con-artist/thief

Dream Career: Musician

Dream Life: Happy & can provide and take care of his family so they don’t have to work so hard anymore.

Love Life: Peri

Talents or Skills: Singing, Guitar, Percussion, Piano - musical talent in mostly all forms, athletic ability/balance, can juggle, sleight of hand, pitch perfect.

Intelligence Level: Street smart, book....slightly smart.

Finances: Poor as fuck

Past Careers: Full time thief, part time street performer, odd jobs,

Past Lovers: ‘Lovers’, none really. The closest he had was a toxic first ‘boyfriend’, Corey but it didn’t last long.

#about #inspo #muse #x; Dodger #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw drug mention

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camillemontespan · 4 years

Text

first man [drake walker] [one shot]

@moonlightgem7 @emichelle @ibldw-main @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @saivilo @burnsoslow @dcbbw @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pug-bitch @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mskaneko @rainbowsinthestorm @gardeningourmet

This is pure fluff.

I was kinda missing my dad so thought of writing this - the McDonalds scene, btw, is a real life thing my dad did for me and remains a really nice memory for me.

I was also inspired by the song First Man by Camila Cabello.

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

Amongst the sound of laughter and bubbling champagne being popped, the soft tinkle of a glass being tapped trilled around the room, bringing everything to a warm silence.

Drake Walker stood up and surveyed the room, giving his audience a smile. ‘Father of the bride now requesting permission to speak,’ he joked.

To his left, his wife, Camille grinned up at him and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

To his right was his daughter dressed all in white, a veil framing her delicate face as she looked up at him with wonder.

'Now I know I’m not the best at speeches,’ Drake began, eliciting giggles from the guests. 'I always have to prepare weeks in advance otherwise I’ll trip over my words, say something I shouldn’t and end up swearing.’ He shot a look down at his daughter.

'Don’t panic, Lily, I’m not gonna swear at your wedding.’

Lily giggled and kept her eyes on her father, a smile on her face as she watched him.

'But for this, I didn’t need to prepare,’ Drake continued. 'I already know what I’m going to say. Hopefully I won’t embarrass you but I can’t make any promises, I am your dad after all.. But looking at you right now, how happy you are and how beautiful.. Everything is clear.’

'Awwww!’ the guests chorused. Lily wiped her eyes which were filling with tears. Her new husband, Milo, reached out to wrap his arm around her shoulder, keeping her close.

'I’m going to use this speech to take you down memory lane,’ Drake said. 'Nothing has made me happier than being your dad, honey. You’re the light of my life - as is your sister but today’s your wedding day so right now, you’re the favourite.’

'Dad!’ Luna piped up, adopting an offended expression. Lily laughed and reached out along the table to squeeze her little sister’s hand.

'I’ve always been the protective dad,’ Drake said. 'I didn’t want you leaving home until you were fifty.. Well you’re twenty seven now so well done, you somehow managed to get away with that! But looking at you and Milo right now, I feel good. I’m happy to step back and let Milo take the reins on this. He will look after you now. I promise I’ll always be here for you, baby, but it’s not my job to make sure you’re happy. That’s your husband’s now. But I gotta say.. It’s been an honour to be the first man to ever love you.’

Lily’s eyes were watering as she clasped Milo’s hand around her shoulder. Drake gave her a wink. 'Now, my life changed forever when you were born. I was terrified, excited but mainly terrified.. Jesus, I thought I was going to break you, you were so small..’

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

Camille gave one last push, letting out a visceral cry as she felt her body give way. Drake had his hands out and caught the baby.

'She’s here, Camille!’ he told her, his eyes wide. 'She’s beautiful!’

Camille let her head fall back onto the pillow, exhausted. It had been a difficult labour, long and excruciating. It turned out Camille used very colourful language when giving birth. But as she watched her husband with their baby girl in his hands, she knew it had been worth it.

The nurse smiled. 'Do you want to cut the cord?’ she asked. Drake blinked, a look of sheer terror on his face.

'How do I do that?’ he croaked.

The nurse showed him and Drake delicately cut the cord, so carefully. The nurse took the baby to clean her up before wrapping her in a blanket, passing her back to her father.

Drake looked down at his daughter. 'I can’t believe I have one of these..’ he whispered. He stared at the newborn with a dopey smile on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from her. 'Hey there little lady,’ he whispered. 'I’m your daddy.’

He suddenly wrenched his eyes away from her to stare at Camille.

'Baby, she’s got your eyes! She’s opened them! Jesus, they’re brown with gold flecks, just like you. My little owl.’

Camille’s eyes filled with happy tears. Drake moved towards her with the baby in his arms and settled down on the bed beside his wife. Camille let out a breath as she looked for the first time down at her daughter.

'She’s beautiful,’ she whispered. Drake smiled and passed her to Camille.

'I’m worried I’m going to break her,’ he told her, stroking a lock of Camille’s hair that was slicked with sweat. ‘She’s so tiny.’

Camille took the baby’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss on her bunched fist. 'You won’t,’ she replied softly.

'Do we still want to call her Lily?’ Drake asked.

Camille smiled. 'Do you think she’s a Lily?’

'100%.’

Camille grinned. 'Lily. Hi Lily.’

The baby gurgled and Camille let out her throaty laugh that Drake adored. 'Yeah, that’s your name, baby girl. Lily,’ Camille cooed. 'Lily Olivia Walker.’

Drake pretended to wince. 'Olivia? Really?’

Camille giggled and swatted his hand gently. Lily yawned and settled in Camille’s arms, closing her owl eyes.

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

'Liv, stop shooting daggers with your eyes at me, we gave her your name,’ Drake said, rolling his eyes good naturedly. Olivia, who was sat at the table nearest the Walker’s, gave him the middle finger before laughing.

'Jokes on you, Walker, your daughter loves me.’

Lily grinned. 'I really do, Aunt Olivia!’

Olivia raised her champagne glass towards her goddaughter and tossed it back. Drake turned back to address his daughter.

‘So, I think everyone who knows Lily knows how girly she is,’ he said.

‘Yessss!’ everyone cheered. Lily turned red and hid her face with her veil as Milo elbowed her gently, laughing.

‘Therefore, I know that picking her wedding dress would definitely have been the highlight of this whole day,’ Drake continued. He smirked at Milo. ‘Sorry, Milo.’

Milo shrugged happily and like he didn’t mind at all; he had the girl of his dreams. Drake sipped his whiskey and began to speak again.

‘Lily has always been girly,’ he told the room. ‘She loved playing dress up when she was growing up. And often, she would drag me into her dressing up games..’

‘Good on ya, Drake!’ Leo crowed from his seat beside Olivia. ‘Betcha looked beautiful!’

‘Ladies and gentleman, I believe Leo is drunk,’ Drake said, raising an eyebrow. The guests giggled and began to clap their hands as Leo stood up to bow.

‘Thank you, thank you, I’m here all night,’ he joked, raising his glass before sitting back down to listen to another story.

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

‘Daddy, you have to wear the pink tiara!’ Lily cried, holding out a plastic pink tiara to her father. ‘I’ll wear the silver one and then we can play Princesses!’

Drake took the pink tiara and placed it on his head. ‘How do I look?’ he asked. ‘Pretty?’

Lily giggled. ‘So pretty!’

She was wearing a purple velvet princess dress and Camille’s high heels. Drake watched as she tottered around her bedroom, singing to herself as she played. He was sat on the floor with her teddy bear on his lap, absentmindedly stroking the bear’s fur.

‘So what do princesses do?’ he asked.

Lily grinned. ‘We rule the kingdom!’ she said. ‘Just like Uncle Liam!’

‘Of course, just like Uncle Liam,’ Drake agreed. ‘What’s your kingdom like, Princess Lily?’

Lily chewed on her lip thoughtfully. ‘It’s.. happy,’ she decided. ‘It’s always happy and you get to play everyday. We can read lots of books and drink tea.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ Drake told her. ‘What kind of tea? Earl grey?’

‘Noooo daddy!’ she giggled. ‘Chocolate tea!’

‘You mean hot chocolate?’

Lily blinked slowly, as if Drake had just asked her a stupid question. ‘No, chocolate tea.’

‘Ah okay,’ Drake said, bowing his head. ‘Apologies. Where do we get chocolate tea from?’

Lily played with her long dark hair, pulling it through her fingers. Whenever she thought about something hard, her pixie nose crinkled in concentration and her fingers always moved as she thought to herself.

‘My kingdom has a lake filled with chocolate,’ she finally said. ‘You can swim in it! And get tea.’

‘Where is this lake, huh? Why don’t we have one in Cordonia?’

‘I know right?!’ Lily shrieked, bouncing over to Drake to throw her arms around his neck. ‘We need a chocolate lake!’

Drake chuckled and held her close, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair. ‘I’ll get you a chocolate lake, baby girl,’ he whispered. ‘You can drink all the chocolate tea you want.’

She drew back with a happy grin on her face. ‘I need to wear my feather boa!’ she decided, suddenly changing subject as she often did without warning.

‘Do princesses wear boas?’

‘Always,’ Lily said, opening her little closet and rifling through her clothes. ‘They’re fluffy and pretty.’

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

‘Now, she may be really girly but she’s also a Walker,’ Drake warned. ‘Milo, you gotta know that my baby girl can make campfires and toast smores like a badass.’

Milo chuckled and rolled his eyes at Lily who was looking very pleased with herself.

‘Be prepared for a lifetime of energy, emotions and joy,’ Drake told him. ‘Because that’s what Lily is. She’s my little pocket rocket.’

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

‘Smores are delicious!’ Lily squealed. Drake was teaching her how to toast smores over a campfire. She was six years old and in thrall of her father who was making it his mission to make this Walker Family Weekend the best weekend ever.

Her baby sister, Luna, was in Camille’s lap. They were sat around the fire and Luna’s eyes were lit up from the flames; she was hypnotised.

‘I want to eat these all the time,’ Lily said seriously. ‘They’re the best food ever!’

Drake held her tightly and pressed a kiss on top of her head. ‘You’re my little girl, you know that right?’

His eyes met Camille’s. His wife gave him a warm smile and she looked like she could burst from happiness. Drake could feel it too. This was the life he had always dreamed of. Just peace. The simple things. Smores.

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

‘So Lily is marrying the love of her life,’ Drake said. ‘Lily and Milo have known each other since they were four years old but their long relationship hasn’t been without its ups and downs. For example, they were best friends for the most part while Lily brought home many, many, many, many unsuitable boyfriends..’

Luna let out a laugh. ‘So true!’

‘Shut up!’ Lily protested, glaring at her sister. Luna stuck her tongue out, making Lily smile. She could never stay angry at Luna for long.

‘We all had bets on when Lily would get together with Milo,’ Drake said.

‘What?!’ Milo cried. ‘No way!’

‘I bet he would ask her out after the hockey player!’ Maxwell shouted out loud, raising his hand. ‘I got 50 euro!’

‘Damn you, Beaumont!’ Leo growled. ‘That was my hard earned money!’

‘Money doing what exactly?’ Olivia asked, nudging Leo’s knee with her foot. Leo turned red and downed another glass of champagne.

‘There was Matthew, Ethan, Eli, Patrick, James..’ Drake droaned. ‘Hockey guy.. Swimmer… guitar player..’

‘I’m surprised you let Lily out to be honest,’ Bertrand quipped, making everyone laugh. ‘I wouldn’t have.’

‘I was very tempted to keep her under lock and key,’ Drake admitted. ‘But no, instead I just got my rifle ready and gave those guys plenty of warning.’

Lily held her head in her hands. ‘Dad…’

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

‘So what are you doing after graduating?’ Camille asked the boy in front of her as she poured him a glass of juice.

‘Uh, I’m not graduating this year, Mrs Walker,’ Ethan drawled. ‘At all. I’ve dropped out.’

Camille kept her smile on her face as she sat down. Don’t judge. Be kind. Maybe he had a hard year. She could feel Drake tense beside her and willed him to keep quiet. She held out the bowl of salad, offering Ethan some greens.

‘Yeah, I failed like.. all my classes,’ Ethan explained, clearly not fussed that he was setting off alarm bells in Lily’s parents heads.

‘Oh,’ Camille said. ‘Tough year? I know Lily was struggling with maths-’

‘Nah, I just didn’t go,’ Ethan interrupted. ‘School is a prison, you know? You learn better outside the constricts of education! We gotta get outside, see the world, forge our own path.’

‘That sounds very freeing,’ Camille told him, trying to be polite. ‘Very forward thinking.’

‘So while my daughter is studying at university, what will you be doing?’ Drake asked, his tone thin. Lily was turning bright red, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but at the dinner table.

‘I’m just gonna see what life is, you know?’ Ethan drawled, leaning back to rest his arm around Lily’s shoulders. Drake’s eyes flicked to his arm while his hand gripped his knife.

‘Will you be working then?’ Camille asked. ‘I used to work as a waitress while at school. I used my cash to help my grandmother.’

‘My parents put a lot of importance on work..’ Lily whispered to Ethan, wanting to help him out a little.

‘I work on the side,’ Ethan said.

‘Doing what?’

‘I work with my buddy at the weekend,’ he said. ‘He’s got clients.’

‘Clients for what?’ Camille asked, taking a long, long sip of wine.

Lily quickly reached out to take the bowl of spaghetti. ‘Great pasta, mom!’ she cried, her voice high. ‘Delicious!’

Ethan grinned wolfishly. ‘You won’t be interested, Mrs Walker.’

Drake stood up abruptly, making Lily jump. She was on the edge of her seat, clearly waiting for Ethan to say one thing that would lead to disaster. She had been dating him for two months and she had been oddly quiet about him to her parents. She watched as Drake stalked out of the dining room.

‘Thanks for cooking, mom,’ Lily said quietly. Camille gave her a wink and twirled spaghetti around her fork.

‘So, Ethan, what would you like to be when you’re older?’

‘Jeez, that’s a loaded question..’ Ethan mused. ‘Again, I’d be in a box, working for the man..’

‘DAD!’ Lily shrieked, knocking over her glass of juice. Drake had returned with his rifle in his hand.

‘Don’t mind me,’ he called out. ‘I just remembered I need to clean my rifle!’

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

‘Ugh, I hated that guy..’ Milo groaned. ‘Such a dick.’

Lily was tomato red now. She could only listen as her family commented on all of her previous boyfriends, not kindly.

‘Patrick was a babe,’ Luna said. ‘But so, so vain..’

‘Hayden was very handsome,’ Camille joined in. Olivia let out a gasp. ‘Oooh Hot Hayden!’

‘What?!’ Lily screamed. ‘He was eighteen!’

‘He was legal,’’ Oliva said dryly.

Drake cleared his throat. ‘Okay, my speech is being ransacked. Back on track now, people, please. So, yeah, we watched a lot of boyfriends walk through our front door and leave just as quickly. It was like a conveyor belt of acne and hormones.’

‘Dad, you’re embarrassing me,’ Lily warned him.

Drake grinned. ‘Then be prepared for my next story!’

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

The front door slammed, making Drake and Camille pull away from each other and jump to opposite sides of the couch. ‘Fuck, that was close,’ Camille whispered, re-arranging her hair. Drake smirked and opened the living room door.

