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raainberry · 1 year ago

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How and When I Fell For You (This is)

« To be attracted to someone and start to love that person. »

Momo x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - how would a college romance start out between two equally awkward engineering student and dancer?

wordcount - 3.2K

T/W - Alcohol, Food, Drugs (mentions, allusion)

A/N - took a (long) while but im happy with how it turned out, i hope you enjoy it!

10:26pm.

Four minutes. Four more minutes of looking at that textbook, then you could leave. Question of principle, you weren’t going to finish solving that stupid problem by 10:30pm, but at least you’d have stuck to the schedule.

Hundreds of pen taps against your head, leg bouncing up and down underneath the wooden desk, your whole body itched at the mere thought of leaving this place. The party you were heading to after was much more exciting to think about than this theorem.

The chaotic and carefree atmosphere wasn’t something you particularly liked, but you needed to let your hair down every once in a while, your friends made sure of it.

10:29… 10:30pm sharp. You closed your textbook and laptop shut, shoving them into your bag in one swift motion before leaving the chair you’d been warming up for the past three hours.

Your feet felt heavy, dragging them to that party was going to be a little harder than expected. The all nighters were catching up to you, and it seemed you weren’t the only one.

The girl trailing behind you carried herself the same way. You were far enough ahead to hold the exit doors for her, which allowed you to take in her appearance. Hands in her sleeves, hood over her head as her soles barely left the ground. The sight was nothing extraordinary, it was about the same energy as any other student in that building, but something about her made it captivating enough for your eyes to stay on her longer than deemed normal.

Her eyes met yours for a split second as she walked past you, leaving behind her a small but thankful nod and a surprisingly fresh, fruity smell you’d remember for a moment.

Had you not been to that party, that scent was going to be the only thing you’d remember. The girl wasn’t going to be anything special on your mind, time would have erased the interaction faster than the beloved citrus you’d picked up from around her.

Memories and taste are weirdly linked.

That explained the gag reflex that vodka shot pulled from your throat when your friends waved one in your face. Ironic when you thought about the lack of memory triggering it: a blackout night you emerged from in an unknown living room with barely any knowledge of who you were.

That didn’t stop you from downing it with a lovely orange juice though, earning cheers from your peers. A wall crumbled around your brain, one less keeping you from normal social interactions.

Alcohol was fun for you. Alcohol made you brave. Alcohol made you friends. The lack of inhibitions was liberating at small doses. Devastating at abusive ones. Somewhere in between in moderation.

Somewhere in between… That’s where you were when the citrus scent filled your nose again. Surely you weren’t that far gone yet. This wasn’t something your brain had made up because she stood in front of you, all glamed up and beautiful.

The girl you’d held the door for. Flashes of you making way for her hours ago flooded both your minds, pulling a laugh out of you and a stare out of her.

The fact that you bumped into each other in a doorway was funny enough of an event for you to giggle before the liquid in your veins voiced your thoughts.

“Woah, it’s you!” You yelled over the music with little care for her earsdrums. The latin song was enough pressure on them, she was trying to get away from the blaring speakers while yours enjoyed it as much as the drink in your hand.

Demente. The melody kept singing, describing the way you felt when her eyes met yours and seemed to do so for the first time in her life. Life has a sense of humor.

“Oh, I held the door for you like an hour ago? At the library?” You reminded, or asked, you weren’t sure. You’d seen her already, right? You were drunk, not crazy.

Thankfully she proved you right when her gaze softened. “Right. Well… Thank you.” She mumbled because maybe that’s what you wanted out of this. She knew she hadn’t been the most polite with that nod, but it was better than nothing, which is what followed your brief conversation.

That was it.

She just pushed past you after that, and you were still too shy to follow up on anything. She was already far away by the time you even came up with an obvious “you’re welcome”.

That was your first encounter with Momo.

—

The second was a little less pathetic. Mainly because it didn’t involve you speaking nor actually interacting with her.

Your eyes were pleading for a break from the complex numbers and formulas on your screen, and found sweet relief in your bland surroundings. Beige outdated walls never looked so good until the door girl from a week prior grazed them.

Her stride was a little brighter, still visibly defeated but at least there was a sense of purpose. You wondered where she was heading, your brain too caught up in how cute she looked to make sense of the clothes she wore.

That you could only do on your third encounter: the most pathetic of them all.

Looking back, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but you sure didn’t want to ever see the face you made throughout the whole stage you saw her on.

She turned out to be part of the dance team, something your College was most famous for. The whole arts program was as prestigious as your engineering one, if not more. Aspiring artists all over the country dreamed of making it on, something only the most talented were able to make into their reality.

If you doubted that fact before (which you didn’t), seeing Momo on that stage was enough to make your mind up.

It was only a rehearsal. The very first one that took place months before the real deal, when her performance blew your mind out of the room, transcending through the sound you were supposed to monitor.

Three year-end shows in three years on this campus, you had yet to witness such talent. That wasn’t exactly what piqued your interest though. The girl on stage seemed different from the one you held the door for. Yet similar to the one who grazed the walls with purpose.

Three different versions of one person, all in a week of knowing about her existence. A smile pulled at your lips as your brain grew entertained by the situation.

How many versions were there? Which one was the real one? Were they all real?

The engineering mind is ever so curious. Hopefully you’d be able to satisfy it and see more of her.

—

“Hi.”

That’s all you managed to say to her for weeks after rehearsal. You liked to think you were doing well, earning a little more than a nod after some time: a smile.

You had yet to hear her voice. That time at the party didn’t count, you barely could make out her few words. Their number never increased. She could only return your “hi” a month later, when you caught another version of her at another party.

She was proud of this one. The entertainer. She needed a few drinks in her for it to come out, the pain in her head in the morning was never fun, but the moment was.

The lights, the eyes, the attention on her… Some kind of harmless drug she got high on and never came down from. Purely recreational.

Her heart raced yet she felt at peace. This part of her was undoubtedly hers. You had no reason to look so surprised in the crowd.

“Hi.” She finally spoke when you crossed path in a quieter part of the house. A purple lit corridor on the first floor, near a wooden and trashed staircase.

Everything short of an elegant place to meet your future lover, but quite the memory for the start of a wonderful friendship.

“How are you?”

You smiled as her voice reached your ears for the first time. It was nothing familiar, weird even as you tried to associate it with such a familiar face.

It’s harder to hear new sounds than to see new things. Yet to understand something, you need both. They’re complimentary. Maybe that’s why your mind was only satisfied whenever you spoke with her.

—

The campus library loved to put Momo in your path, and she grew to love being in the way. Glimpses of your nose burried in textbooks that you only lifted to send her a smile as she walked by. A short moment she looked forward to as days passed.

Your demeanor was everything but what she had witnessed so far. You had been the bold one until the purple corridor. A couple weeks had passed since. You’d ended up taking a walk that night, circling the house too many times to count before wrapping it up in the early spring grass of the backyard. Flowers went to sleep around you, lulled by the soft sound of your voices as you opened up to each other.

Had it been too much? Would you rather have kept things as simple and mysterious as they were? But then you wouldn’t smile at her… Why weren’t you saying hi anymore though? Did she make you nervous?

Your behavior was intriguing yet undeniably endearing. She wanted to see more of you.

“Hi.” She smiled, leaning against the sound console you were sitting at.

Another rehearsal, a routine one used to check up on the progress of the show reunited the two of you.

She came up to you first for the second time, surprising and enabling your curious self. She sounded different though. Less confident, but ever so lovely.

You couldn’t help but wonder what made the difference. You’d come up with a theory; one where the confident dancer was everything that shy student wanted to be.

Although she had nothing to be shy about in your eyes, it was funny how she was anyway. Were you the one making her shy?

“Hi. You did amazing.” You smiled back and Momo chuckled as her lips made way for a bright grin.

“Thank you. I mean, I feel like I was all over the place but I really appreciate it.” She confessed, running a hand through her hair.

“If you were, you did an amazing job at covering it.” You joked, silently referring to how charismatic she was on that stage. “So…” You trailed off, trying to navigate the slightly awkward atmosphere. “Have you been doing well?”

“I have, yeah.” She nodded. “What about you?”

“Good. I’ve been good.”

The awkward silence won very easily. You nodded a couple times and glanced over her shoulder, mind wandering in search of a way to ask her about your previous encounter.

She beat you to it.

“Uhm… I wanted to say thank you for listening to me that night.” She spoke, although hesitantly. “That was really nice of you.”

You didn’t need to be familiar with her voice to know it came from the heart. It warmed yours to think about the comfort you might have brought her.

If it were like that all the time she wouldn’t mind having you around.

So the next time you smiled at her from afar, she crossed the distance in between your feet.

Just to say hi.

You answered her every time for the next few weeks, and she smiled back at you whenever you asked about her and how well she was doing.

She nodded along whenever you vented about numbers, coding and theorems. She giggled whenever you joked around and poked fun at your surroundings or yourselves.

She tagged along when you had to make a small impromptu trip to the convenience store a month later.

She laughed for hours with you, sharing stories about herself and thanked you for the food and the joy you’d given her.

She felt she had made a true friend that evening. One she could count and rely on whenever her environment became too big of a distraction.

That evening was the first time your heart skipped a beat for her.

—

Momo was talented. There was no doubt about that, until she faced the mirror with a weakened mind.

The year end show, which served as a final exam for the dance team, was coming up quick. That meant she spent most of her time at the studio. Day and night, skipping a few classes to get a few moves down.

It was fine. You didn’t see a problem with it, until you learned a few meals were skipped too. So you made sure to bring her some food whenever she practiced late, which was nearly everyday.

The sound of her panting reached your ears as soon as you opened the door. You peeked inside, seeing she was alone tonight and stepped in just as she noticed your reflection.

Momo turned to you, the grin on her face genuine and bright as she walked to meet you halfway. She wasn’t sure of the cause behind her increasing heart rate, but she knew your arms would soothe it.

“I brought you a few things.” You smiled, and she nodded before pulling you in for hug, barely sparing a glance at the plastic bag in your hands.

The feeling of your arms around her was better than the smell of her favorite food. She had to seek it out for her own comfort and sanity.

This whole year-end show thing was slowly driving her crazy.

She had been struggling to get some details down, and you watched for weeks as she obsessed over the way her body moved.

Perfection was the standard here. She knew that as much as the next person. She never held herself up to less than that, but for some reason she couldn’t do anything right that night.

The hours she’d been putting were catching up to her, limbs failing on her more often as minutes passed by. The song mashup played over and over, keeping you from dozing off on the familiar leather couch. The food sat untouched at its foot, cold and slowly developing into a digestive threat.

The phone in your hand had long lost your attention, battery on its last leg when the percentage warning popped as a last attempt to get it back.

Your eyes stayed on her though, tired but mesmerized. You couldn’t tell what she thought was so wrong in her execution. She had performed the whole routine perfectly for the tenth time when the loop she was stuck in finally broke.

A sudden groan through her gritted teeth, her body giving out before hitting the ground, the tears in her eyes burning her cheeks red… It all startled you to your feet, running to her side as if it’d keep her from falling even lower.

Her body was fragile in your arms but her priority seemed to be hiding from you. Her hands attempted to conceal her weakness displayed by her treacherous sobs.

As much as your heart urged you to push them away, you helped her hands by looking away, but never let go of her. Your arms tightened around her, bringing her face closer to your neck.

Her tears were warm against her palms, rivaling with the warmth in her chest. The worries on her mind slowly faded, replaced with thoughts of you. Of your arms around her, of your fingers in her hair and the way your own palm rested against her ear as you held her close.

You held your breath as her every cry hit your chest. Your own attempt at soothing the pain it caused within it.

“You’ve been doing a great job, Momo. Don’t beat yourself up.” You tried to reassure her with the truth. “You’re gonna be amazing as always.”

Just in case your words weren’t enough, your hand awkwardly patted the side of her upper arm, though your soul yearned to ease hers in a more traditional manner.

Maybe later. Another time. This one wasn’t right.

—

“Oh my gosh—I did it!”

Coming from Momo, the words weren’t that surprising to hear. In fact, you expected them with a grin as you stood a few feet away from the result board.

It was all a little dramatic, you never understood why they couldn’t just send the exam results through e-mail like everyone else. Then again, this wasn’t your usual College. You were just thankful to have actually passed, happily missing out on the public display of disappointment.

“Y/n, I made it! I’m still gonna be on the team next year!” Momo squealed as she ran towards you.

Welcoming her with arms wide open was a reflex at that point, but it never meant less than the first time you’d done it. You giggled along with her as well, still unsure why but it had become a natural reaction within you.

Maybe it was the way her nose scrunched whenever she was happy. You felt a wave of joy and excitement as you realised just how often you witnessed it.

You made her happy. Or at least, she was happy around you. Maybe that’s why she trusted you enough to catch her when she threw herself in your arms, legs wrapping around your waist.

That wasn’t a habit.

That never happened before.

Yet your arms found themselves around her, holding her tight despite being frozen in place.

That was the second time your heart skipped a beat for her. The third one happened just seconds later, when you felt her lips against your cheeks.

She must be really happy, you thought. You sure were as time seemed to stretch, making her kiss linger on…

Dramatic. Maybe you belonged in this school in more ways than one.

“Sorry, I’m emotional.” She said, pulling away just enough to look at you.

Again, it was the first time she kissed you. So why did it felt like the most natural thing in the world?

“I-It’s fine.” You stuttered, all the way down to your smile.

“Are you sure? What’s that about?” She giggled, cupping your cheeks. Her fingers were soft against your skin, a new feeling that left you breathless though her voice was familiar enough to know she was teasing you about the blush on your cheeks.

“I’m hot— It’s hot.” You pointed out. It wasn’t a lie. Using it as an excuse made it one.

“It is, yeah…” She nodded. “Or am I?”

Your arms nearly gave out and dropped her. Momo felt your limbs falter around her, but it only made her laugh and tighten her own around you.

“You know, I wasn’t lying when I said I’m emotional. I’m feeling a lot of things, and a lot of them…” She trailed off, eyes stuck on yours as her heart picked up the pace once more.

There was no backing out now.

She could feel her throat dry up, her tongue knotting itself as she tried to get the words out of her heart. The air was becoming thicker by the second, making it hard to even as much as breathe them out.

“Momo, I—” You started, and it seemed that’s all she needed. The sound of your voice, of her name coming from you.

It all seemed easier now.

“A lot of them are for you.” She finally finished, eyes closed as anticipation and embarrassment suddenly hit her.

That pulled a soft chuckle out of you, which washed it all away and pulled them back to yours. Just in time to catch them slipping down to her lips.

You saw her smile, the cutest one yet before realizing she was leaning in. Apparently she didn’t need you to say anything. The way you looked and smiled at her was enough.

It had started that way after all.

#momo x reader #twice x reader #hirai momo #twice momo #momo imagines

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lover-of-mine · 8 months ago

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Okay, I'm still thinking about these graphs, because there's something else that makes season 7 different (explanation on how I got these numbers here). They have a lot of screen time in 2a, but the first 4 episodes mess with the average. Under pressure, the earthquake and stuck are about establishing Buck and Eddie as a friendship. Under pressure alone is over 15 minutes of the almost an hour they have during that half of the season. Most of their earthquake arc scenes involve each other because they are establishing Eddie and their partnership, first in the job, then with Christopher. But then they slow down significantly after that, mostly giving them scenes where they are around each other not with each other, co-workers, except for dosed with madney, but that scene is about madney. And then they have the fountain scene, Shannon comes back and they take the back burner completely, so much they are barely together for 2b and the drop is very drastic in comparison. And they keep that trend from 3a to 6b. They have arcs where they interact a lot, and then they go to the back burner. This makes sense, there are other main characters, other things to focus on, they will just be co-workers in the backdrop of other people's arcs or have separate arcs. The difference with season 7 is the way that every episode has at least one moment to showcase how close they are. It's not just them standing on the frame together at a call adding to the numbers. Even 702, which has the least amount of screen time, has that playful "husband tap" and them justifying the situation to Hen with each other. They spend that scene reacting to each other. Every episode has at least one Moment ™️. Because if they were averaging out with such a high number but they had one or two episodes where they are interacting a lot and then nothing, I wouldn't say something changed in the way they are being handled. Like, 6b has an increase in their screentime, but they interact a LOT during 610-615 and then they barely do for the rest of the season. We feel the lack of buddie in 6a because most of their scenes they are just standing next to each other and we don't feel it as much when it comes to 5b because 5b gave us quality scenes with Buck's part on Eddie's breakdown. But episode one we had the whole partnership/co-parent thing, two we had the thing at the locker room, three we had them finishing each other sentences while moving around each other, four I don't even need to say lol, five also had a lot, with the crashing the date and the coming out scene and the gym, six we had the bachelor party, seven we had the Buckley-Diaz family scene, nine we had the kitchen scene, and ten had all that partnership again. Season 7 gave us quantity and quality. That's the thing that changed. This is why the way this number shoots up has to mean something.

#thats all today #911 #buddie #buddie thoughts #911 meta

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danifesting · 1 year ago

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A birthday present for my dear, beloved friend @nobrakesdown. Cove, I hope you have the wonderful birthday you deserve. Thanks for being my friend, writing buddy, sounding board and everything in between.

*****

Daniel's heat is late. First one week, then two, then three. At four weeks he starts to worry. He's usually like clockwork, has been since his first heat at 15, but now, not even a skin prickle at the back of his neck. He makes an appointment with his gynecologist and goes into the office more anxious than he'd like to admit.

The nurse gets him in the room and takes his temperature, a little high but not a fever. His blood pressure is high too.

"Ha, sorry," he says to the nurse, a pretty beta with long blonde hair. "Just a little anxious."

"That's okay. It's not uncommon and it's not in a danger zone or anything," she assures him. "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

Daniel hums. He's been on birth control a long time. "I doubt it."

"Well, either way, we have to have you take a pregnancy test." She hands him a cup. "Just pee in here and leave it on the counter next to the door. When you're done, undress from the waist down and press the button on the wall to let us know you're ready, okay?"

Daniel gives her a thumbs up and does as he's instructed. The wait for the doctor is agonizingly slow. He scrolls through Instagram on his phone but it doesn't do anything to speed up the passage of time. Eventually the doctor knocks.

"Come in," Daniel calls out and Dr. Bernard comes in.

"Well, Daniel," she says, sitting down on the stool next to the table. "I'm just going to start with this. Your pregnancy test came back positive."

"But…" Daniel says, starting to sweat.

"I know you're on birth control but have you missed any doses?" She asks kindly.

"No, never. I take it at the same time every day. I have a special alarm and everything."

"Have you been sick? Taken any antibiotics?"

"I had a sinus infection about a month ago and the doctor gave me something for it."

"Did he warn you that antibiotics can make birth control less effective and that you should use backup contraception until after your next heat?"

"Uh... He did not. Was he supposed to?" Daniel asks with raised eyebrows.

Dr. Bernard sighs. "They never tell people what they should. Well, I'm sorry if it's bad news, and we'll take a blood test to confirm just to be sure, but you're pregnant."

Daniel puts his face in his hands. Fuck, what is he going to do? What is he going to tell Max? They've really only just gotten together. Only a few very happy months and now Daniel's gone and ruined it.

Dr. Bernard pats Daniel on the knee. "I'll give you a moment and then we'll do your pelvic exam."

She steps out of the room and Daniel texts Max.

Daniel: are you busy today?

Max: just finished at the sim

Daniel: can you meet me at mine in like an hour?

Max: i'll be there

Daniel sighs and sets his phone down. They do the pelvic exam, take Daniel's blood, tell him they'll call him with the results tomorrow and to talk about next steps from there.

