#experienced another OH GOD moment whilst rendering

[rotyolk]

okay FINE. im learning how to incorporate actual noses into my current style. again.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 7

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 

Jinyoung urged the sun to go back down. He didn’t want the new day to arrive and yet it had done just that, blinding him whenever he looked up to curse the heavens.

He had been reluctant to do anything this morning.

It had been a brief slice of paradise, he realised. Since the last raid, orders had been to stay on the low. And then right before tattooing you yesterday morning, Mark had found him and slipped him the messaged received through the radio.

They were expected to plunder another region with one week as the timeframe.

It was foolish, on his behalf, to get so wrapped up in you. The highs and lows of having you here had distracted him from his usually clear focus. And after sharing his body and becoming one with your heart and soul, Jinyoung wondered if this was how you felt when you had your rebellious stage as a teenager. Back then, he hadn’t understood your defiance towards your parents and their rules. Now, he could explicitly.

He wanted to crumble the note within his hands, pretending the radio never picked up the order. Yet, too many of his men knew of what was expected here. BamBam and Yugyeom were stationed in the radio tower most days and would have passed on the message to Mark. It was fruitless to deny the order’s existence.

Could he object fulfilling it, however?

There was a growing moral concern within him now that you were at his side. Numb, he had followed orders for the past decade in hopes it would somehow lead to a way out of the army. He knew it was hopeless, and yet that was how he had processed it.

You brought out a different side within him. Jinyoung wanted to scrub his hands clean of his sins. Although he couldn’t change the past, he wanted to keep the blood from his hands so you didn’t have to clean it off for him.

Being an honest man when he was a seasoned warrior would be impossible and yet he wanted to try.

“Mark told me they’re readying the horses for the trip out,” you murmured after stepping to Jinyoung’s side, holding a hand over your eyes to keep the bright light out of them.

Were you trying to comfort him right now, knowing full well he was about to take the lives of others? Jinyoung closed his eyes guiltily. He didn’t want you to see him at his worst again.

“I don’t hate you,” you announced a moment later, stepping in front of him and rearranging the protective armour to his outfit. Your expression was grim as you fussed over him. “I can’t hate you.”

“It’s okay. I can do that in your stead.”

“I’ll send a prayer to those who cross paths with you all that it ends quickly.”

Jinyoung turned his head away from yours, blinking back his emotions. He hadn’t cried over the cruelness of this world in years. Now you were rendering him into a bubbling mess. Stepping back from you, Jinyoung shook his head.

“Don’t do anything. I don’t want you involved in this.”

“I am though. I know that people will lose their lives by the man I love. My lack of stopping you means I am now a part of this too.”

Static filled his mind, buzzing away whatever you were saying to him now.

He didn’t need to you see him off like some housewife sending her husband off to work. This wasn’t a job worthy of such a send-off. In fact, the longer he stood near you, the more repulsed Jinyoung became, wanting to get away from you immediately.

He strode over to the stables as quickly as he could and mounted his stead, patting its neck before kicking it to charge forward. His men scrambled to follow after his hasty departure, keeping up with the race he had made it into until some miles away from the base.

There, Jinyoung sucked in a deep breath and expelled it shakily. Jackson glanced in his direction and groaned. “Some leader you are.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t even tell the woman you love that you’ll miss her whilst on the road,” he continued and ignored the seething expression Jinyoung shot him. Jackson shrugged. “If I ever find someone to love, I’ll make sure she knows it every day.”

“Do make sure she’s aware she’s lying with a man who has sins stacked up so high that the heavens above won’t ever grant him access beyond those pearly white gates.”

“You think she can’t cope with who you are? Y/N isn’t like that.”

“What would you know? It was me who spent years at her side, not you.”

“Whilst you’ve been brooding like a petulant child, I’ve spent some time with her. I’ll have you know, Jinyoung, she’s far easier to talk to than you are.”

Jinyoung merely grunted in response.

“When you love someone, you have to accept all of them. You might not agree, you might hope for change and you might shoulder some of their guilt.”

“That’s what I don’t want.”

“For Y/N to be a strength for you?”

Jinyoung scoffed. “She’s my weakness.”

“She could empower you if you let her. She’s accepted who you are. She loves you regardless. You’re the one with the problem. If you keep acting like a tortured soul and open a door just to slam it in her face again, she’ll find it hard to remain at your side.”

“Did I sign up for an advice session, Lieutenant?” Jinyoung questioned sternly and Jackson’s concerned expression turned sombre.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Let’s focus on the task ahead, shall we?”

“What’s love like?”

Jinyoung looked over at Jaebum and frowned. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’ve clearly experienced it.” Jinyoung made no effort to react and Jaebum nudged him. “With that girl from the village.”

“She saved me, it wasn’t love.”

“How do you know what is and isn’t love?” Jaebum pointed out and Jinyoung laughed at the boy’s ludicrous way of asking a question, only to throw it back at him when he didn’t respond the way he wanted him to.

Although Jaebum was by far the easiest company Jinyoung had within this wretched camp thus far, he found the man beyond frustrating at times.

“I’m not answering.”

“He looks like he’s suffering from heartbreak,” another voice crooned and Jinyoung glanced at Jackson and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t fond of him much, either.

“What’s heartbreak like?” Jaebum wondered, peering at Jinyoung for obvious signs. “He looks healthy enough; surely his heart still works fine.”

“It’s losing someone who makes your world brighter,” a quiet man spoke, everyone at the wooden table turning to look at Mark. He sighed heavily. “It’s when the life leaves your eyes because you’re too far away from their bright light they live within.”

That Jinyoung could relate to. Without you, the world did seem dull in comparison. However, he wasn’t about to tell any of them that.

“What? Yet the sun is out right now!” Jackson exclaimed, dodging the hand that Mark threw out towards him exasperatedly. They laughed together and Jinyoung smiled lightly.

It hurt without you, but at least he wasn’t alone.

It was a gruelling five days and when the men returned to the camp, only the younger ones seemed in good spirits.

Jinyoung was exhausted, and after dismounting his horse he led it to the stables where the gypsy ladies began untacking them.

“You’re back, Commander.”

“Make sure the bathing house has hot water for us in an hour,” he instructed and Trudy reached for his wrist.

“Don’t be alarmed when you look around the camp.”

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

Trudy smiled weakly and tapped her hand gently over his. “Y/N cleaned.”

Darting away from the woman, Jinyoung took the entrance to their camp through the hillside from the stables, hurrying through the earthen corridor to the other side. On first glance, nothing seemed to be out of order.

And that’s when he realised it, everything was glistening.

“Oh, thank god you’re back,” Youngjae greeted with a relieved tone. “She hasn’t stopped.”

“Y/N?” Jinyoung questioned distractedly as he continued to survey the area, and the man nodded. “She did all this?”

“At first, she organised the entire kitchen. Then the bathing house she scrubbed until her hands bled. I tried to stop her, to make her rest, but then she was up in the middle of the night rearranging the seating foyer and the supplies shed. She climbed the ladder and dusted off the cobwebs in every crevice and I have no idea what she’s gotten up to in your home, Jinyoung.”

“Thank you for telling me,” he replied as he marched towards the areas Youngjae had spoken of. The kitchen was indeed void of any clutter and mess and Jinyoung began to run through the camp towards his house, thumping down the stairs from the side door and then flung the final door open, heaving as he took you in.

You were reading at his desk and twisted around to look at him miserably. “Oh, you’re back.”

Yanking off his armour and letting it drop to the floor with a thud, he moved to your side, pulling you out of the chair and holding you as close as he could. “I missed you.”

“You... you did?”

“Every day, every hour, every minute,” he confessed and you began to cry, clinging to him tightly.

“I didn’t know what to do without you!”

“I know.”

“I hate cleaning but it was all I could do to pass the time.”

“I know,” he repeated soothingly, breathing you in to calm some of his nerves down.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“Only a graze, I’ll be fine.”

“Did you… are they…?” Jinyoung hummed weakly in answer.

“I did what was expected of me.”

“I don’t have any idea what to say,” you told him honestly and Jinyoung choked on his emotions, your head jerking back to look at him, reaching to wipe the tears now falling from his eyes. “It’s painful for you.”

“I want to leave before the next order,” he announced and you nodded in agreement, gripping him more tightly.

“We can do that. We’ll get it organised. Jaebum was here whilst you were gone, taking things he felt was needed and storing it in the old shack on the boundary line.”

“I need to go and wash off everything,” Jinyoung mentioned, once spent with his emotions, and glanced at your linked hands. Dried blood now sullied your once clean ones and he sighed at the sight, his fears now a reality.

He wasn’t as scared as he had been on the morning he left. Jackson, even if he had bothered him at the time, had been right.

You were trying to accept all that came with him. Although you were eager to escape, Jinyoung knew you wouldn’t go without him. You would stay here and endure it all for the rest of your life if that was what was needed.

He rested against you, feeling vulnerable and small in comparison.

“Do you need me to help you go to the bathing house?”

“And see all the rest of the men using it, I don’t think so,” Jinyoung replied sternly and you giggled.

It was amazing how such a small bright sound like that could liven him up so easily.