‘Lily, that you?’ he called out.

He could hear crying. Hysterical crying.

‘I’ll go,’ Camille volunteered.

‘Nah, I will,’ Drake said. ‘She’s home early though. Didn’t she have dance practice tonight?’

‘Maybe Harper’s mom dropped her off.’

Drake shrugged and wandered upstairs to Lily’s bedroom where he could hear crying and wailing coming from the other side of the door. He knocked and waited patiently for permission to enter.

‘Come in..’

Drake opened the door and found his fifteen year old daughter lying in a heap on her bed, crying. He rushed over to her. ‘Baby, what’s wrong?’

She burrowed her face in the pillow, her sobs muffled but still so very loud.

‘Lil?’ Drake murmured. ‘Baby, what’s wrong?’

She sniffled and raised her head up to look at him. Her eyeliner and mascara was streaked over her face; Drake winced. His daughter did not need makeup but because of her social circle, Lily felt pressure to always try and look perfect. She had to have the right hairstyle, the right perfume, the right clothing.. When really, she was perfect just the way she was.

‘He.. he.. He dumped me!’

Drake blinked. ‘Who?’

‘K..K..KYLE!’

Drake blinked again. Okay, who was Kyle again? Was he the footballer? No, that was Logan. The hockey player? No, that was Will. Who the fuck was Kyle?

‘Lily..’ he said, keeping his voice steady. ‘Who was Kyle?’

‘MY BOYFRIEND!’ she screamed, throwing a pillow to the other side of the room. ‘He dumped me! I thought we were so good! He called me.. He called me beautiful!’

Her voice cracked and she broke down again. Drake pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

‘Shhh, it’s alright..’ he whispered. ‘It’s okay, baby. Shhh..’

‘He made me laugh..’ she whispered. ‘And we had all these inside jokes..’

Drake sighed. The inside jokes were what got you.

‘I’m gonna be alone FOREVER!’ she wailed.

Drake closed his eyes. He was so used to hysterical female teenagers now, thanks to Lily. He could write a book on how to manage a hormonal daughter.

Lily was like Camille in that she wore her heart on her sleeve. She felt everything deeply and she loved very hard. But, she also had that Walker steel inside her heart that meant she wasn’t a pushover. So it was very odd that she was getting so worked up over a boy.

Until it occurred to Drake that Lily had never been dumped before. She always dumped them.

‘Okay baby, you know what we’re going to do?’ he said, his voice soothing as he rocked her.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘We’re gonna get you McDonalds and we’re going to make you smile again, okay?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Really? What if mom doesn’t let us?’

Drake gave her a wink. ‘Mom doesn’t have to know, does she?’

Thirty minutes later, they were in McDonalds, chowing down on chicken burgers and inhaling fries.

‘Oh my god, I wish mom let me eat this stuff all the time!’ Lily said with her mouth full. ‘It tastes so good!’

Drake laughed and watched as his daughter became more animated and happy, like the Lily he was used to. They talked about school, Lily’s friends and new films they had to watch on a dad and daughter date. Eventually, talk turned to Kyle.

‘So, can I ask how you met this guy?’

‘He’s in my English class,’ Lily said, sipping her coke.

‘How long were you dating?’ Drake asked. ‘Sorry, my memory is a little hazy. You date a lot of boys, honey.’

Lily giggled. ‘A week.’

Drake paused, his burger held in his hands. ‘A week?’

‘Yeah.’

Drake stared at Lily. ‘You were in pieces over a guy you had been dating.. For a WEEK?’

Lily nodded. ‘Yeah. What’s the problem?’

Drake scoffed and picked up her burger, shoving it in the paper bag. ‘Hey!’ she protested. ‘I was eating that!’

‘No,’ Drake said, tossing the burger in the trash. ‘McDonalds is pity food for when a guy breaks your heart after months of dating. McDonalds is pity food when you fail an exam. McDonalds is NOT pity food for a guy you have only dated for a week!’

Lily’s lip trembled. ‘But I really liked him..’

‘What would Aunt Olivia do?’ Drake asked bluntly. ‘If Leo dated her for a week and dumped her, what would Olivia do?’

Lily frowned. ‘Uhh.. stab him?’

Drake was beginning to agree when he realised he shouldn’t. ‘No!’ he said. ‘She would pick herself up, put on her highest heels and she would forget him! What would your mom do?’

‘She would drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine.’

Drake sighed. ‘After that.’

‘Um.. She would see her friends?’

‘Damn right she would,’ Drake said fiercely. ‘So why are you hangin’ out with me? Go see Violet or Harper. See someone who isn’t that asshole and just have a good time. It was only a week. Forget the douchebag, he ain’t worth it. Hell, go see Milo! I like that kid!’

Lily was staring at him as if he had grown two heads. ‘Dad.. why do you go all Texan when you’re emotional?’

‘I don’t know, I just do!’

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

Milo was laughing as Drake regaled the room of Lily’s dating escapades. He could see Lily smiling so he knew it was alright; Drake hadn’t overstepped. He was really looking forward to being part of the Walker family. He practically was family anyway, from years of knowing Lily, but now it was official.

Drake’s laughing eyes met Milo’s. ‘So,’ he said. ‘I remember when Milo asked me if he could ask for daughter’s hand in marriage. He was so nervous and had clearly prepared his speech, not that he needed it. I was gonna say yes. Hell, you could have just asked her and I wouldn’t have minded!’

Milo blushed and felt Lily squeeze his hand. She was always a comforting presence for him. Ever since playgroup when Milo was too shy to join in with their classmates, Lily would take his hand and make him feel safe.

‘I was always gonna agree to you marrying my daughter, kiddo,’ Drake told him honestly. ‘Doubt never crossed my mind.’

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

Milo was sat out on the front steps of the manor with Drake, their usual spot for talking. Drake had brought out a bottle of whiskey and poured him a glass before toasting to their health.

‘Remember at your prom and you were waiting for Lily to find you a leaf?’ Drake asked. ‘So I offered you whiskey but you couldn’t drink it because you were seventeen?’

‘Heh, yeah,’ Milo said. ‘Now I can. Because I’m an adult.’

Drake nodded. ‘Indeed.’

They sipped their drinks until Milo broke the silence. ‘Mr Walker, I need to talk to you about something,’ Milo said, speaking quickly, keen to get the words out. Drake turned to him and regarded him seriously.

‘Sounds ominous..’

‘It’s not,’ Milo said. ‘It’s important though. I.. I guess I just wanted to ask.. I wanted to ask if I could please marry your daughter.’

He thought Drake was going to punch him. This was Drake Walker. He was known for being protective of his daughters. He was known for bringing out his rifle and ‘cleaning’ it in front of her boyfriends. Why did he ask? What made him think Drake would say yes? He would say no and make sure Lily was sent off to a convent or wherever adult women were sent to avoid marriage and men and dicks.

‘I just think she’s incredible,’ Milo continued, his breathing turning rapid. ‘She makes me happy and I’ve known her for so long. She’s like my other part of my soul, you know? No, she is my soul. She’s everything to me. I love her. I want to marry her but I wanted to ask for permission first. You can totally say no, I get it-’

‘Milo.’

‘I’ll step back and won’t ask her-’

‘Milo, of course you can.’

‘Then she can just marry someone else - wait, what?’

Drake was trying not to laugh. Milo looked like he was going to faint. ‘Mr Walker..’

‘Yes, you can marry Lily,’ Drake said. ‘Jesus, dude. Calm down!’

‘But..’

‘What? You trying to convince me otherwise?’

‘NO!’

Drake smirked. ‘Then shut up and drink your whiskey like an adult.’

Milo tossed back his whiskey, letting it burn his throat. Drake clapped him on the back.

‘Welcome to the family.’

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

Later that evening, Drake and Lily joined on the dancefloor to dance together. Drake marvelled at how stunning she looked in her wedding dress; she had chosen a boho gown with flowing white silk and she had taken off her veil to show off her dark hair that was decorated with silver leaves. The leaves were a nod to her and Milo’s childhood- leaves were seen as declarations of love at their playgroup and Milo had gifted Lily many leaves over the years.

As they swayed together, Lily felt tears prick up in her eyes.

‘I love you daddy,’ she whispered.

Drake blinked. She never called him daddy.

‘Honey, you okay?’

She nodded, laughing at herself. ‘Yeah. I’m just emotional. Plus your speech was amazing.’

‘Heh, I talked too much,’ Drake said, twirling her around.

‘You tell good stories.’

‘I’m a Walker,’ Drake said. ‘We love stories.’

Lily grinned. ‘I’m keeping my last name by the way.’

‘Really?’ Drake asked. ‘Milo’s not offended?’

‘Hell no!’ Lily cried. ‘I’m Lily Olivia Walker. I’m your daughter. I’m a Walker through and through.’

Drake chuckled and brought her in close to hug her.

‘You’re the first man who really loved me..’ Lily whispered in his ear. ‘I’m forever thankful for that.’

Drake held her tightly. ‘I know, baby girl,’ he whispered back. ‘And I’ll always love you.’

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #play choices #the royal romance

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sufferthesea · 4 years

Text

Fortune (Qrow Branwen)

Summary: Qrow, Tai, and the girls go out to eat to celebrate Tai’s birthday. They each get a fortune cookie. Word Count: 1,857 Characters: Qrow Branwen, Taiyang Xiao Long, Yang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose Warnings: None Rating: General / No Ship Originally Posted: RWBY Amino (username: MutualOzpining), AO3 (username: akimikono)

Qrow did not want to go out on such a night, but he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Between his nieces hounding him nonstop to train or play video games, and Ozpin sending him on missions one right after another, there was very little time to himself. He would rather not spend that precious free time in the presence of people he couldn’t hide from. But it was Taiyang’s birthday and — despite not having much love for birthday celebrations — both men had been convinced (or rather, coerced) into taking Ruby and Yang out to a restaurant to mark another year on Remnant. So after a mere fifteen minutes to get home and clean up, he headed out the door to meet up with the rest of his family.

The restaurant was dimly lit with black and red lacquer screens blocking off the hostess stand from the booths. The screens were decorated in flaking gold images of wheat fields and cranes. There were more people than expected, considering it was a weeknight and there were many other (much better) restaurants in town. There were better restaurants right across the street. Still, Ruby and Yang insisted on this particular restaurant for some reason.

It smelled like smoke and animal fat, and there was a distinct aroma like burnt oil hanging on the air that permeated the vinyl seats. The hostess, a kind but otherwise unremarkable woman in a black and red dress matching the paper screens, led them to their booth near the back of the dining room. She passed out menus that were almost as large as Ruby herself.

“Would you like to hear the specials?” she asked, voice chipper but the bags under her eyes told Qrow that she was exhausted.

“No thanks,” Qrow said, speaking for everyone. He had caught a glimpse of the sandwich board standing in front of the hostess stand that had the day’s specials scrawled across it.

Leek and Salmon Soup. Liver and Noodles. Bok Choy Salad (sold out).

He thought he would spare the waitress having to exert any more energy than she needed to.

“What can I get you to drink?”

Ruby cleared her throat, folded her hands onto the table and stared at the waitress grimly. “Do you have chocolate milk?”

“We do, but it only comes in small glasses. It’s part of the children’s menu.”

Ruby nodded solemnly, “Make it two chocolate milks, then.”

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” Yang said, smiling brightly.

“Are you sure, Yang?” Tai asked as he thumbed through the menu to the drink selection. “You don’t have to just get water.”

“Yeah, Yang!” Ruby cut in, “Water is boring. We can make it three chocolate milks.”

“I’m training for the Vytal Festival, Ruby. I’m not going to have any extra sugar before then.”

“Why? Do you think you’re fat? You aren’t fat! Dad, tell Yang she isn’t fat!”

“You aren’t fat, Yang —”

“I never said I was! But I’m not fourteen anymore! I can’t eat as much sugar as Ruby! I need to be focused and —”

“Chocolate milk helps me focus!”

Qrow sighed, placing his chin in his hand and looked to the waitress. She seemed confused, startled even. She caught his eye and he decided it was now or never if he was going to order.

“I’ll take whatever’s cheapest on your liquor shelf.”

“Uh … okay.” She scribbled it down on her notepad.

“Thanks, hon,” he said, giving her a small wink.

Her face flushed redder than her apron and she stuttered out a question, asking Tai for his drink.

“Ruby, please — just let your sister order what she wants. Yang, no one is calling you fat. Please, just — you know what? I’ll take whatever Qrow is having!” Tai motioned wildly toward the man sitting across from him. “I think I could use it!”

Without waiting for another word, the waitress hurried off through the swinging doors into the back of the restaurant.

Qrow rested his head heavier into his palm and tapped the tabletop with his fingertips. He grimaced the moment he realized his fingers were having a hard time bouncing back from the wood. It was coated in something sticky and something that he did not want to be touching.

“Nice place they got here,” he muttered, sitting up and hearing the fabric over his elbow tearing away from the stickiness on the table.

The other three settled down enough to gloss over the menu. Ruby had naturally shuffled to the kid’s menu where at least the food sounded edible. Yang was trying to decide what food would benefit her most in the training session that would soon follow after dinner. Tai was staring at the prices listed down the right side of the menu, his eyes widening. For such a dirty restaurant, they sure charged an arm and a leg.

Tai must have spotted something absurdly expensive because he immediately snatched the menus out of everyone’s hand and quickly said, “We’re all just going to share an appetizer and we can eat real food at home.”

“Dad!” Ruby cried, “It’s your birthday! We’re supposed to have a special dinner!”

“Sharing egg rolls is special,” Tai said as the waitress arrived with their drinks. After she distributed the drinks, he handed over the menus. “Which is exactly what we’re going to do. The egg roll appetizer, please. And then that will be it.”

“Perfect!” the waitress said and this time she seemed to genuinely smile. She disappeared to the back again.

“Dad, that’s not fair,” Ruby gasped as she stuck a straw into the first chocolate milk and slurped it down. “We’ve been waiting all year for your birthday dinner. We’re supposed to treat you!”

“Treat me? Aren’t I paying for this?”

“That’s part of the specialness,” Ruby insisted.

“Yeah, Dad. It’s an honor to be the adult in this group.”

“Nice try, Yang.”

“What? Somebody has to be the adult, and it’s certainly not Ruby or Qrow.”

“Hey, kid,” Qrow muttered, picking up his glass and swirling it around. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but only adults can drink whiskey. And what’s in my glass? That’s right. So that makes me an adult.”

“I’m pretty sure your glass is full of future bad decisions,” Ruby piped up, already halfway through her second glass.

Qrow huffed something like a curse under his breath and finished his glass. Soon the food arrived and the three egg rolls were meticulously split into four equal portions. It was quickly devoured and Tai even had the momentary thought to order something else when Ruby said she might pass out from hunger until he remembered the prices and decided against it.

“Can we at least get a dessert?” Ruby exhaled, throwing her head back against the booth once she finished her final chocolate milk. “I think I’m gonna starve before we get home.”

Yang nodded as she rattled the ice in her empty cup. “I agree.”