Max is already in his apartment when Daniel gets home, sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. He looks up when Daniel comes in and smiles, wide and happy but his face falls when he sees Daniel, turning to concern. Daniel kicks off his shoes and crosses the room.

"Hi Maxy," he says and collapses down onto the couch next to him. "I have some news."

"Good or bad?" Max asks, eyebrows drawing in.

"Um, I haven't really decided yet. Still kind of in shock about it." Daniel rubs a hand over his face. "I'm pregnant." He keeps his face hidden in his hands.

"Daniel," Max says, voice hushed. He pulls Daniel's hands away from his face.

Daniel gives him a wry smile. "Surprise? I'm so sorry. I know we didn't plan for it, but I think I'm keeping the baby," he says, which is a surprise to himself as he says but it's true. He is. Fuck, he's gonna be a dad.

"Daniel," Max says again and his face is broken open into a wide grin, eyes scrunched tight and happy. "This was, of course, not something we have talked about before but if you want this, I want this, yeah?"

"Really?" Daniel asks, feeling his eyes well with tears. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

"Of course, Daniel. Yes. I have always wanted children and…"

"But we've only been dating a few months."

Max laughs. "And I have been in love with you since I was 18. Let's have a baby Daniel."

"You and me, huh?" Daniel asks, matching Max's laughter.

"You and me," Max assures. "I'll be with you the whole way."

And now, now Daniel feels hopeful instead of the terror he felt sitting in that doctor's office listening to his test results. He won't be in this alone. He has Max by his side and maybe they can do this. Maybe it will be okay.

The blood test results come back positive the next morning. Max holds Daniel's hand as they listen to Dr. Bernard lay out their next steps, the ultrasound appointment he'll have next week, the email she'll send with pregnancy nutrition and prenatal vitamins, all of it, and instead of overwhelmed like he thought he'd be, Daniel feels happy, like this is the right choice, like he and Max are starting a life together along with the life inside him.

Max kisses him when the phone call is over. He puts his hand on Daniel's belly and kisses him again, and Daniel knows things are going to be alright, better than even. Things are going to be great.

#maxiel #my fic #mpreg #omegaverse #omega daniel

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bomberqueen17 · 8 months ago

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another sewing diary: bike shorts

ok i'm only doing this sewing diary because it's funny.

so i'm still working on dialing in my ADHD meds, right? and I trialed Ritalin and it went poorly because i had a cold and was on vacation and could not establish a routine and could not master taking them on an empty stomach and just. generally could not get any meaningful data. but i took some and eventually ran out of pills and finally, well off-schedule, managed to get another three minute, $300 telehealth appointment to get more pills. And he was like well, let's try a higher dose. Wellllll the same dose but more of it. Take two of them, one first thing in the morning and the second before lunch or in early afternoon.

heh. heh heh. i did look it up and the research suggests you don't really have to take the pills half an hour before eating, so i have managed to take at least one every day. I can never remember the second dose though. I just can't do it. It's absolutely not happening. I'd hoped the pills would give me the executive function to remember them but it is not happening.

But I did manage the second dose, today. And. Well.

Here's how it went, sewing these bike shorts. it's the Wickham Shorts/Skort/Skirt pattern, and I had already cut out the pieces.

Firstly I'd made an error in cutting when I did it on Wednesday. I'd cut the gusset twice, instead of the pocket piece. You only need one gusset, but I'd cut four. So I had to go back to the fabric and cut two pocket pieces. I managed that, though. No problem. I have spare gussets now, maybe I'll use them for lining the gusset in future versions? Why not. Can't hurt. It is nice soft cotton mesh.

I paused, and watched the sewalong, because I had a suspicion I was going to need all the help I could get. The written directions just... weren't clear to me, and I couldn't tell if it was the directions or me or what but. Watching the video helped. I thought. It seemed clearer, anyway.

First I sewed the fronts and backs together along the crotch curve. Then I assembled the side panels with pockets. I triple-checked that I had the slanted pocket panels mirror-imaged before I finished their upper hem with elastic. When I was done, I'd made two identical ones, and they were not in fact mirror imaged. D'oh. Oh well it's a wearable muslin so whatever. I did manage to assemble two different side panels with pockets, at least, so they could each go on a different side of my body. This took like, everything I had, but i got it done.

Then I was meant to match the side panels up to the front panel. The notches were wildly misaligned, and I was like ok that is Not right. So i hauled out the paper pattern piece, and was like..... ...... ......

ok so I had sewn the front panels together upside-down. i'd connected the seams of what were supposed to be the legs, instead of the crotch. Wrong side of the crotch curve. Fuck. So I cut the seam off and sewed it the other way, and set the fixed panel aside and then... picked up... the front panel

what had I just been working on????????

Oh I'd just cut apart and re-sewed the back panel. Well shit. I redid the front panel, genuinely not sure how the back panel had wound up in my hands-- I hadn't checked it yet, I don't know if I'd sewn it together upside down, I might have to cut the seam off (I was using a serger so no way was I unpicking shit and do it yet again.

But then I looked at the back panel and compared it to the paper pattern and it was correct. So it had been wrong, and I had fixed it purely on accident. OK cool. ???? sure whatever, we're good now, onward.

So now. Now I could attach the side panels to the front panel. Okay. I lined one side up and checked and re-checked and re-re-checked that it was right sides to right sides, so the seam would be on the wrong side, so it would be correct. I sewed it and

nope it was on the wrong side I had to cut the side panel back off the front. At least this was the opposite side from the earlier error, so I wasn't cutting off the same seam allowance.

Tried again. Got it all lined up and was about to sew it, presser foot down. Looked one last time and no. It was upside-down. Wrong way up entirely. I'd cut the notches off and had only remarked them feebly, so. Hang on. Backed out. Triple-checked again.

This time I got the side panel on correctly. Then the other side panel. Wait-- no it was right. I got it on right. This was now two seams in a row I'd been correct on, so this was a new record for the day. I rejoiced briefly.

(I had considered giving up and going to do something else, but I should specify, I wasn't really mad about any of this. For some reason I thought it was funny. So I was like, I hadn't thought it was possible fuck up in some of those ways I fucked up, so I should keep going to see if I can violate space time in any new exciting ways. This could be how we make some major mathematical breakthrough in this world, after all.)

Now I had to attach the side panels to the back panel, and I took my sweet time checking that over and over again. And sure enough, I managed to get that right sides together after all. I fucked up one of the seams and had to redo a bunch of it but like it was the right direction, the needle just drifted off the seam allowance. That's not abnormal at all, and I got it fixed and it worked fine.

Then I had to attach the gusset, and the directions seemed like they were going to help me, but then they failed to specify how I was going to orient the gusset in any meaningful way, so. I muddled through, almost fucked it up, didn't. Hurrah! And then I got the gusset attached on the other side. And I didn't fuck it up either!!!!

Then Chita came and sat on my work, as I was attempting to figure out the waistband elastic.

caaaat taaaaax

[image description: my beautiful elderly gray cat is sitting with all four paws daintily planted atop the white bunched-up fabric of my work in front of my sewing machine and next to my serger, very squarely so that I cannot do anything with it and must pay attention to and pet her. She looks unimpressed, but I happen to know that her ears cocked and eyes half shut is actually a happy face for her. She is purring. And shedding. A lot.]

Eventually she was satisfied, and moved on, so I got the waistband elastic sort of wonkily sewed on as per directions. And i tried the shorts on and they do fit. My first try-on before the elastic wasn't impressive but with the elastic they did snug up and look correct, and I could throw my phone in the pocket and not have them fall down or even really sag. So. Bueno!

Pattern approved, I'll make more in nicer fabric (this cotton mesh from dharma was cheap but sort of a nightmare, very insubstantial, too stretchy, obsessed with rolling, really difficult to corral) and I will try harder with the elastic so it's not wonky and then I will have some very nice bike shorts. I also feel confident that I could attach the skirt if I wanted, so I'll make one of those at some point too. That part of the pattern is dead simple so I don't feel the need to muslin it.

But boy that was a real wild ride of Fucking Everything Up. I'm not sure whether the Ritalin is to blame or what, I just genuinely could not actually wrangle my attention span enough to actually focus enough to tell the difference between right sides together and wrong sides together. To be fair there was no discernible right or wrong side to this fabric, but I don't think that would have saved me, I genuinely could not tell which way the thing should go so it didn't matter how many times I checked. I'm never great at it, to be fair. But I do manage it more times than not, usually. Except today I guess.

It was an adventure, for sure. Really idk what role the Ritalin is playing in this. I can tell you it's no miracle drug for me, alas. It doesn't make me jittery or keep me from sleeping or do any of the things it says are side effects, it just has not made me discernably less absent-minded or easily-confused or scatterbrained. So I'm not sure what it's supposed to be doing but. That was what I wanted it to do, unfortunately.

#about the author #sewing #fashion #cashmerette patterns #adhd #ritalin #alas i was hoping for a miracle drug #idk if it's the ritalin's fault though #sewing disasters #comedy of errors

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clarepreed · 1 year ago

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Fade Part Five: Fated End

Story Content and Summary - 9,243 words. On a visit to meet Deirdre's family, someone from her past attempts to take matters into their own hands, potentially extinguishing her light forever. Torsades de Pointes, on-site resuscitation by both humans and fae.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

“Where are we going?” Archer laughed, eyeing the washed-out dirt road they’d just turned down. “And I’m glad I’m driving; would your hatchback make it down this road?”

“I’m pleased that neither of you asked me to drive my car,” Asa said from the back. “And Fae wishes that we were not in the car at all.”

Deirdre turned to look at the carrier buckled into the empty seat next to Asa. A quiet mew found her ears, and she saw Fae move restlessly behind the mesh of the carrier. “Oh, poor little one. Would you get her out for me, Asa? I’ll hold her.”

A moment later, his long arms reached between the front seats, Fae’s furry gray body caught gently in his hands. Deirdre scooped the kitten from him and brought her against her chest, cooing soothing words into her ear. A few seconds later, Fae started purring, evidently no longer concerned by the harsh rocking of the SUV.

“This road is not maintained on purpose,” Deirdre explained. “There’s another road on the other side of the mountain, with a guardhouse. It adds over two hours to the trip. This is a service road with a gate about halfway down. I will get us in. The road is like this to discourage visitors.”

“Doesn’t deter four-wheelers, it looks like,” Archer noted, his eyes on the road.

“No.” Deirdre laughed. “That’s what the gate is for. Not much has changed… when I left, human teenagers were passing the ‘No Trespassing’ signs with great regularity. Of course, you must remember; we do want some interaction between fae and humans.”

Archer glanced over at her and smiled. His warm eyes held contentment and his posture seemed relaxed despite the rough road.

“So…” Asa spoke from the back, his tone droll. “Forgive me, but could you explain again why your kind wants some of us to know about you? Aside from the part where you fell in love with my brother and fished him out of the lake.”

“Our magic, ánh, is dependent on humans believing magic or fae exist. It’s why we often provide financial backing to publishers of fantasy novels and movies.” Deirdre sighed and scratched Fae between the ears. “Of course, some creators have turned out to be not worth the effort.”

“She’s talking about wizards,” Archer interjected for Asa’s benefit.

“Didn’t that get an entire wing of an amusement park?” Asa asked.

“Yes, but the author has a heavy dose of the human obsession with all of you being the same. Fae don’t limit other fae’s gender identity or expression. Or lack thereof.” Deirdre turned to look back at Asa. “I am appreciative that you two are not so rigid.”

“You can thank our parents,” Archer clarified, his voice soft as he kept his eyes trained on the rough dirt road. “They raised us to believe that differences are beautiful.”

“Our mother was half Egyptian,” Asa continued. “She experienced racism growing up. And our father was Catholic in a Protestant town. They were strong people who chose to be open-minded when they had every reason to be angry and suspicious of others.”

“I wish I could have met them,” Deirdre murmured, her eyes on Archer’s profile.

“They would have liked you,” Asa assured her. “You could have flown in front of them. Dad would have crossed himself and then asked if you were an angel. Honestly, it was the first thing I thought, and I haven’t been to Mass in… twenty years.”

The SUV slowed, and Deirdre turned to hide her blush and spotted the imposing panel that cleaved the road in two.

“We found the gate.” Archer sounded bemused.

“That looks like a wall,” Asa corrected. “A gate is something which can be moved.”

“I can move it,” Deirdre announced, turning again to Asa. “Will you hold Fae while I take care of the gate? Archer will need to drive through and then I’ll close it again.”

She deposited Fae into Asa’s outstretched hands. The kitten stretched her limbs, wiggling and squeaking her displeasure until Asa sat her on his lap and rubbed her ears.

“Okay, you’re opening it and I’m driving through and you’ll close it behind us?” Archer asked. He eyed her with something like awe. “Don’t, uh, pull a muscle.”

She blew him a kiss as he slowed the SUV to a stop, then slid down out of the vehicle, glad she’d dressed for the occasion in leggings and deck shoes. The packed dirt under her feet felt soft in spots, speaking to recent rain. Picking her way carefully through the ruts, Deirdre walked to the sheet of steel and touched it with the palms of her hands. “Pe’erta!”

Light pulsated from her chest and ran down her arms, sinking into the cold metal. She heard the rending shriek of metal on metal and the gate shuddered, sliding to the right on a dirty track. Should have taken the extra time to go around, she thought, her arms shaking and sweat sprinting out over her body as she walked along with the gate. The mechanism fed off of the magic of the town hidden in the forest or she wouldn’t have been able to open it at all. Still, by the time she got the gate open enough for Archer to drive through, she leaned on the gate, winded and shaking.

Deidre heard an SUV door open, and Archer came around the back end. He shoved his hands in his pockets, stopping just in front of her.

“Is there anything I can do to help with that, love?” His posture and face bled concern, taking in her wilted appearance and no doubt feeling her struggle through their bond.

“It is too heavy for even brute strength,” Deirdre stated, wiping her brow on her sleeve. “No offense meant.”

“Oddly enough, I was not offended.” Archer grinned, though she could tell he was still worried. He walked up to her and gently took her arm in hand. “If we left it open, could someone come back and close it behind us? Asa was in there muttering about your heart, and I can feel how much of an effort that was for you. You’re shaking.”

Deirdre dropped her hands from the gate. “I could call someone. Tell them I cannot close it.” Dread settled heavy in her chest. She did not want to tell her family and friends that she could not perform this task. That she was too weak to do so.

“Incoming!” Asa called from within the SUV.

Deirdre looked up. Sure enough, a figure moved in the distance. A fae man, wings pumping powerfully as he flew toward him.

“Looks like someone is coming to help,” Archer said, relieved.

The fae man drew closer, and Deirdre noticed his hair: long, golden, and unrestrained. A sinking suspicion made her reach for Archer’s hand, gripping it tight.

“What is it?” he asked her, concern replacing his relief. “Or, who is it?”

“Atmos.” Deirdre curled her free hand around the end of the gate until her fingers turned white. “My ex.”

*** Archer held on to Deirdre’s hand and considered the approaching man. Whatever Asa’s descriptions of Deirdre in flight were, this was the avenging angel. Cut straight from the hyperbolic artwork of White Christianity, the man’s face was a study of haughty contempt as he landed, gracefully barefoot, taking in Archer’s SUV, then his person, then his hand around Deirdre’s.

The sculpted pink lips twisted. Then he looked at Deirdre and his features relaxed, longing flaring in his blue eyes before that, too, faded.

“Atmos,” Deirdre almost drawled, and Archer’s brow twitched.

Atmos’s mouth pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, exposing white teeth as he folded his wings and stalked toward them. Archer saw the rear passenger door of his SUV pop open, and Asa climbed out, his eyebrows lifted. Tall and broad through the shoulders, Atmos stood in front of them—too close, Archer thought—seeming to attempt to both intimidate Archer and disarm Deirdre, all while accomplishing neither.

Everyone fell silent. Then the man’s face paled and twisted into a dark scowl, and Archer had his first actual misgivings.

“Deirdre? Ánrhen mit antó?” Atmos’ shock and meaning were clear, even if only half of the words were familiar.

“Archer, this is Atmos Thoniel Deu O’r Perëndierdők Noordttang. Atmos, meet my bonded mate, Archer James Neal.” Deirdre stared up at the fae man, a challenge in her light eyes. “Behind you is Archer’s brother, Dr. Asa Neal.”

“Oo expothan se yitabib?” Atmos stared at her, his throat working.

“Asa is a cardiologist.”

Atmos’s head jerked back, and Archer felt Deirdre’s discomfort like something he could taste. He squeezed her hand, then cleared his throat to get the fae man’s attention. “So sorry to interrupt. Atmos, it’s nice to meet you. Would you do us a favor and close the gate behind us? I’m sure you’re aware that I can’t.”

The other man, looking as though he sucked on a lemon, gave a curt nod before looking down at Deirdre. His face relaxed again and his voice gentled. “Deirdre, if you had called, I would have come and opened the gate for you. You shouldn’t exert yourself. I’m surprised your human doesn’t know that.”

“Let’s get in the car, Archer,” Deirdre said, before Archer could open his mouth. “Asa. Fae is in her carrier? Atmos can see to the gate.”

Atmos reached out and put his hand on her arm, stilling her. “Fly back with me. How often do you get to—”

“I am tired, Atmos. But thank you for the offer.” Deirdre shrugged her arm free, and Archer walked with her to meet Asa.

“She’s in the carrier,” Asa said. “Do we need to be concerned about—”

“No.” Deirdre shook her head. “Let’s go. Atmos has the gate.”

Archer handed Deirdre up into the SUV and closed the passenger door. As he walked around to the other side, he felt the fae man watching him. He climbed into his vehicle and closed the door, and Deirdre heaved a sigh.

“Atmos is an aggressive, selfish prig.” Her blunt words, so different from her usual demeanor, made Asa snort.

“Seems like it,” Asa said. Archer started the ignition and popped the emergency brake. In the rearview mirror, he watched Atmos shed golden light as he slid the gate closed.

“Is he going to cause problems?” Archer asked, darting his eyes to Deirdre. She seemed to have recovered, but he couldn’t help but be concerned.

Deirdre sat in silence for a long while until she said, quietly: “I don’t know.”

*** “This is my parents’ home,” Deirdre spoke softly as Archer parked the SUV away from the house, beside a small detached garage. Then she fell silent, her fingers plucking at her seatbelt.

“It’s beautiful.”

She couldn’t have said which man spoke, but they were right. Large, built from stone and wood, covered in trailing ivy and surrounded by tall trees. So many trees that the property lay in deep shadow. Her parents’ home looked like a castle and a fairytale cottage combined. She also recalled the series of smaller cottage homes scattered throughout the forest behind their home. One of them had been hers for decades.

“How is it that this entire area is pixelated on Google Maps?” Asa wondered.

“It’s all about who you know.” Deirdre unbuckled the seatbelt and reached for the door. Archer’s hand came over and found hers.

“It will be alright, love.”

Dierdre nodded, afraid to look at him lest she cry. She could feel the telltale tightness in her eyes and upper lip. Opening her mouth to speak, she realized her throat was thick with emotion.

“Take a deep breath, Deirdre.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the catch of her tense muscles as she did so. She released the breath and drew another, her lungs expanding further as the tension released incrementally. A third breath, and she opened her eyes, her fingers relaxing their unknown white-knuckle grip on Archer’s hand.

“It wouldn’t do to have an attack in the car before I manage to see them,” she quipped weakly, her voice shaky.

The front door opened, and light spilled out onto the front walk. A tall woman in long skirts stepped out onto the path, peering out at the SUV. She turned and motioned toward the house, and an equally tall man stepped out behind her.