Staring at you again, Jinyoung realised he had loved you from the day he stole that compass from you. You had laughed at him then too, the sound embedded in his mind, the source of your light.

Now that you were back, he didn’t want to cast you into darkness. He wanted you to shine as brightly as you once had. If that meant allowing you to shoulder his burdens along with him, then he would do it.

And he knew that a meeting with Jaebum was in order as well.

It was time for phase one to begin.

_________________

Part 8

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[akp-1327]

dear diary // chapter six

Hey! Here’s the next chapter! Also, before you delve into it, I just wanted to inform you about how gloomy this chapter is. It’s a major turning point for the series, though! I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading. ❤️

As always, find the series masterlist here to catch up! :)

Pairings: Ajay Bhandari x f!MC (Charlotte Parker), Skye Crandall x f!OC (Leila Maciel)

Word Count: 4.4k

(*) Warnings: mentions of bankruptcy and dementia.

(Buckle up for an emotional roller coaster, everyone...)

“Hi, Ajay.”

Charlotte looked worse than she had this morning when she was dealing with her hangover. Now, as she stood helplessly in front of me, she looked like she was about to cry.

“Charlotte, are you alright?” I asked, knowing what her answer would be right off the bat. With a purse of her lips, she looked down at the floor and slowly shook her head. She finally met my eyes and let her own fill with tears, her walls slowly crashing down.

“No, not really.”

I instantly waved her in and closed the door. Rory was out with a few friends that had just arrived on campus, so I probably wasn’t going to see him until morning. That was okay; Charlotte didn’t look like she was ready to leave anytime soon when she was perched on my bed, wiping desperately at her tears.

“What happened?” I questioned softly, coming to sit beside her. 

I wasn’t usually the crying-on-the-shoulder type, so I honestly felt out of place in this situation. Although, despite my inexperience, she answered.

“When I got back after our coffee trip, Leila and I got into a huge argument about what happened last night.” Charlotte sniffled, her voice breaking as more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without knowing what to say, I wrapped a hesitant arm around her shoulders to try and console her. I felt her tense up underneath my arm, leading me to assume I went too far. 

I was about to pull away before she huddled closer to me, leaning her head on my shoulder. Of course, I tried my best to ignore how my heart started to thunder in my chest at the action, but that’s unimportant right now.

After a few beats of silence, I found my voice again. I still didn’t know whether or not I’d been doing this whole ‘consolation’ thing properly, but talking seemed to alleviate her emotions, even if it was temporary. 

“Did she apologize for what happened?”

Charlotte shook her head, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “No. I guess she was angry at me, too.”

“Why?” My eyes widened and my embrace around her tightened by just a fraction. It was such a small movement but I could tell it was something she noticed by the way she wrapped her arms around me, clinging to me as if I’d disappear.

“She thinks that I’m dependent on her protection,” Charlotte said, her voice still unsteady, “and...and I just...” She broke down into sobs, her shoulders heaving and her arms tightening around my torso. Yet again, I had no idea what to do, so I frowned,

Just this morning she’d been upbeat. She was fatigued, sure, but she was herself nonetheless. Now, she was the complete opposite. It...well...it hurt my heart. 

(Dammit.).

I failed to muster a response before she started to speak again.

“I didn’t tell you about my parents’ diner, did I? About what happened?”

I started shaking my head when she pulled back to compose herself. It was barely a second before she crossed her arms tightly around herself. She was silent in deep thought for a minute, her eyes trained on Rory’s unmade bed across the room.

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.” I muttered softly, though she sniffled and looked back up at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much hurt, so much pain, so much despair, in my life aside from her eyes in that moment. The blue irises that gazed into mine were overflowing with such a depressing sadness that I was rendered speechless.

Of course, she had beautiful eyes. She had a beautiful smile, too. Everything about her was just beautiful, even when she was at her lowest point like this.

“I do want to,” Charlotte breathed, nodding to herself in a way that seemed forced, almost as if she’d reminded herself that she wanted to, “you’re the best person I can talk to.”

Things with Leila, her best friend, must be seriously messed up. It’s been about two weeks since we met and she’s already crying on my shoulder.

I nodded wordlessly in understanding (because I still couldn’t find the right words to say) and let her continue.

“The day I got here, I called my mom. She told me how their diner had gone bankrupt,” Charlotte said, her voice now clear and consistent, “then, to top it all off, the building got condemned. It’s never really been in the best condition, but it’s always been like that. We’ve never had the best finances, either, so we couldn’t get anything permanently fixed.”

She buried her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, or what to think. I basically grew up there, y’know? It hurts to hear, but it hurts even more to know that I’m not at home with my family. And then everything with Leila and the stress of classes starting soon...”

“Oh my god,” I whispered, surprising her (and myself; I mean, I finally found my vocal chords!), “that sounds like a living hell.”

Charlotte cracked a wry laugh, immediately easing the growing knot in the pits of my heart. Even if it didn’t sound like her usual chortle, I deemed that it was better than her sobbing into my shoulder. 

“Oh, I can assure you that it is.”

“What a poor, poor reassurance,” I sighed, “can I give you some advice?” 

I watched her nod solemnly before I started.

“For starters, you’re strong. I don’t think you’re dependent on Leila’s protection because you wouldn’t be here if you were,” I said, watching her reaction carefully. It had been my job as a director to read people’s character and emotion and give them advice on how to improve; these circumstances hadn’t been much different...besides the fact of not literally directing her around.

“Second. You need to know that it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to share your emotions and opinions. You don’t need to bottle everything up all the time, especially when something big like this is bothering you.” I heard (and felt) my voice soften. I don’t exactly know why - maybe it was because of how calm the moment felt or because I didn’t want to worry her - but I did know that she was listening carefully because of her newly-formed expression of confusion.

“How did you know I was holding everything in?” Charlotte questioned. I simply smiled.

“I’m a director, remember? I know lots of things.” I teased, watching an unconvinced smile spread across her features. So I sighed and told her the truth. “I have lots of experiences with keeping my emotions hidden from the world. Plus, from what I’ve heard, you’re the instituted older sibling; I just happen to know all about that.”

“Oh.” She breathed. It sounded vulnerable. “That’s very observant of you, mister director.”

(Why are my cheeks starting to heat up? Whatever. Um. Advice. Respond to her. Um.)

“Not observant,” I corrected, giving her a tender and understanding smile whilst ignoring my growing sheepishness, “experienced.”

And then I watched as the silent wish I had in my mind came true; she smiled. It was such a brilliant thing; I couldn’t move, think, breathe, or function like a normal human being for a whirlwind of a second. It was something alleviating, breathtaking, and mesmerizing all at once.

“Ah, right. You have lots of...experience.” Charlotte laughed, giving me a thankful look before rubbing at her eyes. I just noticed how exhausted she looked and instantly felt guilty for keeping her awake. It was almost half past ten and I knew she was a night owl, but her eyes were growing bleary and she let out an occasional yawn.

“I do.” I hummed, gingerly reaching for her hand. I don’t really understand why I did; it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment. To let her know I was here for her. “And if you need to talk about anything else like this, I’m here. Okay?”

Her cheeks burned bright pink when I grazed my thumb over the back of her hand. I’ve noticed that her hands are always impossibly soft and comfortingly warm. 

“Okay.” Charlotte nodded. A moment of silence passed, and then another, and then a whole two minutes passed without any conversation; it wasn’t awkward or weird or anything, but it had definitely been different. The air between us seemed to thicken. Her blue eyes looked up to meet mine again and I immediately knew why the moment had felt so different. Emotions like vulnerability and relief swirled around her irises.

She trusted me.

We continued to gaze at each other for what felt like hours, mindlessly but also knowingly, before she cleared her throat and pulled away. I took my hand back and the moment ended. 

I immediately missed the warmth of her hand in mine.

“Thank you, Ajay. Seriously.” Charlotte breathed, standing up. “I owe you one.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I disagree. I was just doing what nice friends do.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes but still grinned. “Nice friends accept an offering from another friend.” she winked, pulling me into a hug so quick I barely had time to react. She was halfway out the door before I processed her quick embrace. “I’ll get you coffee or something sometime and I can promise that you’ll never see it coming. Goodnight.”

Before I could retort, she was gone with a flourish. She closed the door softly, leaving me with my thoughts.

*

*

August 23rd, 2020

Dear Diary...

Wow. Three entries within the span of a month? Wow, I’m genuinely shocked. Anyway. I have something to say, and I think it might be urgent...in a sense.

Charlotte. Remember her? Yeah. I think something’s happening with our...friendship. And in a really good way. Over the past couple days, she’s been looking at me differently. Talking to me differently. Smiling at me more. She even pokes my arm...which has never happened before? It’s far from usual, but at the same time...I’m getting used to it.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I shouldn’t be letting myself do this. I shouldn’t be letting myself grow closer to her. With every passing day, I keep allowing myself to spend time with her in the way that will eventually kill me. I know what’s going to happen: she’ll audition for the show, get a lead part, and forget about me. I’ll be heartbroken...again.

I don’t know what these feelings mean. Wait. Maybe I do, actually; I just don’t want to admit the truth to myself because the truth scares me. A lot.