“We’ll stop for something cheaper on the way home,” Tai said, throwing a few lien on the table. “Let’s get going.”

They shuffled out of the booths and headed to the door.

“Thank you,” Tai said, waving a hand in passing to the waitress. “Payment and tip are on the table.”

“Oh, did you want a receipt?”

“That’s fine, I don’t need it.”

“How about your fortune cookies?”

“Yes, please!” Ruby and Yang chimed in together.

The waitress dug through her apron pocket and pulled out a few cookies. She handed one to Ruby, Yang, and Tai.

“How about you?” she asked Qrow. He grunted and she pulled out another one and put it in his hand, returning his wink from earlier.

“What does yours say?” Yang asked her dad and she broke open her own cookie and stuffed it into her mouth, flattening the paper.

“A friendly gathering is in your future,” Tai read from his paper. “Huh, I guess it means this friendly gathering!” He threw his arms around his daughters and squeezed their shoulders.

Ruby chewed on her cookie loudly and read hers. “A business deal will succeed and you’ll be recognized for your hard work. Yang! Do you think this is referring to the Vytal Festival! Do you think I’ll win?!”

“It’s not really a business deal, but maybe it has something to do with a mission we’ll be sent on! Those are business deals, right? Huh, mine says, Be careful of the company you keep. Not everyone is your friend. That’s ominous. Why did I get this and you both got really nice ones?”

“It’s probably talking about Weiss,” Ruby said under her breath, then broke out into giggles. “Oh! Please don’t tell her I said that!”

“I’m definitely telling her.”

“Yang! No!”

Qrow rolled his own cookie into his palm for a moment before breaking it open and pulled out the small paper. He smoothed it down and read it over silently. “Hm,” he grumbled, folding it and sticking it into his pocket.

“Uncle Qrow?” Ruby called.

“What?”

“Can I have your cookie?” Her eyes focused on the food in his hands.

“Oh, sure.” He handed the two halves to Ruby.

“What’d your fortune say?” Yang asked.

“I don’t remember,” Qrow said, heading out the front door. “You guys don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?”

“Only when it’s something good!” Yang grinned at him.

“Tai,” Qrow said as he ambled down the road, hands in his pocket, “why don’t you take Ruby and Yang to get something else to eat? I think I’m going to head home.”

“But —!” Ruby cried, hanging onto Qrow’s arm. “It’s Dad’s birthday! You have to be with us!”

“I was with you, kid. But it’s getting late and I have some business to take care of.”

“Hey, sounds like you needed Ruby’s fortune instead,” said Yang.

“Yeah, I still don’t know what business deal they mean. I can’t really see myself as a businesswoman.”

The girls chattered amongst themselves while Qrow and Tai loitered behind.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Yeah, it’s just that Oz has me doing a lot of things. I’ve got to get back and work. I’m already pretty far behind.”

“We can just get something quick for you to eat.”

“That’s fine, I’m not really that hungry.”

“Well, thanks for coming out anyway.”

“Yeah. Happy birthday.” Qrow ambled down the sidewalk past the girls and nodded at them. “I’ll see you girls around later.”

Yang and Ruby clung to Qrow’s arms again, releasing him only at their dad’s request. They waved goodbye as Qrow disappeared down the street.

An hour later, Qrow was sitting in his apartment, another glass of whiskey in his hand. He stared blankly at the wall for a while before he reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper that he’d hidden there. He unfolded it between his index finger and thumb, and read it over. A small smile spread across his face.

A happy ending is in your future.

He hummed, finished the drink and set the empty glass on the table next to him. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

#qrow branwen #rwby #ruby rose #taiyang xiao long #yang xiao long #fortune cookies #ficlet #qrow branwen fic #rwby fic #ao3: akimikono #amino: mutualozpining #mutualozpining #tumblr: sufferthesea

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emiliachrstine · 4 years

Text

late night talk

summary: After losing their father, the siblings enjoy a night filled with alcohol and tears. characters: madison rogers, john rogers word count: 1785 Notes: It’s not perfect but I really wanted to get some angst out there because I love torturing my ocs. Also I know the summary sucks, please don’t come at me!

tag list: @chuck-hansens, @samwilsonns, @kea-jones, @luucypevensie, @chantelroyal, @dieorfight

[CLICK HERE IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED]

Madison pushed her glass towards John, signaling for him to give her a refill. He did just that, filling the glass halfway and then poured him one more as well. The two drank silently, both casting solemn glances around their childhood home. It felt different being here now. It no longer had that warmth and security. No, it felt cold and empty. The mere action nearly brought Madison to tears. She swallowed down what was left of her drink and sucked in a breath. “It’s so quiet.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. She glanced up at John, who was staring at her with glazed eyes. “I keep thinking Dad’s gonna walk through that door any minute.” She said, sparing a quick glance at the front door.

John kept his eyes focused on her, not permitting himself to indulge in the same mindset as her. No, he couldn’t. It would drive him crazy. But as he sat there, John found himself agreeing with her. She was right. The house was too quiet for his liking. Usually, his parents would have a vinyl playing on their record player. John eyed the record player in the living room, wanting so badly to walk over and put one on. But he didn’t have the strength. All of his energy had been sucked out of him. Ever since they buried Steve, neither could bring themselves play music. All of the records in the house reminded them too much of their parents. It was too soon for that kind of nostalgia.

John finally allowed his eyes to wander around the room. They immediately settled on a family photo, situated on one of the end tables. He pressed his hand to his mouth, choking back the knot that had formed in his throat.

“You think they’re together?”

Madison’s question made John center his focus. He gave himself a few more seconds to gather himself before looking over at her. Her eyes were red, brimming with tears and he saw her lips tremble. “What do you mean?” He cringed at hearing how hoarse his voice was--the way it faltered at the end. Dammnit, keep yourself together.

“Mom and Dad,” she clarified. “Do you think they’re together now… in Heaven?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then gave a shrug. “Yeah, I mean that’s what everyone believes.” John felt his stomach twist in a knot, his answer was so cavalier. He didn’t mean for it to be. But the question threw him so far off. He wasn’t sure how to respond to it.

Madison reached for the bottle and poured out a decent amount into her glass. For a moment, she sat in silence, staring at the liquid and thinking about her question. “What if there’s no such thing?” There was no response from John, prompting her to continue. “What if there’s no Heaven… what if when we die there’s just nothing. No paradise. No afterlife, just emptiness.”

“Why are you even thinking about that, Madison?” John interrupted, he felt his stomach twist at having to hear her talk about it. After just losing their dad, that was the absolute last thing he wanted to talk about.

“Because it scares me.” She admitted, tears finally spilled onto her cheeks when she looked up at him. “We were always told that we would see our loved ones again, that we would be reunited with them. What if it’s all a lie? What if Heaven was something we created to help us deal with grief, to help make some sense of it. It’s comforting when you think about reuniting with them once you’ve passed. The idea of mom and dad being together again is comforting. But what if it’s all bullshit?”

John leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, then washed his hands down his face. “Madison,”

“I don’t want it to be bullshit,” she continued. “I want it to be real. I want to see mom and dad again, I want to see Uncle Tony and Aunt Nat, I just--” She was cut off by a sharp intake of breath. Her hands flew up to cover her face in a vain attempt to prevent John from seeing her cry. But he’s seen it all. “I miss them,” she barely managed to say those words before her body was wracked by a violent sob. “I miss them… I want them back.”

John immediately reached over and took hold of Madison’s hand. She turned her hand so that her hand was firmly resting in his. The two didn’t say anything. John remained quiet so that Madison could have her moment, his grip tightening every time he felt her shake from a sob. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, his chest ached at hearing his sister breakdown. He wanted to join her. He wanted to cry out and curl into a ball. Like he did when he was a child.

He ran a hand down his face, feeling that his cheeks were wet. When had he started crying?

Madison finally gathered herself and sucked in a few deep breaths. She had to pull herself together. She felt as if she had been crying non-stop and, frankly, she was exhausted. Madison scoffed at herself, thinking about how ridiculous she must look and sound. Her hand still clung onto John’s, afraid to let go--fearing that she would break down again if she did. “I’m so stupid.” She said, wiping away the stains on her cheeks.

“No,” John shook his head. “You’re not.”

“No, I am.” She responded and huffed out a wet laugh before continuing. “I was naive… I always thought that Dad was gonna be with us forever.” A painful smile crossed her lips when she finally allowed herself to look at her brother. “I thought it was gonna be the three of us for… a long time.”

“It’s okay,” John’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on her hand. “Because I thought that same thing.”

Madison hummed and raised her glass, the smile was still evident, “Look at us being absolute suckers.” She said before emptying the entire glass.

“Our Dad was Captain America, he was larger than life--makes sense that we would think like that.”

“He escaped death once by being frozen in the ice for seventy years, you’d think he could’ve avoided death at all costs.”

John went to reach for the bottle, frowning when he saw that it was empty. He got up to retrieve a new bottle from the cabinet. He pulled the whiskey bottle out and unscrewed the lid, pausing momentarily when he noticed a photo of his parents on the refrigerator. He pulled the photo off and turned it over, the date October 2015 was scribbled on the back in his mother’s recognizable handwriting. When John sat back down at the table, he handed the photo over to Madison who took it after hesitating.

“I found that on the fridge,” John said, pouring out another round for them both. He could only guess the photo was taken on some kind of trip they went on together. “I don’t remember ever seeing that photo up there.”

“Dad must’ve put it up not too long ago,” Madison smiled as she examined the photo, then turned it over to read the date. “This was well before I was born.”

Looking at photos of their parents before they were born, was always a strange experience for Madison. She always thought of them as Mom and Dad which was normal. But there was a time when they weren’t her parents. When they were just two people who, under very unlikely circumstances, found their way to each other and fell in love. It was a rather unconventional love story, one that Jacqueline lamented to her daughter when she was much older. She heard it all. All the good and all of the bad, including the chaos that went down when Jacqueline was pregnant with her. She knew about the way her parents hurt each other, how Steve wasn’t there when Madison was born due to poor choices on both her parent’s parts. The relationship wasn’t perfect, what relationship is? Despite the ups and downs, Madison was always sure of how much her parents loved each other.

“You know when we lost Mom… Dad wasn’t the same anymore,” she placed the photo down, keeping her gaze focused on it. “He didn’t smile as much, didn’t listen to his records. The only time he was ever happy was if we were with him. But I saw it every time I was with him. He wasn’t the same after she died. It’s like he lost a part of himself. The only thing he wanted was to be with her again.”

Losing their mother was already painful enough. But Madison and John would agree that it was worst having to witness their father grieve the loss. Steve became withdrawn, unwilling to hold up conversations. Sam and Bucky tried their best to pull him out of it. To get him focused on other things, even getting him to help plan a few of their missions. Steve would help with the planning but it did nothing to pull him from his grief.

“He just needs time,” Bucky said to both Madison and John. “The only thing you can do for him is just… be there when he needs you.”

It was a long and painful process for the three of them. While it did get better, they never fully got over what happened to Jacqueline. Then again, grief isn’t something that can be forgotten.

John’s eyes lingered on the photo, his teeth bit down on his lip in an effort to keep himself in check. God, he really didn’t want to cry anymore. He’s done enough of that the last few days. But like his sister, he missed them. They didn’t deserve to have them taken away so soon. He wanted them back. “I hope you’re right,” John twirled his glass and looked up to see his sister giving him a confused look. “I hope you’re right and that there is a place we go to when we die… because I hate the idea of mom and dad not being together again.”

Madison reached for her brother’s hand again, already feeling a sting in her waterline. “Guess we won’t know the truth until we bite the dust.” Madison raised her glass, prompting John to do the same.

They gave a silent toast in honor of the people they lost. For Tony. For Natasha. For their parents. And to the hope that one day they’ll see them all again.

#ocappreciation #ch:madison lewis rogers #ch:john rogers #ros***#okay this DID NOT pan out the way I wanted it to #but I honestly don't care at this point #I feel like I need to do a one shot of bucky and the kids now #akjsdalks #there are so many ideas #if you have any prompt ideas #LET ME KNOW #COME CRY WITH ME

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siriusfm · 4 years

Text

✘𝕤𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕦𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜: 𝖇𝖎𝖔

I saw SIRIUS BLACK in Diagon Alley, but at first I mistook HIM for SAMUEL LARSEN. The TWENTY year-old was in GRYFFINDOR at Hogwarts, right? Now I think they are a “ PART-TIME MUSICIAN ” ( UNEMPLOYED, FUNDED BY UNCLE ALPHARD’S INHERITANCE ). When it comes to the war the PUREBLOOD is WITH THE ORDER. I always liked that they were RIGHTEOUS and INDEPENDENT, but they always seemed PROUD and DEFIANT, which is unfortunate. ( Em/she&her/24/GMT ).

I. BLACK BLOOD

THE HOUSE OF BLACK are an aristocratic family. Strung tightly together by traditionalist beliefs & a misplaced proprietorship of PURITY, they are the picture of the snotty, self-centred elite, stamping on ants who dirty their marble paths. Sirius didn’t try particularly hard to like his parents. As the eldest male HEIR of the Black name, he didn’t have to try particularly hard at anything.

There was a vain attempt to educate him “ properly ”, with WEEKS spent tracing back the Black bloodline to its routes, learning the names & notorieties of every pureblood family ( a sharp hex shot for each snarky answer ). He revelled in wealth, slipped naturally into the ARROGANCE of affluence, but couldn’t shake the damned idea that the Black family’s archaic notion of “ pure ” was old news ready to washed away in the rain.

II. MUGGLE V MAGIC

Just as Sirius suspected the wizarding world had hit a standstill, the muggle world continued to EVOLVE. Sirius would sneak into muggle London after at tough day’s home schooling & revel in the bustle of it all. It wasn’t hard; whilst he was spied on like a hawk within the walls of Grimmauld Place, Orion & Walburga Black cared little for where he’d wander in the evenings – no heir of House Black would dare risk bring SHAME to the family name.

Muggle London was its own kind of magic, & it was clear that a rebellion of MIND, MUSIC & STYLE was quickly forming in the streets. Though too young to realise it at the time, it was a rebellion Sirius was fated to bring home.

III. THE SORTING

The more it was “ suspected ” that Sirius was DIFFERENT, the harder his parents fought to shape him into the perfect son of House Black. The punishments often fit the crime; a desire to learn about muggle technology required two nights locked in the dusty, dated library with nothing to do but research the intricacies of DARK MAGIC and blood purity; a painful curse for any question that dared UNRAVEL the faults in their obsession with fortune & family; a week spent on the streets when it became apparent that he idealised the littered cobble of muggle London more than the antique, mahogany woodwork of Grimmauld Place.

They pushed, and pushed, and PUSHED but, when Sirius Black was placed into GRYFFINDOR house – among those brave of heart and rich in principle – it became clear he was a lost cause. House Black had been aligned with Slytherin for centuries, and Sirius’ sorting was akin to SPITTING on the graves of his ancestors.

