#but I wanted to try one of these anyway and this one's the largest I;ve found AND this pattern had a coupon

[ballsballsbowls]

Only the BEST decisions in this house.

[ghostlypawn]

anyways heres all the quotes alice by heart takes from the books (bold is the abh lines/as close as they can be and ‘///’ means theyre from seperate scenes of the book merged together)

Chapter One: Down the Rabbit Hole. Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading-

So she was considering in her own mind, (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid,) whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, “Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting !” 

It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other : he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, “Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess ! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting !”

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: “Dear, dear! How queer everything is today! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!”

“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly: “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“The first thing I’ve got to do,” said Alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood,“ is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan.”

Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone, “Why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!”

It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself, “The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She ’ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where can I have dropped them, I wonder!”

“Come, my head’s free at last!” said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her. /// “...now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!” (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off).

They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.

“ Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. /// “I quite agree with you,” said the Duchess, “and the moral of that is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or, if you’d like it put moresimply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.’”

They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!” But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance— Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.

Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.” For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.

At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, called out “ Silence!” and read out from his book, “ Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.” /// “I can’t help it,” said Alice very meekly : “I’m growing.” “You ’ve no right to grow here,” said the Dormouse. /// “But then,” thought Alice, “shall I never get any older than I am now? That’ll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman— but then—always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn’t like that !”

Alice gave a little scream of laughter. “Oh, hush!” the Rabbit whispered in a frightened tone. “The Queen will hear you! You see she came rather late, and the Queen said—”

He sent them word I had not gone (we know it to be true): If she should push the matter on, what would become of you?

“No room! No room!” they cried out when they saw Alice coming. “There’s plenty of room!” said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, “Why is a raven like a writing-desk ?” /// “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. “No, I give it up,” Alice replied : “what’s the answer?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter. “Nor I,” said the March Hare. Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.” “If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him.” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Alice.“Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”

Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!”

“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. “Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she went on, “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to walk from here ?” “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat. “I don’t much care where——” said Alice. “Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk,” said the Cat.

Alice laughed. ‘There’s not use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t Alice laughed. ‘There’s not use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’ ‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again!’

However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

“ I’ll tell it her,” said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone: “sit down, both of you, and don’t speak a word till I’ve finished.” So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to herself, “I don’t see how he can ever finish, if he doesn’t begin.” But she waited patiently. “Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I was a real Turtle.”

...“we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him Tortoise—” “Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?” Alice asked. “We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock Turtle angrily; “really you are very dull!”

“Herald, read the accusation!” said the King. On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:—

“Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for about the twentieth time that day. “No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first— verdict afterwards.”

... “Don’t let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.”

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.

“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, “It was a curious dream, dear, certainly : but now run in to your tea ; it’s getting late.” So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.

[all-things-fic]

can you write a blurb where you're talking shit with harry and like bitching with him? i just really wanna see that one.

Just a little something I’ve put together.

Shit Talking

~*~

You closed the door, immediately resting against it as it shut to, head knocking back to lean against the glass.

With your eyes closed you took a deep breath in, smelling whatever masterpiece was being put together in the kitchen.

Heavy bags still hung to your body, thick winter coat sitting against your shoulders, shoes that were way too high on your feet. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you heard him muttering something to the food he was cooking, obviously wanting to take away some of the stress that you were feeling and wanting it to be perfect in the process.

Resting your bag next to Harry’s shoes you reached down and pulled off your shoe, moaning under your breath as your feet hit the floor, toes curling to help continue to relieve the tension that you heels had brought.

As you reached for your second heel, hopping on your now bare foot, you let that one you had removed haphazardly drop to the floor slowly giving less and less of a fuck as the tension dissipated.

Walking through the house, you watched him quietly for a moment dressed in some shirt that should be worn by a convention dad but probably cost more than your most expensive designer handbag (which he had also bought you). There was the faint sound of Van Morrison coming from your lounge that he was really zoned in on as he faintly sang along with the lyrics.

Your eyes took in the kitchen once they had moved away from Harry. The mess that was left in the sink, the way whatever was on one of the hobs bubbled away. Extractor fan above the cooker turned on, two plates set out on the side ready to be plated up. 

He must’ve sensed you, glancing over at you waiting in the doorway before looking back to the food. You watched him still before he looked back at you, his eyes holding yours softly.

You’d been texting him whenever you could today. The stress of work positively getting to you. A deadline that was unmeetable being handed over to you to sort out.

He’d phoned you a lunch time, a growled “again”, leaving his lips when you spoke about the boss at work that was once more making your life a living hell.

Quickly, he reacted, standing behind the island of the kitchen and grabbed the large glass of wine that sat next to the one that he had clearly been sipping while he cooked.

Walking to you, he handed over the glass which you gratefully took off him with ease. You closed your eyes as you drank, taking the largest sip you could muster. Even that seemed to take too much energy.

“Let me take your coat,” he mumbled, shifting along with you so you could place down your wine and feel him slip the heavy item off your body. “‘M making a roast.”

“Beef?” You asked, knowing that it was his favourite.

He didn’t respond straight away, quickly moving around the house to hang up your coat. He was back just moments later, “No, ‘ve done chicken.”

That was your favourite. The soft smile hit your lips involuntarily but you wouldn’t have fought it anyway. 

He placed his hands on your shoulders, thumbs massaging slowly close to your neck and you turned to look at him. “Thank you.”

“S’fine, ‘s’nothing,” he responded. He squeezed lightly at your shoulder as you turned your head to slightly look at him, “Gimme a kiss.”

He puckered his lips gently in a way that always made you soft for him, eyes knocking up to look at his. With a slight nod, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours lightly, tasting the faint crispness of the white wine against your mouth.

“You alright?” He softly asked, cupping your face.

“‘M so fuckin’ tired, H.”

You were honest. It wasn’t like he couldn’t tell, just like you could tell how worried about you he was.

“Lay it on me,” he responded, pressing his lips to yours again before repeating his words. “Come an’ tell me, what’s going on.”

Reaching for his glass of wine, he rested against the kitchen counter opposite you, watching the way you spoke about work while you casually undressed in front of him in the middle of your kitchen.

Hands fiddled with the zip on the back of your pencil skirt, as you quickly spun it around and unzipped it from the front before you could get too irritated at a piece of clothing. It fell to your feet, revealing your nude tight covered legs to him, next to the silk blouse that had crumpled throughout the day.

He didn’t bat an eyelid in a sexual way, like he usually would. His casual grabbing at your waist with some comment that warmed your through as you would most likely laugh, tilt your head back at how he had tired to be sexy but instead sounded dorky but highly attractive with. Even more so when you considering the two of you hadn’t seen a lot of each other lately. You knew you didn’t need to worry though, that would come, now just wasn’t the right time.

“And I mean, this bitch seriously just does not have a fucking clue,” you ranted, cupping at your wine as your side rested into the kitchen counter. “I’m actually fucking sick of her and her stupid glasses-“

He snorted at that, smirking against the rim of his wine glass. Here came the pettiness to your rant.

“They’re so fucking thick and black and way too harsh on her face,” you continued, “and don’t get me started on how she has her own mugs in the kitchen and no one else is allowed to use them. I went to use one the other day and someone from HR was questioning me why I was using her mug. Like she has ownership on all the mugs!” 