So. That’s really it. Unless you want to hear about my “home life” problem? Well then, do I have news for you. I haven’t visited Amma, Mo, or Jim in almost a year and have been purposefully putting it off out of the fear that they won’t accept me as their family. (This is basically stemming off the fact of me “spending lots of time” with my dad over summer...)

Anyway. That’s about it. I’m seriously considering the thought of not directing the show this year so I can actually breathe with the whole Charlotte situation, but I don’t think Olson would like that. He always says that I’m the “most qualified” and “better seasoned” student he has.

Why must everything in my life be so confusing? 

Ajay

*

*

The air had slowly grown colder over the next week, signaling flannel season. Pumpkin spice season. Spooky season, as Rory called it. It was finally September; the start of autumn and the school year. 

Erin asked me to go shopping with her at a local craft store. She needed new autumn decorations and, by some sort of force, I just happened to be the only one free on the last Saturday before class officially started on Tuesday. So here we were; walking into a large corner store I’d never seen before with a small basket on Erin’s arm.

“Look at all of the leaf garlands...” Erin smiled, pointing at all the aisles. She eagerly looked around at all the decorations. I, in all honesty, could spend the entire day in this store. It was so tranquil.

...But don’t tell anyone that. 

“Ajay! Look at this!” Erin held up a small pair of purple and orange striped witch legs with black boots. “It’d be right up Skye’s alley! We could hang it outside the door.”

Without further explanation, she tossed it into her basket and proceeded to the next aisle with Halloween decorations. She glanced at a few before continuing on. Erin isn’t a Halloween person; she doesn’t get scared easily, but she just doesn’t like how cheesy the holiday is.

“You seem to be doing better,” I said nonchalantly, showing her a miniature pumpkin that looked like a paper weight. She took the pumpkin but didn’t respond until she placed it in her basket.

“I am.” Erin said just as casually. It was quite...infuriating, to say the least.

We continued to walk around the store, the odd encounter almost forgotten until we got to the fake flower aisle. Erin took a faux orchid into her hands and looked at it wistfully, twirling the plastic stem between her fingers.

“These...are my grandma’s favorites.” She whispered, her voice faltering.

Oh, no.

“Erin?” I questioned, watching as she shook the emotion away and put the orchid back. It was faint, but I watched several emotions flash through her eyes. Pain, grief, longing.

She walked away from the orchids without looking back and instead picked up a yellow rose further down the aisle.

“I could cut the stems off of these and decorate a stick wreath with them. Maybe add a few orange cosmos and red daisies? Oh, and maybe--”

“That’d look nice,” I hummed, cutting her off. She took some artificial baby’s breath and added it to the mix, not meeting my eyes.

Clearly she was ignoring what had happened with the orchid. 

I remember Erin talking about her grandma all the time - the amazing woman in her life that had been a philanthropist within her community. I don’t remember her name, though I do remember that Erin adored her just as much as she adored Erin. The latter would ramble on and on about all the people her grandmother inspired (herself included) and loved to talk about how her grandmother taught her about living her life to the fullest.

Then, unexpectedly two summers ago, Erin’s notorious grandmother forgot about her birthday. Then she forgot her wedding anniversary. Then, unbelievably, she forgot about her career that she used to talk so much about. She had no recollection of what she’d accomplished, though when someone reminded her and talked about it in vivid detail, her memory would kick back in and she’d act like nothing ever happened.

The memory lapses continued over the course of freshman year, but she still fought to remember the people closest to her. It stayed that way for a while, but you could tell that it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to recall certain things.

Then, right before winter break of sophomore year, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

Erin talked with me about it all throughout the entire course of break. How her grandma was put on all these medications and needed to be moved into a nursing home for daily care. How Erin was terrified that her grandma would forget about everything she ever loved, ever knew, ever experienced. She had every right to, as well; it was scary, especially for Erin. Her grandma was like her safe place, her shoulder to cry on. It could all be taken away.

Erin’s heart slowly broke as she watched her grandma’s strength slowly wither away. By the start of the summer, Erin’s grandma couldn’t even walk because she’d gotten so frail. The last time Erin and I talked about it, everything was as good as it could’ve been.

But by Erin’s mention of the orchid, I’m guessing it hadn’t been an easy summer for her or her family.

“Erin,” I said suddenly, catching her off-guard as she looked for a wooden wreath, “it happened, didn’t it?”

I absolutely hated and regretted the blunt delivery, but she seemed to understand. She looked down at her shoes and grimly nodded.

“The week before I arrived on campus, I took one last visit before school. I held her hand for a while and hoped, but she...didn’t remember me. No matter how many times I said my name or showed her pictures...” Erin breathed sadly, holding her palm up to look at. It shook the tiniest bit.

That’s why she’d been so...cold for the past couple weeks. Her grandma forgot about her. Not willingly, but, forgot about her nonetheless. This was what she was scared of most, and having it come true...

“I know this doesn’t help in the slightest, but I’m so sorry, Erin.” I whispered, placing my hand on her shoulder thoughtfully. She took a deep breath and shrugged.

“It’s not your fault, Ajay. It’s no one’s fault.” Erin whispered, failing to keep her voice even.

Erin shook her head again and sniffled before she took a small wooden wreath, gently placing it into her basket. She walked away after waving at me to follow her towards the register.

*

* 

After the whole situation with Erin, I just needed to relax. I got back to the dorm and started to get all my school supplies organized. It was just the therapy I needed. Rory even joined in when he got back from who knows where and played random songs from musicals he loves. I can’t even name them all. 

We talked about things, too. Serious things, like my tobacle with Charlotte. I didn’t go into much detail, but I could tell Rory picked up on a couple things. He knew me too well. Even throughout all of that, I didn’t mention Erin to him. I debated it, but then I remembered that it wasn’t something I should share. When she was ready, she’d say something. And, clearly, that wasn’t right now.

It was at least half past eleven when we decided to call it quits; or I decided, since Rory had been passed out on top of his blankets.

Before I settled in for bed, I sent a text to Charlotte.

I hadn’t heard from her all day. This wouldn’t have looked out of the ordinary to anyone else, but she usually sends these stupidly funny memes about theater throughout the day. I don’t even know where (or how, for that matter) she finds them.

Ajay: You okay?

It was nearly thirty seconds after I sent the message when she responded.

Charlotte: leila and i are still iffy but i’ve been alright. i’m pretty exhausted but overall okay...ish :)

Charlotte: how are you?

I really, really wanted to share how I was feeling. Not just about Erin’s struggles or my own, but about her. But, first of all, I was not going to be “that guy” to confess over text. Second of all, I didn’t even know how I would confess. I couldn’t turn the weird notions I had floating around in my mind into words.

Even if I could, I still doubt I’d tell her.

Ajay: Tired, as always. Also, would it kill you to capitalize your words?

I knew she’d have a witty response to this. She always had one to anything thrown her way. I quickly learned that it was one of her most quirky traits.

Charlotte: YES I WOULD, GRANDPA! I WOULD DIE OF UTTER SHOCK FROM PRESSING THE CAPS BUTTON ON THIS VERY SCREEN ALL THE TIME! YOU’RE GONNA ATTEND MY FUNERAL AND GIVE A SPEECH ABOUT HOW AMAZING OF A FRIEND I WAS BECAUSE YOU JUST KILLED ME.

Such a dork.

Charlotte: there. hope that resolved the problem. oh, and i hope you can afford my funeral, you murderer.

Such a cute dork, one could say.

Ajay: Not especially to all of that, but I guess I can let that one slide. But I better not see any lowercase nouns on your audition form once the show rolls around.

And that’s the reason that’d always hold me back. Whenever I thought I’d worked up enough courage to actually formulate some thought about these feelings I had for her, I’d remember that she was a theater kid, and I don’t allow myself to get involved with them. Not after what happened with Kelly.

Charlotte: you really think i’m that unprofessional? how rude.

Charlotte: plus...i don’t even know if i’m doing the show yet. i feel like it might burn me out. i’m a workaholic when it comes to school.

A familiar feeling of hope lightened the dead weight of stress on my shoulders. I may actually have a chance; well, a chance without making myself relive bad memories. 

Ajay: I guess that makes sense. If you’re interested, auditions are on the 14th.

Charlotte: would you have a bias towards me because i’m your friend? 😉

Of course she’d ask that. Why wouldn’t she? This was Charlotte; she was the most curious person I’d ever met.

Ajay: Absolutely...not.

Charlotte: gosh diggity darn it. not even for me? i thought we were...like...besties or something. you hurt my fragile feelings. 🤧😭

God, why is she so cute? 

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud and had to hold a hand to my mouth to contain it before I woke Rory up. The last thing I wanted was his snarky question about why I’d been laughing while he was still half asleep.

Ajay: Apologies, but it’s against the rules. 

Ajay: Also, how would we be best friends when we’ve known each other for a little over a month? I don’t even know your favorite color or movie or animal. Oh, and even your birthday? This is all stuff that best friends know about each other.

Charlotte: green 💚 she’s the man ⚽️ penguins 🐧 December 28th, 2001 🎉

Charlotte: you?

I was playing a dangerous game here; I didn’t know if I wanted to win (stay friends and hold in my feelings forever)...but I didn’t know if I wanted to lose (tell her how I felt...eventually; once I knew), either.