IV. FOUND FAMILY

“ They’re going to kill me,” an eleven-year-old Sirius said over & over as he gripped his new Gryffindor tie, unblinking. He wouldn’t put it past Walburga Black to have spies in the Hogwarts Dormitories, keeping a close eye on any of her pathetic son’s misdeeds. “ They’re actually going to KILL me. ” To the untrained eye, it would appear as if Sirius Black was panicking, but peer closer and you’d see a daring smile. This was it; the match that would like the FIRE of his rebellion. The beginning of a new era, away from the expectations of his overbearing, malicious mother. Sirius felt well and truly ALIVE, and his next step was to befriend every damn Gryffindor, blood traitor and muggleborn he could.

V. UP TO NO GOOD

Whilst Walburga & Orion Black petitioned Dumbledore to question the Sorting Hat’s decision, Sirius had one spoonful of freedom and decided he wanted the whole damn bucket. The energy of youth mixed with the arrogance of wealth made Sirius a force to be RECKONED with, and he had his best friends – shit, he’d never even had friends before – to encourage each and every titbit of revolt.

He had JAMES – beautiful James – with just enough bravado and brilliance to keep up with Sirius’ trouble-making plots. They were SOULMATES, brothers, and Sirius would unstitch himself from the Black family tapestry himself if it meant a lifetime with James bloody Potter by his side.

He had REMUS, the caged calm within the storm whose wit and wisdom humbled Sirius when it didn’t get him to push harder. He loved to TEASE Remus because there was a chance – a chance he’d never experienced with even the most educated of his family’s acquaintances – that he’d be stunned silent by the reply.

And then there was PETER, the butt of his jokes but the heart of the group, whose enigmatic easygoingness ( though Sirius would never say it to his face ) made him a friend for life. Whilst insulting Peter came as naturally to Sirius as straightening his collar, if anyone outside of the Gryffindor dormitory dared insult the lad, they’d get a HEX right where it hurt.

They were the MARAUDERS and – in the Summer of Sirius’ sixteenth birthday, when he was viciously cut loose of the Black name, family estate and vast inheritance – they were the only family he had left.

VI. MISSING PIECES

OF COURSE, there’s a lot not mentioned here. The muggle posters of motorbikes and bikini-clad women stuck permanently to his bedroom walls to ever-taunt his parents. The summers spent sneaking out of Grimmauld place to CAMDEN MARKET, haggling for leather jackets, anarchist pin-badges and menthol cigarettes. The Gryffindor scarves littered around the house, then burned to a crisp by his darling, vindictive mother.

His brother, REGULUS, whom Sirius wanted so much to stray from the rigid, malevolent path expected from a boy with his surname. Sirius watched as Regulus was sorted into Slytherin ( just as every good Black should be ) and felt his body deflate, so painfully desperate to free his sibling from the CHAINS of their household. Inside, Sirius burns with that hope still, but it reveals itself as bitter disapproval towards the COWARDICE of Regulus’ conformity.

The months spent training to be an ANIMAGUS ( Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs ) to help their friend in his most vulnerable state.

Sirius’ betrayal of that friendship, as he thrust SNIVELLUS SNAPE into Moony’s best-guarded secret.

The summer spent at the Potter’s estate, learning what a REAL FAMILY could look like.

The INHERITANCE from his Uncle Alphard. A small fortune, enough to get a place of his own ( not to mention a motorbike of his own, a real leather jacket, a round of drinks for the misfits at the pub that taught him how to roll his own cigs and sing along to Black Sabbath ). Sirius Black is TRULY independent now.

And finally, the FUTURE. The war. The ORDER. Sirius, fuelled by all the found, fostered and fucked-up families he’s encountered, is ANGRY. When he’s not begging Dumbledore for a mission – anything to save those he loves – he’s serenading his mates in their places of work & getting pissed on muggle whiskey. It’s a dirty sort of perfect.

VII. PERSONALITY

(+) righteous, independent, quick-witted, unassuming, unbiased, energetic

(-) proud, defiant, arrogant, angry, selfish, egotistical, aimless, bitter

#bio #this got long my bad!!!#wanted connections coming up x

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ead13 · 4 years

Text

Happy Trails, Old Friend

I don’t know why I got the urge to write about Branwen dying (of old age and very happy, I can assure you!), but here it is. Also, Arthur has a soft spot for Kieran and you can’t convince me otherwise.

“Papa! Papa! Something’s wrong with Branny!”

Kieran could feel a knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. This news shouldn’t surprise him; he’d noticed how Branwen was faltering, and when he really thought about it (which he rarely had time to do now that he was juggling five kids and counting), his longtime companion was old. Actually, very old. Considering Branwen had been middle-aged, probably in his teens when he was assigned to him in the army, that meant he had lived a damn good, long life for a horse.

Knowing that didn’t make the thought of saying goodbye any easier. No doubt Becky was the bearer of bad news.

“Let me have a look at ‘im,” he answered quickly, dropping the curry comb he had been using to brush one of his charges. Still, he did his best to remain calm for his daughter’s sake as he closed the door to the stall. No need to start the little girl crying. Before he could take her hand, she was running on ahead to the pasture where Branwen spent his golden years grazing in peace. Even from a distance, he could see the flaxen roan horse was lying on the ground. He could hear the sound of weak braying carrying across the field. No, this wasn’t good at all.

By now, Leah had heard the commotion and come running from across the yard where she had been feeding the chickens. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

Kieran stopped and waited for his second-eldest to join them, but it wasn’t long before Becky was tugging on his arm. Linked together, they finally arrived at Branwen’s side. The old boy’s breathing was labored, more of a shudder than anything. It didn’t take more than a second to understand the situation. “Girls, you oughtta say yer goodbyes to ol’ Branwen.”

“You mean he’s gonna die?” Becky looked at him with wide-eyed horror.

He reached up and rubbed his beard, trying to pass off his anxious energy so they wouldn’t catch it. “Horses don’t live as long as people do, sweetie. As far as horses go, Branwen is a real old man. Most of ‘em don’t even live to be this old. He’s had a good life, a very happy one here with us.”

“We can’t help him?” Leah wondered sadly, reaching out to pet the quivering animal gently. Becky followed suit.

Kieran just shook his head, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. “That’s just how it is. But he’s lucky that in the end he’s safe and loved and taken care of. Not every horse gets that.” He was trying to encourage himself just as much as his daughters at this point. The only thing making this easier was the heart-warming way they hugged the ailing creature, burying their faces into his well-groomed coat. They had grown up with Branwen, riding the gentle horse when they were still small enough for him to carry their weight. Yes, so much love. All the love he deserved.

“You two take yer time sayin’ goodbye. I’m gonna go find yer ma and let her know.” More than that, though, he was going to see if he could convince Mary-Beth to take the kids to Uncle Arthur’s farm for a visit so he could put his dear friend out of his misery without having to worry about traumatizing his kids. Also, so he could cry about it in private.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

He thought he’d have to work harder to convince her, but Mary-Beth was a saint. Even juggling five children under the age of 10 and half-way towards their sixth, she quickly agreed to give him the space he needed. Emma went to say her goodbyes too before being packed up in the wagon, but Rachel and Kieran were too young to comprehend the situation. Mary-Beth would have visited the old horse too, but she had her hands more than full. Instead, she pulled him into a long embrace. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know Branwen means the world to you. When I get back and the kids get settled, we can talk.”

“Thanks, darlin’, for everything,” he murmured, squeezing her tight. “I think I’m gonna need it. That and a bottle o’ whiskey…”

When she released him, she found Becky and Leah at her skirts. “Papa, are you okay?”

He kneeled down to pull both of his girls into a big hug. “This is gonna be very hard for me. I love Branwen very much. But he’s sufferin’, and it wouldn’t be fair to make ‘im keep sufferin’. Sometimes when ya love somethin’ you gotta let it go.” Damn, his eyes were getting misty!

“Should I stay with you?” Becky wondered, looking up at him and no doubt seeing every hint of distress in his face.

He gave a small smile. “No, sweetie. Sometimes ya hafta have some space away from other people. But when you both get back, I’m gonna need another hug, okay?”

“Okay.”

Finally, everyone was packed up and the wagon was heading down the road. That just left Kieran wrapped in an abnormal silence. He went to go pull out his shotgun. This had to be a clean kill, but as he reached for the firearm, he realized his hands were shaking badly. They continued to do so as he checked the ammunition and gunpowder. How the hell was he supposed to be able to do this?

In the end he decided that he’d just sit with Branwen until sunset, maybe braid his mane one last time, see if he’d eat an apple. He’d wait until his friend was asleep before ending it.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

There were many tears in those precious hours, and he felt bad for it, as if it would upset Branwen even more. His breathing wasn’t much better, but at least his braying stopped as his favorite human settled down next to him. Kieran had suspected long ago that Branwen couldn’t really see anymore, having watched him bump into things. He always reacted to his voice, though, and that brought him some level of peace. He couldn’t eat the apple, just didn’t have the energy even though it was his favorite. This really was the end…

Kieran was so in the moment that he nearly missed the sound of hoof beats. Who in the world would be coming now? It was too late in the day for any customer to return for their horse, and the kids surely couldn’t be back this early. He didn’t really have the energy to get up and look. Once he got up, he’d have to pull the trigger.

“Kieran, I figured you’d be draggin’ yer heels.”

The familiar voice caused him to startle. “A-Arthur?”

He looked up to find the imposing figure of Arthur Morgan towering over him as robust as ever despite the onset of some graying hairs. “Heard ‘bout ol’ Branwen when yer brood showed up at my place. Puttin’ a horse to rest ain’t no one-man job, so I thought I’d come over and assist. I’m assumin’…” he gestured to the wide expanse of land their ranch covered, “there’ll need to be a proper burial.”

“Huh, yer right. Guess I didn’t think of that,” Kieran admitted, looking downcast. He turned his gaze to the sinking sun. “I ain’t got any more time left, do I? Not if I hafta get this done before they get back.”

“I reckon not. I also reckon…” he paused, scratching his head awkwardly. “I mean, if ya want, I could be the one to pull the trigger.”

It wasn’t the idea of the finality of a trigger pull; it was all the idea that Arthur was kind enough to offer. He lost it. “I’m sorry, I thought I was done with this!” he tried to explain, wiping the tears now streaming from his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want his emotions to disturb Branwen, who had fallen asleep. “It ain’t like I’m losin’ my wife or my kids, I got no reason to be actin’ like this…”

Arthur put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Kieran, look at me.” The man struggled to obey, but Arthur refused to continue until he did. “I still remember how hard it was to lose Boadicea. I’d had that horse for a long time. But you and Branwen, even I know that was something more. You’d been down some pretty dark roads, all on yer own ‘cept for that horse. I know there were times he was all you had.”

Now Kieran was crying uncontrollably in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to yet, all desires to handle this like a man crumbling away. “I used to say that all I knew ‘bout life was that people kept dyin’ and I loved horses. I thought Branwen and I would die too, alone. I don’t think I would have even bothered to keep livin’ if I didn’t have him to take care of. We finally got lucky though, him an’ me. You fellers took us in, got me on my feet, and now I’ve got Mary-Beth and five beautiful children and a home, and…and…” Finally, he let himself fall weakly against Arthur’s shoulder. “He got me through it all, but now his time is done, and I have other things to be livin’ for. Just gonna be an awfully big hole. It’s gonna feel so wrong after all these years.”

It still was uncomfortable for Arthur, gruff as he was, to wrap his thick arms around the man, even for a few seconds of comfort. Still, he sucked it up for Kieran, because there was something touching about the idea that he trusted him like this with his vulnerabilities. Their relationship had always been one of mentor and mentee, perhaps the only one in Kieran’s entire life, and even after ten years and plenty of aging from both of them, that hadn’t changed. “That’s why I came, so you wouldn’t hafta do this alone. I’ll be the one to end it, so you don’t hafta.”

“B-but, Branwen is my horse, my responsibility,” Kieran protested weakly, pulling away.

“You have taken damn good care of that horse. There is no shame in lettin’ me do this,” Arthur insisted sternly. “Ain’t nobody gonna think less of ya for it, especially not when I’m offerin’.”

It wasn’t worth a fight, not when he really didn’t want to do it. “Fine. Gun’s over there,” he gestured before wiping his eyes roughly.

“Anything else you’ve gotta say to ‘im?”

“Naw. It’s been said. And he’s sleepin’. I don’t wanna wake ‘im.”

“All right. You go find some shovels and don’t come back ‘til you hear the shot.”

He did as requested, flinching at the harsh sound of the gun and squeezing his eyes shut from his position in the shed. It was over. When all was said and done, they had a hole dug and Branwen buried, mane braided and apple given for his road to whatever afterlife there was for horses. Kieran desperately wanted to believe they’d go to heaven same as people so they might be reunited again one day. The dirt was barely filled in when the wagon bearing his family came rolling on in.

Becky and Leah both jumped off as soon as it was stopped and came barreling towards their father, ignoring their Uncle Arthur completely. “Papa, we’re back!” They latched onto him immediately.

“Girls, I’m so happy to see ya.” Kieran wrapped his arms around them, then cast a glance at the rest of his family. His other children were squirming impatiently to be lifted down, but Mary-Beth took the time to meet his gaze. The concern in her eyes touched his heart. She may be busy being a mother, but he knew without a doubt that she was the best wife a man could ask for. Then, he looked to Arthur, who seemed amused by his nieces’ open affection. When he saw him looking, he nodded and grabbed the shovels, heading to the shed to put them away.

Good Lord, Branwen was gone, but look at everything he had now, things he could only dream of when they’d first met. It would be hard, but he could survive this loss now.

#kieran duffy #branwen #rdr2 #arthur morgan #happy ending au

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nuggets-and-french-fries · 4 years

Text

Sunsets & Whiskey Kisses: Chapter Thirty Four.

Note: The vows that are used in this chapter were also used for Jack and Ryleigh’s wedding. The reason I reused them is because I could find anything that fit Chase and Dakota like I wanted.

The day of the wedding came and all the women were getting ready in one room while all the men were getting ready in another one. Dakota was stressing out and all that Ryleigh could do was laugh which pissed the bride off even more. "Dakota, you have got to calm down. There is nothing to worry about." Ryleigh said as she braided the bride's hair. Dakota groaned and rolled her eyes. "Come on now. It's time to put the dress on." Ryleigh said and Dakota stood up and followed Ryleigh to where the dress was. Ryleigh helped Dakota put the dress on and when everything was secured the way it should be, the women walked out. "Dakota, you look just like your mother." Both sets of her grandmothers said in unison. Just before Grace could say anything, there was a knock on the door. "It's probably Jack." Ryleigh said as she answered the door. "Are you ready? Chase is chomping at the bit to see her in her dress. " Jack whispered and Ryleigh furrowed her brow. "What are you up to?" She asked suspiciously. Jack smiled. "Step out of the room for a second." He instructed and Ryleigh did. When her eyes landed on him, she burst out laughing. "Oh my god. What are you doing?" She asked once she had calmed down a little. "I may have packed one of your dresses. I found a few videos on YouTube regarding this prank and I figured it would give everyone a good laugh. Will you help me pull it off?" He asked and Ryleigh started laughing again. "Sure but you have to tell Dakota first." Ryleigh said and Jack smiled cheekily at her. "I asked her already and she was all for it. I even asked her what dress to pack." He explained and she kissed him. "You're a real doofus you know." She said and he nodded. "Get everyone downstairs?" He asked and she agreed. "Do you want to see your sister first?" Ryleigh asked and he shook his head. "We agreed that after this, I'd race back to our room and change and then I'd see her just before we walk down the aisle." He explained and she nodded.