You flung your arms out. “No one wants your “I’d rather be sipping prosecco” mug anyways, Karen!”

He stayed silent as he watched you, arms flying everywhere before you turned your attention to the envelope that was you post from that morning as it sat against the work surface.

“You should just bin it when she’s not in the office,” he mischievously quipped. “Throw it away so when she comes back she can’t find it.”

Your eyes lit up at the thought, and he laughed - a belly laugh - probably harder than he should. “No,” he wheezed as he slowed his laughed, his hands quickly coming up in front of him. “No, don’t do that. Don’t be petty like that. Fuck her, let her get on with it.”

“I can’t,” you whineed. “She’s driving me mad with her constant switching of goal posts and changing what she requires of my team.”

“Then go above her-“

“She’s the CEO, there is no one above her,” you respond, probably a bit more harshly than you should have. You meekly looked at him but he waved you off, he’s okay to take a battering tonight, if it’s needed.

You, however, weren’t okay to deliver that battering.

Pushing yourself up onto the kitchen island, you beckoned him to you, watching as he pushed himself off the counter. He stood between your legs, wine glasses resting beside you and placed his hand against your nude tights, enjoying the smoothness beneath his hands.

“Sorry,” you mumbled with a heavy sigh.

“‘S’fine-“

“‘S’not-“ you countered.

“Let’s go back to the idea of you binning her mug,” he joked.

You looked at him, enjoying the way he was now leaning into you, hands presses heavily into the kitchen counter beside you making him all hunched but so incredibly manly.

“I’m totally going to do that, I am at that level of petty right now-“ you felt slightly sad.

“You’re worn out and need a break,” he acknowledged. Eyes meeting his, he slid his hand against your neck and into your hair at your nape. “Go in tomorrow and request some leave-“

“‘M so busy, I can’t take some leave, just like that,” you clicked your fingers.

“Can,” he argued, childishly. He saw the stress hit your face, watching worrying your bottom lip with your top teeth at the thought of leaving it all behind, probably only to come back to even more work that has mounted up while you were away. “Fuck this, I’m going to go in for you and bin that bitches mug for her-“

You stifled a laugh at that, knowing how concerned he was now that he was swinging for jokes, left and right.

“Darlin’, please,” he begged. “Book a week off, let me take you somewhere-“

You felt your lips downturn, how was this man stood in front of you even real. “Hey,” he coaxed, taking on this dreamy tone, “Back to that little private island in Amalfi.”

“That was ridiculously priced, you’re never taking me there again.“

He chuckled now because he didn’t pay for it last time, perks of being part of a fancy record label and knowing people in high places. Being gifted that is one thing but going of your own accord is completely different.

“Well, maybe not a whole week but take a couple o’days,” he started, hands moving to your outer thighs and softly rubbing. “Maybe we could drive to Soho Farmhouse and disconnect.”

You closed your eyes when you see him lean in and press a peck to your lips, dropping his head to yours. “That sounds idyllic,” you whispered.

“Maybe go to the spa, enjoy a nice facial or two,” he tried to hide the twitch of his lips, the splitter of his laughter gives him away.

You whined, “How are you still such a boy?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he raised his hands for a short amount of time.

“You are not sorry,” you whined again as pressed his forehead into your temple.

“No ‘m fuckin’ not,” he husked, nudging his nose against your cheek, trying to goad you when your stare went far away and you don’t seem to blink for a while.

“‘M worried ‘bout you,” he admitted, watching as you eventually blinked yourself out of your daze. “Gimme a long weekend. A Friday and a Monday. Think you could stretch to that?”

You hummed, scratching at his neck, as he nuzzled against your nose. “I’ll drive us down on a Thursday night, get you nice an’ relaxed.”

“How’d you on plan on doing that?”

“Know a few things, got a couple of tricks up m’sleeve.” You bit back your smile at his drawl, knowing that he wasn’t wrong about that.

[borealis-strange]

Chapter 8: Need your loving tonight

Summary:

In the distance John saw a girl, who also saw the dances, that seemed so similar to her. Could it be ...? Not impossible. She did not live near this area.

Tag-list:  @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen​ @likesomekindofcheese

Notes: Sorry this took so long to publish. I kinda forgot I had this story here. Anyways, tomorrow there is gonna be a new chapter because this one is short ;)

John had decided to go downtown in his day off, the rest of the boys wanted to do other things so he went alone. The reason was that he wanted to see an important Rhye festival that was held on October 31. On that day it was a commemoration of the dead. This celebration originated for the God of Death, legends told that they had to commemorate once a year to help souls with their eternal rest.

John didn't believe much in those things, but he still enjoyed going downtown to listen to the music and watch people dance. It was a habit he always had as a child; Besides, he had no one to remember in that day.

The city center was crowded with people, which made the passage difficult. John went to a park in front of Rhye's most important and largest temple - it was also built at the time of Atlas - where the people always danced with live music.

John approached as much as he could to appreciate the people who danced. People danced in traditional dress that was characterized by using bright colors. For the interpretation of the music guitars, bandurrias, lutes and accordion were used.

In the distance John saw a girl, who also saw the dances, that seemed so similar to her. Could it be ...? Not impossible. She did not live near this area.

John must have been looking at the girl for a long time since she turned to see him. The girl's face lit up when she saw him and greeted him vigorously.

John greeted her back doubtfully, since he was still not sure he was the person he thought.

From one moment to another the girl had lost herself in the crowd. John continued to watch people dance until someone hugged him from behind.

-John! - Someone had shouted behind him making him jump in fright and when he turned around he couldn't believe who he was.

Veronica was wearing a long, frilly red dress characteristic of the region. Her long hair was combed in a bun and the top of her head was decorated with a comb that matched her dress. John saw her more beautiful than he remembered.

-Ve... Veronica - John said trying to hide his nerves - What are you doing here? -

-You know ... come enjoy the festival - There was a silence between them - Why don't we go somewhere else? To talk without so much noise or people -

Before John could say anything Veronica grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of the crowd.

They reached a part of the park that was completely desolate.

-And what have you done? - Veronica asked as they walked - I see that ... you look healthier -

-Yes ... - John wasn't sure if to tell her about his situation. They were not allowed to report that they were princes, for fear of being harmed. But Veronica wasn't just stranger, she was a friend from years ago and she had also helped her with her situation a year ago. - Well ... I got a job ... I eat better - He said with a forced smile.

-What's your job? - Veronica asked raising an eyebrow.

John held his breath and debated whether or not to tell her the truth.

Veronica looked curious to know the answer. John saw those beautiful brown eyes. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

-Let's say ... - John sat on a nearby bench and Veronica did the same. - I work for ... - He looked around to make sure no one was listening to them- The killer queen and I'm currently with the black queen -

John looked at his friend waiting for an answer. The only thing he got was a laugh from her. It could sound very crazy but it was true. Veronica seeing that John did not laugh with her tried to calm down.

-Are you serious? - Veronica asked although she already knew the answer.

John bit his lower lip and nodded slowly.

Veronica didn't know what to say, what she said seemed to be true since John didn't joke about those things, she simply had no words.

The silence between the two increased and John decided to take it one step further. There is your chance to do something with her before he could see her again.