Well, I guess you only live once, right?

Ajay: Green, The Bicycle Thief, octopi, and August 2nd, 2000. Relatively basic.

Charlotte: OMG HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!!! (ignore how it’s sept 4th please) 🎉🎉🎉 the big 20, right?

Ajay: Sadly, but shhh, I’m still 19 at heart. Don’t tell anyone.

Charlotte: my lips are sealed 🤐 and i have a question; it’s almost midnight. why’re you awake?

Stress? Was stress a good answer? I think it was. She didn’t have to know what I was stressed about. It was general but also just specific enough to pass as a viable excuse.

I don’t think it’d help if I confessed that some of it was because of her, either, so that was another good reason to just give a simple answer.

Ajay: Stress. Why’re you awake?

Charlotte: same reason. i also haven’t been sleeping well, if at all, since leila went to stay in skye and erin’s dorm.

Ajay: Wow, since your argument? That was more than a week ago. Erin hasn’t said anything and I haven’t heard from Skye in a few days.

Charlotte: leila has always been a bit dramatic when it comes to holding grudges. but, anyway, i should let you get some sleep. but before you go, do you wanna do something tomorrow? i think we both could use a break.

That sounded like an amazing idea. Just taking a breather from everything that’d been happening in my life. But...

Ajay: I was thinking of going to visit my family tomorrow.

Maybe this was just another one of my excuses to stop me from letting these feelings grow. I didn’t want to get my hopes up; there was still a possibility that she’d audition for the show.

Charlotte: oh, that’s okay! another time?

But, then again, I wasn’t exactly sure if I wanted to win or lose this game. And it’d be nice to have someone there with me.

Ajay: Would you want to do something tomorrow?

Charlotte: ...is this your way of asking me to go with you to visit your family?

Ajay: Maybe.

Yes.

Charlotte: well, as long as it’s alright with you, i’d love to tag along. if you wanted me there.

Ajay: It’s definitely alright. Is ten okay? It only takes like...half an hour to get there. Maybe we’ll stop and get coffee or something before we go.

Charlotte: cool beans! you know exactly how to persuade me. see you at ten :) please try to sleep well!

Ajay: Ditto.

Boom. Just like that. Simple as pie. I was going to visit family that I hadn’t seen in a year...with Charlotte.

Tomorrow. 

Yeah, there’s no way in hell that I’m actually getting any sleep tonight. 

Awesome, wow. Cue ‘The Reynolds Pamphlet’, because I felt like Hamilton at this very moment...an absolute idiot.

Still, it might be nice, right? 

Might. It just might.

It will be nice...with her company.

Ajay: :)

*

*

Walking to Charlotte’s dorm the next morning felt completely different than the last time. I vividly remember the walk; it was quick and painless. I had little to no butterflies fluttering around my stomach. I wasn’t hyperventilating. I wasn’t trying to wipe the sweat from my hands as I marched down the stairs and up to her door. 

My hands didn’t shake for a second that night, but now...I couldn’t find a way to keep them still.

That party brought us closer together than I ever thought imaginable. That party basically sparked this entire flame. It’s what made me realize that Charlotte could never be just a friend. She’d felt like something more for...for a while; sometime during the party, it just kind of became a thought. 

Even that night when she was showing her raw emotion, her concern for her family, her frustrations with Leila...it opened my eyes to what I could tell her with such honesty. It made me humor the thought of becoming the type of person to share my deepest and darkest secrets with someone.

This someone, somehow, just weaseled her way into my life without any warning.

Everything fit into place and everything was put into perspective the longer I went over the “what if’s” and “what could be’s”. The weird notions in my heart were now scripted...and there wasn’t a way to take their roles away. There wasn’t a way to write them out or scribble over their lines with pen. 

And...let me just say...this terrified the living hell out of me.

Putting myself and my already damaged heart out there and on the line again...didn’t seem worth it. It didn’t seem like something I could handle if it went wrong. But you know what seemed worth it? The slim chance that she saw me the same way, that she wanted to be something more.

Now, as I stood at her door, the ever increasing rate of my heart pounded in my ears. I hoped I could admit these thoughts to her today. Or do something that could give her a hint.

It’s crazy how something small, like a feeling that you had for a split second, can manifest into a overwhelmingly large tower of impending doom in such a short period of time. It felt like I had a small, irking suspicion that I liked her at the party, but...I knew for a fact that I liked her now. A lot more.

Dammit.

[vanderlindemangofarm]

I’ve Got You

This is for the wonderful ray of sunshine that is @scribblepigeon​ as she won 1st Prize in the competition I ran a while back! I’m so sorry this has taken so long, but I really hope you enjoy it! 

Summary: after the mess of the Blackwater ferry job, you and the gang have taken refuge in Colter, and you’re feeling useless. Determined to prove your worth to the gang, you decide to scout a nearby O’Driscoll camp. When your mission doesn’t go to plan, it’s down to Charles to bring you home. 

Warnings: one use of a racial slur, angst, mentions of gore. 

Pairing: Charles Smith x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 3,191 (yeahhhh I went way over the word count, sorry)

If you had hated stitching before, it was nothing compared to now. The cold had rendered your unskilled fingers practically useless. You couldn’t feel a thing as your fingertips gripped the needle, poking it idly through bits of old fabric in a crude attempt to make a blanket. Your breath misted in front of you as you sighed loudly. Tilly looked up.

“Having fun?” she smiled sympathetically. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you rubbed the bridge of your nose. She nodded grimly. “You and me both.”

It was only until the storm cleared, you thought to yourself over and over. Just a few days. Maybe even less than that. Perhaps even tomorrow, you’d all be on your way to pastures new – to warm air, to blue sky, to grass! If there was one thing you missed as much as going to sleep without shivering, it was greenery. Charles had promised to take you out walking as soon as you got out of the mountains. You knew he was probably just being polite but you still smiled whenever you thought about it. You always smiled when you thought of Charles. He’d been so gentle with you right from the start, always greeting you with a kind word. On the long wagon journeys you’d sit beside him and watch the rolling landscape change, in comfortable silence. Sometimes you’d let your head slump against his shoulder, but he never seemed to mind. He’d always tuck a blanket around you.

“That blanket won’t make itself, Miss L/N.” Susan called from across the room, dragging you out of your daydream. There was frustration in her voice but it was strained, like she couldn’t quite find the energy to be truly angry with you. The past few days had taken its toll on you all.

All that money, lost, sitting somewhere in a town where you’d be shot on sight. You’d experienced disappointing jobs before but this felt cruel. Just as you’d let yourself start to dream, the world had closed in on you once again. Dutch had placed his hand on your shoulder before you rode to Blackwater, saying something about being rewarded for your trials, like that ferry held the rightful prize for all the gang had endured. It must have been even worse for the others, the ones who had been with Dutch for years, even decades. You had only been around for a month or so. Jenny had found you cowering behind a saloon, drunk and alone and afraid. She had been so kind to you, a true friend, and now she was gone. So was Davey, so were Mac and Sean for all you knew. Even John was missing. It was cruelty, plain and simple. Your chest tightened as you felt the threat of tears in your eyes.

You felt useless. It didn’t help that barely anyone was speaking to you properly. You knew it was because there was so much to do, but the sting of people walking past you without even looking you in the eye was hard to ignore. You hadn’t even seen Dutch and Hosea today; they were always holed up pouring over maps or out scouting the surroundings. Arthur and Javier had ventured into the mountains to look for John. And here you were, sewing, if you could even call it that. You held up the blanket, which looked more like a long scarf. Jack looked up from the fire and frowned puzzledly at your creation. You smiled, wrapping it around your neck.

“Very modern, don’t you think?” you asked, striking a pose. Jack giggled.

“Miss L/N, the sooner you fashion something useable, the sooner we can all get warmer.”

“Yes, Ms. Grimshaw.” you mumbled. This wretched needle was starting to aggravate you. It seemed to transcend its form to become a vicious little insect intent on ramming itself into your exposed flesh. You winced, sucking on your index finger.

“Now, that’s a sight I could get used to.” Micah purred from his corner. You pulled your finger out of your mouth, glaring. He smirked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Mr Bell, if you’ve nothing meaningful to say may I suggest taking yourself somewhere else?” said Susan, her brow furrowing. Micah placed his hand on his heart in mock-offence.

“Is that any way to speak to one of your own? Besides, I’ve been breaking my back lately. As I see it, I’m owed a pretty view or two.”

Susan opened her mouth to retaliate but you stood up, throwing down your sewing.

“The prettiest thing in this room will be your blood on my fist if you don’t shut up, Micah.” you hissed, your blood boiling. Micah leant back in his chair, taking another drag.

“Vicious little thing, aintcha? Don’t let me distract you from your housework now, Miss. Gotta earn your keep somehow.”

“I’ve earnt my keep, Bell. You know that.”

“Oh, sure. We’re all so grateful for having to save your ass back in Blackwater. Hell, if it wasn’t for you losing your nerve maybe we’d still have that money.”

You were breathing heavily now, your fists bunched by your sides. You knew it wasn’t true, not really. He was just choosing the exact words to get under your skin. But God, it was working.