“They’re eager to see you, Deirdre.” Archer squeezed her hand, then released it. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ve got Fae in her carrier,” Asa said from the back seat.

Deirdre opened the door and slid down, the ground soft where she landed. She closed the door behind her and walked slowly through the leaves, her eyes on the dear, familiar forms of her parents. She felt tenuously tied to her body, watching in surprise as her parents met her halfway.

“Deirdre…” Her mother’s smooth, beloved face suddenly crumpled, but it was her father who reached out, pulling her the last few feet and folding her into a hug. Then he shifted, adding her mother into the circle of his arms. “Oo ti’ahi!” Youcame!

“Oo wilde ni? Ky’ issem?” You wanted me? As I am?

“Ĉia, anak.” Always, daughter.

Deirdre’s tears spilled over, soaking her father’s shirt. He kissed the top of her head, just as he’d done when she was young.

“Who are these human men, Deirdre?” her father asked, switching to English.

She pulled back, eager to introduce them, but her mother beat her to it.

“That one is Deirdre’s ánrhen, Liam. Can you not see it? And this must be his brother; I can see it in their faces.” Her mother dashed tears from her eyes, then reached over and did the same for Deirdre. “Alright, daughter. Please, introduce us.”

Her father rubbed her back and released her, and she reached for Archer, pulling him close. “Am’an, Ap’an, this is Archer James Neal, my ánrhen, and this is his brother, Dr. Asa Neal. Archer and Asa, these are my parents, Tvaris and Liam. I will teach you their full names later, I promise.”

Archer and Asa shook hands with her parents, twin charming grins on their faces. “Sir, ma’am. I’m so happy to meet you.”

“Please,” her mother said. “Call us Tvaris and Liam. You are family, both of you. And please, come inside. You may leave your shoes just inside the door. And please, bring in the creature, too. Who have you brought, Deirdre?”

“That’s Fae, Am’an. My kitten.”

Her parents escorted them to the door, gesturing for them to enter. Deirdre found Archer’s hand again and looked up at him. A genuine smile lit his face, and her chest filled with warmth. “I’m glad you are here,” she whispered.

“So am I. I’m even happier that things seem to be going well.” Archer squeezed her hand.

“And I’m glad you’re here, Asa. I’m glad that my family can meet Archer’s.”

Asa smiled at her before he set Fae’s carrier down and bent to untie his shoes.

“Here comes Foraoise and her family,” her mother said, continuing to speak in English for Archer and Asa’s benefit. They watched Deirdre’s aunt, uncle, and cousins land near Archer’s SUV. Unlike Deirdre’s own mother, Foraoise had several children, ranging from a few years younger than Deirdre down to a toddler clutched gently in her father’s arms. “She’s been eager to have you visit, Deirdre.”

Deirdre stooped to rescue Fae from the carrier, holding the kitten close as she curiously sniffed the air. “She came to see me at my store, Am’an. I… regret that it was tense.”

Her mother ushered everyone into the open-plan living space, filled with plants and sofas, chairs, stools and other places to sit, many of which were backless. She led Archer to a loveseat and sat Fae on her lap, intending to allow the kitten to explore. Fae crouched there, her tail swishing as she watched unfamiliar people enter the house and move about the room. Asa sat on a stool close by, resting his ankle on the opposing knee.

As she sat there on the sofa, watching her mother and Foraoise embrace each other and the children spill into the space, ignoring their father’s warning to watch their wings, Deirdre felt a fluttering sensation in her chest. Her next inhalation hitched. Archer turned to her, his lips close to her ear. “Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Archer ran his knuckles up and down her arm in a soothing gesture. Another slow breath, reminding herself that this was her family, and they loved her. Static sparked behind her closed eyes.

“A little overwhelmed, I think,” Archer said, in response to a question she hadn’t heard.

“Böcē!” Foraoise called out to her children. “Oo hawadyra! Hawadyra!”

“Neko!” A tiny someone had spotted Fae. Deirdre opened her eyes, expecting to see the toddler run her way. Her fingers curled protectively around Fae’s soft body.

“Deirdre o kwaneko. Oo hawadyra, Yuima!” Foraoise’s chosen mate called out, reigning in the little girl and directing her outside with a firm grip on her tiny hand. Deirdre watched them regretfully as this unfamiliar cousin toddled back out the front door.

Asa caught her eyes as she sagged against the sofa. One of his dark eyebrows arched and he leaned forward, hands opening in a silent question. Deirdre leaned forward again and Archer immediately started rubbing her back in slow, discreet movements. Sighing, she extended her wrist to Asa, bracing herself against the questions and concern of her family. His fingers touched her gently, finding the place where her pulse fluttered. As Asa counted heartbeats, Deirdre closed her eyes again, giving in to the slow, deep rhythm of her breath.

“Oo mit parigia,” she heard her father say, his voice pitched low. “You are with family.”

Á tereciùin, she thought to herself. Be calm.

Another moment passed, and Asa gave her back her wrist. “Fast, but you’ll do. We should all talk about calm, happy things, I think.”

Archer kissed her temple, and she opened her eyes. Her parents and Foraoise sat on cushions on the floor, gentle concern stamped on their faces. She was relieved that no one looked terrified or upset.

Did I make something out of nothing all these years?

“Would anyone like herbal tea?” her mother asked. “Tisane, rather?”

“Do you still… Do you have blackberry—”

“I do!” her mother said, rising. Her face flushed pink, and she offered Deirdre a gentle smile. Her eyes glistened. “I always k-keep it for you, Deirdre.”

*** Early the next morning, Archer leaned against a doorframe and pulled socks onto his cold feet.

“No shoes,” Deirdre whispered. “There is moss.”

“Warm moss?” Archer asked, rubbing his eyes. He winked at her, softening his complaint before he regretfully stripped off his socks.

“Come!” Deirdre stood in the doorway of the little cottage she’d called home years ago, the early morning light soft as it dropped in around her. She offered him a wide, beaming smile and extended a hand. “Quick, before Fae decides to join us and we spend our morning trying to catch her!”

“Alright!” Archer hurried after her, her enthusiasm igniting a smile on his own face. “Where are we going?”

“The meadow!” Deirdre tugged on his hand and then released it, hurrying down the path ahead of him. She wore an unfamiliar, ankle-length dress in deep blue, with a low back and bishop sleeves. Archer jogged after her, surprised at her pace as she darted through the trees.

Before long, the trees grew sparse, and the moss crept artificially onward, spreading into a large open meadow before being gradually replaced by tall grass. Deirdre slowed to a stop, her back flexing and her wings erupting from her shoulder blades. His breath caught as they unfurled and she shook them out, stretching them to their full span. She spun toward him and beat her wings; the wind stirring his hair until she lifted off, hovering a couple of feet above the ground.

“It is safe here,” she said, as he took a few more steps toward her, reaching for her hands. She let him catch her, tipping forward until their lips met. He inhaled through his nose, the crisp outdoor scent melding with her familiar herbal aroma. Her lips were soft and warm against his.

With a giggle, Deirdre broke free, wings pumping and carrying her higher. The morning light bathed her as she tipped her head toward the sun. She hovered there for a moment before she let her wings flutter and dropped gently to the ground.

“How does it feel?” Archer asked, his fingertips grazing the fringes of one of her gossamer limbs. They felt like insect wings, only stronger; smooth on the edge, slightly textured on the surface.

“Like stretching out a mild cramp that I’ve had for months,” she confessed, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her head gently from side to side. “And then, once I’m over that, freeing.”

He moved his fingers to the line of her jaw, tracing her soft skin. “I wish you were free to fly all the time, love. Perhaps… If you wanted to come here—”

A zzzt sound distracted him, followed by the quietest thump. Deirdre grunted, then staggered, and he reached out, catching her by the waist as an odd, distant pain lanced through his shoulder. When he looked down, however, he couldn’t see anything wrong. No blood on his shirt, nothing to account for the pain.

“Oh.” Her voice, barely audible. He looked at her, then followed her gaze to her left shoulder, where a fat dart protruded from her exposed skin. She blinked and looked up at the sky, her brow furrowed. “Atmos?”

“Deirdre!” Archer’s hand hovered over the dart, shock making them both dull-witted and slow. Deirdre blinked again and brought her right hand up to wrap around the shaft. She jerked it free, swaying. Archer gasped. “Damn, I don’t think you should have—”

“We need to get to cover,” Deirdre muttered. Her wings folded and folded again, disappearing behind her back. She shook her head, hard, then grabbed his arm. “Archer! We need to get back beneath the trees!”

Archer grasped her by the elbow and turned, breaking into a jog and propelling her in front of him. Her hair whipped in a sudden strong breeze.

“ATMOS!” Her voice sounded different; an amplified roar that he wouldn’t have known it was possible for her to make. “WHAT WAS THAT? INDUV’E OO?”

Silence, but for their harsh breathing. Deirdre slowed as they entered the treeline, her eyes trained up and the dart still clutched in her fist. Archer stepped close behind her, trying to shield her smaller body with his as he, too, scanned the trees for white wings and golden hair. He pitched his voice low. “How do you know it was him?”

“He makes them,” she whispered. Her head bent and she brought the dart up for inspection. His eyes followed the delicate lines of metal, glass, and feathers.

“Deirdre,” Archer said, his concern tightening into fear. “That is a syringe.”

The syringe dart was beautiful, considering what it was. He would have expected something plastic with garish fletching, but this looked like a steampunk contraption from a cosplayer’s dream. Deirdre’s fingers curled tight around the barrel.

“I don’t know what was in it,” she whispered. Her hand trembled.

“We need to get you to Asa,” Archer urged, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Uneasiness swept over him like a wave. “How do you feel? Deirdre?”

“I…” Deirdre’s hand opened, and the dart fell silently to the moss. Archer felt dizzy, then shook his head and realized it was Deirdre whose equilibrium was failing. She wrenched her head back and gasped: “Atmos! What have you done?! Archer, Archer…”

He turned her gently so he could see her face. She’d gone pale, her eyes unfocused. Her breath came in rapid gasps. He could almost feel her shortness of breath, her discomfort, as pain cut through his own chest. “I’m going to carry you back. Just take deep breaths for me, love.”

“Archer…” Deirdre swayed and her palms pressed to the center of her chest. Her voice dropped in volume, raspy and thin. “My chest hurts… I’m… Archer. He’s killed me.”

Her legs folded.

“Christ,” Archer snarled, bending to gather her in his arms. “I’ve got you. I’ll get you help!”

Instead of responding, her body went limp in his arms. Archer started running, trying to stay on the mossy path as he shuffled her in his arms and looked at her face.

“Deirdre? Deirdre!” Her head lolled over his arm, her lips white. Internal klaxons shrieked, and he gasped for air as he ran, wincing as her head bounced. Instinct pricked his scalp and his eyes shot toward the canopy. Atmos hovered flew above, dressed in white linen and trailing motes of gold. “YOU!”

The fae man dove, avoiding a tree branch and then coming alongside Archer. Archer gnashed his teeth, unable to do anything with Deirdre cradled against him. To his surprise, Atmos wept, a trail glistening down his sculpted cheek.

“She has you,” the other man said. “You have to understand; she will survive the surgery now.”

“There won’t be any surgery!” Archer exploded. Atmos’s face pulled into a sneer, but Archer continued. “She needs help, Atmos! Get help! She thinks she’s dying! What was in that syringe?!”

Archer stumbled over a tree root, his arms tightening reflexively on Deirdre. Atmos reached out to steady him, releasing his shoulder before Archer could think to shrug him off. “Amiodarone.”

Asa will know what that is.

“GET HELP!” Pain arced again across his chest. In his arms, Deirdre shifted and took a rattling breath. He slowed to a stop, tipping her so that her face fell back into view. Her eyes were open to slits, only the whites showing. She moved again, the muscles in her legs tensing and her lips parting. Her arms jerked. Archer couldn’t breathe. His lungs wouldn’t move, and black spots drifted across his vision. He couldn’t—

Archer dragged in a lungful of air, his chest heaving. He looked about for Atmos, but the other man was gone. “ASA! HELP!” His scream cracked his voice and sank into the silence of the forest. Archer kneeled with Deirdre, stretching her out on the moss, his hand carefully lowering her head to the ground. The delicate skin of her eyelids and lips had taken on a blue cast.

His fingertips skimmed across that purple skin. “No…” Archer smoothed her hair back and tipped up her chin, leaning close to her lips. She felt distant again, absent despite her body stretched out before him. He relied on that even more than Asa’s previous descriptions of agonal breathing and movements. This time, when he held his ear close to her lips, he could tell she’d stopped breathing.

Anguish made his movements jerky. He snapped up, hands shaking. Deirdre already looked dead; still in a way only the dead were still, her face discolored, body awkwardly positioned on the moss. A panicky sob erupted from his mouth as he patted his pockets, belatedly looking for the cell phone he hadn’t brought with him. Then he gasped and clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and pressing them between Deirdre’s breasts without remembering to landmark.

“Please, Deirdre… One!” He pushed down hard, remembering the plastic click of the dummy in Asa’s office. This was not that. This was using his strength on someone he would have never otherwise even bruised voluntarily. His weight in his arms bent her ribcage, forcing her sternum down into her faulty organ, the only part of her he could ever regret. She made a noise, a huffing gurgle that cut through the silence, but he kept going, bobbing over her slight form as his head swam and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. “…nine, ten! ASA! TWO, three, four, five…”

Beneath his hands, her body twitched, shoulders shrugging and her bare feet rocking side to side. Her legs drew up slightly, and her jaw worked, the blue of her eyes briefly visible in the corners before the slits showed only white again. “Uh… uh… uh… uh…”

“…two, three fourfive…” Too fast. He made himself slow down and concentrate. Since he’d met her, he’d reviewed CPR guidelines. Two inches. He’d reviewed them, though if he were telling himself the truth he hadn’t pictured himself actually here, in this forest, beating her heart. “ASA! HELP! PLEASE! No… Ah, one, two, three…”

“ARCHER!” His brother, shouting from just down the path.

“HERE! WE’RE HERE!” Archer’s voice broke, and a tear dropped onto his hands. He kept his hands at their vital task, pumping and pumping, his desperation a dangerous distraction. He looked around wildly, hoping to spot his brother. Then his gaze jerked back down to Deirdre’s darkening face.

Asa’s heavy breathing and muffled footfalls made Archer lift his head again. His brother sprinted down the path, carrying the medical bag and AED they’d brought with them just in case. “I’m here! I’m here, Archer! Don’t stop! Tell me what happened.” Asa dropped to his knees across from Archer and quickly unzipped his bag.

“Atmos…” His voice came out garbled, and he concentrated on silent chest compressions for a few seconds until he could speak. “He injected her with… amiodarone?”

“Amiodarone.” Asa kept his voice suspiciously even as he snapped nitrile gloves onto his hands. “You’re certain?”

“Yes!” He kept thrusting his hands into her chest, his eyes darting between Asa and Deirdre. Her shoulders shrugged each time he pressed, making her chin nod. “She fainted. Then she started twitching… making noises… She stopped breathing, Asa!”

“Pause compressions, Archer.” Asa’s voice, calm and gentle, broke through his rising panic. Archer lifted his hands just off her chest, watching as his brother pressed two gloved fingers hard into her throat.

“She’s… not here. It’s different from when she’s asleep. I don’t know how to describe—”

“Archer, take a deep breath and start compressions. Can you keep doing them for me while I secure her airway?”

Archer resumed the harsh beat before Asa finished speaking. His eyes trailed wildly up and down her pallid body as her legs twitched again. Her abdomen bulged rhythmically each time his hands descended. Her hands curled like pale, dead things in the moss. Asa brought out a familiar plastic case and plucked out a curved plastic airway. Meanwhile, Archer kept pressing down, nauseated with fear and the sensation of pushing hard on such an important part of her.

“Fae medics are on the way.” Asa tipped Deirdre’s head back and used his thumbs to open her jaw before slipping it between her teeth and turning it one hundred eighty degrees. “Atmos showed up at her parents’ home and said she needed help, though he did not exactly tell them what he did.”

Archer groaned involuntarily, a broken sound that echoed. Deirdre’s eyes were closed again, the blue cast even more noticeable as it tinged her features. The plastic piece between her teeth held her mouth open, and he could see how blue her lips were around it. Asa leaned in again, this time with a mask attached to a large bulb.

“You’ll pause every thirty compressions,” Asa said, his voice steady. “I will give her two breaths and you immediately start compressions again. Pause now.”

Archer’s momentum stuttered, and he ground to a halt as Asa squeezed the bulb. There was the sound of plastic crumpling and the whoosh of air. He felt Deirdre’s chest rise and fall under his hands. Another breath, and then Archer rolled his weight over his hands. He dug his hands into her sternum and—

*** Asa couldn’t be sure what told him to pull back, or why he listened, but he jerked away, dropping the bag-valve mask and breaking contact with Deirdre just before Archer sucked in a pained breath and a flash of light nearly obliterated Asa’s vision. He saw them both as burning silhouettes, her body bowing up slightly from the moss, his back arching and his head falling back.

Then the light vanished, and Archer collapsed onto his back, groaning. Asa lurched forward and pressed his fingertips against Deirdre’s carotid artery.

One one thousand.

Two one thousand.

Three one thousand.

Four…

The seconds ticked by.

Ten one thousand.

His lips pulling into a thin line, Asa bent over Deirdre, wove his fingers together, and pressed the heel of his bottom hand against her sternum. Rolling his shoulders over his hands, he began a series of rapid, deep, professional compressions. Then he spared a glance for his brother, sprawled on his back next to Deirdre. Archer’s chest rose and fell rapidly, fingers digging into the moss. “Archer?”

The younger man groaned again and tried to push himself upright, only to collapse back to the moss. “Deirdre…”

Asa glanced around to see where he’d dropped the mask. His eyes stopped on her cyanotic face and he quickly lifted his hands from her chest and tipped her head back. Pinching off her nostrils, he covered Deirdre’s slack, cool mouth with his own and gave her a breath. He gave her a second to exhale before blowing into her mouth again, rounding out her cheeks. Then he returned to chest compressions. “One, two, three, four…”

“Nellä!” The cracking of small branches overhead masked the crunchy sound and feel of Deirdre’s cartilage under his hands. He looked up, his compressions unfaltering as he searched for the source of the sounds. Then, a fae woman dropped into the moss beside him, followed by a fae man. Their wings whipped up a breeze that stirred hair and Deirdre’s skirt, and he watched as they deposited duffles and cases on the ground. Their wings folded neatly behind them. The man and woman both wore backless tunics, scrub pants, and gloves.

Archer pushed himself onto his hands and knees, panting as he stared up at the newcomers. Then he crawled over to the side and retrieved the bag-valve mask.

“I am Dr. Eḥāyi.” Echeyee. The woman reached took the mask from Archer, pressing it to Deirdre’s face with her fingers lapped over the younger women’s chin. The fae doctor was tall and broad-shouldered, with smooth dark skin and silver-streaked hair braided into a crown.

“…twenty-nine, thirty.”

Dr. Eḥāyi gave the bag two squeezes and then sat it to the side, dragging one duffle closer as Asa resumed chest compressions. “You would call me an emergency physician. This is Nurse Imala.”

“…nine… Dr. Neal, cardiologist. Deirdre has a condition I would call Romano Ward. She was injected with an unknown amount of amiodarone. There has been one… apparent magical defibrillation.”

Nurse Imala laid his hand on Deirdre’s ankle as Dr. Eḥāyi connected the mask to an oxygen canister. A green glow crept up Deirdre’s leg, disappearing beneath Deirdre’s dress. Asa forced himself to keep his focus on the rhythm, depth, and recoil of his compressions. Imala called out: “Dr. Eḥāyi, she needs to be intubated! Tilā suur naysai.”