-What do you think if we take a walk? - John broke the silence. Veronica smiled broadly and John did the same.

They walked quietly through the park while talking about various topics. John talked about his new life and how he sometimes felt overwhelmed by it, but at least he had new friends with whom he felt comfortable and happy with them.

At one point Veronica decided to grab John's hand, which took him totally by surprise and made his heart pound in his chest. John liked everything about her; her warm smile, her hair, her eyes, probably what he liked most about her, as every look she gave was full of expressiveness and love. John had fallen in love with her since the first time they spoke, she had not judged him as the other people had done for his situation, she always supported him in his worst moments, which were a lot, for that and for many more things John loved Veronica.

-Hey ... - John got the attention of his beloved - I wanted to ask you something ... -

-What? - She looked at him with innocent eyes.

John was silent for a moment, he wasn't sure what he was doing but he knew that would be his only chance.

-I like you ... and I like you a lot, and ... I don't know, maybe we could ... - Before John finished his sentence he felt Veronica's lips on his.

It was a short kiss, but warm and with that John knew perfectly the answer.

They spent the rest of the day together; definitely one of the best days for John.

[vanchlo]

The Firsts / #4, “The First Time Meeting The Old Best Friend“

*not my gif

---> NEXT BLURB: November 16th at the lastest, hopefully.

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST          

READ ON WATTPAD

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

sorry i forgot italics in this one, it’s just too much sometimes to go back through and do

WARNINGS: Swearing?

WORD COUNT: 9k words

SONG: If I Didn’t Have you from Monsters Inc. (CLICK TO LISTEN)

                          * SNEAK PEEK, DUH BC ALWAYS *

The irony that sits in the possibility of replies sickens me, because there’s little else I want more than to sit down and have dinner with him. The normalcy and the ignorance to how things have so drastically changed, and so quickly.

I wonder if I have enough time to leave, but no, I can’t. He’s noticed, and knows that I’m home. He’s expecting me. If only he could know how that same feeling has overflown inside of me, and been pushed back down each and every time, a hunger that was never fed. I hang my coat, place my keys on the ring beside his, and leave my ankle boots on the mat by his chestnut brown chelseas, just like every other time. In every way I still find it dreamy, but it’s not the same, no matter how much I wish that I could pretend that it is.

“When I love, I love for miles and miles. A love so big it should either be outlawed or it should have a capital and its own currency.”

- Carrie Fisher

*

His humming pulls me from the lines of text growing hazy and forgotten in front of me. Tearing my eyes from my lap, I find him kneading his bottom lip between his fingers. A corner of my mouth greets my cheek as I observe him flip a page and his eyebrows sink closer to his pair of greens, concentrating. 

“What are you humming?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and narrowing my eyes. The sound stops and his eyes shoot over to me, brows still hugging his eyes, now in confusion. 

“Hmmm?” 

“What song are you humming? I don’t recognize it,” I explain, standing from my seat. The smooth, tiled floor is a welcomed cold against my bare feet that plod a path towards his tall bookshelf. 

“Oh, that. Um, Junk by Paul. God, I love that song. ‘ve been listenin’ t’ him loads with tha concert comin’ up. You should too, babe.” 

“I will, thanks for the reminder,” I tell him, winding my arms around his neck and pecking his cheek. Watching the dimple fall into it, a happy hum radiates through my chest. 

“Whatcha wanna do fer dinner t’night? We could eat those leftovers from last night, or I dunno, heat up a can o’ soup. Perfect weather fer it right now, ‘d say.” 

“Both sound good. You can call it, but I’m going to go and refill our teas,” I answer, leaving another kiss on his stubbly cheek. 

“Oh, thank you, love. I hardly noticed, been so engulfed in this bloody book.” 

His smile matches mine when I look over my shoulder, his empty mug in hand as I slide my flats back on. Voices trickle out of the doors I pass on my way to the breakroom. Excitement leaks from them, questions, hushed whispers, and then, a name I recognize. 

“Can you direct me to the office of Harry Styles?” a blonde woman asks Amelia at the front desk. With a hand on the door, I turn back around to watch. 

“Yes, of course. And your name was?” Amelia asks in her sing-song voice, hands poised on the computer keyboard, probably checking the schedule. 

“Penelope-.” 

“Oh, hey, Becky. Filling back up too, I see,” somebody says, drowning out the rest of the woman’s words.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” I mumble to myself and only her, watching as Amelia types away. “Sorry, what’d you say, Ash?”

“I just saw you’re getting a refill too. After you,” he almost wheezes, but I don’t take note of it, my eyebrows still in a dip after what I just saw. 

“What’s that look for, huh? Is somebody not happy to see me?”

“Of course not, Ash. I just saw- I dunno what I even saw,” I confess, setting down my pink mug I pluck from the cupboard, and Harry’s black one in front of the electric tea kettle. 

“Everything okay? You look a little lost, or something.” 

“Yeah, fine,” I say slowly, trying to remember if Harry had said anything about wanting coffee instead, but he’s already had two cups, and tries to stick to only two these days. It’s already almost time to go home for the day, anyways. Sighing, I pull open the tea drawer and pluck out an English Breakfast and a Peppermint. 

“I heard you and Harry nabbed that huge McConnell case that everybody’s talking about. Congrats on that,” Asher comments, sticking a hand into the drawer after I moved to the side, ripping open the tiny packets. 

“Oh, thanks. No pressure, or anything.” 

“You’ll do great, don’t worry about it. If anything, it’s a good thing you have Harry. If the bloke is good at one thing, it’s winning cases,” he insists, and I only nod along as I free the string from the bags to place in the mugs. 

A mumbled confirmation leaves my lips as the steam from the scalding hot water wafts over my face, filling the mugs, one and then two. 

“We still on for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure thing, Ash. Talk later,” I smile at him, pushing my back against the door and turning around to walk down the hallway. 

Juggling the two, steaming cups in my hand, I take my time walking back to Harry’s office. Quickly, I find that I’m not the only one on my way there, and soon, I pass Amelia on her way back. Smiles float between us, but mine falls away for some reason, and in only a matter of moments, I’d have so many reasons why. 

His head is bent over that same book, and a hand missing that summer glow rubs over his tired face. I can see him from down the hallway, and my vantage point would end up being regrettable, if only I’d known. 

“I didn’t know running your own firm was so tiring, Styles,” the frosty-blonde girl says when she stops in his doorway, and he immediately perks up. 

No, that’s my nickname for him, I think immediately, stopping a few paces behind her. 

“Nelly?!” Harry exclaims with absolute sunshine radiating from his face. “Hell, look at you. T’ what do I owe tha pleasure, love?” he continues in a voice brimming with astonished happiness, standing quickly to hold out his arms towards her.

“I was in the neighborhood and figured I might as well finally come and see you and My’s firm. It’s about time, sorry it took me so long,” she giggles in her posh accent, walking right into his arms where he holds her against him for several moments. Something twinges in my chest at the sight of it while I try to remember when I’ve heard him speak about her. I know he brought her up once, or somebody else did, but I can’t remember what they’d said. Who is this person?

“Yer bloody right ‘s ‘bout time, only took ya years and years. How’ve ya been? Ya look good, thirty looks smashin’ on you, y’know. Married Ben yet?”