“Leave her alone, Micah.” Karen snapped from her corner. Micah turned to look at her, sneering.

“I wish we had! I know that redskin bastard’s gettin’ sweet on her, but even he can see she’s a waste of air.”

That was enough for you. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the cabin before anyone could see your tears. You crunched through the snow, your head fuzzy, barely hearing Lenny when he asked if you were alright. Leaning against the cold wood of the stables you shut your eyes, willing the sobs away.

It was true about Blackwater. Only minutes after the job went sour you’d misfired and almost gotten yourself killed, only to take a nasty fall and hurt your ankle so badly you could barely limp out of the room. Charles had gone back for you. You could remember how easily he lifted you up and carried you to safety, running as you shot your pistol over his shoulder at the advancing lawmen. I’ve got you, he kept whispering, long after the gunfire had ceased and your heart had settled. Even when he looked down and saw his wounded hand, bloodied and charred. Still he held onto you, kneeling on the yellowed grass with you in his lap. If you focused on how warm his chest felt, you could get the image out of your head of Heidi McCourt’s brains spilling over the ferry deck.  

“Y/N?”

Charles voice, soft and concerned, pulled you out of your memories and back into the snow. Your eyes snapped open and you saw him in front of you, his hat pulled low over his face, his arm cradling his wounded hand. Your stomach twisted with guilt.

“Are you alright?” he asked suspiciously. You nodded too quickly, your cheeks flushing. He kept looking at you, regarding you, and for once you wished he wouldn’t.

“Get yourself back inside, you’ll catch your death out here,” he continued, gesturing to the darkening sky. You shrugged, your eyes falling to the ground.

“I’m fine, Charles. I just wanted to be alone for a minute.”

Charles paused for a few moments, as if contemplating saying something more, but he turned away.

“Charles?”

You spoke before you could stop yourself. He looked back at you, his eyes soft.

“I…I’m sorry.” you stammered.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Your hand. If I hadn’t…if you hadn’t…I’m sorry.”

Charles stared at you, letting out a long sigh.

“I would never have left you there,” he said softly. “never.”

You took a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t have had to go back for me if I wasn’t a…a waste of air.”

“A waste of air? Who’s been saying that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, shaking your head. “it’s the truth. All I want to do is show you people that I’m worth having around. But no, the good Lord has decided I’m to be cursed with a life on the run with none of the skills to make it work. And…and I can’t sew!”

“Can’t sew? What are you talking about?”

“Can’t sew, can’t shoot straight, can’t even die when I’m supposed to.”

“Stop.” Charles growled, his eyes narrowing. Your tears slipped from your cheeks and dropped to the ground, melting the snow in tiny circles by your feet.

“Y/N, for better or worse, we’re all still here.” Charles continued, his voice strained.

“I…”

“You’re feeling the weight of all this hell, same as the rest of. But I want to keep everyone around for as long as possible, you included. So just…just look after yourself. Please, Y/N.”

You gripped your elbows, chewing your lower lip. Charles nodded slowly as he turned to walk back to his cabin.

“And don’t venture out, at least not far,” he said grimly, over his shoulder. “I’ve heard there might be O’Driscolls out around these parts. Out near some lake, I heard.”

O’Driscolls. You hadn’t experienced a run-in with them yet, but from the way Dutch talked about them it wouldn’t be long before you did. After all the everyone had been through recently, a night raid by a rival gang might have tipped things over the edge. Your palms felt sweaty despite the icy air as you contemplated the idea that had settled in your mind. Scouting from afar wouldn’t be difficult, you knew that. You were quiet, and the increasing gloom of the evening would aid your mission.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Charles had looked at you, like you were a frightened little animal on the side of the road. You were sick to your core of pity. Of being told to be safe, to take it easy, to look after yourself. Of watching the boys ride out together every day whilst you huddled by the fire and stitched blankets of no use to man nor beast. You had so much energy to use up and no way to utilise it that didn’t result in strange looks or Dutch barking at you to get back into the warm. You didn’t sleep well, waking up multiple times a night only to shiver and stare at the ceiling. As darkness fell gradually around you now, leaning against the stables as you listened to Pearson grumbling at his workstation and watched the shadows in the windows, you figured you were better off going in search of a fabled O’Driscoll camp than laying still until morning.

And then you were silently un-hitching your horse, stroking his nose and cooing gently as he whinnied against the cold evening air, mounting up and trotting out of Colter before anyone could see you.

The silence of the mountains was deafening. You strained against the biting wind and tried to ignore the primal fear that simmered inside you when you thought of the wolves out there, waiting for an easy supper. Instead you focused on the camp you were searching for. You had seen maps of this area before and knew there was a lake nearby, one with some abandoned structures that could serve as easy shelter for a band of outlaws. A short wave of pride washed over you as you realised that you could do this. You could do this. You could be an asset. A quick scout of the camp, and returning home with vital information that could even save the day. With some soothing words to your horse, you pressed quietly on into the gloom. You were riding for over an hour before you saw lights in the distance. Finding yourself atop a ridge looking down at the camp below, you squatted in the snow and narrowed your eyes, picking out the dark shapes of who you assumed were O’Driscolls, clutching rifles as they stood guard, laughing, squabbling, drinking. Their voices cut through the night like daggers.

You slowly crept along the ridge, making mental notes of the various buildings you saw, the numbers of men. There were a lot of them, more than you anticipated, and your mouth felt dry. When you felt the presence of someone behind you it took every fibre of effort not to scream.

“Stop…stop right there!”

His voice was as shaky as the wind as you turned slowly to face him, your hands raising above your head.

“D-don’t…don’t try anything! I know how to shoot!”

The man who pointed a pistol at you didn’t look much older than you, his eyes wide with concern under his hat.

“I…” your words failed you as panic rose in your gut. This nervous creature didn’t seem much of a threat, but his camp was right beneath you. You cursed yourself for your carelessness.

“You…you shouldn’t be here! Who are you?” he demanded, his voice slightly stronger now. You shook your head, breathing rapidly. In a moment of blind adrenaline, you reached down to your pistol. And that’s when he shot you.

The bullet hit you in the shin, nestling itself in your flesh with a sickening bang. You screamed, dropping to the ground and howling in pain as you grabbed at your leg. The man hurried to your side, gabbling with panic.

“Oh god, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, miss!”

You couldn’t do anything except continue to wail and sob, oblivious to the noise you were making. The man shook his head, his hand on your shoulder. You pulled away, suddenly furious.

“You’re…you’re…sorry?!”

“Miss, I truly am. I didn’t mean to hurt you! I just…I just panicked!”

“Damn you…”

“Miss? Miss!”

You stopped cursing and looked at him, seeing the real fear in his eyes.

“Miss, they’ll kill you if they find you. Maybe worse. You have to get out of here, and fast. They’re not stupid enough to ignore a gunshot this close to camp.”

“And why…why wouldn’t you hand me over? You’re one of them, right?”

The man stopped and looked you dead in the eye.

“I ain’t no O’Driscoll, Miss.”

There were a few seconds of silence before you let yourself believe him. He helped you to your feet.

“You got a horse, Miss?”

“Sure. He’s close.”

You whistled a few times, and before long your horse cantered into view. The man guided you to his side and steadied your feet into the stirrups.

“Ride hard,” he said sternly. “don’t look back once, you understand? Get out of here.”

You barely had time to gasp your thanks before he struck the rear of your horse and watched you gallop off into the night.

Blood flowed steadily from your wound and into your boot, its sticky warmth combining with the pain and making you feel increasingly nauseous. You felt waves of dizziness as you thought of how foolish you had been, how selfish. You thought of Charles, only this time you didn’t smile. All you could picture was his face when he saw you wounded, again. Beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead and mixed with the tears on your cheeks.

In all the confusion, all the pain, you didn’t have time to register which way you were going. The night swirled around you as you rode aimlessly, the pain in your leg throbbing with every bend in the landscape. Eventually you slowed your hose to a halt, breaking down completely and sobbing into his mane. You didn’t know how long you lay there, half passed out, half asleep, half dead. When you heard Charles’ voice you were certain you were dreaming.

“Y/N?”

His voice echoed through the trees. You were dead, you thought, you must be dead. But then you heard him again.

“Y/N!”

His arms, his strong shoulders, the warmth of his chest as he lifted you down from your horse and cradled you against him.

“Oh, Y/N, what have you done?”

His hand rested on your bloodied shin and you sobbed into him, exhaustion mixing with relief and shame. He pressed his lips to your forehead as he lifted you up and carried you to Taima, who was waiting patiently as she always did. When he had you settled on her saddle he went back for your horse, attaching the reins firmly to Taima so they could ride back together. He sat behind you, letting you loll back against him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Lights, voices, hurried words and scrabbling hands lifting you down and wrapping you in what felt like a thousand blankets. Water, hot whiskey, bandages and searing pain and more tears, and Charles holding your hand long after the bullet fragments had been removed from your leg. Falling in and out of sleep, waking briefly to be scolded by Dutch and Susan. It all felt like a painting, like a song, something to be observed, not lived. And yet here you were, saved both by a stranger and the man who held your heart.