“I will intubate.” Eḥāyi gave Deirdre two more breaths from the bag. “Dr. Neal, can you continue chest compressions?”

“Yes. One, two, three…”

Imala lifted his hand, and the green light lingered. “I’m going to get her on the monitor and then I will start an IV. I need to see this rhythm.”

“… eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

“You are ánrhen?” Eḥāyi asked Archer. His brother sat on his haunches a couple of feet from Deirdre, his face gray with distress.

“Yes,” Archer forced out, his voice hoarse. “Archer.”

Asa finished the round of compressions. Eḥāyi delivered two more breaths with the bag, still speaking to Archer. “You must hold her hand, Archer. You are life support. Do you understand? I will tell you when to let go and when to hold on.”

“One, two, three…” The cartilage in her chest crunches and crackled as he worked. The sounds weren’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Still, he grit his teeth, trying to think of her as a patient and not as family.

Archer swallowed audibly and moved closer. He sat beside Deirdre, his knees bent and his ankles crossed, and took her hand tenderly in both of his. “It’s alright, love. I’m here.” His voice, tender and loving, barely rose above a whisper.

Asa’s compartmentalization cracked.

*** Archer clutched Deirdre’s cool hand and pushed back the dizziness clutching at him. His mind set out a search in every possible direction, trying to find her. In the short time they’d been bonded, he’d already forgotten what it was like not to know her. If she was at work and he at a café, he sensed her. If one or both slept, they were still there.

But she wasn’t, not now.

Certainly, her physical body remained. Sprawled on the moss, ghost pale but for the purple mask of her face. Dr. Eḥāyi lay on her side beside him, one hand supporting a metal device she’d wedged into Deirdre’s open mouth. Her other hand delicately clutched a long plastic tube with a cuff on the end. She ran it down the side of the metal scope, seeming unperturbed by the rocking movement of Deirdre’s body.

Asa still performed chest compressions, his hands making a soft thumping sound as he pushed the heel of his hand into the lower part of her sternum. Deirdre’s chest sank beneath the pressure of his hands, dipping and then popping back up each time he rose over her. The force of his hands sent a puff of air out of her open mouth with each thrust.

As Eḥāyi fed the tube down Deirdre’s throat, Nurse Imala brought over a pair of sheers, intending to cut down the center of her dress. He quickly examined the neckline, then said: “Archer, we’re going to pull her dress down to her hips. You take that sleeve, and I’ll take the other.”

Archer quickly released her hand and slipped his fingers inside the top of her sleeve. Asa lifted his hands as the two of them pulled her dress off her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her breasts and the reddish bruise between them. Archer pulled her hand free from the sleeve and pushed the fabric down to her hips.

“I’m in,” he heard Eḥāyi say.

“Here are the others!” Imala called out. Two more fae medics walked down the path, rolling a gurney. Archer spared them a glance and then returned his attention to Deirdre. The whites of her eyes were still showing, gray set against the lavender of her skin. Eḥāyi slipped a plastic strap beneath and around Deirdre’s head and used it to secure the tube. Then she connected the bag to the tube, squeezing the bag twice before handing the responsibility off to one of the new medics.

“This is Sertse and Shavsan. Our patient is Deirdre. This is her ánrhen, Archer. And this is Dr. Neal.” Eḥāyi continued to talk, but Archer’s attention drifted back to Deirdre.

Without her dress hiding the movements, he could truly see the effect of compressions on her body. The upper left quadrant of her chest, close to the center, sank nearly twice a second as Asa pumped her chest. The skin of his hands looked splotchy from the effort, while hers bloomed with bruises. His fingers inadvertently brushed one of her brown nipples. Her breasts wobbled with each thrust, the force telegraphing down to her abdomen in waves that crested against her puddled dress.

Imala leaned in and applied a white pad to Deirdre’s upper right chest, quickly smoothing it to her skin. Eḥāyi applied the other, working around Shavsan, who had Deirdre’s other arm extended onto a white cloth he’d spread in his lap. He tied on a tourniquet, cleaned the crook of her elbow, and pressed his thumb just below. He had a cannula inserted by the time Eḥāyi called out: “Pause compressions.”

Asa sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Alarms filled the air, and Archer watched as his brother leaned forward to look at the monitor.

“Torsades de Pointes,” he said, his hands already back in place before Eḥāyi could speak. Archer looked at the monitor, but he couldn’t make anything out of the wobbly, chaotic lines.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were Asa’s breathing, the thump of his hands, and Sertse squeezing the bag. Deirdre’s lips around the tube still looked blue, and he gripped her hands tight.

“We will shock her now,” Eḥāyi said. “I’m charging to two-hundred.”

“Archer, you must not touch her,” Imala said., detaching the bag. “Please, back away three feet.”

“Imala, you will switch with Asa. Pads are charged, everyone clear.”

Archer laid her hand on the moss and backed away, watching as Asa raised his hands and scooted back and Shavsan lowered her arm to the moss and held an IV bag at shoulder level.

“Administering shock.” Eḥāyi pressed a button on the monitor and Deirdre flinched, her eyes closing and her head lolling to the side. Imala slid in front of Asa and resumed chest compressions. Her stomach popped up as her chest sank. Sertse reconnected the bag.

Asa took the IV bag from Shavsan and held it aloft.

“Shavsan,” Eḥāyi said. “Administer one milligram epinephrine, and then in two minutes two grams magnesium IV push.”

“Administering epinephrine now.”

“Do you agree, Dr. Neal?” Eḥāyi asked.

“Yes. And, respectfully, you have the lead,” Asa responded. The mask of his features slipped, revealing the grim expression beneath. “Your species, your code.”

Deirdre’s arm moved, pulling against his grip. Archer leaned forward, his eyes darting to her face, then to the monitor, then to Asa. Before either of them could speak, her chest arched and her shoulders jerked.

“Sit her up!” Eḥāyi commanded, as Sertse disconnected the bag and Imala paused chest compressions. “Her wings are—”

Archer slid his arm beneath her shoulders, heaving Deirdre’s torso from the ground. Her head fell back on his arm, the tube jutting out from her lips. He felt her wings tickle the underside of his arm as they unfurled, flopping and jerking behind her. Sertse took one wing and Eḥāyi the other, stretching them carefully out to either side.

“Lay her flat, quickly!” That came from Asa. Archer complied, easing her limp body down onto the moss. To his shock, he realized that the formerly lush, green moss had died beneath and around Deirdre, turning brown and dry. Imala’s long-fingered hands continued chest compressions, mercilessly pounding into her chest at a rapid rate. Sertse reconnected the bag and forced an oxygenated breath into Deirdre’s lungs.

Archer reached for her hand again, cupping her small hand in his larger one. Her nail beds were lavender now, like her eyelids.

Eḥāyi crouched between Sertse and Archer and laid her hand on Deirdre’s forehead. “Naneun a cervein o Deirdre.” Light ran from the doctor’s chest down her left arm, sinking into Deirdre in pulses.

She looked up at Asa. “I seek to protect her brain.”

He nodded, his expression solemn. “Thank you. That is something I would wish to do for all of my patients.”

“Administering two grams magnesium now,” intoned Shavsan.

Deirdre’s arm pulled against his grip again. He held tight, his own heart pounding as her eyes opened to white slits again and her lips sneered around the tube. Her legs moved, drawing up, caught up in her dress. Eḥāyi crouched down at Deirdre’s hips, pulling her dress down a few more inches so she could press her gloved fingers into the crease of Deirdre’s thigh. Archer’s gaze darted back to her face. Her irises were showing now, her eyes staring dully up at the canopy.

Close your eyes, love. I can’t take it.

His eyes burned, and he blinked, dislodging a single hot tear. It ran down the side of his nose before slipping over his lips and dripping from his chin. He massaged her palm with his thumbs, stroking her lifeline as though he could milk more time from her. The pain tugged at his heart, drawing life from the organ and sending it down his arms and into—

“It’s happening again!” he gasped. It was the only warning he could give before lightning struck the top of his head and everything went black.

***

“Archer!” Voices and harsh alarms drew him back from the dark.

“…asystolic. Administer another milligram epi and then I want you on bloodwork. Imala, suction her. Sertse, I want you on compressions…”

“Archer!”

“Confirm her pressure, Imala and then Shavsan, I want you to administer that norepinephrine. Is he breathing, Dr. Neal?”

“Yes, he—Archer, open your eyes!”

The voices all boiled down to one. Asa, sounding worried. He felt the dry rub of gloved fingers beneath his jaw and reached up to swat them away. Asa—he assumed—caught his hand and squeezed it tight.

“Am I sick?” Archer’s voice cracked, his throat so tight it hurt to talk. A chill took him, and he forced his eyes open. The gesture stung, and he squeezed them shut again. “Was there an accident? What’s that sound?”

His body ached, and his chest felt heavy. He felt as though he’d been bedridden with a bad flu, or perhaps pneumonia.

“How do you feel, Archer? Just lay there and rest, please.”

“As though I’ve been in an accident,” he said, aware that he sounded peevish. On top of everything else, anxiety seeped in, making his heart race and sending up alarms. More feelings sank in. Loss. Grief. Archer rubbed the grit from his eyes and peeled them open again.

Asa leaned over him, his face tense and ashen. His brother reached out and gently patted Archer on the cheek, a tender gesture that startled him. His eyes shifted past Asa’s face, catching movement up in the blurry tree canopy. Archer blinked several times to clear his vision.

A beautiful man hovered in the canopy, wings beating slowly, creating a breeze that stirred his long, blonde hair. Even from that distance, Archer could see the man’s tortured expression. For his part, Archer felt an uncharacteristic flash of white hot rage that made him push himself up to a seated position and snarl: “What is he doing here?! GO!” Gasping, Archer registered other fae alight near the man, their hands raised warily.

His brother tried to calm him. “Archer—”

“Silence the alarm, please.” Eḥāyi’s voice cut through his anger.

Deidre.

Archer twisted, forcing himself to look at the scene beside him, ashamed that she hadn’t been his first coherent thought. Asa gripped his shoulder. Deirdre still lay on her back on the dead moss, wings akimbo beneath her. But she looked much worse. Her skin gone dry and waxen, her hair shades lighter and brittle. He could see the veins around her wrists and count her ribs, as though she’d lost weight in the time he’d been unconscious. Her eyes, open and staring, irises muddy and colorless. Lips slack around the tube delivering oxygen to her lungs. Sertse’s hands between her breasts, forcefully pushing her sternum down over and over again, making her slim shoulders jerk and her stomach seesaw in and out of a bloat.

Archer reached for her hand and that’s when he saw them… bits of insect wings littering the ground. Feathers, of a sort. Crumbled. With each compression, her shoulders shrugged and her wings moved, and opalescent shards flaked off, littering the dry ground.

Archer hunched over her cold hand, agony building as pressure beneath his skin. “Asa, she…”

“I’ll speak to you plainly, Archer. If you wish it.” Asa gripped his shoulder too tight.

“I do.” His words bit into his throat like gravel.

“Deirdre’s heart is in what we call asystole. This is when there is no electrical rhythm. We cannot defibrillate asystole, as the purpose of defibrillation is to disrupt dangerous heart rhythms. What we do instead is provide chest compressions and administer medications to assist the heart in achieving a shockable rhythm.” Asa paused and took a deep breath. Archer’s heart hollowed out. “I cannot account for her change in appearance… I’m not optimistic, Archer. I’m so sorry.”

“Deirdre is not gone!” A woman’s voice, ragged and grief-stricken, broke in at the end of Asa’s explanation. Movement beyond the tableau in front of him dragged his attention away from the resuscitation efforts. Tvaris, Deirdre’s mother, broke through the crowd of fae he hadn’t noticed assembling. Nearly all tall, unlike his Deirdre, though otherwise they were diverse in shape and color. Each with beautiful wings. He wished he could have seen them together in other circumstances.

Liam stepped in front of her and took her by the arms. “Sēs, ánrhen.”

“He doesn’t know how—”

“Her mother’s right,” Nurse Imala interjected. “Your bond is intact, so we will continue our efforts until that changes.”

“Her brain,” Asa blurted, his hand going to his mouth when Archer glanced at him.

“We do not heal like humans, Dr. Neal.” Eḥāyi’s eyes shifted from the cardiac monitor. “If, perhaps, she had been discovered already cardiac arrest instead, with an unknown amount of time having passed, then things would be different.”

Archer hunched forward, Deirdre’s hand pulled against his abdomen. He tried to picture her as she’d been such a short time before. Aloft, glowing with happiness and freedom. And love. All destroyed.

“Why?” The question came out too quiet for anyone to hear. He gripped Deirdre’s hand tight, his eyes squeezing closed. He dragged in a deep breath. “WHY?!”

The forest fell silent aside from the sound of the bag-valve mask and Sertse’s exertions over Deirdre’s still chest.

Then, a voice from above.

“I am a fool, and I did not believe it would kill her.”

***

Atmos pumped his wings, just enough to keep himself aloft. Fae warriors hovered close by, though as of yet they’d made no moves to detain him. Atmos knew what the humans did not; he wasn’t being detained yet because his Intention might be needed to keep Deirdre alive. For similar reasons, a crowd formed below, creating a large semi-circle around the scene of his crime. Family, friends, neighbors, officials. Well-wishers and on-lookers. His own mother stood in the back, white-faced with her fist pressed to her lips.

Within the semi-circle, the forest was dying; brown moss, trees with brittle branches and falling leaves, bodies of insects that flew unawares into Deirdre’s sucking desire to live. He could see a faint rainbow flowing from the crowd, a channel of involuntary aid drawn from the heart light of everyone there. She’d pulled the most from her ánrhen, knocking the man unconscious to stabilize her heart.

It isn’t working, he thought, his hands curling into fists. His love lay sprawled on her back, a faded shell of herself. Any human would have been long declared dead. Most fae. His cruel, careless miscalculation had shown him something he’d never understood before: Deirdre was strong.

His mind briefly flashed back to when they’d parted; an argument. Shouting, tears. He’d attempted to restrain her, she’d injured him. Other fae intervened and Deirdre collapsed and had to be cardioverted. After, for years, he’d tried to see her, and she turned him away each time. Atmos tried to move on. Buried himself in his work. Sought pleasure from others. Today, however, when he’d seen her entering their village, something inside him snapped.

First, he found a list of medications contraindicated for Long QT Syndrome. The very first item on the list was amiodarone, and though he’d taken hours to research the other options, he’d decided this would be the easiest to get and the easiest to administer without getting caught before it took effect. He would dose her, then take her to receive medical care once she’d collapsed. He knew her parents would want her to have the surgery; when better for such a thing to occur?

Breaking into the human ambulance had been easy, and he already had his darts at his disposal. He’d bet, correctly, that she would resume her old habit of flying in the meadow in the early mornings.

But Atmos had not expected her to deteriorate so quickly. Or for him to freeze with panic and remorse as soon as Deirdre retreated into the trees and collapsed in Archer’s arms. And he most certainly had not expected this.

After the discharge of ánh, her heart rate had not gone back to normal. It did not even continue its ineffective beat. Deirdre’s heart stopped. And Atmos made himself watch as the fae medics forced oxygen into her lungs and pumped the oxygenated blood around her body. Harsh and ugly, the procedure left purple marks on her chest. The medic’s gloved hands shoved rhythmically into Deirdre’s naked chest, her sternum sinking deep. The motion displaced air, organs, and tissues, pushing her chalk-white stomach up, rounding it out over and over again, her belly button riding the crest of that artificial wave. Each hard compression bent her shoulders slightly toward her collarbones and made her nipples sway back and forth. Her thighs trembled and her feet rocked side to side. Her hands, fingers curled limply toward her palm, moved incrementally with each thrust.

Even from his position, he could see the discoloration of her face, her lips slack around the endotracheal tube the medics inserted. He could see the way her body grew gaunt and her hair paled and her wings crumbled.

I’ve killed her.

There would be punishment, though he couldn’t imagine it would be anything worse than this.

The human man regained consciousness, his grief telegraphed by the set of his shoulders and the way he pulled her hand into his stomach, as though to soothe the hurt he felt deep inside. Atmos heard the man speak: “WHY?!”

Without thinking, Atmos answered: “I am a fool, and I did not believe it would kill her.”

The answering sound could have been a sob or a laugh; either way, it was ugly.

Before either man could speak again, the tone of the cardiac alarm changed and Dr. Eḥāyi called out: “Pause compressions, ten second analysis!” Her eyes stayed on the monitor as multiple hands pressed to Deirdre’s ravaged skin. Green, white, and pink light spread across Deirdre’s body.

“V-fib!” Dr. Eḥāyi’s voice betrayed her excitement. Sertse and Imala resumed CPR. “Charging the defibrillator to three-hundred sixty…”

The human doctor reached for his brother. “Archer, you can’t touch her while they—”

A bright blue light burst from the center of the semi-circle, cutting off the doctor’s words. Deirdre’s back bowed, arching off the forest floor. Sertse and Imala both jerked and fell back, mouths open in a silent cry. Her ánrhen, Archer, seized up, his head falling back as his arms tensed. Connected to Archer by a hand on his arm, Dr. Neal followed suit, his eyes rolling until the whites of his eyes showed. The light brightened to near-blinding, and then it snapped off as suddenly as it had appeared.

One by one, Sertse, Imala, Archer, and Asa collapsed to the ground beside her.

The forest fell silent.

Part Six

#resus writing #female resus #fantasy resus

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alanaplucked · 10 months ago

Text

Sonata

part three

part four| masterlist

Matty assumed he had been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. The silence was beginning to irritate him, a vast comparison to the scenery he was used to.

His mind was stuck on a loop, looking in on one specific emotion; one he tried so hard to overlook. To which he could not deal with anymore.

He soon found himself slinging a sweatshirt over himself and padding down the creaky staircase towards the outdoor studio. Unaware of the faint incandescent light radiating from the upper window.

Love found herself cross legged on the floor with an acoustic in grip. Eyes scanning the various books and papers around her, occasionally bending down to scribble something new down.

Her mind worked wonders in the late hours yet nights like these drained her emotionally, despite the great song material she got. Back facing the door as she intently mustered up potential lyrics in her head.

Her fingers tenderly picked the strings as lyrics just above a whisper fell from her mouth. She knew the song being conjured up wouldn't be heard to anybody but her, it was too impassioned. It could only act cathartically.

Yet the frame leaning against the door said otherwise. His stare acted unnoticed. It was pure and he found himself dazed at the young girl.

A sight so raw and unintentional, a sense of intruding struck over him as the room fell silent following the last strum. He knew he wasn't able to leave without her turning and noticing him followed by an awkward next encounter.

"That was so alluring - sorry I didn't know you would be in here I didn't wanna interrupt" He had added on once she spun around. A small sense of shock on her face.

"Oh god no don't be sorry. I'm the one who's not actually meant to be in here" Love’s cheeks had flushed, she wasn't usually nervous but considering Matty had walked in on such a vulnerable moment. "Let me just grab my stuff, I'll be out of your-"

"No no don't, I mean I don't think I would be able to deal with the silence. That's why I came in here" Matty hadn't recalled deciding to be so honest, though it came naturally.

"yeah it can get like that" Love spoke slowly lowering herself back into her original position. A low silence fell between them. A warm glow saturated the room, lamps were littered upon the studio. She found it comforting and supposed her father had too.

"I couldn't imagine living here" His body was now slouched against the leather couch only a couple metres away from herself. Sincerity radiated from him as his head dropped back against the brown leather. "I need the city noise"

"I try not to most of the time; live here that is" It was true though she hated to admit it. Yet she had imagined Matty had noticed she wasn't here the entire two months they had been recording.