"Ryleigh, who is it?" Grace called. "It was Jack, he was just letting me know that it's almost time for Dakota to show Chase the dress." Ryleigh called back as she winked at her husband. "Love you." She whispered. He walked away and Ryleigh walked back into the room. "Let's go." Grace said and all the women walked to where they were told. Dakota waited where her and Jack had discussed. She could see him but he couldn't see her.

Chase stood with his back turned to everyone and when Jack walked toward Chase, everyone tried to hold their laughter. Good old Jack. Ryleigh had to gently hold her hand over Anna's mouth so she wouldn't give it away and Carol had to do the same for Joshua who started giggling when he saw his uncle in a dress.

(The dress that Jack is wearing.)

"You ready Chase?" The photographer asked and he nodded as he tried to keep his nerves at bay. The photographer smiled and tried to keep himself from laughing. Chase felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. Chase doubled over laughing when his eyes landed on his friend and soon to be brother-in-law. "Oh god, you look ridiculous." Chase wheezed. Jack was doubled over laughing as well. "Please tell me that it's not Dakota's dress you're wearing." He said once he caught his breath. "No it's one of Ryleigh's." Jack replied as he hugged his friend. "I couldn't help it." Jack said as he and chase laughed again and everyone else could be heard laughing as well. Chase turned to face them and Joshua waved excitedly. Both men waving back. "I'll leave you to see her for real this time." Jack said and Chase hugged him again. "Thanks for letting me marry her." Chase said as they pulled away from the hug. "I trust you mate." Jack replied as he walked away.

youtube

(This was my inspiration for the prank.)

Jack walked back toward Ryleigh and Anna. Anna furrowed her brow when she saw her father but Ryleigh burst out laughing again. "You're such a dork." She said as she kissed him. "I may be a dork but do I look pretty?" He asked while batting his eyelashes. Anna shook her head and the parents laughed. "Come on. You have to change." Ryleigh said as her and Anna followed him. Ryleigh helped him change and when the dress was back in his suitcase, Ryleigh smiled. "Much better." She said as she kissed him lovingly. "You ready to see your sister now?" The woman asked as they pulled apart and he shook his head. "No, but I have no choice do I?" Jack said as his voice cracked. "She's beautiful. Your parents would be proud of both of you. I know the three of us are." Ryleigh said as she placed her free hand on her slight baby bump. Jack smiled. "Let's do this." He said and they hurried to where the bride and groom were tying the knot. Ryleigh and Anna went their separate ways and Jack walked over to his sister. "Look at you." He said as his eyes took her in. "How do I look?" She wondered and he smiled brightly. "You look just like mom. So beautiful." He replied and she hugged him. "Thank you for pulling through and doing this with me." Dakota mumbled into him. "No need to thank me Kola pop." He said and she smiled up at him. "You ready?" He asked and she shrugged. "Not really but I guess I have no choice do I?" She said and he chuckled. "I'm right here." He replied and she nodded. Both of them walking hand in hand toward Grace, Anna and Ryleigh. "You've got this my darling girl." Grace said as she saw the nerves in Dakota's eyes. She hugged the woman and they all got in order. Ryleigh first and Joshua first, Grace and Anna next and then The Bride and her brother.

When Jack and Dakota reached the alter, Jack chocked back a sob. "I love you Kola Pop." He whispered as he placed his sisters hand in Chase's. "Take care of her." He said one last time before he walked over to where the best man stood as that was his other role. The pride that Ryleigh felt when she saw her husband give his sister away was remarkable. Her heart exploded and she had to smile to herself.

The officiant motioned for everyone to sit down. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, and to cherish the words which shall unite Dakota and Chase." The officiant started. "Marriage is the promise between two people who love each other, and who trust in that love, who honour each other as individuals, and who chose to spend the rest of their lives together." The officiant continued. Chase and Dakota beamed at each other in happiness. "This ceremony will not create a relationship that does not already exist between you. It is a symbol of how far you've come. It is a symbol of the promises you will make to each other to continue growing stronger as individuals and as partners. No matter what challenges you face, you now face them together, and no matter how much you succeed, you now succeed together. The love between you joins you now as one." The officiant said as everyone listened. "Dakota and Chase, please join hands, look at one another now and remember this moment in time." The officiant concluded.

The officiant turned his attention to the Scotsman. "Chase, do you take Dakota to be your wife?" The older man asked and Chase nodded. "I do." He said and the officiant then turned his attention to Dakota. "Dakota, do you take Chase to be your husband?" The man asked again. Dakota smiled. "I do." She replied cheerfully.

"Dakota, Please take Chase's hand and repeat after me." The old man spoke and Dakota did as she was told. "Chase, I take you as you are, loving who you are. I promise from this day forward to be grateful for our love and our life. To be generous with my time, my energy and my affection. To be patient with you and with myself. To fill our life with adventure and our home with laughter. To encourage you to grow as an individual and to love you completely. This I pledge to you." Dakota declared. Chase repeated all that Dakota had said and smiled with pride.

"Please present the rings." The officiant spoke. Jack and Ryleigh helped Joshua and Carol hand Chase and Dakota the rings and the officiant spoke again. "Your wedding ring is a symbol of your promise to one another. The ring, an unbroken. never-ending circle, is a symbol of committed, unending love." The man spoke with authority. "Chase, as you place this ring on Ryleigh's finger, repeat these words after me." The man spoke again. "This ring symbolizes my love for you and the commitments we made today." Chase said as he placed the ring on Dakota's finger. Dakota repeated the same words and placed the ring on Chase's left finger.

"Chase and Dakota, you have come here today of your own free will and in the presence of family and friends, have declared your love and commitment to each other. You have given and received a ring as a symbol of your promises. By the power of your love and commitment to each other, and by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant said as he looked at the newly weds. "Chase, you may now finally kiss your bride." The man said and Chase placed his lips on Dakota's softly. "Congratulations. Friends and family, I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson." The officiant finished.

Dakota took Joshua from Carol and together, Chase, Dakota and Joshua walked back up the aisle. "I love you so much my beautiful bride." Chase said as he kissed Dakota again. Joshua giggled. The parents pulled apart and each kissed one of Joshua's cheeks. "We love you little man." Chase said and the little boy nodded with a huge smile on his face. "Yay." Joshua said when he saw his uncle. "You can see uncle Jack in a little bit but right now we are going to go and spend time with each other." Dakota explained and Joshua got upset. His smile fell and his chin wobbled. "Ok." He said sadly. Chase looked at Dakota and she rolled her eyes. "If we let him go with uncle Jack and ant Ryleigh, we can have some alone time." Chase said and Dakota sighed. She really wanted to spend time with both her boys. "But I want to spend time with both of my boys." She said and Chase nodded and Joshua gave her his best puppy eyes. "Come on my boy. Let's go spend time with mommy." Chase said as the family walked to where Chase and Dakota would be staying for the next two weeks for their honeymoon.

"I'm very proud of you for doing that baby. I know it was hard for you." Ryleigh said as she kissed Jack's cheek. He nodded and smiled. "It's going to be even harder when I have to walk this one down the aisle." Jack said as he ran his fingers through Anna's growing hair. "This one too if it's a girl." Ryleigh said as she rubbed her belly. "Can we let this baby's gender be surprise as well? It was kind of fun doing it that way last time." Jack asked and Ryleigh smiled. "I'd like that." She replied happily. The three of them heading to where the reception was being held.

"Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad-da-da-dada." Anna babbled in contentment, making Jack smile. "Can you see mama?" He asked as they watched Richard and Ryleigh talk to one another. Anna pointed and Jack smiled even wider. "Good job sweet pea." He praised as the music played through the speakers in the room. Anna's eyes occasionally drifting around the room to take all the colours and atmosphere in. "I think mama's coming over here." Jack said as he saw his wife walking back over to where he and Anna sat. Anna didn't seem to really care as she rubbed at her eyes and continued to look around the room. "I think she's more interested in what's happening around her, she doesn't care about me." Ryleigh said as she sat beside Jack. He nodded and chuckled a little. Soon enough, the bride, the groom and their son joined everyone else. "Yay." Joshua screamed in excitement when the uncle walked toward their table. "Do you want me to take him and the two of you can dance or eat or whatever?" Jack asked and Dakota smiled. "That sounds really good because I'm starving." Dakota said and Jack picked up his nephew who cuddled right into him. Chase smiled and watched as Jack walked back to Ryleigh and Anna.

Ryleigh smiled at her husband. "Maybe we should try for a boy." Ryleigh teased and Jack winked at her. "An." Joshua said, referring to Anna. The little boy had recently changed from calling his cousin nana to calling her An. Anna looked at him quickly and went back to looking around the room. "Shall I go and grab some food? I think I saw Chicken nuggets up there or hot dogs." Ryleigh eased as she winked at her husband. Jack blushed as he remembered back to when they saw each other after all those years at the rodeo grounds. "I think I'll have a hot dog and really test your limits." Ryleigh teased and Jack rolled his eyes. "No." Joshua said as he pointed at Jack and looked at him seriously. "What?" Jack asked in reply. "Eyes." Joshua said and Jack smiled and kissed the boy. Ryleigh walked off for the food and Jack sat down with the kids. "How are you pretty girl?" Richard asked Anna as he sat down with his grandson and great grand kids. Anna sighed, making Jack chuckle. "I think she's tired grandpa." jack answered and Richard smiled as he ran his index finger down Anna's cheek softly. "Both of the kids look so much like your parents. Your mother specifically." Richard said softly as he remembered his late daughter. "You think so?" Jack asked as he too looked at the kids. "You and your sister look more like your mother." Richard said and Jack smiled. "Is it ok if I take this little lady for a spin around the room?" The elderly man asked and Jack nodded. "Sounds good grandpa. Have fun." He said as he watched his daughter being whisked away.

Ryleigh and Dakota went to go and sit with Jack and Joshua. Ryleigh sat next to her husband and rubbed his back. "Where's Annie?" Dakota asked as she sat down next to the empty high chair on the other side of Jack. "Grandpa's dancing with her." Jack said and Ryleigh passed him a plate of food, complete with a hot dog for Anna and chicken nuggets for the little boy on his lap. "Oh come on Ryleigh, that's not funny." Jack whined when he saw the hot dog. "That's actually for Anna." She said genuinely looking sorry. Jack just glared at her. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see if she would eat the meat." She explained and Dakota nudged him when he kept glaring at his wife. "Get over it." Dakota said and Jack looked at her. "Why don't you take this little man for a dance" Jack said as he quickly passed the boy to his mother. It was then that Dakota realized the problem. She burst out laughing and Joshua looked at the adults with confusion. "It's ok honey. You come and dance with me. You can go back to uncle Jack and aunt Ryleigh after." Dakota said as she walked to the dance floor.

"What's wrong with you? I said I was sorry." Ryleigh said and Jack looked at her and smirked. "What?" She asked as Jack reached for her hand and placed it over his erection. "You and those damn hot dogs. I can't not get aroused when I see them. Makes me think of when I saw you at the rodeo grounds." He whispered in her ear. Ryleigh burst out laughing. "I'm sorry baby but I was being serous when I said that it was for Anna." Ryleigh said with a tone of regret. "It's ok but, just so you know, your hand isn't moving from this spot." He said as a small moan fell from his lips. "Just go to the bathroom and take care of it. It's right over there." Ryleigh said as she pointed it out. Jack whined. "It's so far." He said and Ryleigh rolled her eyes. "You better hurry up and go because your grandfather is coming this way." Ryleigh said and Jack hurriedly left for the bathroom to take care of himself. "Mama." Anna said as she reached for Ryleigh. "Hello pretty girl. Did you have fun with grandpa?" Ryleigh asked as she kissed the girl's cheek and held her close.

Some time had past and it was time for the Bride and groom to share their first dance. The couple walked hand in hand to the dance floor and everyone watched them. The music started and Chase sway them to their song. The song reminded him of the first time that he saw Dakota. Of course he had heard her name before but had never seen her before and when he did, he fell hard for her. He knew right away that he wanted to marry her. She was his forever and he vowed to spend the rest of his life protecting her and making sure she was happy and loved. When Joshua was born, his heart exploded with love even more so and he felt complete. This was what he was made for. Being a husband and father.

Joshua watched his parents with a huge smile on his face. He saw the way his father kissed his mother and saw the way he held her close. Although he was only little, somewhere in his brain, it was etched that this is how a woman was meant to be treated. The little boy giggled when he saw his father spin his mother around, making her dress move as gracefully as they did. it was magic to him.

Just before the song ended, Chase quickly went over to his son and took him from Ryleigh. The father walked back to his wife and together the three of them danced. Joshua happily between his parents as they exchanged loving glances and giving their son the occasional kiss on the cheek or his forehead. He was definitely Chase and Dakota's greatest joy.

Once the song was over, people went back to the dance floor. "Jack can I steal your wife for a few minutes?" Chase asked and Jack nodded as he adjusted Anna in his arms. "Thanks mate." He said and he and Ryleigh walked off. "You sure you're ok to do this?" Chase asked Ryleigh as he handed her a guitar. "Of course I am. Those two aren't going to know what's hit them. Now get out there and speak." Ryleigh said as she hugged the man. "Thank you for everything Ryleigh." He whispered as he broke the hug. She nodded and Chase walked back into the room. He walked over to Dakota and Jack. "I think you two have somewhere you need to be." He said and the siblings looked at each other. "No we don't." Jack said as Anna tried to shove a piece of nugget into his mouth. Chase smiled and pointed to where Ryleigh was. They looked over and saw Ryleigh walking into the room. "What is she doing?" Dakota asked and Jack shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." He said as Ryleigh sat down on a chair that was provided for her.

"If I could have everyone's attention, I'd like to say a little something. As you may or may not have noticed, we're missing two very important people this evening. Dakota, I know that if they could be, your parents would be here to watch you marry the man of your dreams. I know how much your parents meant to you and your brother and because of that, Chase and I have arranged something special for the both of you. Before I get to that though, I just want to say how proud I am that I get to call you and your brother my family. The both of you have made a great impact on all of us in this room tonight and nothing would make me happier if you two would come up here and have a chance to dance together." Ryleigh said as Chase took Anna and ushered the siblings to the dance floor. "May I have this dance." Jack teased, making his little sister laugh. "Of course you can you dork." She replied and Ryleigh started playing.

youtube

(Just for the sake of this chapter, just pretend that's Ryleigh singing please and if you don't like it, don't listen to it. I just thought out of all the songs I listened to, this matched the best, since it was Jack who looked after Dakota when they were growing up.)