“Thanks, but I reckon it looks far better on you, Styles,” this woman laughs and it sounds like a song, but I’m not sure if it’s one that I like. From the appearance of his crinkly-eyed smile, Harry likes it. “Nah, we split a few months back.” 

“Damn, ‘m sorry t’ hear ‘bout that,” he remarks softly while she picks up and looks at things on his desk. His eyes roam over her, but I can’t blame him, because so do mine. They drift over her cropped, curly hair and the long-sleeved, polka dotted dress. Polka dots have never been my thing, but somehow she makes them look sexy and far from childish all at the same time. 

I watch as she picks up the framed pictures sitting on his desk and when she grabs the largest of them all, something flits across her face before she hastily places it down. I only wish I could’ve seen what it was. Shaking my head, I lift a foot to turn around while her voice wanders over to me, and then his. 

“I heard you’ve found somebody new, no longer with Amber, I see.” 

“No, we’ve been split fer a few now. Ya, that’s Becks,” he comments warmly, and the next few of his words I can’t make out, until I hear some that I can’t ignore. “There she ‘s now. Hey, babe, c’mere. There’s sumbody I wantcha t’ meet!” Harry calls down the hallway to me. Gulping, I look up and down the other side of the hallway before turning around to find the smile of my boyfriend. One of my favorite sights, if not a little duller now.

The few moments it takes me to walk to his office are awkward, knowing that they’re watching me and my movements. I suddenly wonder if I need to touch up my makeup, fix my hair, or how this new, black dress really does look on me. 

“Thank ya, love,” Harry smiles when he takes the black mug from my hands to sip from. My own lips fall when she plucks the pink mug from my hands with a similar notion, completely devoid of any apology or embarrassment, and neither is Harry. What the- “Nell, this ‘s me girlfriend and colleague, Becky Holte. She worked here as an assistant o’ mine befo’ she finished uni, and came back last January fer an associate position. She’s me mentee and ‘m her mentor fer tha next few years while she finds her footing, workin’ primarily with me on cases, includin’ tha new McConnell one.” 

“I heard about that, Harry, congratulations. That’s very exciting . . for the both of you,” she grins from behind her mug of tea. My mug of tea. 

“Oh, sorry. Becks, this ‘s Penelope Hautten, or as we fondly call her, Nelly,” he introduces, and she offers a small wave and an awkward smile. Yeah, you have no bloody idea how awkward this is. “We met in uni fer law in our cohort, same with Rose and Rory.” 

“Hi, it’s great to meet you. I’d love to say I’ve heard loads about you, but it’s been a minute since I’ve spoken to Styles over here,” she says, holding out a hand tanned from fake tan that I reluctantly shake when I hear her next comment made in laughter. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this, I’d be upset seeing another woman being all over my boyfriend, too.” 

“No, you’re okay,” is all I say at first, feeling a little better when I feel Harry squeeze my arm after swinging one around my waist. “It’s nice to meet you too, I think I’ve heard Harry mention you before. He sure has a lot of good things to say about all of his fun in uni.” 

The words bring loud laughs to both of their lips, and for a moment, I think that I need to as well. I find it awkward to not be laughing, but by then, it’s far too late to begin. 

“I just wanted to stop by to say hi and congratulate you on getting this case, it’s a rather big one. Actually, maybe we could talk some more about it over dinner? I was just on my way to Lenny’s on this side of town,” Nelly says, and yes, I do see the little glance you give to me before you bat your eyes at Harry. 

“Thanks, Nel.’ ‘d actually love t’ pick yer brain ‘bout tha case, and over a sandwich and soup sounds fantastic, ‘specially with this cold weather comin’ in. Great timin’, ‘m starvin’,” he remarks with an eager smile, rubbing a circle into my back before it falls. “Becks, you don’t mind, d’ya? Maybe ya could see if Rose needs help with anythin’,” Harry comments after setting down his tea, raising an eyebrow at me. He nods almost instantly, walking around his desk to grab his Northface off the back of his chair to pull on. 

“Yeah, I’d love to consult on it with you, Harry.” 

“Y-Yeah, sure,” I mumble, lifting a hand in a lousy wave as they’re already walking down the hall and away from me. Their loud and happy laughter floats back to me as the image of her arm hooking around his waist burns in my eyes. 

“Was that . . ?” somebody says, breaking into my thoughts. Blinking and turning my head, I see Rose standing in her doorway, down the hallway. “Oh god, was that Penelope?” she groans with a shake of her head, stopping when she sees me standing there. 

“Yep, in the flesh. She took my tea,” I say with a turn of my palm to the sky, taking slow steps until I arrive at her side. I join her in watching them get on the lift with smiles stretching their lips. “And my boyfriend.” 

“I never liked her.” 

“Why not? Wait,” I ask and then pause, furrowing my brows as thoughts race around behind my eyes. “Was she the one in your friend circle in uni who- No, please tell me that’s not the one who had a crush on Harry?”

A sigh is all that graces my ears while she tucks a daring lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes and yes,” she answers.

“God,” I groan, losing a hand in my hair. “And she just stole my boyfriend for a dinner date, when we were just going to go for our Taco Tuesday. What the fuck?” I exhale, letting my hand fall with a slap! to my leg. 

“You better keep a short leash on him when she’s around, that’s all I’ll say.” 

“Rose-,” I begin, turning to look at her. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you, love. I’m sure everything will be fine, it’s been years since all of that happened, she’s bound to have changed, or so I hope.”

+

“You said everything would be fine, and you know what, it’s not fine!” I exclaim, dropping my bag onto the chestnut colored chair in front of the desk. Inhaling, the breath passes my lips shakily, and I turn away to look around the office. 

“Becky, what’s the matter, love? What are you talking about?” 

“Her. Penelope . . She’s on the McConnell case with Harry, instead of me,” I reveal gently, but the words falling from my lips feel like anything but that to my heart. Sniffling, I swipe a hand across my cheeks. 

“What, how do you-.” 

“I just saw him in the break room. You know what, I didn’t see him all last night. He didn’t come home until late. I went to sleep in an empty bed, and woke up later around eleven when he came in, and didn’t say a word to me. But in the break room, I run into my boyfriend, my mentee, my boss, who are all the same person, and all he has to say to me is that he’s switched me to your case and her to his. He didn’t have time to say anything more, because what’s-her-face slinked in and stole him from me. Again. Rose, I-I don’t like this, what the fuck is going on?” I finish, spinning around to look at her through the hazy tears sitting in my eyes. 

“Oh, Becky love, I’m so sorry,” is all she says before pulling me into her arms where I let the tears fly. 

“Am I stupid for getting so upset over this? I dunno if I am, because I looked her up on Insta last night and her stories were of them getting dinner and drinks together and she put hearts all around him on it. T-Then, this morning he barely kissed me on the cheek before breaking the news to me, and nothing more. No ‘I’m sorry for replacing you at dinner last night’ or ‘I’m sorry for coming home late and not responding to any of your texts last night,’” I cry, catching whiffs of her floral based perfume, feeling her sigh before hearing it. “I’m not going through another fucking Amber phase with him, she was one and done for me. I don’t like this, I just want him back.”