"Do you not then feel like you're taking it for granted" Despite the nature of the question it didn't come across rude or prodding. Now meeting her gaze he could tell she was slightly uncomfortable.

Love was slightly confused, this wasn't the Matty Healy she had googled only a couple hours ago. Leaving the studio that morning led her to be curious of the new face. "yes and no. I feel like it's a small dose kind of thing. you can appreciate it only when it's necessary, plus i've spent my whole life here"

An uncomfortable silence was now lingering, well maybe that feeling was one sided because Love was at peace picking the strings of her guitar, despite her feeling his stare follow her every move.

"I listened to your album, you know, it was very impressive. I mean when I was seventeen I was writing about sex and girls with boyfriends" He was the first to break the silence and a small smirk rose upon her face though she was weary of whether he could see it or not.

"Is that surprising that I liked it?" He had noticed.

Straightening her face and turning to face him "at first, but I don't know any musician that is only subject to their own genre" Her statement was followed by a low hum on his end.

"So what kind of music do you like?" Matty couldn't help but prod.

"Anything really" Love’s fingers were still picking and Matty wondered if it would lull him to sleep.

"Anything?" His voice echoed her own and she had to stop herself from looking up at him. Keeping an overly disinterested act as though she were far too busy for such a conversation.

"Yeah I guess-" It was true. Love’s father had produced a variety of different genres and his record collection was just about diverse as New York City.

"What so like metal to classical" Matty couldn't imagine this girl listening to anything different to her innocent guitar picking. It was silly of him to imagine that the daughter of one of the best producers in the world only listened to the top 40.

Love was confused to say the least but a small smirk picked up her lips and she scribbled down another lyric. surprised she would still be able to work while holding such a conversation. It helped she couldn't look him in the eye though she was starting to realise he's not as intimidating as he seemed hours ago.

"those are very basic genres, the average normy would listen to those without thought. plus, you can't say you like music if you disregard 99.9% of it"

"the average normy?, what are you implying we are?" Love realised she hadn't heard him laugh and she wished nothing more than to play it on repeat. If she could make him laugh like that again she thought she would be content forever.

"well obviously geniuses, or deities at least"

"ok, so let me get this right you listen to everything offered under the sun except my music" He had simply assumed. And by the look on her face as she got up to swap guitars- he was right, she had no clue as to who he was until she was caught in the studio.

"I actually listened to your album-" Love turned herself around to sit back in her spot that was now occupied by Matty, eyes scanning her lyrics.

"I'm sure you did" His head rose with a smirk; that was until her saw her frozen in the middle of the room, eyes burning on his finger trailing the fourth line of her page.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"yeah you shouldn't have" Love got herself to finally move and pick her journal up when he cowered back.

He sat back in shock at her current change in demeanour and said something he probably shouldn't have. "how'd you make an album if you can't handle someone reading your lyrics"

She felt the gentle tug at the tears gathering in her eyes as she moved to tidy the chaos she had wrought in the studio.

"that wasn't for an album, it wasn't for you, not for anyone" it came out gentle, Matty hated how beautiful he thought she sounded.

"it should be"

"excuse me?"

"that's better than anything you've got out there, truthfully. Are you making another album?" Frankly Matty had been feigning for more after listening to her album all those months ago. She hadn't gone on a tour, done any shows, press, there were no unreleased leaks, no covers on social media; she hadn't even had an account on anything. The most he had found was an old youtube video her father had posted of her singing 'both sides now' when she was twelve.

"not for a long long time" She had calmed herself. She thought as though Matty would 5150 her after reading what she had wrote.

"like Fiona Apple?" He had lit a cigarette now and reclined into the base of the couch, she had been leaning her hands back into the desk.

"Sure, she's great"

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x oc #matty healy x reader #matty healy #matty healy smut

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anachilles · 8 months ago

Note

Prompt: “Your hair keeps falling into your eyes, do you know that? Here, lemme just—”

Pairing: Crosby x Bubbles

hi, friend! thanks so much for the prompt! i've come back to this one sitting in my inbox after a couple days now of just thinking these guys are the cutest, amidst my most recent rewatch of the series lol. little slice of life tidbit from my 🚒🥃 firehouse!au, hope that's okay! 🫶

It was just gone 10:30pm when the key started jiggling in the lock.

Joe turned to the door immediately from where he was perched in semi-darkness at the dining table, laptop open at his left hand, a worn-down pencil in his right, with a sketchbook just beyond it.

Turns out, if he actually wanted to do some of the kind of art that had led him down this particular career path in the first place, around the hours he was putting into this internship he was on, then he'd have to carve it out for himself.

He watched in silent amusement as Harry seamlessly navigated the same routine he trod through every night he had a bar shift, so practiced at this stage he could likely do it in his sleep.

He had done once and all, when he'd misread a bottle of Nyquil and ended up doing three times the recommended dose before conking out.

In through the front door, lock it, keys in the bowl by the door so he always knew where they were if they weren't in his pocket. A deep, exaggerated exhale before shucking off his bag and outer layers. Toe off his shoes, shove them in the shoe rack, pad one, two, three, four, five over to the kitchen space...

Their place was tiny (cozy and intimate, they preferred), so the fact that Harry hadn't clocked Joe sitting there made the whole thing even more funny.

It hadn't been intentional, but just as Crosby unfurled a half-empty bag of mini-pretzel sticks he'd scavenged from the cupboard, Joe loudly, pointedly cleared his throat. The other man jumped nearly half a foot in the air, pretzel pieces scattering across the countertop that separated them.

"Snacks before dinner, Harry Crosby?" Joe exclaimed, in his best 'nagging housewife' impression, though even then couldn't keep the playful smirk off his face. "After I slave away over a hot stove so you have a nice, home-cooked meal to come back to?"

"Jesus Christ! Where did you come from?" Harry said, breathless, before picking up one of the wasted pretzels and popping it in his mouth. He shrugged, "An appetiser, obviously."

Joe turned back round to the table, though he could see Harry's reflection in the black, slumbering laptop screen. "It’s only spaghetti; in the fridge for whenever you want it," he said, but could already see Harry abandoning the kitchen altogether and making his way over to him.

Smiling a little to himself, he welcomed Harry's arms as they slid down either side of his neck, and instinctively tilted his head upwards to accept the kiss he knew from said well-practiced routine was coming. The other man's lips were cold from braving the elements outside, as was the tip of his nose where it pressed into his cheek with the extra kiss he snuck in there before tucking his chin into the crook of Joe's neck.

"What're you still doing up? Don't you have work in the morning?" Harry asked.

Joe's hand snaked round to hold the nape of Harry's neck, fingertips scritching lightly into the raven-coloured hair at the base. "Eh, it's not too late. Didn't see you before you left this morning, figured since it was a Thursday you'd be first cut at the bar. Wanted to wait up for you."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "'...since it was a Thursday...'?"

"Ain't that the night you work with Gale? Everett too, a lot of the time?"

"Yeah?"

Joe scoffed out a laugh. "Where they 'let' you take first cut so they get a couple extra hours to moon at those firefighters?"

There was a beat of silence as Harry seemed to consider such an idea, and while he was pondering, Joe moved forward a little bit so he was leant over his sketchpad again, bringing Harry with him. He jerked his head a little as his bangs threatened to fall into his eyesight from both sides.

“Huh," Harry breathed. Putting two and two together.

“Not that I can imagine what Gale ‘mooning’ would look like…” Joe said, pencil scratching the paper as he added a couple more lines, and used his other hand to pull back his bangs from his face.

Only for them to flop right back down again.

Harry shrugged. He'd known Gale a couple of years now, and liked him a lot; respected him a hell of a lot. But... “Subtler than most, for sure, but definitely there. In his own way." He paused, smiling to himself as he quipped, like he was reciting from a book of poetry. "Like a solid old Oak tree."

Joe snorted with laughter, having to flick his hair out of his eyes again. "Hope you're not moonin' at no firefighters..."

Harry looked scandalised for a moment. "Me? Never," he said, tightening his hold around Joe's shoulders. "Although... there is one of them. Blond, with big long 90's boyband bangs that are always falling in his face." He raked his fingers through Joe's own with the remark, pulling the hair up out of his face for him. "So I guess you never know."

Joe tilted his head back in the direction his hair was being pulled, to find Harry looking back at him with fond eyes, all big and dark and doe-like, despite his smirk, and affection curled warm in his chest.

"Yeah, well whoever he is he's welcome to you," Joe shot back just as Harry was about to kiss his cheek again. He pushed him away with a gentle little shove against his mouth, shrieking a little when Harry swooped back in with a playful, retaliatory little nibble instead.

"No he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

#crubbles #harry crosby #joseph payne #joe bubbles payne #harry crosby x joseph payne #masters of the air #my writing #i loved writing this for them ngl lmao #cuties!#📝: firehouse!au

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darkmermaidao3 · 1 year ago

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Chapter Six Clarity (Bonten Sanzu)

Minors do not interact 18+ fic

Warnings: Mentions of Controlled Substances, Coercion, Manipulation, Profanity, possibly more that I forgot to mention.

Flashbacks are in pink text!

For the first time since he’d spoken to her the day prior, she was the furthest thing from being flustered from his words, a purse on her lips and her hands on her hips, her neck craned back to stare up at her patient, her expression nonnegotiable.

“Two.” She repeated, her tone expressing that she absolutely refused to budge; his lips were pressed into a thin line, that displeased look she’d grown accustomed to seeing over the last few days they’d been together was still going strong, regardless of her trying to put her foot down with him.

“Four.” He retorted lowly, his voice teetering on exasperation; she shook her head, absolutely not.

“You’ll overdose, no.” she reasoned, stating the truth; she was the medical professional here, he’d overdose if she gave him four pills three separate times a day, this was heavy duty stuff. “Two now, you can have another dose in six hours.”

“Twenty milligrams is nothing.” He argued, sounding irritated; she could’ve scoffed, the opioid was stronger than morphine in some cases, he didn’t need to be teetering on the brink of death right after she’d saved his life and regardless of how aggravated he was with her, she wasn’t going to bargain about this.

“You can’t have more than sixty in a day; it could kill you.” She explained, her voice matter of fact; if he’d just take the pills and wait for them to kick in, he’d see that she wasn’t joking around about how strong they were, and it’d stop him from demanding a larger dose next time.

“My tolerance-”

“Isn’t a factor.” She interrupted, her voice swapping to stern; if he was really going to continue to press her about this then she’d only give him one, he didn’t want to test her when it came to narcotics. “Twenty milligrams, two pills every six hours.”

“Doctor-”

“You wanna make it one?” the woman asked, her tone warning; despite how soft her features usually were, her gaze was hardened, proving that she meant business.

She was sure he was questioning why he hadn’t snapped her neck back at the clinic, he was positively fuming over her refusal to give him what he wanted and even if he debated on doing so now it wouldn’t do anything to help him. All those pills were locked up in her safe, the combination only accessible in her mind and she’d made sure not to open it when he was around, she was glad for that now because he surely would’ve taken too many pills if he had access to them. A quiet squeak left her in surprise when the palm of his hand slapped against the wall right next to her head, stepping so close that there wasn’t even a foot worth of space separating them, her heart going into overdrive from the way he was looming over her. Her mouth felt thick with spit the instant his free hand reached towards her throat and although she’d been sure he was about to strangle the life out of her, his fingers hooked under her chin instead, urging her to meet his piercing eyes. Remembering how to breathe was proving to be a challenge, the intensity of his stare had her shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying her utmost hardest to ignore the slick that had settled in her panties; if he thought he could seduce her into giving him what he wanted then he had another thing coming because she definitely wasn’t going to-

‘Fuck, breathe.’

There was no question the thought was in his head, the way his aquamarine pools were raking over her from head to toe told her as much, whether it was simply out of wanting to get his way, she couldn’t be entirely sure considering the number of times his stare had roamed her form. He was entirely aware of the effect he had on her, being high hadn’t blinded him to it from the get-go because although his cognitive function was impaired then, he functioned much better than most people. It seemed that she was dealing with a person that either abused drugs or had chronic pain to the point that he had regular prescriptions to manage it, she wasn’t going to judge him by assuming one or the other. During the moments he was high, he was still capable of holding his composure, never slurring his words or talking so fast that it was obvious; he would’ve come off completely sober if it weren’t for his pupils dilating. He’d even been capable of retaining full memories during those moments, he could pay attention if it was something he was interested in observing and he remembered much more than she’d anticipated; some of the things he’d made comments about had surprised her, like the name of her secretary, he’d learned it when she’d been on that phone call. She couldn’t put it passed him not to know just how attracted she was to him, not only was he observant but she couldn’t hide it to save her life. He was going to try to use that to his advantage to persuade her to relent to whatever it was that he wanted in the moment, and he’d gone as far to test it last night after they had settled in.

Yuki had never been more thankful for hot water than she was tonight, she’d felt absolutely disgusting after how long she’d gone without washing her hair and she was going to have to start making a point not to spend more than two nights away from home if she wound up in the zone with her researching; it’d taken much too long to both detangle and wash her hair after how many times she’d had to use dry shampoo. A content sigh left her, running the brush through her hair one more time just to ensure she’d gotten all the tangles out before stepping out of the adjoining bathroom, it would take forever for her hair dry with the length of it, but it wasn’t so damp that she’d soak her pillow should she lay down for bed in the next few minutes. It’d been a long day and the only things that she had left to do were give her patient that last shot of morphine, remove the IV, clean the area, slap a band-aid on it and call it a day. She doubted she’d even hear Kuro running the halls like he usually did in the dead of night with how exhausted she was, her couch in the office may have been her regular sleeping spot but she’d undoubtedly missed her bed.

‘Just have to get a few more things done, that’s it.’

She quickly punched in the code to the safe, opening it up and placed all the prescription bottles in it, easing the door shut until the alert sounded that it was secure again. She didn’t have very many valuable things in her home, mostly documents, but she’d wanted a safe nonetheless. It was helpful when it came to keeping all those pills safe while she was sleeping, she wanted to make sure her patient was educated on just how strong they were before she gave him free reign of them and tonight would not be the night considering he was about to get his last dose of morphine. She carefully removed the syringe from her purse, sliding over to her bedside table to collect what she’d previously gathered up for the IV removal and her lip caught between her teeth when she felt the pads of his fingers lightly graze her neck, easing her hair off to the side, the other hand pressing against her hip. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this man knew what he was doing, disregarding that he hadn’t even bothered to knock or announce his presence, he didn’t seem to care if she wanted personal space or not; she was pleasantly surprised at how many times he’d reached out to her today but that wasn’t the point.

‘Do I even care?’

The white-headed woman didn’t, had it been anyone else then absolutely, but it wasn’t, it was him and whatever it was about him that had ensnared her, it hadn’t just up and disappeared. The reactions she had to his touch were something she’d never experienced before him, she may have never dated but he hadn’t been the first man she’d ever admired, what she’d felt towards all of them combined was nothing in retrospect to the pink-haired male. She’d been on that page for a few days, but it hadn’t completely sunk in until now, becoming abundantly clear no sooner did her heart start fluttering, his chest lightly brushing against her upper back, fingertips softly caressing her hip, the other hand sliding her white locks off to the side. She bit harder into her lip when his cheek pressed against the side of her head, the warm breath in her ear sending a shiver through her; she didn’t think she had the courage to look at him even though he was most certainly looking at her.

“Doctor.” He murmured; her face burned hotter in response, the way he continued saying her professional title was the definition of teasing and it didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that it was his intention, he was trying to embarrass her.

‘Slow breathes, calm down.’

“Y-you don’t have to keep calling me that.” She mumbled, her voice filled with shyness; it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to shift around in his hold over the soft hum he let out while squeezing her hip lightly, her knees centimeters from knocking together. “Yuki’s fine.”

As informal as it was considering they didn’t know anything about each other, she honestly just wanted to hear how her name would sound when it rolled off his tongue, she knew she had to of been thinking like a creep at this point. She was just setting herself up for disappointment, he’d go back to his regular life and getting attached to someone that she knew she’d never see again wasn’t a smart move on her part, unrealistic expectations that she set would end in heartbreak. The things her friends had regularly told her over the years were starting to make sense, if she would’ve dated long before now, even just casually, she wouldn’t have swooned over him as quickly as she had. All these small things that he was doing wouldn’t have gotten to her so easily, her heart skipped simply over him looking at her, she’d forget how to breathe just from his hand on her hip, hearing his voice drenched her panties and she’d internally begged more than a few times that he’d kiss her; she shouldn’t have been getting so worked up over nothing.

She needed to pull herself together, she didn’t want to come off as desperate, but it was hard to maintain that mindset when she was looking at him, he was beautiful, and the deepness of his stare always entranced her. She couldn’t even remember what her dream guy had looked like after seeing him because it certainly had become the man currently touching her, everything about him was flawless. His rosy-pink locks that fell well below his shoulders, his aquamarine eyes that practically pierced her soul, the four small black hoops on each of his ears, the diamonds at the corners of his mouth, the gentle way he’d squeeze her hip or carefully brush strands of white from her face, the intense way he watched her as though she were the only person in the room (even though she technically had been); she’d swooned long before now. The doctor managed to put the syringe down in the nick of time, she surely would’ve dropped it with the way his hand slid across her belly to her other hip, locking around her middle. She almost swallowed her tongue when he fully snuggled up against her back with his lips hovered at her ear, his free hand sweeping snow-colored strands over her shoulder.

“You’re my doctor, aren’t you?” he whispered directly into her ear, his tone sensual; warmth had settled between her thighs in response and her knees were almost going weak from his voice alone, her tongue felt much too heavy to form any words.

‘He’s trying to give me a heart attack.’

“I want to be close to you, Doctor.” He followed up, his voice implying; her breath hitched when his arm squeezed around her belly lightly, her cheeks flushing darker when his free arm joined the other, his face moving into her neck. “You’ll let me sleep next to you, right?”

If he hadn’t been before, there was no doubt that he indisputably was trying to give her a heart attack now with a request like that, her heart was threatening to go into overdrive from nerves alone and she almost felt at a point of overheating simply from how hot her face felt. Her ears were burning in embarrassment, her mind conjuring up a number of scenarios all in a span of three seconds and not a one of them were anything close to PG, she hadn’t even had her first kiss yet so how would she manage to sleep next to a man without having a panic attack, let alone the perfect one latched onto her? She didn’t think her face could flush any darker, she’d never anticipated anything close to this when she’d decided that taking the precaution to go to her house rather than staying at the clinic would be for the best. He just continued throwing her for a loop, she’d never imagined he’d warm up to her so quickly and regardless of the fact that he was teasing her for all its worth, she couldn’t find it in herself to make attempts to shut it down.

“O-okay.” She mumbled, her voice bashful; another quiet hum left him, seeming pleased that she’d folded so easily to what he wanted without a fight.

Yuki wiggled around in his grasp until his hold on her loosened just enough that she could turn to face him, his arms still wrapped loosely around her waist and making no movement to fully release her. Despite the red hue on her cheeks, she placed her hand lightly against his shoulder and the other against his chest, avoiding touching any of the areas he’d been shot, craning her neck back to lock eyes with him.

“You need to sit down so I can give you this last dose.” The woman urged gently; his head cocked to the side with interest, his aquamarine pools holding her lavender ones. “I need to remove the IV when we’re done.”

He was silently questioning her, she could see it in the way he was looking at her and if she didn’t clear things up for him now, she had a feeling he wouldn’t make things easy for her, he’d think she was trying to cut him off when that wasn’t it whatsoever.