You walked again when the snow finally began to ease. Pale sunlight trickled through the window of your cabin, teasing you with it’s meagre warmth. You shakily stumbled to the door, peering out at the tiny town as the gang went about their business.

“Ah, ah! Absolutely not. Sit down before you fall down.” Charles smiled, wandering over to where you stood in the doorway. You rolled your eyes, giving him a little push.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist watching everyone else break their backs.” you grinned, watching Bill topple over some stacked crates with an almighty clatter. Charles looked at you, his eyes warm, his face softer than you’d seen for a long time.

“I still owe you that walk when we get to pastures new.” he said. “Can’t let all that greenery go unexplored, especially now you’re a regular little adventurer.”

“Very funny!”

“I mean it.” he said solemnly. You peered at him.

“What you did…it was stupid. Reckless. Foolish. And if you ever try anything like that again I don’t know what I’ll do. But…you did good.”

“…really?”

“Really. Even Dutch was impressed. We’d never have known how many of those bastards were camped out there if it wasn’t for you. Now we can ride out knowing what’s coming.”

“Charles?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you come looking for me?”

Charles sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I saw how upset you were back at the stables, but I didn’t help. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said – that you couldn’t even die when you were supposed to. The way I see it, there isn’t any way we’re supposed to die. We have a right to decide when and where, in a way. It’s all in the choices we make, in the choices others make. And my choice was to find you.”

He placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. When he kissed you it felt like coming home.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”  

[marvelhero-fics]

Peter!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: A bunch of criminals decide Tony Stark would pay them a lot of money to get his daughter back so they try to kidnap her, little did they know Ironman and Spider-Man would come to the rescue 

A/N: I’m so sorry I haven't posted in so long!!!! This was a super quick blurb just off the top of my head, pretty much unedited, sorry about that! I’ve got a lot more fics on the way

Word Count: 1,470

Warning: swearing, maybe a little violence?

The carpark was so empty you could hear the clatter of your hard-bottomed shoes against the cement. It was illuminated very clearly with pale blue lighting, whilst darkness surrounded the exterior. It was just after 9:00pm. You were making your way to your chauffeured car just outside of the Stark building. You’d been spending most nights after high school at one of your dad’s labs close to school to help bump up your science grades, and plus make some extra money. No matter how rich your parents were, they always made you work for what you had. You sighed slightly at the impending long car ride back to the Avengers compound where you currently resided with your parents. 

You were stopped slightly in your tracks when two men emerged out of a navy blue car, about 10 ft in front of you. You really tried to think nothing of it, but being a young, small, female who wouldn’t be able to protect yourself against a large man, let alone two, fear bubbled up inside you slightly. You decided to detour slightly, trying to get to a different exit to avoid these men. Another man in similar robber-like black clothing appeared slightly too near to you for your comfort. Your lips pursed together as you could feel your heartbeat radiating throughout your entire body due to how fast it was pumping. 

A slight pang of courage/curiosity hit you to pull your gaze up from the dirty concrete floor to look at your surroundings. There was a lot more than 3 men around you, it was definitely closer to about 15. You came to a complete stop in your tracks, your breath becoming uneven and panicked as the worst thoughts flooded your mind. 

“How do you know it’s her?” One of them mumbled to another, his eyes travelling up and down your figure as you clutched your bag closer to your body. 

“It’s definitely her.” The other replied, a devilish smile creeping upon his lips. He strutted towards you, his frame seemed to be about twice the size of yours. A sudden wave of quick thinking hit you in your moment of shock, you slowly and secretly moved your right hand over to your left wrist. Your father always made you wear an emergency bracelet. It was an inconspicuous, silver bracelet that hugged your wrist tightly with a small button on it that would alert your father of an emergency. He made sure to explain that it wasn’t an ‘I forgot my purse’ emergency or an ‘I left my homework at home’ emergency. It was only if you were in imminent danger. And this definitely felt like the time to use it.

The man was so close to your frame that you could smell his slightly ‘off’ body oder. His face came close to yours to take a deeper look at your features. You looked away and squeezed your eyes shut in attempts to stop your eyes from welling up. 

“Miss Stark, it’s so nice to meet you.” His voice was raspier and lower as you heard it clearly, almost as if he has gravel stuck in his throat. 

“I’m- my name isn't Stark.” You lied through gritted teeth, your breath so panicked you almost couldn't speak.

“Oh sweetheart, you don't need to bother with that. I know exactly who you are.” He had an almost laughter as he spoke this time, his breath smelling of alcohol. Suddenly, his hand grabbed your upper arm, tugging at it to pull you along with him. “Do you know how much your father would pay for you? We’re gonna be fucking rich boys!” He added, in attempts to hype up the gang around him. Part of you wanted to fight back, a large part of you wanted too. But you simply knew you wouldn't make it out of this fighting. This man by himself could take you down, not mentioning the other 14-or-so men around you. 

“Hey! I don't think she’s consenting to that buddy.” A familiar Queens accent rang through your ears. You, along with the men around you, turned your heads to see Peter in his classic Spider-Man costume standing atop of one of the cars. 

A few of the men huffed, making a few comments about ‘that Spider-Man dude from YouTube’. Peter jumped down from the car, causing some of the men to pull pistols out the back of their trousers. You gasped out in horror, your lungs feeling like they were being viciously squeezed as you watched your boyfriend contemplate his next move, while still struggling against the man holding you. You watched as Peter expertly used his webs to pull weapons from the men around you while also dodging bullets in the process. He tried his best to web them to pillars or cars around the carpark to take them out of the action, but he was clearly experiencing some difficulty with the amount of men surrounding him. 

The noise of a burst of energy hit your ears, causing you to flinch. You looked up to see that all-too-famous red and gold suit crushing men beneath it. The weight forcing down your shoulders seemed to lighten up slightly as your father began fighting alongside Peter. Many of the guys began yelling about Ironman in horror, stating that they needed to ‘get the fuck outta here’. 

Tony mainly used his blasters to get men to the floor so Peter was able to web them down. You watched your fathers movements, they weren't that of someone who was planning and strategising his attacks, they were pure anger. Which seemingly made them a lot more effective, and a lot more deadly.

“Kid, what the hell are you doing here?” Tony questioned Peter, his voice accentuated through the mask.  

“Just helping out!” Peter swiftly dodged an incoming punch, “being your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!” He added, sending another man down to the floor with a thundering cracking noise, God, you didn't want to know where it came from. 

You felt the grip on your arm get exponentially tighter as the man began pulling you away in a rushed, and clearly frightened manoeuvre. You’d gained some courage amongst all the fighting and began trying to bat this mans hand away, while trying to pry your arm from his clutch. It seemingly took him no effort to pull your body along. “Peter!” You yelled out in a frenzy, immediately regretting that decision. Firstly, these men shouldn't know Spider-Man’s name, and secondly, your dad didn't know that you knew Peter was Spider-Man.

In a matter of seconds, Peter was swiftly swinging in to send a harsh kick to the mans head. His grip left your arm and he fell down to the floor. With a few more rushed attacks and webs, Peter had officially rendered this man useless.

“Wait, Peter?!” Your father exclaimed in shock, turning to face you while sending a small rocket into a car sitting directly behind some of the assailants. A burst of flames hit the roof of the carpark building along with some shocking, frightful shrieks. 

“Oh shit...” Peter said under his breath, facing you. It felt strange looking at the mask eyes instead of Peter’s actual eyes.

“We’re having a very long conversation when we get home Miss (Y/N) Stark!” Your dad hollered out, sending the last of the men into a nearby pillar. Without hesitation Ironman was flying towards you, he grabbed you tightly. “Let’s go Pete.” Tony stated, flying out of the parking building far too quickly for your liking. Within minutes you had all landed just outside one of Tony’s many houses, this one residing in Midtown Manhattan. 

You realised you were essentially holding your breath the entire way, letting out a loud sigh as your feet finally hit the ground. Peter ripped his mask off his head, showing off his frightened expression and disheveled hair. Seeing Peter’s face brought out every emotion you had bottled up. Your body fell immediately into his arms, hugging him tighter than you thought physically possible. He held your body close, his heat radiating onto you. You sunk your head into his shoulder and began crying, due to the fact that you just really didn't know what else to do. 

You heard the movement of the Ironman suit behind you. It opened to reveal a frightened, but relieved looking Tony. His hand grabbed your shoulder, spinning you away from Peter into his arms. You clung onto your father for dear life. Tony clearly reciprocating. His placed a huge kiss on your forehead, his hand tightly holding your head close to his body. “Thank you, dad.” You whispered through tears.

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you darling.” 

[allyinthekeyofx]

Fading light -Part 2- 6/6

PART ONE  - Chapters 1-6

PART TWO -  Chapter one   Chapter two   Chapter three   Chapter four   

                       Chapter five

NOTES - There are another two parts to this fic - keep that in mind when you get to the end of this chapter.  That’s all I’m sayin’ 

PART TWO

CHAPTER SIX

There have been no more nosebleeds. Not since that frightening day in the park has Scully lost so much as a spot of blood. But this time, what she is actually losing is so much worse, because this time, as the tumour pushes an unrelenting path in to her brain, what she is steadily losing is herself.