+

“Come ‘head, love, time for our weekly team meeting.” 

I remain silent, staring at the laptop screen unblinkingly, wishing it was the voice of another now saying my name. 

“I don’t want to . . she’ll be there . . with him,” I answer, switching tabs and scrolling through my search results on the Silver Net database. 

“Becky-.” 

“I can’t, Rose, okay?” I nearly retort, turning my head to look at her patient, brown eyes. “You didn’t hear the stuff she said to me yesterday.” 

“What’d she say to you?” she hurriedly replies with concern, sitting down on the chair next to me, pulling it over so she’s facing me. 

“It’s what she didn’t say,” I respond, closing my laptop but nervous to meet her eyes. “With just my luck, I ran into her in the break room yesterday, just when I was starting to feel better the day after getting dropped from Harry’s case. She was asking me about him, and well, me. How long I’d known him, how long we’d been dating, blah blah. Then she couldn’t shut up about how she’s known him for over ten years, how they’d have all of these late study nights in the library together, and how they took their Bar together. Then, he came in and she just continued, rattling off the cases they won together in the beginning when they got their first real lawyer jobs. She knew what she was doing and so did I, she was showing how much better she is for him, and how I’m . . not.” 

“As if anybody fucking asked her,” Rose tuts, shaking her head vehemently and getting to her feet. “You stay and keep checking on those statements we got, okay? You don’t have to come to the meeting, I’ll just debrief you when I get back.” 

Nodding, I lift the lid of my laptop again and switch to Docs. 

“Becky?” 

“Yeah, Rose?” I say, my eyes flitting to the door where she stands with her hand on the doorknob. 

“You’re sure you aren’t going to talk to him about this? I think the sooner the better.”

“I would, if I could get him alone, but I can’t. It’s like she’s always there, even outside of work, he’s out doing something with her. I dunno, I give up.” 

“I’m really sorry, love,” she frowns, emphasis in her voice and the bend of her eyebrows. 

“Thank you, Rose,” I answer with a small smile, watching her return it and leave the room. I almost jump when I hear the ding of my phone, and scrabble to pry it from my pocket, only to be disappointed with a text from Skye. As well as the memory staring back at me, teasingly, from my lock screen.

If only I could go back to that day, or just rewind life by a few.

+

The flecks of snow leave cold puddles in my hair as my fingers wrap around the cold handle. Gulping, I don’t twist it, and instead, I just stare and listen. I listen to the happy hum of music I hear coming from the other side, and to the obnoxiously nervous thrumming of my heart. He’s home, and for the first time in three days, it’s before eleven o’clock. I want to savor it, but the repressed thoughts have turned sour in my heart, building upon each other throughout the prior days. 

The new cold that has embedded itself into the wind and the trees around me, is what brings me inside. Maybe there’s an ounce of wanting to see him, or a contradicting whole lot, but it’s the sudden cold that I can’t handle anymore, and how it’s much too like the same absence that’s grown in my chest. 

“Ya hungry, babe?” he calls to me, the sound of the door opening something I’ve only gotten used to recently, but he’s mastered by now. Breathing in, I chase a deep breath, but it’s lost. Wasting the time until I have to walk past him, I sink down onto the bottom step to pry off my shoes. “I was gonna make sumthin’ fer dinna, but ‘m not sure what. Anythin’ sound good t’ you? Oh, I was wonderin,’ why weren’t you at tha team meetin’ t’day? Ev’rything’ alright?” he continues, despite my lack of an answer. The irony that sits in the possibility of replies sickens me, because there’s little else I want more than to sit down and have dinner with him. The normalcy and the ignorance to how things have so drastically changed, and so quickly. 

I wonder if I have enough time to leave, but no, I can’t. He’s noticed, and knows that I’m home. He’s expecting me. If only he could know how that same feeling has overflown inside of me, and been pushed back down each and every time, a hunger that was never fed. I hang my coat, place my keys on the ring beside his, and leave my ankle boots on the mat by his chestnut brown chelseas, just like every other time. In every way I still find it dreamy, but it’s not the same, no matter how much I wish that I could pretend that it is. 

“Becks?”

“I’m not hungry,” I softly decide on a few moments later, padding into the kitchen where he still stands in his work clothes from today. The shiny black number adorned with velvet edges now absent, and my ever favorite, the leopard button up. The pain still sings behind my ribs at the appearance of it in its lonesome, untucked from his slacks. 

“How are ya not? ‘s five o’clock, love. I know ya have yer lunches at one, so ya must be starvin,’” Harry comments, but how would he even know? The fridge makes that noise it always does when it opens, the soft pop before the whoosh of the refrigeration. “Hey, where are ya goin’? I could make a pizza, or some spaghetti fer us.” 

The words that he requires to his questions escape me, and in their place, sit the impatient ones that have been patient for far too long. Yet, I can’t find the right ones to say that feel right, but then again, all of this feels so wrong. Not one moment from the last few days has felt anything close to right. 

“Becks,” he says, urgency laden in his voice, and I wonder why I didn’t just walk up the stairs and away from him when I had the chance. “Hey, why’re you ignorin’ me, love?” 

If that didn’t do it, his hand on my shoulder, soft as can be, does. I try my hardest to not melt into putty in his hands, but he sidesteps that entirely, and walks around to stand in front of me. 

“What, it’s only okay when you do it?” I bite back, but the fervor isn’t there in my voice. No, not yet, but it’s not what does it for him when he sees my face. It’s barely there, but the way his eyes widen, and his lips part tells me that he too feels the tears warming up my cold-bitten cheeks. 

“Becks, I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout. What’s tha matter, love?” 

“Please, don’t lie to me,” I begin, a sob near and not too far. A swallow to wet my voice is anything but that, and I know it will only get worse as his eyebrows fall into the deepest V I may have ever seen. 

“‘m not lyin’ t’ you, bug,” he insists, cocking his head. A whimper sounds from my lips when I pull my arm out of his grasp, and the effect is immediate, firstly in his eyes. 

“You forgot about me, Harry. Our Taco Tuesday date . . watching the new episode of American Horror Story last night . . watching FRIENDS every night at dinner . . reading Harry Potter together every night before bed,” I say, the sob beginning its place behind my lips. “Ever since Nelly walked into your office on Tuesday, it’s been all about her! We’ve hardly spoken the last three days, and when we do, it’s ‘Nelly this,’ and ‘Nelly that.’ I’m your girlfriend, Harry, and I got fucking demoted by you, again!” the exclamation is dry, and yet with the sadness that leaps from my insides, no longer patient. 

“Honey, ‘m sorry,” he tries with sorrow and everything else sewn into his features, but unlike every other time, I don’t want to take it and run. I don’t want to give in, or settle. 

“Sorry doesn’t always cut it, Harry, you know that. You dropped me from your case without even asking me so you could have her help you! When we were talking about taking the case, you told me that it would be such a great learning experience for me. My first murder trial, and you gave it away to her! She’s seen how many murder trials, how many courtrooms, and known you for how long, Harry? It’s like I didn’t matter anymore the second she walked in your office. You didn’t answer your calls and texts, or if you did, it was hours later. I saw you on her Instagram story getting dinner and drinks every night this week, instead of having dinner at home, with me,” I explain, the tears wetting my lips chapped from the cold wind. “I don’t understand, Harry, what did I do or what didn’t I do? What does she have that I don’t?” 