“I’m replacing the morphine with something else; I know you’re still in pain.” She continued with compassion; she didn’t want to invalidate his feelings because although he’d moved around more than she’d ever anticipated he would at this point, she could see from his expressions that it wasn’t without significant trouble, he was pushing himself to. “I want to start you on it while you’re with me, so you’ll be used to it by Monday.”

She could tell that as much as he didn’t like it, he did understand on some level why he couldn’t be on the morphine any longer, and she was thankful that she wasn’t going to have to go into a big spiel about why it wasn’t for long term use, the dependency it could cause, etcetera; he was smart enough to know that he had to use something else for pain management. He was obviously reluctant to agree but gave a short nod regardless, his arms never slipping from her waist as he maneuvered the two of them around until he was able to take a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling her to stand between his legs. Her cheeks went warm all over again over how close they were and being face to face with him was more impactful than she’d thought it would be, they were around the same height now and she could see details about him that she’d missed before; his nose was cute. Her patient seemed to be on the same page as herself in some respect, his gaze focused solely on her face, taking in her features, studying her with the utmost dedication; it was almost as though they were seeing each other for the first time all over again. She could’ve gotten lost staring at him, and she almost had up until one of his hands left her waist, her eyes pulling from his to pay attention to her movements while she grabbed the syringe, uncapping the needle end.

Her persona swapped to professional without so much as thinking about it, holding total composure while she injected the opiate into the IV, effect was immediate just as it always was, his arm relaxing around her just enough that she knew it was working. She made quick work of removing it from his hand, going about the aftercare meticulously and covered the site to protect it during the healing process, he hadn’t so much as flinched the whole time she’d gone about the process from start to finish.

“Finished.” She commented; a pleasant hum left him in acknowledgement, her doe eyes quickly finding his when he tugged at her waist with just enough strength that she was pressed flush against him.

“Lay down then.” He followed up easily; his tone told her that arguing against it would do her no good, he wasn’t going to budge about wanting her right next to him. “I don’t want to make you, you’re a delicate thing, Doctor.”

Yuki nodded without argument, unable to hide just how flustered she felt as she climbed up onto the mattress after switching off the lights, following his own movements as he made room for her and laid down on her side facing him. A quiet scoff left him in displeasure, it was indefinitely over how much space she’d left between them, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything before he latched onto her waist and drug her across the sheets until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. Her pulse was racing all over again over his boldness, high or not, he hadn’t been fooling around about wanting to be close to her and as high of a priority as figuring out what it meant was on her list, it’d have to wait until tomorrow.

“Um…goodnight…” she began with uncertainty; she’d figured it’d be uncomfortable to some extent and the lack thereof was strange in of itself, she felt entirely thrown off from how natural it felt.

“Go to sleep.” He muttered unenthusiastically; she sealed her lips, nodding into his chest, his hold on her was so secure that she wouldn’t be able to slip away from him should she want to and trying to argue with him about how he needed space so she didn’t unknowingly brush up against any of the incision sites wouldn’t go over well.

‘Tired.’

Exhausted was the more appropriate term, she was sure she’d manage eight hours at the least tonight and if she was lucky-

“Haruchiyo.”

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, her lips parting in confusion.

“What?” she asked softly; the word came out before she had time to think about the best way to respond, a heavy sigh coming from her companion over her question.

“Not repeating myself.” He mumbled with a grunt, his voice slightly annoyed; she sealed her lips all over again, her body going limp in his hold when his free hand moved to petting her hair. “Go to sleep, Doctor.”

‘Haruchiyo.’

She took a small step back without so much as thinking about it, another squeak leaving her when her back bumped the wall and his eyes practically lit up with amusement when pink returned to her cheeks the second his thumb traced her bottom lip. The doctor was indisputably at a rock in a hard place, she couldn’t pull herself together when he was so close to her nor could she screw her head on straight long enough to create distance so she could think, he’d only blocked off one side so if she really wanted to, she could slip away from him. She looked up through her lashes to find him staring at her so intensely she could’ve forgotten who she was, his eyes were mesmerizing and as hard of a time as she had maintaining eye contact with him, she continued trying her best to hold it for as long as she could, his eyes were her favorite thing about him. The thought of creating distance disappeared no sooner did it show up, she’d blanked all over again just from staring at him too long, standing her ground against him was looking like a pipedream since she just continued losing her train of thought and the like from that alone.

“Doctor.” The pink-haired man drawled playfully, his voice coming out lowly; her face flushed hotter, he was hovering closer to her, his gaze zeroed in on her lips, strands of pink slipping over his shoulders and lightly brushing the sides of her face the closer he got.

‘Don’t cave, be strong, don’t cave!’

“N-no, two, only two.” She stammered anxiously; her words didn’t seem to even faze him, a smirk forming on his lips when she batted his hand away from her chin, only for it to slip around to press against the small of her back and tug her right up against him.

‘Oh god!’

She couldn’t fold, no matter how flustered she felt nor how close he was to giving her what would be her very first kiss, she couldn’t give in to what he wanted, and she wouldn’t; he’d overdose and likely die if she gave him forty milligrams in one go. He wasn’t going to give up though, she could see that he was just as stubborn as she herself could be and the only way that she was going to be able to get him to drop it was if she offered some kind of compromise. He was much too determined to get his way so regardless of how dangerous it could be, it was the only thing that she could do, she wouldn’t have to follow through with it once he realized that she wasn’t trying to short him pain relief once the pills kicked in. She just had to word things carefully, make no promises so he couldn’t claim that she’d lied to him once he wasn’t on another planet because he most certainly would be in the next half hour after he took the pills. Her pulse was racing at the feeling of being pressed against him, the blush on her cheeks darkening shade by shade the closer he inched towards her lips, her free hand moving of its own volition to tangle in his shirt, the other resting at his shoulder.

“Haruchiyo.” She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper; his aquamarine orbs were gleaming as he took her in, seeming all too pleased at how close she looked to giving into him.

“Yes, Doctor?” he responded with a hum; she felt like she’d gone completely stupid simply over his hand leaving the wall to cradle her head, white slipping through his fingers as he guided her face closer to his.

“Y-you shouldn’t, we sh-shouldn’t.” she began, her tone anxious; she didn’t know why she’d even bothered speaking words of resistance, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to stop just because it stepped outside of the doctor-patient relationship dynamic.

“We shouldn’t.” he repeated quietly, sounding entirely collected; despite agreeing with her, he hadn’t stopped closing the distance, so she knew for a fact that he did not care about trying to maintain whatever professionalism was left between them. “Tell me to stop.”

Yuki was internally screaming at this point and could’ve fainted with how lightheaded she felt, there was no way she could face that challenge head-on nor come out of it victorious if she tried her hardest, it was taking every ounce of her willpower to resist temptation, his lips were hardly three inches from hers. As unbecoming of her profession as it was, she couldn’t force herself to say no, the line had been blurred to the point that having purely a doctor-patient relationship wasn’t possible anymore because she hadn’t kept a businesslike approach to things. She’d been too caught up in whatever infatuation she was feeling towards him and hadn’t been able to turn it off, it’d practically made all of the decisions for her, and it was why she’d wound up in this mess. She should’ve called an ambulance as soon as he was stable after surgery, she shouldn’t have hidden his existence by putting off reopening her clinic after the holiday, she should’ve called the police, she shouldn’t have taken him to her private home, she should’ve done things as a doctor and instead, she’d done things that a desperate teenage girl with a crush would’ve done. She’d opened herself up for this to become what it had and although it was ethically wrong, she was teetering right on the edge of not caring which told her that she absolutelyneeded to take a step back from this, lest she complicate things further for herself.

“You can’t, can you?” he gathered, his voice knowing; the pink on her cheeks spread further across her face, running over her nose and silently answering the question for her.

The white-headed woman wanted to feel ashamed of herself because morally speaking, she should’ve felt some form of guilt, forming relationships with patients wasn’t the norm and, on some level, she did feel the smallest bit of remorse for crossing lines to some degree. She may not have been the one to initiate that first intimate touch, but she didn’t try to stop it either, she’d reciprocated it which made her just as guilty as him. More than anything, she wanted him to close the distance and kiss her, he was already so close that he could do so with ease, but should that boundary be crossed over, she had no guarantees that it would stop with that. Whatever this was between them had been mutual from the get-go, entirely consensual on both sides, he wanted the same thing as she and the only reason he hadn’t gone there yet was because he was waiting for her to say it, he’d pushed her to tell him to stop and she hadn’t. Now, all that was left for him to do was pry the words from her lips and aside from the rough shape he was in, there wouldn’t be anything holding him back.

“W-we shouldn’t.” she repeated with unease, hinting at just how nervous she felt; his expression didn’t falter, reflecting nothing but confidence as he leaned down closer to her.

“You already said that, Doctor.” Haruchiyo pointed out, sounding teasing; she was doing her utmost best to steady her breathes while her fingers curled lightly in his shirt, clinging onto him tighter, his lips were almost brushing hers there was so little space between them. “You don’t mean it.”

He’d called her bluff without batting an eye which just proved without a shadow of a doubt that he did see the way she looked at him, but she couldn’t say it aloud, it would only make it more real if she did, meaning it would only hurt more when he left; she didn’t know how she’d managed to get so attached to a total stranger in less than a week’s time. The woman couldn’t manage anything in response, her throat had fully dried up, and her heart doing summersaults over his soft breathes ghosting over her lips, feeling too scatterbrained to do much of anything except hold his intense gaze.

“You want me to do it for you, huh pretty girl?” he murmured sensually, his hand slid from the small of her back and wrapped fully around her waist to keep her securely pinned against him.

Her heart straight skipped a beat from his words, her pulse going haywire while she gazed up at him longingly, she’d never felt so overwhelmed by her emotions that she felt lightheaded and that was exactly what he’d done to her. The dizzying feeling in her head was only growing stronger the harder she swooned for this man, outside of her friends and her grandmother, no one had ever called her pretty before; she had zero chance to protect herself from heartbreak this far into things, he had her hook line and sinker.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” the pink-haired male breathed, his voice low; Yuki didn’t realize she’d responded to the question until it was too late to stop herself, a barely audible whimper leaving her lips, silently pleading with him to close the distance. “I will, just give me what I want.”

‘What does…?’

“That’s fair, isn’t it Doctor?” he pressed, sounding agreeable to compromise; she waited patiently for a follow-up from him that would clear things up, a curious look in her lavender orbs as she attempted to bring herself back down to earth long enough to piece things together. “Four.”

‘…fuck no.’

Whatever spell he’d cast on her broke in the instant everything connected, her hand pressing against his shoulder to create distance and the other releasing his shirt, a purse forming on her lips while she attempted to slip from his grasp.

“Two.” She retorted, her tone adamant; Haruchiyo’s persona swapped out just as quickly as her own did, looking infuriated that she was still refusing to budge even with his attempts to sway her with his damn seduction tactics, narcotics were something she didn’t play around with, and she was not going to let him be careless with them.

“My tolerance-”

“Isn’t a factor.” She repeated, cutting him off before he could argue with her; she didn’t have much of a choice at this point, she had to offer something else to get him to relent and once he realized that she wasn’t playing around about these pills, he wouldn’t bring this up again. “Two, twenty milligrams every six hours.”

“Doctor-”

“Muscle relaxers in between if it’s not enough.” She interrupted, her voice heavily annoyed; his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked down at her, his hand having released her head and grabbed her forearm when she’d begun making attempts to create space, he wasn’t budging about letting her go.

‘Stubborn man.’

“Fine.” He huffed, sounding entirely reluctant to agree; she herself let out just as huffy of a breath, her soft face the definition of aggravated, she’d just been thinking minutes previously that he’d try to seduce her into getting his way, she should’ve seen it coming before then.

As gentle as she was, she was heavily considering suffocating the man with a pillow the next time he tried to pull something like this on her even though she wouldn’t make it very far with that, he’d combat her in a heartbeat, high or not. She should’ve known better, and she’d walked right into that one, whatever it was that she felt for him was behind the wheel over half the time and it didn’t help anything that in the rare instances when she was capable of holding composure, he could overpower her with ease if he so wanted to. Her patient wasn’t in the best shape and had still managed to pause her movements, his arm wasn’t budging from her waist, and she couldn’t slip her arm out of his iron grip; there was no doubt that he’d have no problem snapping her neck or strangling her to death should he choose to.

“Doctor.”

“I need to get your pills.” She muttered in response, keeping her eyes low; she needed to be professional about things, no more caving to his charm or those piercing eyes of his, protect herself from the unavoidable heartbreak that would come from not being guarded.

His hand retreated from her forearm, the other stayed wrapped securely around her waist without showing any signs that he was going to release her, and she shoved at his chest weakly, not managing to make him budge an inch. She just may attempt to suffocate him; he was practically rubbing in her face that she couldn’t fight him off if she tried her hardest and something inside her was dangerously close to snapping.

“I need to get your pills.” She repeated quietly; she craned her neck back to look up at him as she spoke, trying to remain levelheaded. “If you want them…”

Yuki froze in place no sooner did she look up to find herself face to face with Haruchiyo, her words trailing off when her lavender pools met his aquamarine ones, his free hand moving back to cradling her head, not giving her time to register anything until it’d already happened. Her eyes were blown wide in response and her heart was threatening to leap from her chest, she hadn’t expected him to follow through with kissing her after she hadn’t budged on the number of pills, but he had. He’d closed the distance without giving her a chance to argue with him and pressed his lips to hers without missing a beat, she didn’t know what possessed him to do so nor did she try to come up with answers, she’d gotten her first kiss. She’d just managed to take a handful of his shirt and mold her lips with his a single time before he pulled out of the kiss, a whine leaving her in protest, her eyes fluttering open. A sly little smirk formed on his lips as he stared down at her, keeping just outside of her reach while she regained her bearings, sliding his fingers through the white.

“You only get one.” The pink-haired male spoke; she stared up at him slightly dazed, a dumbfounded look on her face. “You can have another in six hours, Doctor.”

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trash-monkey · 8 months ago

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Isekai; My life as a wagon

With heavy eye lids I struggle to open my eyes but once I do I'm blinded by sunlight causing me to wince and quickly shut my eyes, after finally being able to open my eyes properly only to see wild life.

'Uh? THE HELL! WHAT HAPPENED! WHERE AM I!'

I was on a camping trip with the few friends I have which Jack, a happy go lucky guy, finally got me to agree to go with him as he's been bugging me about for days and it didn't take much for Jack to get me to agree as I do love nature myself but not to an extreme like others, it was storming pretty hard that night.

'By the looks of the ground not only it's morning and the storm is over but I don't see anyone or the camp, did they somehow left me behind? This isn't even where we camped.'

The ground before me has many puddles from the storm last night but there's no evidence of any camp being here and people as the forest on my left looks strange with a dirt trail few feet on my right.

'Something isn't right here'

I thought when I finally turn my focus onto my self to finally noticed my vision is wonky and my body isn't responding right although I can look 360 my body isn't turning with my head like it should, I look down to see two long wooden poles with a leather strap holding each end laying down on the ground and by mistake I somehow looked inward on myself to see the back a small wooden wagon which I can see that it has two large wheels on the outside but one is missing.

'no wonder my body isn't responding right, it's because I've because a MOTHER FUCKING WAGON!!!'

I'm in despair at not only I'm somewhere I'm not supposed to be but I've somehow become a small wooden wagon.

'I remember laying down to sleep with a boy named Jack as we where sharing the tent together right has the storm hit and everything after that is blank because I've gone to sleep.'

I think to myself trying to see if there's any explanation in my memories that could explain why and how I've come to be sitting beside a dirt road as a small wooden wagon with a missing wheel but I only come up empty-handed in that regard though, I look inward on myself again to look for any clues that can help only to find out I can only move my wheels left and right.

'It's like both of my legs are amputated and I use prosthetic legs but my left one is missing, it's really odd'

I thought as it's the only way I can explain the feeling I'm having about my wheels but my attention is quickly taken when a familiar but not creature lands on the ground before me, a small bird hops around on the ground and what makes it strange is that it has four legs instead of the usual two. If I have eyes in this form they would have popped out of my skull when seeing a snail although it's bigger then usual skittering across the ground like a Chihuahua as it walks on four legs and have the tiniest little tail making me aww at it's cuteness as it has little babies following behind it, as I don't have anything else to do I watch the wild life around me with wonder as the animals I see here are a mix of two or three of the ones I know of.

'I'm not tried which makes sense for what I am'

Although I've been awake for hours now I don't feel any exhaustion as night falls but it dose make me wander if I can 'sleep' to pass time when I need or want it too, so I try to meditate as it'll be the closest I can get to sleeping but after an hour of trying to meditate only for a animal breaking a stick in the forest snaps what concentration I have.

'Looks like it'll take time for me to learn to fully meditate as I never tried to meditate before so it won't be easy for a while'

A bush rattles a little bit before a small cub rolls out of it as it chases after a bug which two other cubs run after their sibling and it seems every animal in this world is a mix of animals from mine, the cubs have a body of a mountain lion as the head is of a cow and what I can see it's teeth are that of a mountain lion also.

'They're so cute'

I watch them as they play around with the little bug once it's caught but soon the cubs turn their attention onto me once they become bored of the little critter and let it run off as they begin to climb all over me, I started to wonder what they where doing out this late by themselves as I can surprisingly feel their claws digging into the wood of my wagon body but no pain comes with it.

'Wait, it's night and I can still see so I have night vision!!'

Finding out I have night vision helps me feel a little bit better about the situation I'm in as I continue to watch the little creatures play around on my back while making their sounds that is a mixture of a cow and bobcat, suddenly their heads snap to the right which their large ears in the air twitching as they hear something in the distance like deer which a light appears down the dirt road and it's coming closer so the three cubs scattered off back into the woods with a low hiss.

'Someone is coming.....'

_______________________________________________

Inspired by Reborn As A Vending Machine, I Now Wonder The Dungeon and Reborn As A Sword

#fanfic #male y/n #male reader #anime #male oc #oc #male original character #original character #original story #isekai #otherworldly #reincarnation #anime inspired #inspired #whole new world #Isekai; my life as a wagon #strange world

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beardedmrbean · 11 months ago

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Chrissy Reifschneider had just left rehab to treat her heroin addiction in 2017 when she started taking tianeptine, popularly dubbed “gas station heroin." The 41-year-old from Alabama was struggling with low energy, so a family member who worked at a gas station recommended she try the pills.

Within days, Reifschneider was hooked, and three dark years cruised by. Now four years clean, Reifschneider reflects on the deception that contributed to her tianeptine addiction and the overwhelming shame that followed. It's a trend that addiction medicine experts say shines a sobering light on the ongoing mental health crisis that's driving people to "easy" solutions amid widespread healthcare accessibility issues in the U.S.

“I thought well, I'm not sticking a needle in my arm, so I literally convinced myself that I wasn’t a drug addict until I realized I didn't recognize who I was anymore,” Reifschneider said. “It's crazy to think that these gas station pills just controlled me. I was ashamed because I'd rather people know I was shooting up heroin than actually spending all this time and money on over-the-counter (drugs).”

Tianeptine is prescribed as an antidepressant in some European, Asian and Latin American countries, but it’s not approved for any medical use in the U.S. Still, companies are marketing and selling tianeptine products as dietary supplements typically in pill and powder form, claiming it can improve brain function and treat depression, anxiety, pain and even opioid use disorder.

Tianeptine has been banned in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan, Mississippi, Ohio and Tennessee.

Reifschneider used to take five pills every four hours, which she said gave her enough of a “warm, fuzzy buzz” without making her feel clammy or nauseous, similar to the effects of doing too much heroin, she said. The brand she purchased recommends two capsules daily “or as needed,” and advises against exceeding three capsules in a 24-hour period.