The first time I really noticed was about a week after I had brought her home from the hospital, a week after we had sat cross legged on the couch, facing each other as we fed each other forkfuls of coconut Birthday cake and vanilla ice cream. And for a few hours I had been happy. The pain in my injured hand not even really registering as I watched my partner laugh as I dabbed a blob of butter cream on to the end of her small, sculptured nose, leaning forwards in response to the playful challenge she threw down to me from those sparkling blue eyes. And just for a few hours we forgot everything as we lost ourselves in each other.

Should we have made love that night?

Probably not; Scully was still weak from the blood loss and by rights shouldn’t even have been released from the hospital, but there was an unspoken need between us that we couldn’t ignore so we just took it steady, tempering the passion through necessity and truthfully, something happened to me that night as I gazed down at her enlarged pupils; perfect lips that were swollen from a hundred teasing kisses and my whole perception of life seemed to shift slightly on its axis, rendering me almost unconscious with love for this woman. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before – a joining of two souls that nothing would ever tear apart and I swear I could almost see the shadows melding in to light around us, chasing away the darkness, leaving only this love, a love so blinding in its intensity that I somehow knew it would survive somehow inside me even as the physical structure was taken from it.

Maybe it’s true that love is eternal. I don’t know. But that night, just for a few moments, I felt sure that it could be.

And as Scully gently cupped one of her small hands around my face, her eyes told me that she felt it too.

I held on to that feeling in the days that followed as Scully’s headaches intensified; rendering her unable to function on any level at all for more than a few minutes. I lost count of the hours I spent holding her against me, spooning myself around her as I gently tried to stroke her pain away. Sometimes I succeeded. Most times I didn’t. And it became very obvious very quickly that it was time to up the pain meds.

She cried then. Huge wracking sobs that almost tore me apart, knowing as she did that stronger medication was the first small downward spiral towards the abyss and she had fought so hard, so fucking hard to deny the need to herself and to me. Until one day when I came home from work to find her curled in a ball in the bathroom, surrounded by the sickly sour-sweet scent of her own pain induced vomit clutching her head as tears and snot marred her beautiful face; screaming at me to make it stop. 

To please just make it stop.

We already had the morphine; prescribed by Dr Zuckerman, to be used when things got bad. He had shown me how to inject her, an action necessitated by her refusal to be admitted to the hospital where her pain could be better managed and if I had initially baulked at the idea when she first suggested it as a compromise, when it came right down to it, plunging the needle in to her that first time to stop her hurting was singularly the easiest fucking thing I had ever had to do in my entire Godforsaken life.

I had held her then, right there on the bathroom floor, I rocked her gently until her anguished cries gradually tapered off in to occasional hitching sobs and she turned and buried herself in the folds of the jacket I hadn’t even had time to remove, knowing then that, even if she couldn’t voice it, she needed me there; that I could deny it no longer.

That night, after I had cleaned her up and carried her to the bedroom, laying her gently down as she succumbed to the medication now numbing her senses I picked up the phone and called Skinner to let him know I required an indefinite leave. That for as long as it took, I wouldn’t be returning to work.

It put him in a difficult position. I know that now. Because Scully and I, on paper at least, were nothing more to each other than partners. Work Colleagues. Bureau policy on the fraternisation between male and female agents was very clear and while relationships surely occurred on a regular basis, it was never acknowledged. And yet here I was, expecting to be granted a leave of absence without a single question being raised; but he managed it. God knows how he managed it but I received the paperwork just 48 hours later, the box labelled ‘expected return date’ marked ‘unknown’.

And to my surprise, I effectively walked away from my life’s work without even a murmur of dissent.

Because the X-Files suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered any more except Scully.

Don’t get me wrong, we still had a measure of normality. The morphine, whilst sometimes leaving her fuzzy and disorientated, did its job admirably and without the constant pain, Scully was able to carry on. Her appetite was poor though and she began to lose weight, beginning to look as sick on the outside as she was on the inside. But despite this, she was still my Scully. She still laughed, still poked me in the ribs playfully when I overstepped the mark, and still admonished me when I casually dropped my discarded clothes on the bedroom floor instead of crossing the few feet to the laundry hamper. She could still beat me hands down at Yatzee and Clue , grinning at me with satisfaction at my frustration when I lost over and over again despite my best efforts.

Oh yeah, she was still my Scully.

We spent hours walking. Usually around Rivergate, as slowly winter turned in to spring and new life began to bloom around us. The irony of that wasn’t lost on either of us I don’t think.

Occasionally we got in the car and just drove. Aimlessly driving, needing in some unspoken way to keep moving forwards. We just let the road take us, stopping if something or somewhere caught our interest. Often she would fall asleep with her head resting against my shoulder, and I would find somewhere to park just so I could look at her. Sometimes being with her was so excruciatingly painful that something hard and cold took up residence in my chest cavity, stealing my breath from me and rendering me incapable of speech. And she knew; she always knew when I was falling and she would find a way to emotionally catch me before I hit the ground.

Only very rarely did we talk about her cancer.

We both refused I think, to allow ourselves to be defined by it or more crucially, for our relationship to be defined by it.

Until one day, one frightening day, when Scully began to drop random words in to her sentences, substituting in a way that clearly made sense to her but only to her. And even more frightening was that she was totally unaware that she was even doing it. The first time it happened I thought she was kidding.

Had you big time Mulder

But it was all too clear that she wasn’t.

She had refused all offers of a further MRI scan, arguing that since she was on no actual treatment protocol, tracking the progress of the disease was pointless. But really, I think she was simply afraid. I didn’t blame her since I seemed to spend every waking hour suspended in a state of perpetual terror that gnawed at me with an uninterrupted tenacity that would have, if I’d allowed it to, swiftly rendered me unable to function on even the most basic level. I wasn’t sure I was ready to physically have to face the demon that was slowly and relentlessly taking her away from me, not ready to have to weigh the time we had left in weeks or months. It was just too damn painful.

So instead, we made memories. As best we could at least.

A trip to the fair where we rode the ferris wheel again and again, laughing as the wind whipped around us, her slapping me at the centre of the chest in mock admonishment as I made the car rock when we were right at the top of the arc. And I kissed her, slow and deep as coloured lights twinkled beneath us and the starlit sky stretched to infinity above. I kissed her with my eyes wide open, to preserve this moment in time for ever. The sight of her face, flushed as it was with almost childlike happiness as I prayed to whatever God controlled the universe to please let me keep her for one more week, one more month, one more year; knowing the futility even as I wished that it could be so.

Because day by day, it was becoming clear that there was no stopping the progression of the disease, that the Scully I had fallen in love with so many years ago was slowly being taken. Not just from me, but from herself.

Her short term memory was becoming poor. For the most part she managed to hide it from me although I know she was in the habit of checking to see if her toothbrush was wet; to check that she had remembered to clean her teeth in the morning. And that she had begun to carry a small note book and pen with her in to which she jotted small snippets of daily life, to refer back to should she forget. She never asked me for help in that regard, fiercely trying to hang on to her independence, refusing to be cowed by the relentless damage being wrought upon her by this cruel disease.

I had reconciled myself to the fact a long time ago that this time there would be no miracle cure. That any intervention I had thought might come had been nothing but a scant hope from a desperate man. I had been stupid to even think that there might be. Because finally I knew, that everything leading up to this point had been carefully orchestrated and calculated. To give her back to me the last time. To allow me to fall in love with her, only to take her now was almost too heinous an act for me to comprehend.

On one night, not so very long ago, Scully had made me promise that I would continue to fight for justice. For her, for me, for everything and everyone who had been taken from us both. And I promised. Of course I promised. I would promise her the sun moon and stars if I thought it might bring her peace.

And when she was gone, when I had finally let her go, I would beg for her forgiveness before putting my gun against my temple and pulling the trigger.

Because without her, there could never be justice.

Because no amount of legal or moral recompense could ever be equal to what they have taken from us.

And now, as I sit on the sofa, listening to the sound of Scully’s desperate sobs from within the bedroom where she fled, I no longer have any fight left to give. I feel hollow inside. As though my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

Because this evening, as we curled up together on the sofa to watch TV, my beautiful, brilliant partner with her incredible mind, the woman who re-wrote Einstein when she was 23 years old, discovered that she could no longer read; that the words on the screen meant absolutely nothing to her.

And as I watched her literally fall apart before me, months of futile denial finally becoming undeniable, something cracked and broke free from her and she fought me with everything she had as I tried to take her in my arms, to soothe her even as I knew that there was nothing I could hope to do to make this right. Watching helplessly as she sought escape from me.

I didn’t follow her.

I couldn’t follow her.

Because I am alive and she is dying. For perhaps the first time she has to acknowledge that she is dying.

And I will give her the time she needs to at least begin to make sense of all this and then I will hold her against me as I search for the words that will convince her to keep going, to keep fighting.

Because I can’t lose her yet.

I just can’t.

XXXX

I think I fell asleep for a few minutes. I have no recollection of even closing my eyes, but the shadows in the room have deepened slightly. My watch tells me that barely half an hour has passed, but the apartment is quiet. The sounds of Scully’s distress have silenced and I decide to risk going to her.