“Becks, please-,” he starts with a sadness in his voice that I don’t want to place or take ownership of. 

“She loves you, Harry, I know it,” I say, and then, it all changes. His face does, and so do his words. He changes. 

“What? What would make ya say that?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harry, I’ve seen it. I’ve only known her for a few days, and I see it. I see it in the way she looks at you, how anytime I’ve tried to talk to you at work this week she steals you back from me, and how much she sells herself to sound like you . . how she’s so much better for you than I am,” I tell him, the emphasis at last arriving in my voice. The bravery. 

“She doesn’t feel that way ‘bout me, she never has. We’re jus’ good friends, ‘s all.” 

“P-Please, I said don’t lie to me,” I stutter, squeezing my eyes shut at the sound of his words. The sting of the denial. “She does, even Rose told me she has ever since uni, Harry! Why can’t you see that?” 

“There’s nuthin’ to see, Becks, ‘s jus’ best friends reunitin’ afta a few years. Ya wouldn’t understand . . ,” he spits back, disdain heavy in his voice, and now in my heart. 

“I’m supposed to be your best friend, Harry, but I guess, not this week.” 

“Jealous much?” he tuts with a shake of his head, his upper lip curling as his face takes on the look of . . somebody else. “Y’know what, ‘m sorry I dropped you from tha case, and yer all bitchy ‘bout that. I wanted t’ work onn’a case with me best friend fer ol’ time’s sake. I don’t see what’s so wrong with that! There’ll be how many mo’ murder cases, if that’s what yer really upset ‘bout. Nelly, she’s not in love with me, so stop bloody sayin’ that. Fookin’ f’get dinna, I don’t even wanna be ‘round you right now, yer bein’ pathetic and all jealous,” he retorts, and any words I had to say are drowning in the tears that crowd my cheeks. 

“Harry, please. Don’t,” I beg him, turning to watch him walk away and shove his feet into his boots by the door. 

“No, Becks. ‘m goin’ out fer dinna . . with Nelly. ‘ccordin’ t’ you, that’s all ‘m good at as of recent,” he says, and his voice drops when he says her name. So does my heart, and I’m sure it shows on my sleeve, because a hint of My Harry appears on his face just for a moment. Only a moment of regret and realness. I don’t wait to see if it remains, and dash past him to take the stairs two at a time until I find the guest bedroom, wishing that I could collapse onto our bed without it hurting me all the more. 

It’s a few choked breaths until I hear the door to the garage slam, his car start, and then leave. 

I guess I got my wish, afterall, to be alone.

+

The slamming of the door is what I hear next, and what lifts my heavy head from the pillow. Muffled curses pricks at my ears while I rub at my heavy eyes, a yawn leaving my lips. Blinking slowly, my eyes begin to fall shut and the pillow greets my head once more. Licking my lips, I grasp at the edges of the striped pillowcase, the remnants of my dream coming back to me. The sounds around me soften and so does the rest of my body, unbeknownst to me the hour, or the memory of the fight earlier. Nor did I know of the man who nervously climbs the stairs with a hole in his heart, searching for me. 

“There you are,” he says, but I hear it in my dream, or so I think. Opening my eyes slowly, sleep is all but lost as his steps creak across the floor after opening the door noisily. “Oh, shit. ‘m sorry, I woke you up.” 

I’d fall back asleep, ignoring him and it all, but I can’t after I hear the way the words fell from his lips. The subsequent sniffling and whimpers that adorn his words. Lying there staring into the darkness, my eyes slowly start to open more and so does my mind, and perhaps my heart. Having slept in another bed that wasn’t mine, I want more than anything to not have to fall asleep in an empty, cold bed tonight, without him. I just want things to be okay again, and to be normal. I had never before coveted the normalcy that we had only days ago, and how unknowingly happy I was living amongst it. 

It pulls me to my feet and across the room blindly, and into his arms. For the first time in days, the tears don’t find me, but as I breathe in his smell, they belong to him now. 

“Becks,” he cries from above me, his chest shaking under my touch. Sighing, all of the unspoken grievances spend themselves onto his skin, and hopefully, out of my heart. Little did I know. 

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Harry, it’s okay.” 

“‘s not okay, Becks, ‘s really not,” Harry continues, and as if in slow motion, I pull myself away from him. The glow of the streetlamp illuminates his features painted with sadness, and their rivers. 

“Harry,” I begin, afraid of the words mounting on his lips as he presses his palms against his eyes. 

“You were right,” is all he says and I’m stepping away, muttering frantic ‘no’s until I touch the bed, and sink onto it. His hands fall and in the scattered light amongst the darkness, I see the impending words weighing on his lips. “S-She kissed me . . t’night at dinna, we had been drinkin’ and . .” 

The ‘no’s are lost entirely within moments, and my head falls into my hands. An emptiness that had been building within my gut over the last few days only intensifies, and if I’d eaten anything for dinner, it would have been lost by now. 

“I stopped her, Becks, believe me. Please. I-I told her that she can’t, and I didn’t do it, too. I didn’t kiss her back, baby, I promise you that. ’m sorry, Becks, ’m so sorry,” Harry weeps. The floor creaks, but I’m too far away to know what it means, until his face falls into my lap. “I pushed her away, and told her that yer tha one I love, it could never be anybody else. I could never feel that way ‘bout her, I said that too, and how I love you so much and ‘ve been tha worst boyfriend t’ you ever since she came here . . . I-I made her leave, Becks, I swear. S-She’s gone and ‘m so fookin’ sorry I let this happen, baby, ‘m so goddamn sorry. I love you. I love you so fookin’ much, and ‘s only you. ‘s only ever been you.” 

With a choked sound, I stand up and hardly feel the carpet pass under my feet, or the wooden steps that come next. I hear my name, the one that he gave me so long ago, and only swears by. Again and again, it comes, and I listen, but I don’t. After a while, the sobs bursting from me cover his voice, but they could never silence it. No, not my favorite sound in the entire world, and yet, at this moment, it’s the one that I hate most, because of the words it said. 

“Becks, don’t. Baby, please,” he begs when I grab the keys and pull on my shoes. “Don’t leave. ‘m sorry, I promise she’s gone and isn’t comin’ back. You can’t leave anyways, ‘s a blizzard out there. They’re sayin’ people shouldn’t be drivin’ in it, ‘s tha first snowfall like this in October in a hundred years. I don’t want sumthin’ t’ happen t’ you.” 

Stopping, my hand freezes on the handle, just like it did only hours before. Only then, things weren’t nearly as bad as they are right now. Sniffling, my shoulders fall and shake harder than before, and so do my words, “I don’t want to be here,” I sob, helplessly. 

“I know, ‘m so sorry, Becks. ‘m so sorry,” he continues from behind me. I wait for the sound of his footsteps but they don’t come, and I’m not sure of my own, either. 

Standing there, I’m uncertain of how much longer I can do it, to stand. Our cries fill my ears, and the ache of all aches weighs in my chest. With every second, it feels as if my legs are going to forget me, but there I keep standing, for how long I’m not sure. 