Dakota held on to her brother as if her life depended on it. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if their parents survived the fire. She knew that she couldn't live in the past but being in her brother's arms made her wonder what it would be like to dance with hr father, to have him be the one that walked her down the aisle. She missed her parents a great deal, even though she was only little when they died. "I love you Jack." Dakota whispered as Ryleigh wrapped up. "Thank you for everything." She continued as she kissed his cheek. "I love you too my darling." He replied as he gave her one last hug. She smiled at him once they broke the hug and Jack wiped away his sister's tears.

"I think the wedding went well." Dakota said as she and Chase got back to their own little villa. Chase laid his wedding dress-less wife down on the king size bed and kissed her neck. "Let's just skip the sweet stuff. Wreck me." Dakota said and Chase chuckled darkly. "Whatever my wife wants." He said as he pulled her panties to the side and plunged his index and middle fingers into her. Dakota bit her lip and moaned. Chase's tongue connected with her clit and Dakota gasped at the sensation. The electricity coursing through her veins. "Scratch this. I need you to fuck me hard and rough. I need your cock baby." Dakota said and Chase looked up at her through his lashes. He ignored her request and sucked her clit harshly. Surprisingly, it had Dakota screaming his name as her first orgasm washed over her. "Fuck that was fast." Chase said as he smirked. "You have a talented tongue my love." She replied and he stared at her lovingly before he pulled her to him. As she stood in front of him, Chase let his hands roam her body as he undid all her undergarments and removed them. Letting them fall to the ground, joining his clothes. Chase bent her over the bed harshly and slammed his cock into her dripping pussy. Both of them trying to hold it together as they had promised not to fuck each other again until after they were married. Dakota whimpered when he started moving. She had forgotten just how big he was and just how he filled her up. The man grunted as he penetrated her roughly.

Dakota's hands gripped the comforter beneath her as she tried to ease the weakness she felt in her knees. Each thrust brought her closer and closer to an intense orgasm. "Oh my god I'm gonna cum." Dakota screamed. Chase threaded his fingers through her loose hair and pulled it mercilessly. "Hold on, I wanna cum in you." Chase said and that was enough to push her over the edge. Her body convulsed around Chase's cock, causing her walls to clench around her husband violently. Both of them screamed as they came together brutally.

"Oh my fuck." Dakota grunted as the couple now laid in the bed wrapped up in the sheets. "Give me a minute and we can go for round two." Chase said as kissed his wife softly. Both of them catching their breaths.

Tag List: @sarahegerton96 @mairyleo @dogmom2014 @rocknrollmadden @jobanan23 @softeggsy @hauntedflamingo @superthiccthighssavelives @aberystwythboy @holdmeclosertinytaron @eggsyobsessed

#Sunsets&WhiskeyKisses #taronegerton #Richard Madden

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kabane52 · 5 years

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The War Within

This is an old article from Christianity Today from 1982

Driving through Wisconsin on vacation this summer, a Leadership staff member passed a huge sign in the middle of the bucolic countryside. "Naughty Things for Nice People," it proclaimed, and as if to prove it, a gigantic cuddly bear peered out from beside the words "Adult Novelties."

"What's that mean, Dad?" came the question from the ten-year-old boy in the back of the van. "Yeah," piped up the siblings, "what's that all about, Dad?"

Such questions abound these days, as media penetrate our homes and vehicles with not just sleazy sex but carefully packaged titillations. One report has it that a recent convention of youth pastors created the highest rental of X-rated movies in the hotel's history. More than 80 percent of all customers signing up for cable TV opt for the erotic films. The availability—the near-ubiquity of so much sexual enticement, the constant barrage of innuendoes, and the nonstop polemic for indulgence inevitably attracts.

Many rationales tempt the mind of the Christian leader: "I have to know what's going on. … Voyeurism is better than adultery. … I need moderation—total deprivation isn't necessary."

Admittedly, there are no easy answers. We cannot shut off either our brains or our glands. But consider the following article by a man in full-time ministry. The article is blunt. But we felt it important to be just this honest and realistic. Sexual temptations in many forms have always lured Christians, but today's opportunities and climate make this article especially relevant to all of us.

* * *

"Lust is the ape that gibbers in our loins. Tame him as we will by day, he rages all the wilder in our dreams by night. Just when we think we're safe from him, he raises up his ugly head and smirks, and there's no river in the world flows cold and strong enough to strike him down. Almighty God, why dost thou deck men out with such a loathsome toy?" Frederick Buechner Godric I am writing this article anonymously because I am embarrassed. Embarrassed for my wife and children, yes, but embarrassed most for myself. I will tell of my personal battle with lust, and if I believed I were the only one who fought in that war, I would not waste emotional energy dredging up stained and painful memories. But I believe my experience is not uncommon, is perhaps even typical of pastors, writers, and conference speakers. No one talks about it. No one writes about it. But it's there, like an unacknowledged cancer that metastasizes best when no one goes for x-rays or feels for lumps.

I know I am not alone, because the few times I have opened up and shared my struggles with Christian friends, they have replied with Doppelganger stories of exactly the same stages of awakening, obsession, possession. Years from now, when socio-historians sift through the documents describing our times, they will undoubtedly come up with elegant explanations of why men who grew up in church homes are oversexed and vulnerable to attacks of lust and obsession, and why women who grew up in those same environments emerged uptight and somewhat disinterested in sex. But I leave that to the future analysts.

I remember vividly the night I first experienced lust. Real lust—not the high school and college variety. Of course as an adolescent I had drooled through Playboy, sneaked off to my uncle's room for a heart-thumping first look at hard-core pornography, and done my share of grappling and fumbling with my fiancee's clothes. I date my lust awakening, though, to the adult onslaught of mature, willful commitment to lust.

It hit on one of my first trips away from home. My job required me to travel at that time, and as I sat in a dingy motel room near the airport and flipped through the city guide of what to do in Rochester, New York, I kept coming back to one haunting photo of an exotic dancer, a former Miss Peach Bowl winner, the ad said. She looked fresh and inviting: the enchanting kind of Southern girl you see on TV commercials for fried chicken—only this one had no clothes on.

Somehow, I had survived the sixties sheltered from strippers and Woodstock-type nudity. And when I first saw the ad, I instinctively ruled her show out of bounds for me. But as I settled down to watch an inane TV show, her body kept looming before my mind with the simple question, "Why not?"

I began to think. Indeed, why not? To be an effective Christian, I had to experience all of life, right? Didn't Jesus himself hang around with prostitutes and sinners? I could go simply as an observer, in the world but not of the world. Rationalizations leaped up like flying buttresses to support my desires, and within ten minutes I was bundled in the back seat of a taxi headed toward the seamy side of Rochester.

I got the driver to let me off a few blocks away, just for safety's sake, and I kept glancing over my shoulder expecting to see someone I knew. Or perhaps God would step in, efface my desires, and change my mind about the wisdom of the act. I even asked him about that, meekly. No answer.

I walked into the bar between acts and was then faced with the new experience of ordering a drink. My forehead sweating, I scanned my memory of Westerns for an appropriate drink to order. Finally I decided on whiskey. I tried to make it sound casual, but the waitress flummoxed me by asking another question.

"How do you want it?"

How do I want it? What did she mean? What could I say? It seemed everyone in the bar was staring at me.

"A double," I stammered.

Sensing my naiveté, she rolled her eyes slightly and asked, "Is on the rocks OK?"

Bolstered by my first fiery sips of whiskey, which I tried to stretch out so as not to have to order another, I sat with my eyes glued to the stage.

Miss Peach Bowl was everything the ad had promised. With a figure worthy of a Wonder Woman costume, she danced superbly and was something of an acrobat. She started fully clothed and teased us with slow removals of each sequined article of clothing. Toward the end, when she wore only a G— string, whooping men near the stage bade her lean over and stuffed folded bills under the tiny swatch of cloth. She grinned invitingly. I stared in disbelief. In one final strobe-lit routine she cartwheeled nude across the stage.

The flush of excitement created by my first whiskey, drunk too fast in spite of myself, the eyepopping spectacle of this gorgeous woman baring all and jiggling it in front of me, and the boisterous spirit of the all-male audience combined to overpower me. I walked out of the bar two hours later feeling strangely warmed, intensely excited, and surprised that nothing had actually happened to me. I suppose it's the same feeling that washes in after a big event like marriage, or graduation, or first intercourse for that matter. In just a few hours, you realize that although in one sense everything has changed, in another sense nothing has changed. You are the same person.

Lust shares with sins like envy and pride the distinction of being invisible, slippery, hard to pin down. Was what happened that night a sin? I denied it to myself on the way home. To really rate as lust, I told myself, you must look on a woman so as to desire sexual intercourse with her. Isn't that what Jesus said? Whatever happened that night, I certainly couldn't recall desiring intercourse with Miss Peach Bowl. It was more private and distant than that. What happened, happened quickly, was gone, and left no scars. Or so I thought at the time.

Ten years have passed since that awakening in wintry Rochester, ten years spent never far from the presence of lust. The guilt caught up with me, and back in my motel room that very evening, I was already praying slobbery prayers for forgiveness. For a while that guilt kept me out of live shows and limited my voyeurism to magazines and movies, but only for a while. For ten years I have fought unremitting guerrilla warfare.

Being the reflective sort, I have often pondered the phenomenon of lust. It is unlike anything else in my experience. Most thrills—scary roller coasters, trips in airplanes, visits to waterfalls—lose a certain edge of excitement once I have experienced them and figured them out. I enjoy them and will duplicate the experiences if given the chance, but after a few tries, they no longer hold such a powerful gravitational attraction.

Sex is utterly different. There is only so much to "figure out." Every person who endures high school biology, let alone a sniggering sex education class, knows the basic shapes, colors, and sizes of the sexual organs. Anyone who has been to an art museum knows about women's breasts. Anyone who has hauled down a gynecology book in a public library knows about genitalia. Somehow, no amount of knowledge reduces the appeal—the forces may, in fact, work concordantly. What strange power is it that allows a male gynecologist to clinically examine female sexual organs all day long—there is nothing left for him to "learn"—and yet return home and find himself quickly aroused by his wifely peekaboo blouse?

"An ape that gibbers in my loins," wrote novelist Frederick Buechner about lust, and no experience comes with such a feral force. And yet, maybe by labeling it an "animal drive" we have missed the main point of lust. No animal I have heard of spends its life fixating on sex. Females in most species invite attention only a few times a year or less; the rest of the time males obediently plod through the mundane routine of phylogeny, apparently never giving sex another thought.

Humans are different. We have the freedom to center our lives inordinately in this one drive, without the harmony enforced by nature. Our females are biologically receptive the vast majority of the time, and no instinct inhibits us from focusing all our thoughts, behavior, and energy on sex.

I have tried to analyze lust, to fractionate it down into its particulars. I take a Playboy centerfold and study it with a magnifying glass. It consists only of dots—dots of four primary colors laid down by a printing press in a certain order. There is no magic on that page, only stipples of ink, which under magnification, show flaws and blurs. But there is magic on that page. I can stare at it, burn the image in my mind, fondle it mentally for hours, even days. Blood steams up when I gaze on it.

Early Marxists, heady with revolution, added sex to their list of human foibles needing alteration. Lenin pronounced his famous Glass of Water Theory, legislating that the sexual act was of no more consequence than the quenching of thirst by a glass of water. Surely bourgeois morality would topple along with bourgeois banks and industries and religions. But in a few years, Lenin had to abjure the Glass of Water Theory. By all reductionist logic, sex was like a glass of water, but sex proved immune to reductionist logic. It resisted being made of no consequence. Lenin, a historian, should have known better. Kings had renounced their thrones, saints their God, and spouses their lifetime partners because of this strange demon of lust. Dialectical materialism hardly stood a chance.

Books often question God's wisdom or goodness in allowing so much pain and sorrow in the world, and yet I have read none that question his goodness and wisdom in allowing so much sex and lust in the world. But I think the two may be parallel questions. Whether through creation or marred creation or whatever (we can't get into that here), we ended up with sex drives that virtually impel us to break rules God laid down. Males reach their sexual peak at age eighteen, scientists tell us. In our culture, you can't even legally marry before then, so when a male marries, if he has remained chaste, he has already forfeited his time of greatest sexual prowess. Mark Twain railed against God for parceling out to each human a source of universal joy and pleasure, at its peak in teenage years, then forbidding it until marriage and restricting it to one partner. He has a point.

Couldn't our hormones or chromosomes have been arranged so that mates would more easily find sexual satisfaction with just one partner? Why weren't we made more like the animals, who, except for specified periods, go through their daily routine (nude to a beast) with hardly a thought of sex. I could handle lust better if I knew it would only strike me in October or May. It's the not knowing, the ceaseless vulnerability, that drives me crazy.

Lust, I read somewhere, is the craving for salt by a man who is dying of thirst. There's a touch of perversion there, isn't there? Why were we not made with merely a craving for water, thus removing the salt from every newsstand, television show, and movie?

I know what you are thinking, you readers of Leadership. You are protesting that God never makes me lust, that I choose it, that he probably allows it as an opportunity for me to exercise my virtue. Yes, yes, I understand all that. But some of you know firsthand, as I do, that those pious platitudes, albeit perfectly correct, have almost no relevance to what happens biologically inside me when I visit a local beach or pick up any of a hundred magazines.

Some of you know what it is like to walk with your eyes at breast level, to flip eagerly through every new issue of Time searching for a rare sexy picture, to yearn for chains on the outside of your motel room to keep you in—unless it comes with that most perverse of all modern inventions, the in-room porno movie. And you also know what it is like to wallow in the guilt of that obsession, and to cry and pray with whatever faith you can muster, to plead with God to release you, to mutate you, to castrate you like Origen—whatever it takes to deliver you. And even as you pray, luscious, bewitching images crowd into your mind.

You also know what it is like to preach on Sunday, in a strange city, to preach even on a topic like grace or obedience or the will of God, or the decline of our civilization, with the awful and wonderful memories of last night's lust still more real to you at that moment than the sea of expectant faces spread out before you. You know the self-hatred that comes with that intolerable dissonance. And you muddle through the sermon swearing never to let it get to you like that again, until after the service a shapely woman comes beaming and squeezes your hand and whispers praise to you, and all resolve melts, and as she explains how blessed she was by your message, you are mentally undressing her.

The night in Rochester was my first experience with adult lust, but by no means my last. Strip joints are too handy these days. The drug store down the street sells Hustler, High Society, Jugs, anything you want. I have been to maybe fifteen truly pornographic movies, including the few classics like Deep Throat and Behind the Green Door. They scare me, perhaps because it seems so deliberate and volitional to stand in line (always glancing around furtively), to pay out money and to sit in the dark for an hour or two. The crowd is unlike any other crowd I mix with—they remind me I don't belong. And the movies, technically, aesthetically, and even erotically, are vapid and boring. But still, when a local paper advertises one more Emmanuelle sequel, I drool.

I learned quickly that lust, like physical sex, points in only one direction. You cannot go back to a lower level and stay satisfied. Always you want more. A magazine excites, a movie thrills, a live show really makes the blood run. I never got as far as body tattooing, personal photograph sessions, and massages, let alone outright prostitution, but I've experienced enough of the unquenchable nature of sex to frighten me for good. Lust does not satisfy; it stirs up. I no longer wonder how deviants can get into child molesting, masochism, and other abnormalities. Although such acts are incomprehensible to me, I remember well that where I ended up was also incomprehensible to me when I started.