She started to lose her hair and lots of weight; had auditory hallucinations; developed paranoia surrounding electronics, at times using 10 cellphones at once; and began to convince herself that she was “better off dead.” Reifschneider would even chat with gas station employees about how dangerous the pills were: “I was silently crying out for help.”

After several unsuccessful stays in rehab, Reifschneider quit “cold turkey” and entered a withdrawal state for the next six months, which she said felt similar to but lasted longer than her withdrawal from heroin and fentanyl. Today, she continues to “feel like a 15-year-old in my brain,” alluding to her debilitating memory problems. “It’s one of my more shameful things,” she said.

Poison control cases involving tianeptine have increased nationwide, from 11 total cases between 2000 and 2013 to 151 cases in 2020, the FDA says. Many poison control calls often involve severe withdrawal symptoms, such as agitation, vomiting and diarrhea, because people typically consume higher doses than those prescribed in other countries, according to a 2018 CDC report.

Dr. Holly Geyer, an internal medicine physician specializing in addiction medicine with the Mayo Clinic, said fear of withdrawal and the depression that follows can contribute to addiction to a variety of substances.

“These often aren't people who are chasing a high. They're just trying to feel normal, and if there's a drug out there that helps them curb that appetite, they're probably going to take it until it as a solution becomes the problem,” Geyer said. “These people are trapped biologically, mentally and spiritually. It's a horrible situation to be in, and I can tell you tianeptine does not let them out of it.”

Shame and stigma prevail among addiction recovery circles

Since Reifschneider joined social media to share her tianeptine experience, neighbors and friends have confided in her with their own struggles with the supplement. “It was a very dark secret we all kept in our recovery circle because it was so shameful,” she said. “We all felt better about ourselves because we weren’t doing the worst of the worst.”

Aaron Weiner, an addiction psychologist, says that mentality is “completely reasonable” considering the stigma and “traditionalism” that still weighs on drug use in general. “There’s a very intense mental health burden in this country right now,” he said.

Tianeptine is marketed as a supplement, but it’s really an opioid receptor agonist. That means it binds to the same receptors in the brain that heroin, fentanyl and other opioids do, causing similar euphoric and addictive effects by hijacking the body’s dopamine system. So when people use tianeptine amid their recovery journey to cope with withdrawal or other lingering effects, judgment frequently follows.

“In a lot of recovery circles, the goal is complete abstinence from all intoxicating substances,” Weiner said. “In this scenario, some people may assume they’re substituting one drug for another, and say they’re not really sober.”

Similar judgment occurs among those taking FDA-approved medications for opioid use disorder (MOUD), including methadone, buprenorphine and naltrexone — some of which are opioids themselves. Mounting evidence shows that they reduce opioid cravings and withdrawal symptoms, and block their euphoric effects, Weiner said, but don’t make people “high” or cause withdrawal when dosed properly.

Although MOUD use has grown by more than 100% over the last decade, nearly 90% of people living with opioid use disorder are not receiving these medications, according to a 2022 study published in the International Journal of Drug Policy. Experts say stigma is partly to blame.

“One of the greatest problems we have in this country is that of stigma; we label people, then throw them out with their diagnoses,” Geyer said. “So when many of them turn to MOUD, they experience equal amounts of stigma and are led to think that no one could yell at them or be offended if they use supplements like tianeptine that they think are safer.”

"It kills me to know this is still out there"

Reifschneider said she visited a doctor who specializes in addiction medicine two times for help to detox from tianeptine, but neither attempt was successful.

“The doctor had no idea what these pills were, but he wanted to help me because he could see my desperation,” Reifschneider said. “I was terrified to come off of them alone, so I didn’t know what to do.”

She ultimately detoxed herself, but this lack of awareness and access to proper treatment, Geyer said, is what deters people away from evidence-based treatment and attracts them to the illicit market.

Data show that nearly 50% of counties in the U.S., don’t have MOUD medication providers and 32% don’t have any specialty substance abuse treatment programs at all.

“There's not a whole lot of attention paid to tianeptine because it’s one of many drugs that you could find at gas stations these days that are not technically outlawed but certainly not beneficial,” Geyer said. “The big name drugs out there like fentanyl is where the money has historically been in this industry, so that's where most treatment approaches have focused.”

After years of rehab, Reifschneider said she wants to lay low and just live a normal life, but knowing that tianeptine is still being sold on gas station shelves weighs on her.

“I'm honestly grateful that there's been more awareness, but it kills me to know this is still out there,” she said.

#nunyas news #wtf

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whisker-biscuit · 1 year ago

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The Lines We Cross: Chapter 23

Inside the Stronghold

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Since we cannot change reality, let us change the eyes which see reality.

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It was a long, shameful walk back to the ruined village.

Carmelita trudged through snow and wreckage, only aware enough of her surroundings to avoid the lights of guards and the occasional patch of ice. She was covered in dust, powder, and rubble that together created a grimy film to her clothing and her hair and her pistol. Everything she touched was left dirtied, marked by her presence as well as her failure.

She barely noticed any of it; her mind was still dead-set focused on the encounter she had just had with Cooper. Frustration over him slipping away warred against the discrepancies she had seen that made her analyze every second of their interaction. The way he had acted towards her at first, so unaffected by their falling out, had been an obvious diversion that had nevertheless gotten her blood boiling and falling right into it. His legitimate anger over her assumption that he’d had anything to do with the avalanche was not nearly as surprising, but what had convinced her he wasn’t involved – begrudging as she was to admit it – was the legitimate hurt in his eyes that she knew from experience he could not truly fake. And his last words to her…

A distant flash of light caught her attention. She squinted into the dark and realized it was a Morse Code signal from one of her officers, telling her where it was safe to return to. Well, telling her and her team, but guilt sunk in deep as it struck her that she had no idea where they were or if they were safe. She hadn’t seen any sign of them since she’d abandoned them on top of that temple to rush after Cooper.

Already-swirling emotions suddenly had a heaping dose of dread in the mix as the fox headed for the blinking light. When she was close enough to start making out buried buildings, she took her own flashlight out and began turning it on and off in a return signal, waiting until the other light changed to affirmation before continuing any further.

The last thing she needed in this shitty night was for one of her own to accidentally shoot her because they thought she was an enemy. That would really just be the cherry on top.

“Inspector Fox!” Three officers approached her with speed, all looking relieved to see her. The one who had called out paused a moment to take in her haggard, dusty appearance. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to say without any bitterness. The same could not be said for exhaustion. “I just got caught up in the outskirts of a collapsing statue. It – I got separated from the team I went in with. Have any of them come back this way?”

They all shook their heads, but the leading officer clarified before her heart could drop into her stomach. “We’ve been maintaining radio updates from them since your separation. Everyone is accounted for, and they’re still working through the Panda King’s territory. It’s been slow-going success, though, and we were debating whether to send more people in.”

Carmelita could hear the fishing in the tone; now that she was back, they were hoping she would make the decision for them. She stalled for time by brushing stone powder off her coat sleeves and peered past them towards the truck where town refuges were still being tended to.

“What’s the status here?”

“All injuries have been stabilized, but there’s only so much we can do with limited resources. Some of the civilians have started asking if we’ll take them down the mountain to a hospital, or at least into the nearest city that isn’t under King’s direct hold.”

She started doing the math in her head. There was enough room for about twenty people in the truck if they were packed shoulder to shoulder, which meant several trips. “How long would it take to ferry everyone down?”

“The driver estimated at least three or four hours with the return trips, but that will depend on road conditions.”

Everyone reflexively glanced up at the sky. It was already starting to snow again. Inspector Fox rubbed her gloved hands together to stave off the chill in her stiff fingers.

“Let me go see for myself how they’re all doing,” she announced after a moment. “Our priority is to get these people to safety. Has anyone called the nearest police department, Interpol or local or otherwise?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Someone get on that right away, then.” It was easier to walk with less shame when she was giving simple orders. The fox could almost ignore it entirely. “Ask for more manpower to come up the mountain with first responders, but don’t mention anything about the Panda King. Just a natural disaster with survivors that need tending to.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Two of her subordinates branched off to do as instructed without any hesitation. It made her terrible spirits lift just the tiniest amount. The one who remained stayed at her side as she approached the truck and the makeshift refugee camp surrounding it.

As reported, none of the survivors seemed at immediate risk of death anymore, but they huddled together against the chill of the deepening night and there was not a single face that didn’t look absolutely miserable. Carmelita recalculated travel time against the growing snowfall. The conclusion she came to was what her instincts had been leaning towards since the beginning – the lost time searching for King was a loss they were just going to have to take for the sake of these civilians.

“I need someone who can translate for me,” she called to the remainder of her team. “Tell everyone here that we’ll start taking people down the mountain. Start filling the truck with those that are most injured.”

As the decision was relayed and the villagers started doing as instructed, directed by officers, there was a sudden flash of light in the sky. Everyone turned at once to see a giant mass of fireworks speeding through the air, and immediately the survivors began crying out, understandably terrified that the crime lord was aware of their presence and had decided to finish what he’d started.

Carmelita believed it too for a single heart-stopping moment, right up until she realized that instead of coming towards the buried town, the rockets were heading towards the Panda King’s distant fortress instead. As it arced upwards to avoid hitting the head of the statue and exploded harmlessly in a flash of uncoordinated color, she saw a dark shape illuminated by the blaze careen through one of the statue’s eyes.

This far away, there was no way to see the same ringed tail that had tipped her off the last time, but she knew it could be no one else. The fireworks strapped to his back had been part of a plan after all, and not just for the sake of stealing from King.

Sly had made it inside the fortress. She was running out of time to catch up before he disappeared again.

Before she could do a single thing about her heart now beating rapidly in her chest, an officer appeared in her line of vision with a confused expression.

“There’s a call for you from Interpol HQ, Inspector.”

The fox looked over, blinking in surprise at the radio being offered to her. Suddenly afraid that Barkley was waiting on the other end to chew her out for doing something wrong – or for somehow finding out about Sly Cooper – she took it gingerly and held it up to her ear with trepidation.

“This is Inspector Fox.”

“Hi Inspector, it’s Winthorp!”

Never in her life did she think she’d feel relief at hearing that voice, but here she was. “Winthorp. What time is it over in Paris right now?”

“Not important,” he dismissed, sounding excited and impatient. “What’s important is that case you asked me to work on – the one about Conner Cooper?”

Carmelita’s breath caught in her throat. She turned around to face the destroyed town as if to ward off anyone who might be eavesdropping even though her entire team was busy.

“Uh, yeah. Did you find out what happened to that missing report?”

“No, but I have better news! I got in contact with Inspector Pennington, and she still had her own copy of it! Turns out she always kept records for herself and never tossed anything, even after she’d retired from the force. Crazy, right?”

“With that woman? I can believe it.” She pressed the transmitter a little closer against her ear. “What was on it?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Winthorp paused, probably for dramatic effect, but all it did was make her want to reach through the radio and strangle him until he finally continued. “Conner Cooper had a kid!”

It took a lot more acting talent than she probably possessed to act shocked. Thank goodness the otter couldn’t see her face. “Oh – wow. What happened to hi – to them?”

“According to Inspector Pennington’s notes, her team found a birth certificate and a bunch of homeschooling records, as well as several framed pictures. It was a son who had just turned eight when the murder happened. Apparently his legal name was ‘Sly’, which is just nuts. Who names their kid that?”

(“It’s just – an unusual name. Unique. ‘Sly’. Do you have a last name just as unique to go with it?”

“Nope. And I’m not telling it to you, so don’t bother asking.”

“Why not?”

“Names have power. Truth be told…I’m not the biggest fan of mine.”)

Carmelita bit her lip. “Yeah. Crazy. Was there anything else? Do we know what happened to him?”

“I asked the retired inspector about that, cause nothing was mentioned in the report. She told me she theorized that Cooper’s son either escaped the night his parents were killed and ended up on the streets somewhere, or that the intruders found him and killed him too. She said it’s always puzzled her why they never found his body, though.”

“That’s…a lot to process.”

“I know, right? Could you imagine if there was another Cooper out there, continuing the family’s thieving legacy, and we didn’t even know?”

The fox looked back up towards the Panda King’s fortress. Then she looked towards the truck, where other officers were pulling infiltration equipment out to make room for more civilians to sit inside.

One of the things that was set out and aside was her jetpack – still fully stocked with fuel.

“Hey, Winthorp? Thanks for the update, but I have to go.”

“It’s my pleasure! Good luck taking down another Fiendish Five member!”

She hung up and made a beeline for the jetpack. The officers who had put it down in the snow looked up at her approach.

“Ma’am?”

“I have an idea,” she said, already picking the jetpack up to strap it against her back. “But I need you all to trust me, and I need to know I can trust you.”

The rest of her team grouped around her, hearing the no-nonsense tone to her voice. They all waited patiently for her to elaborate without ever asking their own questions, and she was grateful for it.

“I think I know exactly where the Panda King is, and I want to go after him while we still have the element of surprise.” The lie came easily, and with less guilt this time. Carmelita refused to think about why. “If I can trust you all to take care of the survivors here, then I’m going to infiltrate that giant stone statue by myself.”

A few glances were shared, but none looked dubious or worried. Just Interpol officers processing their superior’s plan.

“You can trust us, Inspector Fox. We can handle things on this end.” Someone finally spoke up, sounding confident both in themselves and in her. The nods of agreement to that statement almost made her teary-eyed. “What should we tell the team that’s still in the criminal’s territory?”

“Tell them to head towards the fortress at its base,” the fox answered without hesitation. “If they come in from there and I come in from the top, we’ll cut off all of King’s escape routes at once.”

“Roger.”

“Thank you for your belief in me, men. I’m proud to work with you all.”

A radio was tossed her way. She caught it with ease and clipped it to her belt beside her holster. Then she lifted her head high, surveying the officers who had finally come to respect her.

“I swear to you: one way or another, this ends tonight.”

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After successfully losing Inspector Fox, Sly had doubled back three times just to be sure there was no chance for her to pick up his trail again. It had been a tedious but necessary process, and by the time he was certain he was safe from being tailed, he had already started searching for the best place to put his plan into action.

The spot he chose was a tall, secluded bluff that was as close to the stone statue as he could manage without risking a guard’s flashlight swinging his way. Snow was falling at a rapid pace, but he paid it no mind as he pulled all seven fireworks off his back. One by one he stacked them on top of each other, binding the fuses together in a tightly-woven knot. Once he was certain all of them were secure, he began carefully positioning the amalgamation of firepower in the direction of the fortress.

It took nearly ten minutes for him to be satisfied with his aim; he wasn’t an engineer or even very good at math, but this stunt couldn’t afford any cut corners or he’d be dead before he ever reached his target. When the rockets had been pointed as accurately as he could possibly eyeball them, the raccoon took the matchbox out of his pocket and lit the knotted fuse. Then he wrapped his hands around the body of the biggest firework, held it above his head, and sprinted towards the sheer side of the bluff.

He had timed it perfectly – just as the hiss of every fuse disappearing simultaneously into the rockets’ bases made his ears perk, he jumped off the edge. There was a single second of freefall before his arms were jerked into the air above him so harshly that it nearly dislocated them. He held onto the homemade jetpack for dear life as it flew in a beautiful, deadly arc straight for the stone head.

And went higher. And higher. And higher.

Sly swung his dangling legs forward and let go of the fireworks, falling in an arc towards the left eye window of the statue. It was barely in time as there was a sudden explosion of noise and heat at his back, propelling him even faster than he’d estimated as the rocket bundle finally blew itself apart in a blinding light display. He was headed towards the window – the closed window – like he himself was a rocket, and he had just enough time to throw his arms over his face as his body shot straight through it. Glass pelted his fur and ripped at his clothes, and he tumbled head-over-heels onto hard, cold ground, skidding to a stop on his side while curled into a ball.

It was with a painful sense of déjà vu that he uncurled and began to stand, reminded of his rough jump into Mz. Ruby’s lair as his body immediately protested all movement. Shallow cuts lined the skin of his head that he hadn’t been able to shield from the violent entry, evident both in pain and the feeling of wetness in his fur, and he could see tears in his hoodie sleeves when he glanced down to make sure his hands hadn’t suffered similar injuries. A pang of remorse ran through him at the sight of the yellow fabric ruined by the broken window. This had been a gift, and here he was destroying it.

Then he forcefully reminded himself that it didn’t matter what happened to it; not when the gifter no longer mattered to him.

The room he had landed in was devoid of people or alarms when he finally had the sense to look around. The raccoon counted his blessings for the sudden turn of luck as he did a quick three-sixty spin and saw a large, bulky safe on an opposite wall. Immediately he rushed over, ready to repeat the process of cracking it like he had all the others, but his fingers froze a centimeter from metal as he stared at a keypad instead of a dial. Even worse, the keypad wasn’t made up of numbers but of an unusual set of symbols. They nagged at the back of his brain, familiar yet undecipherable, and the raccoon let out a quiet curse as he realized that he’d seen something like them before in the Thievius Raccoonus.

Notes from his ancestors of an ancient language that was just as incomprehensible to them as it was now to him. Speculation of it being some kind of bird dialect that was lost to time and lack of speakers. Rioichi and a few other intellectual-type Coopers had tried to interpret it, but they hadn’t gotten very far without basic sentences or even a full alphabet to go off of.

There was no doubt in Sly’s mind who this language benefited, or why he was seeing it on the massive safe here and now, and it made that cold fear creep up his spine again. He stuffed it down before it could paralyze him for a second time.

Frustrated but not deterred, his eyes landed on the single door leading to the rest of the fortress, and he checked it without any hesitation. When it proved unlocked, he quietly slipped through with his cane in-hand, choosing a direction at random to search for the Panda King’s private chambers. If there was ever a place that held the code to open that safe, it would be there, and if he were really lucky then the panda’s own stolen pages would be right next to that code.

King’s, and Clockwerk’s. Only two left and then this would all be over. It would be worth the heartache, and the pain, and the constant terror of being caught. Sly clung to that sentiment as tightly as he did his weapon as he crept through the heart of his enemy’s lair.

There were no guards to be found in the fortress. Even the staff had been reduced to a skeleton crew, making it all too easy to avoid them while the raccoon picked locks and searched rooms and overturned every conceivable hiding place. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout of the place, and his memory of everything was foggy, but he consoled himself with the reminder that he didn’t have a timer on his back like when he’d been with the Inspector. Sure, she was already traipsing about King’s territory, but the chances of her knowing he was inside the statue – and finding a way up herself without getting caught, to boot – were slim to none. It was better that he’d shed the dead weight of her presence for this last stretch. It made things so much less complicated.

He clung to that sentiment, too.

Another turn or two, and Sly was finally in familiar territory. He nearly stumbled as he halted in place, staring at the wallpaper and hanging portraits and Chinese décor that hadn’t changed since the last time he’d been here five years ago. Entranced, he pressed his left hand to the wall and traced the groove there where a ten-year-old him had punched it in a fit of anger. No one had been there to witness it, and apparently no one had noticed the dent it had left. It was probably one of the only remaining reminders of his life here. No doubt King had removed everything else after the raccoon had gone to officially work for the Five.

A few meters down, he could see the door to his old room. Sly shuffled over to gape at it with a pit in his stomach that he couldn’t identify. The door was devoid of the heavy-duty lock that had kept him trapped inside at night to prevent escape; more evidence to his theory that the panda hadn’t wanted Sly’s past presence to linger in his precious stronghold.

Against his better judgement, he began to quietly slide the door open – and then stopped immediately as his keen eyes caught the dark interior.

Jing was in his room.