“‘ll go, ‘ll leave you be. ‘m gonna pack a bag and stay at Myles’ down tha road . . Eat, babe, please. Have sumthin’ fer dinna,” he announces, and I swallow, past all of the anger and upset living in there. Blinking, the tears waiting in the dugout leave, and I see the cream of the door. I see all of the memories that happened even just there - the nights tripping in from too many drinks, the first nights at his place together, coming in after walks around the neighborhood, or surprising him after work with takeaway. They play before my eyes until freezing at the feeling of his lips on the crown of my head, and I close them. I wish that it could be like any other time, but the trembling of my lips tells me otherwise. “I love you, so much, Rebecca Ann. I love you, love you, love you,” he whispers before another peck, and then, he’s gone. 

I don’t remember leaving him, or making my way to the downstairs study, falling into a fitful sleep on his futon with the sights and smells of him dancing around me. I only remember wishing that this was all a nightmare that he could wake me up from, and to not have to wake up to it, again.

+

The shrill sound of my alarm is what brings my eyes open the next morning, instantly groaning. Turning over, I press Snooze on my phone screen, again, and catch the picture that I haven’t been able to get myself to change. I could place it anywhere - a visit to The National Gallery to see Monet, Harry’s recent infatuation. It was a selfie gone wrong in front of the painting, Bathers, and instead features our large smiles in a blurry photo. 

The time continues to tick away on the wall, and with every second that passes, life comes back to me, and walking back into my heart. I lay my head back down on the pillow and watch how the early morning sunlight peeking in through the shades dances across his study. The spines of his favorite books filling the shelf on the wall. Reflections painted on the screen of his trusty iMac. The ghosts stare back at me from the framed pictures around the towering object. His mum, sister, grandparents, the team at the firm, and then, there’s me. It’s the shiniest of all, absent of dust, and is in the biggest frame. He’s not even in it, like the others, because it’s just me. The pink and brown, patched quilt falls to my waist when I sit up quickly, squinting with my contactless eyes to see it. I had no idea he had printed it and framed it, to have in here, a snapshot of me from my birthday with a bedhead and a tired smile after opening presents. The accompanying frames hug the sides of his computer, but this one- no, not this one. It almost obscures the monitor itself, it’s so close, and it makes me wonder all the more if that says anything for how he holds me in his heart.

+

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter under my breath, stabbing at the lit up number amongst the rows. Dragging a hand through my hair, sighs fill the air whilst I smooth down my wrinkled slacks, hoping I don’t look as shitty as I feel, like I know I do. 

Not soon enough, the office comes into view, and I rush in. “I’m so sorry,” I apologize profusely, shaking my head as I set down my things in her closet where hers sit as well. “I just- I had a really terrible night, I know it’s no excuse, but-.” 

“Would you stop apologizing? You overdid it when you rang me on your drive here, don’t worry so much, love. We all oversleep sometimes. I’m just glad you didn’t miss the team meeting, come on then.” 

“God, another one? That has to be like two too many this week . . why?” I groan, following her out of the room with slumped shoulders. The realizations and realities don’t hit me until the second before I step foot into the conference room, searching for him. He’s nowhere to be found, and of course, it only makes me feel all the worse. I snoozed my alarm too many times and overslept, missed breakfast, forgot makeup, and now, my boyfriend I’m fighting with is MIA from work. 

Could this week get any worse? Hmm, perhaps I shouldn’t jinx it, now. 

“Where’s your lover boy at?” Rose taunts, but when my eyes stop their investigating, I find that she’s looking around with pinched brows, too. 

“I’m wondering the same thing,” I answer softly, watching as more people fill the room, plucking bagels and muffins from the platter in the middle of the table. It would be calling my name typically, but no, something else is right now, somebody else. 

“You go and find him.” 

“But, Rose, they’re going to start-,” I begin, until Myles’ booming voice interrupts me from the front of the room. 

Her firm green eyes don’t shy away from their answer, “It’s okay, go, Becky. He doesn’t usually miss these things, anyways. He’s gotten good at actually showing up to them for once,” she says with a soft smile, patting my arm and nodding at me to follow her words. 

Nodding with a grateful smile, I weave around the cluster of familiar lawyers finding seats, and slip out the door. Searching the halls nearby is the first thing I do, but I’ve never been very lucky with that, and I’m not this time, either. I think I have it in the bag when I push open the door to his office, but despite the warm light pouring in from the windows and the ceiling lights, it’s a ruse. Harry’s not here, either. 

Whirling around, I take a step towards the door until my mind catches on something. With careful steps, I turn back around and walk over to his desk, and I notice it. The mess. It hasn’t been this unorganized since well, when I worked as his assistant. He’s always kept it clean since I started working with him again, always having a place for everything, and keeping it that way. This is odd. 

That’s pitched back onto the pile, forgotten, when the sun glimmers on something reflective. With another step, I catch sight of it, and like the other one did so perfectly, the guilt starts to bead inside of me. Inhaling suddenly, a smile lopsides my lips as I reach out to touch it. It’s just like the other one, and yet it isn’t, and in the best of ways. 

As if it’s a mirror, my face stares back at me, and in so many ways. My staff picture for the firm that he took of me on a pair of steps on a walk together during lunch. Me riding the carousel when I had to be four or five. Pigtailed primary age me kicking a football along the field in a yellow jersey. Chubby-faced me smiling at the camera with only a few teeth to call my own, drool running down my chin. A candid of me at a staff party, and one that was long ago, when I was just his assistant. One to remember, a shot of me moments before my very first case with Harry, all dolled up in my lawyer attire. In the center of them all, they sit taped to a larger picture of me smiling so hard my dimple popped, in front of a path of autumn trees. A day only just a week ago if that, I realize, while admiring it. 

Sighing, I reach a hand to brush underneath my eye, but I bump his white Apple mouse in the process. It wakes up his iMac and the sight of his screen is soon clouded with tepid tears. They fall, tasting briny against my lips, and heavy with guilt. In all of my time working with him, before, I had seen his computer. I had seen his laptop background. I had even seen his lockscreen, and it was never of somebody. No, it was a painting, song lyrics, a grocery list, or a sample background. It was never of a girl, but this time, it is. It’s him and me, some secret snap from a hike with Robbie this summer, overlooking the peak but smiling at each other while the sunset colors wash the sky. 

God, I really do need to fix this, right now. And if I had any plans for what that would be like, they’re stolen away by the wind when I look up. 

“Hey,” he says softly, worrying away at his bottom lip. His warm gray suit flutters when he stuffs his hands into his pockets, and if it weren’t for the lip thing, I know from this too that he’s nervous. Anxious or not, he looks unforgettable in that suit - the very one he donned for our first date, and I requested for so many more that he finally told me ‘no,’ because he had so many others. 

“I was looking for you,” I reveal slowly, my voice shy and distant, although I try so hard. 

“I was jus’ lookin’ fer ya too.” 

Silence falls into the space between us and claims it, separating us all the more with the desk in between us, and his figure across the room. Words fill me to the brim, and I didn’t know it a moment before, but these ones are impatient too. They grow heavy and needy when I see the glassy look to his eyes, and then disappear altogether when the first tear drips down his cheek. 