A cousin of mine subscribes to at least fifteen of the raunchiest magazines I have ever seen. Books I have peeked at for just a few seconds in airport newsstands litter his house. He has told me that, even surrounded by vivid depictions of every sex act, every size and shape of woman he can imagine, he still wants more. He still devours the new issues. He and his wife are experimenting with orgies now, and numerous other variations I won't mention. It is not enough. The thrill will fade before long, and he will want more.

Psychologists use the term obsession to label what I have been describing, and they may say that I have more innate obsession than the average male. They would trace its genesis back to my repressive upbringing, and they are undoubtedly right. That is why I am writing to others of you in the Christian world. If you have not fought such obsession yourself, every Sunday when you step to the pulpit you speak to many who have, although you could hardly read it in their blank, freshly scrubbed faces. Lust is indeed an invisible sin.

At times the obsession has felt to me more like possession. I remember one time especially that scared me. I was in Washington, D.C., one of the places in the United States where any kind of lust is easily attainable. At three o'clock in the afternoon, after touring the cherry blossoms, I sauntered into a dark bar that advertised nude dancing. I fended off the girls who came to my table and asked for drinks, and instead directed my attention to the dancers. There were only two, and maybe five customers at most. One black girl with an unspectacular figure weaved over to the part of the stage nearest my table.

This was somewhat different than the other strip shows I had seen. There was no teasing or "visual foreplay." She was already naked, unashamedly so, and she wiggled maybe a foot from my head. She stared right into my eyes. This was so close, so intimate, that it seemed for a terrifying moment to be nearer a relationship than a performance. What I felt could only be called possession.

I found myself—it seemed as though I had not made the decision, that someone else's hands inside mine were doing it—fumbling in my pocket, pulling out bills and stuffing them in a garter belt high up on her thigh. In appreciation she maneuvered herself to grant an even better view. She had no secrets.

I staggered out of that bar. I felt I had crossed a line and could never return to innocence. That weekend I had important business engagements, but throughout them indelible images of that anonymous girl filled my mind. I yearned to flee and go home to my wife, to demonstrate to her my fear so that she could shelter me and mother me and keep me from following where all this was leading.

Just a few years before, I had sat with a distant, reproachful view and watched men lose control and act like country-fair churls as they stuffed bills down the G-string of Miss Peach Bowl. I would never stoop to that—I was smugly confident in Rochester. After all, I was intelligent, happily married, sophisticated—a committed Christian known by friends for my self-control. It would never happen. But it did.

When I went home, I did not tell my wife. How could I? The story was too long, and she, who had hardly ever known lust and had never been unfaithful to me, would not comprehend it. It would likely rupture my marriage, and then I would be cast loose on a sea I could not navigate.

I made a vow then—one more in a series. I vowed I would only look at Playboy and other "respectable" erotic magazines. No more raunchiness. I had certain rationalizations about lust, and pained realism about my inability to stay pure. I simply needed some safe boundaries, I decided. Here are some of my rationalizations that supported my conclusion to contain, not destroy, my lust:

Nudity is art. Go to any art museum in the world, and you will see nudity openly displayed. The human form is beautiful, and it would be puritanical to cut off appreciation for it. Playboy is photographed well, with an aesthetic, not prurient tone. Playboy and its kin have great articles. There's the Jimmy Carter interview, for example, and Penthouse's conversation with Jerry Falwell. I must keep up with such material. An aesthetic, not prurient tone. Some stimulation will help my sex life. I have a problem approaching my wife and communicating my desire for sex to her. I need a sort of boost, a stimulant to push me to declare my intentions. An aesthetic, not prurient tone. Other people do far worse. I know many Christian leaders who still do all the things I toyed with, and worse. For that matter, look at Bible characters—as randy a bunch as you'll ever meet. There's probably no such thing as a pure person anyway; everybody has some outlet. An aesthetic, not prurient tone. What is lust anyhow, I kept asking myself. Is fantasizing wrong in itself? If so, then erotic dreams would count as sin, and how could I be responsible for my dreams? I reminded myself of the definition of lust I had started with long before: desiring intercourse with a specific sexual partner. I experienced a general sexual heightening, a raising of the voltage, not a specific desire for the act of intercourse. Some, perhaps all, of these rationalizations contain some truth. (Do they sound familiar?) I used them as an overlay of reason and common sense to help calm the cognitive dissonance that tormented me. Yet I knew inside that the lust I experienced was not subject to reason and common sense. To my dismay, on several occasions I had already felt it burst out of containment and take on a sinister power. At other times, I could analyze lust and put it in perspective, but at the moment when it was occurring I knew I would not stop and analyze. I would let it take its course. Secretly, I began to wonder what that course would be.

Don't let me give the wrong impression. My entire life did not revolve around lust. I would go days without fixating on sex, and sometimes a month or two without seeking out a pornographic magazine or movie. And many, many times I would cry out to God, imploring him to take away the desire. Why were my prayers not answered? Why did God continue to curse me with freedom, even when that freedom led me away from him?

I read numerous articles and books on temptation but found little help. If you boiled down all the verbiage and the ten-point lists of practical advice for coping with temptation, basically all they said was "Just stop doing it." That was easy to say. I knew some of those authors, and knew that they too struggled and failed, as I did. In fact, I too had preached many a sermon on handling temptation, but look at me. Practical "how-to" articles proved hopelessly inadequate, as if they said "Stop being hungry" to a starving man. Intellectually I might agree with their theology and their advice, but my glands would still secrete. What insight can change glands?

"Jesus was tempted in all points as you are," some of the articles and books would say, as if that would cheer me up. It did not help. In the first place, none of the authors could conceivably describe how Jesus experienced sexual temptation, because he never talked about it, and no one else has ever been perfect and lived to tell about it. Such well-meaning comments reminded me of telling a ghetto dweller in East Bronx, "Oh, President Reagan used to be poor too. He knows how you feel." Try telling that to a poor person, and prepare to duck.

I felt a similar reaction when I read accounts of people who had overcome lust. Usually, they wrote or talked in a condescending, unctuous tone. Or, like Jesus, they seemed too far removed from my own spiritual quagmire to comfort me. Augustine described his condition twelve years after conversion from his lusty state. In that advanced spiritual place he prayed to overcome these besetting sins: the temptation to enjoy his food instead of taking it as a necessary medicine "until the day when Thou wilt destroy both the belly and the meat"; the attraction of sweet scents; the pleasure of the ear provided by church music lest he be "more moved by the singing than by the thing that is sung"; the lure of the eye to "diverse forms of beauty, of brilliant and pleasing colors"; and last, the temptation of "knowing for knowing's sake." Sorry, Augustine, I respect you, but prayers like that led to the climate of repression and body-hatred that I have been vainly trying to escape all my life.

I got a perverse pleasure out of knowing that this same Augustine a few years earlier had prayed, "Give me chastity, but not yet." He delayed purity for a while also, to sample more delights than I would likely get around to. Why is it that I scoffed at accounts of saints who overcame temptation but loved hearing about those who gave in? There must be a name for that sin, too.

Most of this time I hated sex. I could not imagine it existing in any sort of balance in my life. Of course I knew its pleasure—that was the gravitational attraction—but those short bursts of pleasure were horribly counterbalanced by days of guilt and anguish. I could not reconcile my technicolor fantasy life with my more mundane experience of sex in marriage. I began to view sex as another of God's mistakes, like tornadoes and earthquakes. In the final analysis, it only caused misery. Without it, I could conceive of becoming pure and godly and all those other things the Bible exhorted me toward. With sex, any spiritual development seemed hopelessly unattainable. Maybe Origen had the right idea after all.

It is true there is difficulty in entering into godliness. But this difficulty does not arise from the religion which begins in us, but only from the irreligion which is still there. If our senses were not opposed to penitence, and if our corruption were not opposed to the purity of God, there would be nothing in this painful to us. We suffer only in proportion as the vice which is natural to us resists supernatural grace. Our heart feels torn asunder between these opposed efforts. But it would be very unfair to impute this violence to God, who is drawing us on, instead of to the world, which is holding us back. It is as a child, which a mother tears from the arms of robbers, in the pain it suffers, should love the loving and legitimate violence of her who procures its liberty, and detest only the impetuous and tyrannical violence of those who detain it unjustly. The most cruel war which God can make with men in this life is to leave them without that war which He came to bring. "I came to send war," He says, "and to teach them of this ware I came to bring fire and the sword." Before Him the world lived in this false peace. Blaise Pascal Pensees This article is divided into two parts. The first part, which you have just read, recounts the downward spiral of temptation, yielding, self-hatred, and despair. If I had read this article several years ago, I would have gleefully affirmed every thing. Then, when I got to the second part, which describes a process of healing, I would have turned cynical and sour, rejecting what follows. Such is the nature of self-deception.

I have described my slide in some detail not to feed any prurient interests in the reader (after all, how many racy articles have you read in Leadership?) and certainly not to nourish your own despair if you too are floundering—God forbid. I tell my struggles because they are real, but also to demonstrate that hope exists, that God is alive, and his grace can interrupt the terrible cycle of lust and despair. My primary message is one of hope, although until healing did occur, I had no faith that it ever would.

Scores, maybe hundreds of times I had prayed for deliverance, with no response. The theologians would find some fault in my prayers, or in the faith with which I prayed them. But can any person assume the awful right to judge the prayers of another who writhes in mental torment and an agony of helpless unspirituality? I would certainly never assume the right, not after a decade—long war against lust.

I have not mentioned the effect of lust on my marriage. It did not destroy my marriage, did not push me out to find more sexual excitation in an adulterous affair, or with prostitutes, did not even impel me to place unrealistic demands on my wife's sexual performance. The effect was far more subtle. Mainly, I think, it cumulatively caused me to devalue my wife as a sexual being. The great lie promulgated by Playboy, television commercials, and racy movies is that the physical ideal of beauty is attainable and oh, so close. I stare at a Playboy centerfold. Miss October has such a warm, inviting smile. She is with me alone, in my living room. She removes her clothes, just for me, and lets me see all of her. She tells me about her favorite books and what she likes in a man. Cheryl Tiegs, in the famous Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, sweetly walks toward the camera, letting the coral blush of her breasts shine out boldly from underneath a net bikini. She lets me see them—she has no inhibitions, no pudency.

The truth is, of course, that if I sat next to either Cheryl Tiegs or Miss October on an airplane, she would not give me the time of day, let alone take off her clothes for me. If I tried to strike up a conversation, she would brush me off. And yet, because I have stared at Cheryl's breasts and gone over every inch of Miss October as well as the throng of beauties that Madison Avenue and Hollywood recruit to tantalize the masses, I start to view my own wife in that light. I expect her to have Farrah's smile, Cheryl's voluptuousness, Angie's legs, Miss October's flaming red hair and sparkling eyes. Envy and greed join hands with lust. I begin to focus on my wife's minor flaws. I lose sight of the fact that she is a charming, warm, attractive woman and that I am fortunate to have found her.

Beyond that, lust affected my marriage in an even more subtle and pernicious way. Over time, I began to view sex schizophrenically. Sex in marriage was one thing. We performed OK, though not as often as I liked, and accompanied by typical misunderstandings. But passion, ah, that was something different. Passion I never felt in my marriage.

If anything, sex within marriage served as an overflow valve, an outlet for the passion that mounted inside me, fed by sources kept hidden from my wife. We never talked about this, yet I am sure she sensed it. I think she began to view herself as a sex object—not in the feminist sense of being the object of a husband's selfish greed, but in the deprived sense of being only the object of my physical necessity and not of romance and passion.

Yet the sexual schizophrenia pales in comparison to the schizophrenia of my spiritual life. Can you imagine the inner rupture when I would lead a spiritual retreat for a weekend, winning sighs of admiration and tears of commitment from my devoted listeners, only to return to my room and pore over the latest copy of Oui? I could never reconcile it, but somehow I could not avoid it. If you pinned me down on what degree my succumbing to temptation was a conscious choice, I would probably search for an enigmatic response such as the one a Faulkner character gave when asked about original sin. "Well, it's like this," he said. "I ain't got to but I can't help it."

Paradoxically, I seemed most vulnerable to temptation when speaking or otherwise performing some spiritual service. Those who see Satan as personally manipulating all such temptation to sin would not be surprised by that observation.

Lust became the one corner of my life that God could not enter. I welcomed him into the area of personal finance, which he revolutionized as I awakened to world needs. He cleaned up many of my personal relationships. He gave stirrings of life to the devotional area and my sense of personal communion with him. But lust was sealed off, a forbidden room. How can I reconcile that statement with my earlier protestations that I often cried out for deliverance? I do not know. I felt both sensations: an overwhelming desire to be cleansed and an overwhelming desire to cling to the exotic pleasures of lust. A magnet is attracted equally to two opposite forces. No matter how small you cut a magnet or rearrange it, the two ends will still be attracted to opposite forces. One force never cancels out the other one. This must be what Paul meant in some of those strange statements in Romans 7 (a passage that gave me some comfort). But where was Romans 8 in my life?

Even when I had lust under control, when I successfully limited it to brief, orderly perusals through Playboy at the local newsstand, I still felt this sense of retaining a secret corner God could not enter. Often I would get bogged down in sermon preparation. For motivation to keep going, I would promise myself a trip to the newsstand if I could finish the sermon in an hour and a half. Can you sense the schizophrenia?

Just as I can remember graphically the precise incident in Rochester when adult lust moved in, I can remember the first flutterings of a commitment to healing. They also came on a trip out of town, when I was speaking at a spiritual life conference. The conference was scheduled for a resort hotel in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, near my favorite part of the country. Nothing affects me like the long drive up the rocky coastline of Maine. It is an invigorating, almost religious experience. Some people find deserts affect them like that, some wheat fields, and some mountains. For me, the magnificence of creation unwinds with each curve on the road up Maine's coast. I made plans to fly into Boston, rent a car, and spend three days cruising the coast just to refresh myself before the conference.

My mistake was spending the first night in Boston. I was then practicing a fairly rigid regimen of "controlled lust." I hadn't given in to any scary splurges like my Washington, D.C., encounter in some time. But sure enough, that night I found myself stalking the streets of the seedy areas looking for lust. I did not have to look far. Like many cities, Boston offers strip shows, porno movies—a veritable menu of lust. I usually avoided porno movies because they had proved so unsatisfying. But, Boston also features live nude girls on a revolving platform that you can watch for twenty-five cents. I went in one of those booths.

The mechanics are simple. Twenty curtained booths encircle a revolving platform. Each booth has a glass window covered by a piece of plywood. When you insert a quarter, a mechanical arm somewhat like a toll gate lowers the piece of plywood and lets you see the nude girls revolving on the platform. Then, about three minutes later the toll gate goes up, and you have to drop in another quarter to continue. This is lust at its most unadorned.

The girls employed by such places are not beautiful. Imagine for yourself what kind of women would willingly settle for such employment. You lie under bright lights, revolving like a piece of roast beef at a buffet table, masturbating occasionally to keep the quarters clinking. Around you, leering, furtive stares of men appear for three minutes, then disappear, then appear again, their glasses reflecting your pale shape, none of them looking at your face.