Sly stilled halfway through the doorway, but she had not noticed him. She was facing away from him, kneeling in front of a small shrine she had placed on his old dresser to which she seemed to be praying to by the clasp of her hands and the bowing of her head. Her eyes were closed, but he could see clearly the troubled pinch of her face as her lips moved rapidly in a silent request.

For a long moment, he simply watched the panda while she prayed with his foot still hovering where he had been about to place it in his old room. It wasn’t fear of disrupting her actions that kept him from getting her attention, nor was it why he remained perfectly still as he studied every centimeter of her body language, committing it to memory as best he could.

When he finally did move, it was only to slip carefully back out into the hall and silently slide the door closed behind him again so that she would be none the wiser to his presence. The raccoon stared at the shadow cast by her silhouette through the thin wall. Then he turned on his heel and continued onward, fighting every fiber in his body to go back.

It was better this way. For both of them.

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When Carmelita touched down on the other side of the shattered window and powered down her jetpack, she was a little surprised to find a completely-intact safe sitting in the room with her. Sly Cooper had definitely come through this way, so why had he left such an enticing prize alone when it was in such easy reach?

She shook her head and refused to examine the bulky thing. There was no use trying to rationalize the irrational mind of a criminal. Finding the answer to that question could come after she had apprehended both him and the Panda King, and they had too much of a head start for her to stop and scrutinize every discrepancy in the environment. Instead, she left the empty room to begin prowling the grounds in search of the ringtail.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before she found herself hopelessly lost. Inspector Fox didn’t know whether the long hallway she turned a corner into was one she’d already been in before, or if the layout was simply identical to the last four she’d passed, but it was doing nothing to help her nerves or her confidence as she continued to find the exact same décor over and over again while encountering not a soul. Not a hide nor hair of Cooper, or King, or any of the latter’s employees. It was eerie, like she’d stepped into a nightmare or the setting of a ghost story.

Just as she was starting to wonder whether there was any merit to backtracking to the room with the safe to regain her bearings, the sudden heavy arrival of multiple footsteps somewhere nearby had her tensing up. She had forgotten to reload her shock pistol before running off for the statue, blinded by her determination to stay on the raccoon’s trail while it was fresh, and while she wasn’t at risk of running out of bullets any time soon, it still meant she had to be frugal with her shots until at least the Panda King was incapacitated.

A large group of guards, or staff, or whoever was coming this way would only deplete her resources and cause enough of a ruckus to bring even more along. Carmelita quickly found the nearest unlocked door and slipped past it, closing it behind her and holding her breath as she listened to the unknown gang travel by unaware on the other side of the wall.

The fur on the back of her neck prickled. Someone else was in this room.

The fox whirled around with her weapon at the ready, prepared to bark orders for surrender at whoever she came face to face with. Then the words died abruptly on her tongue as she stared at who had startled her.

A teenage girl stared back.

“Who are you?” The young panda asked in a quiet voice with the same accent that Sly had, albeit much stronger. She clutched her hands to her chest as if to protect herself from the weapon pointed at her.

“I’m – I –” Carmelita lowered her pistol, dumbfounded by the turn of events and struggling to figure out the best course of action. Of all the things she’d expected to find in King’s personal hideout, it wasn’t anything close to this. “I’m an Inspector from Interpol.”

The girl tilted her head at the title but otherwise didn’t seem surprised. She looked Inspector Fox up and down as though she were staring directly into her heart. “You’re the woman from Sly’s pictures.”

That statement jolted her so badly that her weapon came right back up, on full alert again. Amazingly, the panda didn’t even flinch.

“What the hell does that mean? How do you know him?” Carmelita growled, unable to help herself. She was sick of getting more questions than answers when it came to that damn raccoon. “Who are you?”

The teen stared at the gun before her eyes slowly lifted to meet Carmelita’s. “My name is Jing King. I assume you are here to arrest my father.”

Father bounced around inside the fox’s skull like a lit firework. For some reason, it didn’t stun her as badly as the knowledge that this girl – the Panda King’s daughter, apparently – knew Sly.

“Okay. Jing. Yes, I’m here to arrest your f-father.” The word was strange to say. Never in her life would she have pictured the homicidal, pyro-loving criminal to have a child. “But you still haven’t answered my other question; how do you know Sly Cooper?”

There was a long pause, and the inspector could practically see the calculations running through the panda’s head – determining how much information to reveal about herself that wouldn’t put her at risk. It was a hesitancy Carmelita knew all too well from a very different source.

“…He is my brother,” she finally said. “In a manner of speaking.”

Inspector Fox blanched. “What?”

“It was not by his choice, however.” Despite her shock, Carmelita caught the hard, protective edge to the younger girl’s voice. “Sly was brought here against his will and raised by my father for a time. If he had been allowed to choose his own path, he never would have gone down this one.”

Jing was speaking rapidly, sounding almost desperate to say her piece before the fox could recover from being blindsided. The inspector registered her words on a level separate from the rest of her mind; a mind that was currently spinning so badly she was amazed it hadn’t flown right off.

“– actually in his old room,” the teenager continued, unaware that she had been almost completely tuned out. “You are welcome to look around to confirm my words if that would help you believe his innocence.”

Innocence. It was like a magic password had been spoken – Carmelita blinked back to herself, face setting into a pinched frown as she finally glanced around the room for the first time. There was no believing in any innocence when it came to Sly Cooper. He had already shown his true colors.

But still, she humored the girl, if only to lower the risk of her alerting her father to the inspector’s presence.

They were in a bedroom, almost completely cleared of anything except for a stripped futon on the floor and an old dresser covered in photo frames. She could feel the panda’s eyes on her as she carefully padded over to see what was in those frames, curiosity momentarily overriding her callousness, and picked up one to wipe away the dust obscuring the picture inside.

She nearly dropped the thing.

It was Sly – the young Sly she had seen in that single cracked photo frame from the crime scene of the Cooper home, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of smiling with a balloon in his hand and his parents on either side, this Sly – around the same age, as far as she could tell – was standing straight-backed with bags under his eyes and a scowl on his face. He seemed to not have realized the picture was being taken, as his gaze was off to the left side towards something out of frame. One arm was curled around his middle, and the other was wrapped protectively around a much younger Jing King, who was peering over his shoulder at whatever had caught his attention. She looked tired but not unhappy; a stark contrast to the raccoon beside her.

Carmelita was so engrossed by the details in the photo that she didn’t even hear the teenager come up next to her, and almost dropped the frame again when she spoke.

“That picture was taken about a year after he came to live with us.” Jing’s voice was mournful and tinged with wistfulness. “I had just recovered from being very sick, and that was the first time I was allowed out of my room in weeks. Sly refused to leave my side the whole day.”

The fox looked down at the photo again. The anger in the young raccoon’s eyes was visible; just as potent back then as it was in the brief glimpses that she’d seen from him in the present.

A missing body at a crime scene. Missing records from a secure case file. An entire missing existence that should have been documented as soon as it was known. A few things clicked into place all at once.

“…You said something about him being here against his will,” Carmelita began slowly, not because she was having trouble putting the pieces together but because she could already see the picture it was forming, and it was starting to make her sick. “How old was – how long ago did that happen?”

“It was eleven years ago that he was brought here. He was eight.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shoot something. She wanted to march right back to Interpol and demand to know how they had lost the knowledge of the continuation of Cooper’s bloodline. Why they hadn’t worked harder to find him all those years ago.

How deep did this go? Who had removed confidential reports just to ensure Sly remained off the radar? How many people did the Fiendish Five have on the inside? Why had they gone out of their way to keep a child alive for all these years when it had never, ever aligned with their modus operandi?

How much did Sly know? Why did he risk getting caught by his kidnappers with every step he took back into their domain? What exactly was it –

“They all took something from me. And with you, I knew there was a chance to get it back.”

– that he was so desperate to get back?

Inspector Fox whirled on Jing King so fast it made the teenager flinch, but there wasn’t enough time to care. She grabbed the girl by the shoulders, staring up at wide, startled eyes that reflected her own wide, manic ones.

“Whatever you know, tell me.” She demanded. “About Sly and your father and his cohorts and anything else.”

Jing was frozen, gaze darting back and forth across the older woman’s face in a desperate attempt to read it. “What…what would you do with such knowledge?”

“Everything I can to see that justice is done.” The fox lifted her chin, deadly serious in every line of her body. She had never been so sure of anything in her life as she was in what she was promising now. “To right every wrong that has been done by the Panda King, and the Fiendish Five, and even beyond that. I will not rest until they can never harm anyone ever again, but to do that, I need to know exactly what is going on. I need to know about Sly Cooper.”

The girl still looked uncertain. Carmelita closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and finally let out what she had not dared to since the confession that had shattered her heart.

“Please, Jing.” When she opened her eyes again, the wetness there was as real as her conviction. “You mentioned his innocence. I want to believe that, but I’m not – I can’t – I’m an officer of the law, and I’ve seen him break it several times over. I need to be convinced that there’s a good enough reason he’s done all of that. You have to convince me, or else I can’t help either of you. Please convince me.”

Her fingers tightened against Jing’s shoulders.

“Please.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the panda as they stared at each other; one who deeply loved Sly Cooper because of her upbringing, and one who wanted to in spite of it.

“…Okay.”

Giant hands reached up to grasp her own. The look in Jing’s eyes was haunted, and yet there was an iron will hiding behind it; the same unyielding spirit that Sly had held in all the time Carmelita had known him.

“Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

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A/N: The alternate title of this chapter is "The Author Struggles with Time-Blindness at the Best of Times and the Holidays Ruined Her Routine Entirely". I'm just glad I was able to get it done and posted before Christmas double-whammied me. Fingers crossed I can get back into my original weekly rhythm, cause next chapter is going to be a doozy and a half.

Anywho, thanks for your patience, and hope you enjoyed!

#sly cooper #carmelita fox #fanfiction #the lines we cross

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inthewindandinthewater · 1 year ago

Text

A Plain of Stars (Chapter 4)

A/n: I told you chapter four would be along quicker! Last chapter flopped extremely, I hope I haven't lost you all.

Warnings: Light cursing, arranged marriages.

Summary: As the Christmas season falls over Hogwarts the Yule Ball is quickly approaching

Chapter Five (Coming Soon)

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Chapter 4

“Hey… Hey!” A hand waving directly in front of your face and the obviously put out voice of Evan Rosier snaps you out of the trance-like state you’d fallen into. “What the hell are you doing!?” He asks, exasperated. “What.. are you doing?” You retort intelligently, still far off in voice and even further off in thought. Evan throws himself back into his chair and sighs dramatically. “I was trying to ask you about the yule ball but you seem preoccupied, so I guess I’ll just shut up and wait for class to start in rapt silence.” He throws a glare that you’ve only seen Evan deliver so effectively, one laced with the heaviest dose of the least potent venom known to man. You lean forward toward him, feigning interest and attempting to cajole him “I’m sorry Ev, please continue.” You say, waving a hand as if pressing play on the blondes non-stop commentary on life.

“Thank you” He says, ignoring the sarcasm marking your tone, “the yule ball is next week so I was going to ask who you were going with.” The yule ball was a celebratory ball held by the school every year, it was open to the upperclassman from fourth year on. The ball was exciting the first year, picking out a dress, finding a date, worrying about who would be going with who and how they’d coordinate their outfits. But as the years went on the magic faded a bit, it was still fun and it gave everyone something to look forward to at the end of the semester but the planning gave you a headache. “Oh.. I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” you lie, of course you’d thought about it.

It seemed aligned with the social script that you should go with Regulus, if he was attempting what you think he’s attempting. Looking back on it to the naked eye what you and Regulus have is nothing more than the vague beginnings of a something-ship. The two of you aren’t obviously any closer than the rest of the group, but the closeness you have feels different.

Take yesterday for example. The two of you had taken to nightly study sessions in the library, typically you’d only do this two or three times a week. But on the nights where one of you was busy and you couldn’t have your hour or two tucked away in a back in a corner of the library you felt yourself longing for it.

This particular night both of you had readings to catch up on, and as such you forwent the table you usually inhabited and opted for one of the softer couches. So there you sat; an oversized, deep green sweater over your school uniform and your legs tucked up to your chest as you cradled your history of magic book in front of you. Regulus, ever the gentleman, sat next to you with his back straight and one ankle crossed over his opposite knee and his defence against the dark arts textbook in his lap.

You spare a glance over the top of your reading glasses at the boy, he really was very pretty. His head hung low over his textbook, ebony curls falling over his forehead, his sharp jawline set as he concentrated on the text in front of him. You’d noticed it before, you’d have to be stupid to look at him and not see it. But it wasn’t until now that it made a blush crawl up your neck and into your cheeks at the thought of him sitting a mere foot away from you.

“I can feel you staring, you know?” He says, a smile smirk adorning his angular face. Shit. You didn’t even know how long you’d been staring at him, and honestly you didn’t think you wanted to know. How absolutely mortifying, you needed to think of something to say, some quick retort that would make it seem less pathetic than it really was. “I-” your whole body seemed to betray you at that exact moment, your legs shifted uncomfortably under you and your blush deepened as you stuttered over your word.

Regulus raised his eyebrows as he watched you struggle, obviously amused. “I wasn’t staring” is the overwhelmingly intelligent response you come up with. “So we’re blatantly lying to one another now?” He says, placing his bookmark in the page he was reading and closing the book. Which makes you cringe at the thought of the book in your hands, in your flurry you had closed it with no indication of where you’d stopped reading. “I was going to ask you something, but you seemed focused and I didn’t want to interrupt you.” You respond to him as if it's a matter of fact and not something you’d made up to save you dignity. “Well, you have my undivided attention now.” Regulus turns his body slightly towards you and you pull your legs a little closer to your chest.

“I was wondering..” Oh god, think of something you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. “If you remember how many pages of notes we were assigned for history?” Okay… sure it’s not your best work but it gets the job done, with luck he’ll just answer and go back to his reading.

“You want to know how many pages of notes we were assigned?” He quirked an eyebrow at you, that frustrating smirk returning to his face. “Yes.” you answer curtly. “None.”

Fuck.

He was right, you hadn’t been assigned any. This had overjoyed you at the end of class today, you’d been the one to bring it up first when you all left. “Finally, I don't have to spend an hour on pages tonight. Happy fucking Christmas!” That’s what you’d said.

“Right.” you looked down at the book in your hands, wondering why you’d grabbed it in the first place. Then you remember that Regulus had asked if you were going to the library tonight at dinner, and instead of actually thinking about the homework you had to do you’d just taken the books you had on you and left with him.

Who was this boy turning you into?

“We do have a report due in Dark Arts,” He says, holding up his textbook “I assumed that’s what you’d be working on, but you’d need your textbook for that.” His tone was grating on your nerves, did he have to speak like he held all the common sense in the world under his thumb? You narrowed your eyes at him as he flipped his book open once more, now you just felt silly. On one hand you could go back to reading your book and waste your time, or you could just sit there in silence.

Or a secret third option.

Regulus moved then, placing a hand on your knees and gently shoving them off the couch. As your socked feet hit the floor next to your shoes, Regulus scooted in next to you. It all happened very quickly, and perhaps someone who had experienced a little more life than you would be able to breathe right now, but you hadn’t… and you couldn’t. His leg pressed into yours as he flipped back a few pages and slid half the book onto your lap.

“You might as well do something productive if you're just going to sit here.” he mumbled, his eyes glued to the pages in front of you.

So you’d been thinking about it, about him mostly. That wasn’t the first time he’d done something physical, but it was the first time he was so pushy about it. Usually it was something simple, like a hand extending your way to help you up off the grass when the five of you would sit out by the Black Lake. Or his habit of sitting next to everywhere you went, and how he’d been slowly sitting closer and closer as time went on. You didn’t mind it, the shy intimacy of it all. It screamed Regulus, you were happy to accept whatever he was comfortable giving you.

But now you didn’t fully understand where you stood with him, no one had outright told you about any plans for an arrangement. At this point it was all speculation on your part, maybe you were going crazy and if you were you blame Regulus for all his shy flirtation and Pandora for putting the idea in your head.

“Merlin! Would you stay in the present for one second!” Evan all but screamed at you to get your attention. It was a fabulous question really, you weren’t sure if you could anymore. So much to think about, so little time to think. “Yeah sorry, you were saying?” you shake yourself back into the moment. “I was saying I think I’m going to ask Anna-Marie” he cocks his head to the side, a wave of blonde curls bouncing in his wake. “Sure, if you want to” you say, trying your best to remember who that even was, “I think so, she’s pretty enough to be fun for a night.” He shrugs, dawning a devil may care smile.

Class had started soon after, saving you from anymore prying questions about your own prospects for the dance.

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“So Evan asked Anna-Marie to the ball today” Agnes sighed as the two of you walked back to your dorm. “That was quick.”

Agnes looked over at you, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Don’t look at me like that, Aggie. Not cute” You say. She closes her mouth but still keeps her owlish eyes trained on you. She stopped in the middle of the corridor and you stopped with her, not having the heart to leave her behind lookin so defeated.

“you knew?” She sounded like she’d been betrayed. “He mentioned it,” you say quietly, like if she couldn’t hear you she couldn’t be mad at you. “And you didn’t tell me?” She sounded more disappointed than mad. “I didn’t have time!” You defend yourself, “he told me at the beginning of our last class and we were with him at dinner, I’m really sorry” You say, not entirely sure why you felt so bad, maybe it was the watery look in her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, it’s not like you told him to ask her” She says, dropping her shoulders and starting to walk again.

So that’s where the guilt was coming from, you had. In your Regulus induced haze you had told him to ask her out. But what were your options? Tell him to ask Agnes to the ball out of pity? Or maybe tell him about her crush? Great, it's a race for worst friend in Hogwarts and you're winning by a landslide.

The walk back to your dorms was silent, Agnes didn’t seem in the mood for light conversation and the guilt gnawing at the lining of your stomach effectively silenced you.

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“You know I really don’t understand it.” Regulus huffed, setting down his quill and shattering the comfortable silence that had settled over the both of you as you continued to work on your DADA reports. You turn your attention to the boy, looking at him in his as a silent prompt for him to finish his thought. “Why would he ask Anna-Marie?”

You sigh, placing your quill in its inkwell, “were you hoping he would ask you instead?” You retort, false pity lining your tone. You were a bit tired of talking about it, why was it so surprising that Evan wanted to go with a pretty girl to a dance that meant exactly nothing? Regulus gives you a look in response, rolling his eyes and picking his quill up once more. “I don’t know what’s so surprising about it” you add, “it’s not like he’s marrying the girl”

This seems to set Regulus off a bit, his posture stiffens and he lets his hand drop to the desk, staring at the top of your head as you bend over your page. “No. He’s not,” He says, obviously not done with his thought but pausing for dramatic effect, or at least that’s what you assumed he was doing. It worked, you look back up at him, waiting for him to continue, “but he should be more careful, these aren’t just silly dances anymore.” His tone was far too serious for your liking.

“And why is that?” You ask sharply, you were growing more and more easily frustrated these days, and he wasn’t helping. Regulus just shakes his head and raises his hand to mark something out at the top of his report. “Why is that?” You repeat a little louder, enunciating every word clearly. “Don’t worry about it, if you don’t understand then it clearly isn’t a problem of yours” He says avoidantly, not even sparing you a look. “Fine” You say, gathering your things and carelessly shoving them into your bag. Regulus’ head snaps up, “Where are you going?” He asks, if you didn’t know better you’d think he sounded a little panicked. “I’m obviously not smart enough to be in your presence, so I’ll be leaving now” You say, grabbing your bag and leaving him there to watch.

Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r

#the maruaders #slow burn #harry potter #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black #no beta we die like half the characters in this gd fandom

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