But when I enter the bedroom, I am suddenly frozen with an inexplicable fear that paralyzes me. I am unable to move as I realise she isn’t there. And like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to the centre of the bed, to the leather holster that usually holds Scully’s service revolver in place.

It is empty.

And she is gone.

My eyes narrow as I see a single page torn from a book has been left alongside the holster and with shaking hands I pick it up. My throat is burning with a combination of raw fear and an all encompassing guilt that I fell asleep.

She was hurting and I fell asleep.

I recognise the page as being the preface to one of Scully’s favourite books, a collection of poems and anecdotes that speak of love, of remembrance. Of loss.

She knows that book by heart.

‘ Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away in to the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly the way it was. I am I and you are you, and The old life we lived so fondly together remains unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in to your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well’

And even as I am scanning the words, I hear a noise, a strange animalistic keening sound that builds in volume and intensity until I realise that the sound is coming from me as realisation slams into my consciousness.

No Scully. Please No. Not this. Never this.

And I literally throw myself out of the apartment, screaming her name.

But there is only silence.

CONTINUED PART THREE

NOTES -  Credit for the beautiful piece of writing at the end goes to Henry Scott Holland (27 January 1847 – 17 March 1918) who was Regius Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford.

[sund0wnkid]

Fear

young man

I told her that I was a god. She asked me where was my prophet. I told her I was a king. She asked me where was my kingdom. I told her I was a leader. She asked me where are my followers. I told her I was a man. She asked what made that so. I told her that I do not know.

Goddamn, I don’t know. Not knowing is what frustrates me the most. I would willingly resign to accept a fate that would have me pinned to the bottom of the barrel if and only if I could know that was indeed my future. Not to say that I would make such a deal but, if my life truly was destined to be crappy—I would like to know. Not out of some self-pitying way—no. I would like to know because I would want to know where to place my energies.

If I knew that I would never escape poverty (fingers crossed that that is not the case) then I would look elsewhere to fulfill myself rather than desperately toiling hours-on-end to find a clear path to financial stability amongst the plethora of dead-end jobs and voracious bill collectors. If, the heavens cracked open, and an archangel came down from the ruptured sky amidst bright permeating flashes of white light whilst a thousand cherubs played an all-brass fanfare hailing his descent to plop a fortune cookie slip in my lap; and that slip were to say, “you will never find the means to live a luxurious life”, I’d be ok with that.

Of course, I would be distraught and beside myself for quite some time as I processed the magnitude of how much time and energy that I’ve invested in pursuing a dream that will never come to fruition. But after the tears have dried and the tsunami waves of existential dread have given way to ripples, I feel that I could find a fresh pursuit in life. Understanding that my efforts toward living life like a member of the American upper-middle class are for naught, I would seek out something that does not compel me to endure the grating pain of giving my whole life in return for scraps.

Quite honestly, with all this being said, I don’t know if I should drop this potentially futile endeavor, of grinding through college, collecting credentials, locating a career, competing for a job position, and retaining a job long enough to no longer be poor, for something that is more likely to show me love. I’m not saying that something would be fresh baked cookies and sunshine all the time but, I would expect, I would hope, that I get in what I put out.

**********

“Peace in yearning/Floating on desperation” – “Paradise” The Caged Bird Writes by Julian Marshall

peace in yearning

Those who truly understand will have endured years under an endless hurricane; will have clawed through the churning oceans of misfortune; will have been tossed and turned as sharks tore off pounds of flesh as penance for their existence; and salt will have washed their wounds with callous indifference as they yearned for peace but only found peace in yearning.

Suppose a divine messenger does not stop me on my journey to live a minimally stressed life. Suppose I continue to trudge onward with no indication whatsoever that I should stop. Perhaps trudging onward is too glib of a phrase to accurately convey the allure of staying on this path. Presently, I see multiple well-worn paths, their respective destinations would ostensibly offer peace of mind as I would have the means to provide a stable life for myself and for others. Oh, I sense a big “but” coming along and we shall take a look at it right after I briefly address why a stable life is so appealing.

First, a life that is mostly good, a life in which I am not struggling tremendously and frequently is desirable to me. Desirable simply because it is comfortable, I needn’t worry about sustenance nor safety. My concerns would revolve around living the most bourgeois life of moderate decadence and white-picket-fencedness that I could attain which leads me to the other side of what makes a stable life appealing.

Second, pickney (heh heh, I just like the word) is a chief concern of mine, for mostly selfish reasons of having my name and receding-hairline-genetics carried on, (just kidding, I haven’t quite parsed out why I want kids but I know that I would want to raise some). With this in mind, I believe that it is the duty of parents to be able to provide a stable life for their pickney’s first two decades of life. Thus, a stable life is appealing because it would enable me to raise pickney, hopefully to my satisfaction.

See, brief. I can further expand and expound upon those two points in another essay, I do not believe that I have conveyed, with complete fidelity, the appeal of a bourgeois life. The image (honestly, more like a hastily drawn stick-figure sketch) that I have drawn up does not completely capture my aspirations, but it does enough to outline my desires that would be satisfied by walking along the worn paths of those who came before me and that is all I need for this piece.

Considering this shortcoming I can imagine that the only folks who can flesh out the skeleton that I have half-assembled are those who have floated on desperation for years. For such individuals attaining peace, peace of mind, is THE ultimate goal, anything beyond this seemingly simplistic peace could be considered frivolous—understandably so. When one recalls the times when all that they had besides nothing was pain, attaining peace whether by way of a bourgeois life or other methods is a blessing that assuages and soothes the throbbing scars of life. However, before we go on any further let us give our attention to that big “but”.

Ahem.

A stable life in which I can be mostly comfortable and raise my pickney in a stable environment is indeed appealing, appealing precisely because it is peaceful, but I must wonder who would find something more appealing than a mostly bourgeois life accompanied by pickney, something more appealing than peace of mind with a dollop of socially acceptable extravagance on top. I wonder because I have envisioned my peaceful life with my pickney and in those visions I saw that my pickney would not have the pain of cosmic misfortune imprinted on their memories and as such would have naively nursed ambitions beyond a peaceful life, blind to the misfortunes that lie beyond a peaceful life. Thus, we have our answer, perhaps it is only the blind who would search for treasures beyond peace. Perhaps it’s a part of a tragic cycle for parents to produce blind pickney and for those pickney to stumble into the storm of life. Perhaps only those who can stay out of the storm were meant to achieve peace.

Or.

Perhaps, my imaginary pickney are not blind. Perhaps, because they do not have pain imprinted on their memories, perhaps because they do not have trauma tattooed into their skin, perhaps because they have never feared the pain of life they can freely pursue their ambitions. It would be fair to speculate that perhaps their ambitions will shrivel up and die upon first contact with strife however, that is not what I would like to examine. Let me turn your attention to a clear yet overlooked contrast that I have made between I and my pickney: Fear and the absence of Fear.

Pain is a universally experienced sensation (I promise that I’ll keep this portion of my pontification brief). It can be experienced in the briefest of moments or over the course of the longest lifetimes and it can cause paralysis of equally varying lengths. I, myself, have experienced pain in waves, some waves rocking the boat, others capsizing my life, each one leaving its own indelible scar and each scar violently flooding my body with paralysis at each recollection, waterboarding my mind with the memories of irredeemable mistakes and powerlessness more potently felt than a bottle of Jamaican rum. The fear of pain and powerlessness props me up as I navigate my way to a place where I believe I will have no need of fear.

I would imagine that such a place would insulate my pickney from similar pain and thus allow them to pursue soaring aspirations that I would not dare entertain. If this low fidelity rendering is not clear enough to convey my vision then consider the archetypical immigrant parents from a country that is economically disadvantaged and have seen poverty in its ugliest and most heartbreaking form. Imagine their pickney who has never seen the true bottom of the socioeconomic pyramid telling them that they want to be something other than a doctor, lawyer, engineer, or businessperson. If you’re imagining what I imagine then all Hell would break loose as soon as the words “I don’t want to be…” left the unsuspecting pickney’s mouth. The resulting confusion, anger, and anxiety would have something to do, at least in part, with the parents’ experience with the unequivocally unattractive alternatives to the well-worn predetermined routes leading to a comfortable life.

Now at this point in my shamelessly pretentious and needlessly bloated essay you must be wondering (as am I) what is the point that I am getting at. Well to wrap this up quickly, it seems to me that the only individuals who can have a desire beyond living a comfortable life are those who do not fear the pain of living a life that is less than comfortable after failing in their respective endeavors. In the case of my pickney their fearlessness would come out of youthful naivete whereas my fearlessness would have to come out of something else. I am not completely sure of what that “something else” might be but I have a strong reckoning that it is faith, faith in myself, faith that I am stronger than the storm of life. This strong reckoning leads me to my dilemma, I am torn between faith in myself and fear that I am not strong enough to weather the storm, fear that I would be sacrificing a comfortable life for more pain.

Perhaps there is a promised land for me just beyond the hurricane yet all I see are the massive waves underneath the brewing clouds ready to swallow me whole and I don’t know whether I’ll be able to taste something beyond the peace I that yearn or be left broken and battered floating on desperation.