Maybe such booths do serve a redeeming purpose for society—by exposing lust in its basest demythologized form. There is no art or beauty, no acrobatic dancing. The woman is obviously a sex object and nothing else. The men are isolated, caged voyeurs. There is no relationship, no teasing.

The girls are bored stiff: over the whir of the timing mechanism you can hear them trading talk about grocery prices or car repairs. They masturbate as a routine for the customers, like an ape at the zoo who learns to make faces because the onlookers then laugh and point. This is what the richest, freest society in history spends its wealth and freedom on?

And yet, there I was, a respected member of that society, three days away from leading a spiritual-life retreat, dropping in quarters like a frantic long-distance caller at a pay phone.

For fifty cents you could go to a private booth, and one of the girls would entertain you personally. A glass wall still separated you from the girl, but you could, if you wished, pick up the receiver and talk to the girl. Maybe you could talk her into doing something special for you. I went into the booth, but something restrained me from picking up the telephone. I could not make that human an act—it would expose me for what I was. I merely stood, silent, and stared.

Guilt and shame washed over me in waves that night, as usual. Again I had a stark picture of how low I was groveling. Did this animal lust have any relation to the romance that had inspired the Symphonie Fantastique, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets, and the Song of Solomon? Certainly each of those works contained traces of glandular desire, but this that I had experienced was devoid of all beauty. It was too naked, and shameful.

I had felt all that remorse before. What shocked me more was my trip up the coast the next two days. I followed my usual practice of staying in homey inns with big fireplaces, and of eating by the waterfront and watching the sailboats bob in the shimmering sea, of taking long solitary walks on the rocky promontories where huge waves crashed with thunder, of closing my eyes and letting salt spray splash across my face, of stopping at roadside stands for fresh lobster and crab. There was a difference this time: I felt no pleasure. None. My emotional reaction was the same as if I had been at home, yawning, reading the newspaper. All romance had drained out, desiccated.

The realization disturbed me profoundly. By all counts, those wonderful, sensuous experiences rated far higher than the cheap thrill of watching a fat, pock—marked body rotate on plywood. And yet, to my utter disbelief my mind kept roaming back to that grimy booth in Boston. Was I going crazy? Would I lose every worthwhile sensation in life? Was my soul leaking away? Was I becoming possessed?

I limped through the conference, and everyone warmly applauded each talk. They were all blessed. Alone in my room at night, I did not pore over pornography. I pored over what had been happening inside me for ten years. I did not like it.

Exactly three days later, I spent the night with a very dear friend, a pastor of one of the largest churches in the South. I had never shared intimate details of my lust life with anyone before, but the schizophrenia was building to such a point I felt I must. He listened quietly, with compassion and great sensitivity as I recounted a few incidents, skipping over those that showed me in the worst light, and described some of my fears to him.

He sat for a long time with sad eyes after I had finished speaking. We both watched our freshly refilled cups of coffee steam, then stop steaming, then grow cold. I waited for his words of advice or comfort or healing or something. I needed a priest at that moment, someone to say, "Your sins are forgiven."

But my friend was no priest. He did something I never expected. His lip quivered at first, the skin on his face began twitching, and finally he started sobbing—great, huge, wretched sobs such as I had seen only at funerals.

In a few moments, when he had recovered some semblance of self-control, I learned the truth. My friend was not sobbing for me; he was sobbing for himself. He began to tell me of his own expedition into lust. He had been where I was—five years before. Since that time, he had taken lust to its logical consequences. I will not dwell on sordid details, but my friend had tried it all: bondage, prostitution, bisexualism, orgies. He reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out a pad of paper showing the prescriptions he took to fight the venereal disease and anal infections he had picked up along the way. He carries the pad with him on trips, he explained, to buy the drugs in cities where he is anonymous.

I saw my friend dozens of times after that and learned every horrific detail of his hellish life. I worried about cognitive dissonance; he brooded on suicide. I read about deviance; he performed it. I winced at subtle fissures in my marriage; he was in divorce litigation.

I could not sit in judgment of this man, because he had simply ended up where my own obsession would likely take me. Jesus brought together lust and adultery, hatred and murder, in the Sermon on the Mount, not to devalue adultery and murder but rather to point to the awesome truth about hatred and lust. There is a connection.

If I had learned about my friend's journey to debauchery in an article like this one, I doubtless would have clucked my tongue, questioned Leadership's judgment in printing it, and rejected the author as an insincere poseur in the faith. But I knew this man, I thought, as well as I knew anyone. His insights, compassion, and love were all more mature than mine. My sermons were like freshman practice runs compared to his. He was a godly man if I had ever met one, but underneath all that … my inner fear jumped uncontrollably. I sensed the power of evil.

For some weeks I lived under a cloud that combined the feelings of doom and terror. Had I crossed some invisible line so that my soul was stained forever? Would I too, like my trusted friend, march inexorably toward the systematic destruction of my body and my soul? He had cried for forgiveness, and deliverance, and every other prayer he had learned in church, and yet now he had fallen into an abyss. Already lawyers were dividing up his house and possessions and his children. Was there no escape for him—for me?

My wife could sense the inner tension, but in fifteen years of marriage she had learned not to force a premature explanation. I had not learned to share tension while it was occurring, only afterward, when it fit into a logical sequence, with some sort of resolution. This time, I wondered whether this particular problem would ever have such a resolution.

A month after my conversation with my friend, I began reading a brief and simple book of memoirs, What I Believe, by Francois Mauriac. In it, he sums up why he clung to the Roman Catholic church and the Christian faith in a country (France) and an age when few of his contemporaries seriously considered orthodoxy. I had read only one novel by the Nobel prizewinning author, Viper's Tangle, but that novel clearly showed that Mauriac fully understood the lust I had experienced, and more. A great artist, he had captured the depths of human depravity. I would not get pious answers from him.

Mauriac's book includes one chapter on purity. He describes the power of sexuality—"the sexual act has no resemblance to any other act: its demands are frenzied and participate in infinity. It is a tidal wave"—and his struggles with it throughout a strict Catholic upbringing. He also discounts common evangelical perspectives on lust and sex. The experience of lust and immorality, he admits, is fully pleasurable and desirable; it is no good trying to pretend that sin contains distasteful seeds that inevitably grow into repulsion. Sin has its own compelling rewards. Even marriage, Christian marriage, he claims, does not remedy lust. If anything, marriage complicates the problem by introducing a new set of difficulties. Lust continues to seek the attraction of unknown creatures and the taste for adventure and chance meetings.

After brazenly denying the most common reasons I have heard against succumbing to a life filled with lust, Mauriac concludes that there is only one reason to seek purity. It is the reason Christ proposed in the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Purity, says Mauriac, is the condition for a higher love—for a possession superior to all possessions: God himself.

Mauriac goes on to describe how most of our arguments for purity are negative arguments: Be pure, or you will feel guilty, or your marriage will fail, or you will be punished. But the Beatitudes clearly indicate a positive argument that fits neatly with the Bible's pattern in describing sins. Sins are not a list of petty irritations drawn up for the sake of a jealous God. They are, rather, a description of the impediments to spiritual growth. We are the ones who suffer if we sin, by forfeiting the development of character and Christlikeness that would have resulted if we had not sinned.

The thought hit me like a bell rung in a dark, silent hall. So far, none of the scary, negative arguments against lust had succeeded in keeping me from it. Fear and guilt simply did not give me resolve; they added self-hatred to my problems. But here was a description of what I was missing by continuing to harbor lust: I was limiting my own intimacy with God. The love he offers is so transcendent and possessing that it requires our faculties to be purified and cleansed before we can possibly contain it. Could he, in fact, substitute another thirst and another hunger for the one I had never filled? Would Living Water somehow quench lust? That was the gamble of faith. Perhaps Mauriac's point seems obvious and predictable to people who respond to anguished problems with spiritual-sounding cliches. But I knew Mauriac and his life well enough to know that his observation was the culmination of a lifetime of struggle. He had come to that conclusion as the only possible justification for abstemiousness. Perhaps, just perhaps, the discipline and commitment involved in somehow allowing God to purge out the impurities formed the sine qua non, the essential first step toward a relationship with God I had never known.

The combination of grave fear struck in me by my pastor friend's grievous story and the glimmer of hope that a quest for purity could somehow transform the hunger I had lived with unabated for a decade prepared me to try once again to approach God in confession and in faith. I knew pain would come. Could God this time give me assurance that, in Pascal's words, pain was the "loving and legitimate violence" necessary to procure my liberty?

I cannot tell you why a prayer that has been prayed for ten years is answered on the 1,000th request when God has met the first 999 with silence. I cannot tell you why I had to endure ten years of near—possession before being ready for deliverance. And, most sadly of all, I cannot tell you why my pastor friend has, since our conversation after New Hampshire, gone into an unbelievable skid toward destruction. His marriage is now destroyed. He may go insane or commit suicide before this article is published. Why? I do not know.

But what I can tell you, especially those of you who have hung on every turn of my own pilgrimage because it so closely corresponds to yours, is that God did come through for me. The phrase may sound heretical, but to me, after so many years of failure, it felt as if he had suddenly decided to be there after a long absence. I prayed, hiding nothing (hide from God?), and he heard me.

There was one painful but necessary step of repentance. Repentance, says C. S. Lewis, "is not something God demands of you before He will take you back and which He could let you off if He chose; it is simply a description of what going back is like." Going back for me had to include a very long talk with my wife, who had suffered in silence and often in nescience for a decade. It was she I had wronged and sinned against, as well as God. Perhaps my impurity had kept our own love from growing in the same way it had blocked the love I could experience with God. We lay side by side on our bed one steamy summer evening. I talked about nothing, in a nervous, halting voice, for an hour or so, trying to break the barrier that held me back, and finally about midnight I began.

I told her nearly everything, knowing I was laying on her a burden she might not be able to carry. I have wondered why God let me struggle for a decade before deliverance: maybe I will one day find out my wife required just that much time to mature and prepare for the one talk we had that night. Far smaller things had fractured our marriage for months. Somehow, she incarnated the grace of God for me.

I hurt her—only she could tell how much I hurt her. It was not adultery—there was no other woman for her to beam her resentment toward, but perhaps that made it even harder for her. For ten years she had watched an invisible fog steal inside me, make me act strange, pull me away from her. Now she heard what she had often suspected, and to her it must have sounded like rejection: You were not enough for me sexually, I had to go elsewhere.

But still, in spite of that pain and the vortex of emotions that must have swirled around inside her, she gave to me forgiveness and love. She took on my enemy as her enemy too. She took on my thirst for purity as her thirst too. She loved me, and as I type this even now, tears streak my face because that love, that awesome love is so incomprehensible to me, and so undeserved. But it was there.

How can I give you up, O Ephraim! How can I hand you over, O Israel! … For I am God and not man, The Holy One in your midst. Hosea 11:8-9 Saint Augustine, who wrote so eloquently of his own war within, describes our condition here on earth as a simultaneous citizenship in two cities, the city of man and the City of God. The lure of the city of man often drowns out the call of the City of God. Man's city is visible, substantial, real; as such, it is far more alluring. God's city is ephemeral, invisible, cloaked in doubt, far away. It may not even exist— no one knows for sure.

Cheryl Tiegs coming toward me out of the page, her teeth flashing, her eyes sparkling, her body glistening, is that city of man. She, and what she represents, fits well with my body and the hormones that surge inside it and the complexes that grew in my repressed childhood and whatever else contributed to my obsession with lust. The pure in heart shall see God. Set against luscious Cheryl, sometimes that promise does not seem like much. But that is the lie of the Deceiver, and the dyslexia of reality we are asked to overcome. The City of God is the real, the substantial, the whole. What I become as I strengthen my citizenship in that kingdom is far more worthy than anything I could become if all my fantasies were somehow fulfilled.

A year has passed since the late-night talk with my wife. During that time, a miracle has occurred. The war within me has fallen away. Only a few snipers remain. Once I failed, just a month later, when I was walking the streets of San Francisco. I felt myself pulled—it felt exactly like that—into another of the twenty-five cent peep shows to watch an undulating girl on a revolving table for three minutes. Not ten seconds had passed when I felt a sense of horror. My head was pounding. Evil was taking over. I had to get out of there, immediately.

I ran, literally ran, as fast as I could out of the North Beach district. I felt safe only when I got out of there. It struck me then how much had changed: previously I had felt safe when I had given in to lust, because the war inside died down for a moment, but now I felt safe away from the temptation. I prayed for strength and walked away.

Other than that encounter, I have been free of the compulsion. Of course, I notice girls in short dresses and halter tops—why else would they wear them?—but the terror is gone. The gravitational force has disappeared when I pass in front of newsstands. For twelve months I have walked by them and not picked up a magazine. I have not entered a porno theater.

I feel a sense of loss, yes. I enjoyed the beautiful women, both the art and the lust of it. It was pleasurable; I cannot deny that. But now I have gained a kind of inner gyroscope that is balanced correctly and alerts me when I am straying off course. After ten years I finally have a reservoir of strength to draw on as well as a conscience. I have found it necessary to keep open and honest communication with God and my wife on every little temptation toward lust.

The war within still exists. Now it is a war against the notion that biology is destiny. Looking at humanity as a species, scientists conclude that the fittest must survive, that qualities such as beauty, intelligence, strength, and skill are worthy factors by which to judge the usefulness of people, that lust is an innate adaptation to assure the propagation of the species Charity, compassion, love, and restraint fly in the face of that kind of materialist philosophy. Sometimes they defy even our own bodies. The City of God can seem like a mirage; my battle is to allow God to convince me of its reality.

Two totally new experiences have happened to me that, I must admit, offset by far my sense of loss at the experiences of lust I miss.

First, I have learned that Mauriac was right. God has kept his part of the bargain. In a way I had never known before, I have come to see God. At times (not so often, maybe once every couple of months), I have had an experience with God that has stunned me with its depth and intimacy, an experience of an order I did not even know existed before. Some of these moments have come during prayer and Bible reading, some during deep conversations with other people, and one, the most memorable of all because of my occupation, while I was speaking at a Christian conference. At such moments I have felt possessed, but this time joyfully so (demonic possession is a poor parody of the filling of the Spirit). They have left me shaken and humbled, renewed and cleansed. I had not known that level of mystical experience, had not, in fact, even sought it except in the general way of seeking purity. God has revealed himself to me. The City of God is taking on bricks and mortar.

And another thing has happened, again something I did not even ask God for. The passion is coming back into my marriage. My wife is again becoming an object of romance. Her body, no one else's, is gradually gaining the gravitational pull that used to be scattered in the universe of sexes. The act of sex, as often a source of irritation and trauma for me as an experience of pleasure, is beginning to take on the form of mystery and transcendence and inexpressible delight that its original design must have called for.

These two events occurring in such short sequence have shown me why the mystics, including biblical writers, tend to employ the experience of sexual intimacy as a metaphor of spiritual ecstasy. Sometimes, lingering remnants of grace in the city of man bear a striking resemblance to what awaits us in the City of God.

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