“‘m so sorry, Becks. I know I fooked ev’rythin’ up, and I understand if ya wanna break up- I-,” Harry weeps, his voice giving out on him. His dingy, flat curls move when his head shakes from side to side. My heart aches with each beat, and only sinks further when those pretty greens run away from me to hide in his hand. 

“Harry,” I begin in the worst of sighs, my rushing feet not quick enough to get me over to him. “You didn’t fuck everything up, you’re not even capable of that. Breaking up hasn’t crossed my mind, I promise.” 

“What?” he breathes, his hands falling at last. They’re slick with tears when I wrap them up inside of my own. Shock paints his face and stills the tears in his eyes that glue to me immediately. 

“Just shut up and kiss me already, big head,” I refrain, freeing his hands and grabbing his face until my lips touch his. Surely, I’ve surprised him, but it’s only seconds until he kisses me back. Her face pops into my head, and I kiss him harder. The thought of her kissing him comes next, and I lose my fingers in his hair. I try to find my ground by focusing on the feeling of his stubble underneath my fingertips, and his smell. It smells like home. 

“Baby, ‘m still so sorry,” he mumbles against my lips in between kisses. 

“It’s okay,” I assure him, pressing pecks to his mouth with hurried breaths. The image of his wet green eyes find mine again, and it’s like my heart didn’t just get sewn back together in the last minute like I’d thought. 

“‘m sorry, Becks, fer ev’rythin’ this week. Ignorin’ you, droppin’ you from tha case, comin’ home late, and our row last night,” Harry starts with tears growing in his eyes. Shaking my head, I pull him against me, and find his neck with my nose. “I was such a prick t’ you, I can’t believe it. Ya don’t deserve tha way I treated you or talked t’ you. ‘m so sorry.” 

“I know, Harry, it’s okay. I forgive you, it’s okay,” I coo, trailing my nails against the back of his neck, catching the soft curls there. “I was to blame too, I should’ve talked to you right away, and not waited. I-.” 

“No, don’t, Becks. ‘s not yer fault, none o’ it, it was all me,” he insists with a sob. I shush him, and lay my head on his shoulder, wishing to know how I could make this all go away. Hushed ‘it’s okay’s fall from my lips as I rub hearts into his back, wishing I could rub and rub until it was all better. Finally, the silence feels comforting, and no longer dangerous. 

The sniffles have slowed and almost stopped once I pull away, catching a tear budding on the end of his nose. A corner of his mouth greets his cheek as he catches one under my eye. 

“I’m sorry I got so upset last night over that stupid kiss. I know that you’d never do something like that to me . . it wasn’t your fault, Harry,” I say, brushing my thumb over his untidy stubble along his cheek. 

“Thank you . . ‘m sorry I didn’t believe ya and got all defensive ‘bout whatcha said. Yer me girl, nuthin’ will ever change that,” Harry hums, sponging a kiss to my forehead. “I got so excited t’ see Nelly at first, but she kept tryin’ t’ keep me away from you, and I shouldn’t have ignored it.” 

“It’s okay, it’s all over and done with.” 

“Mmmhmm,” he hardly smiles, looking down at me. 

“I’m your girl, huh?”

“Always, baby,” he confirms, his lips slowly spreading to shine that sunshine on me. “Hey, why tha tears when I came in, bug?” Harry shushes, leaving kisses along my face until I’m giggling. 

“Your pictures,” I say amongst the attack of kisses, hearing his confused ‘hmm?’ from somewhere on the other side. “Nothing, I just- I know. I really know, now.” 

“Good, silly girl, wantcha t’ never f’get that. Yer all mine,” he nearly sings, his lips drifting to my jaw and then my neck. “Love you, love you, love you.” 

“I love you more,” I sing back in reply, but then my breath catches when his giggle tickles my ear. “Don’t you dare! Harry!” I chuckle.

“Do what, love?” he asks, the mischief sparkling in his eyes when his lips leave my skin to smile at me now. 

“I swear to God, Harry Edward,” I titter, my words collapsing into laughs. 

“I love you most,” he claims with a loud wheeze, tittering into the corner of my neck soon, making us both laugh. 

“That’s my line!” 

“Seems I got t’ steal it this time, bug, and fook, did it feel good t’ finally get t’ say,” he comments, earning a dramatic sigh from me. “So, what d’ya say t’ skippin’ tha team meetin’ like ‘d planned, and orderin’ brekky and catchin’ up on that show o’ ours?”

“Perfect.” 

“Good answer,” he smirks, touching his lips to mine before pulling me in to wrap me up in my favorite place in the whole wide world, his arms.

+

“Are you ready yet? God, I swear you take longer than me, Harry, and I’m the gender who’s said to take the longest in the bathroom!” 

“Ya well, ‘s not very hard t’ bloody braid yer hair, throw on some gym clothes, and a hat, now ‘s it, Ms. Holte?” he calls back, and I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. With a sigh, I take a seat on the bottom step and let my chin fall into my palm. 

“Oh, would you stop? All you had to do was spray your hair and spike it, and write some words on your face with eyeliner.” 

“Be nice t’ me,” he remarks from above me, his voice coming closer. Cocking my head, I see a glimpse of him until at last, he comes into view. His grumpy face doesn’t last very long when he sees the dimple fall into my cheek, and soon, so are his. “How do I look, Ms. Green?”

“Great, Mr. Geller. You really nailed the nineties spiked hair,” I say, my words falling into a giggle that he shakes his head at. 

“Why thank you, ‘m rather proud o’ it too.” 

“I still can’t believe who you said we should go as instead.” 

“Keep teasin’ me and maybe we will go onna break,” Harry jokes, arriving at the bottom stair and soon returning to sit beside me with his pair of Old Skool vans in tow. 

“Hush,” I retort, knocking shoulders with him. Smushing the hat back against my head, my head falls onto his shoulder and I wind one of my arms around his. “You did good on the whiskers, I like them,” I note, dragging the back of my finger against his baby-smooth cheek. 

“Thanks, babe,” he mumbles while pulling on his shoes. Turning to me, the fake, black whiskers are obscured by his lovely dimples. “Ya really did do a great job with yer costume too, love, and t’ think we jus’ used what we had. We’re rather nifty, ‘d say,” he says, tapping a finger against my nose. 

“Thanks. I can’t wait to see how cute we look together.” 

“Then let’s go look, shall we, Rachel?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows, and I nod as he kisses my forehead. 

Taking his hand, I stand up and follow him through the house until we arrive in the main floor’s bathroom, staring into the floor to ceiling mirror. A laugh immediately sputters from my lips and one from his too. 

“God, we look stupid.” 

“I hope that means we did good with our costumes,” he titters, inspecting his hair until I softly swat at his shoulder. “Ya really outdid yerself with tha pigtails, babe. Me black cap looks great on you, as does tha rest o’ yer outfit that’s mine. Ya always blow me away by how sexy ya look in me clothes.” 

“Okay, bud, would you chill out?” I chuckle whilst he sponges kisses down my neck from behind me now. “Harry, we haven’t even left for the party yet and you’re going to mess up your makeup.” 

“‘s okay, ‘s supposed t’ look a li’l messy since Ross was drunk in that episode.” 

“Harry, stop it,” I giggle when his lips wander to below my ear and his hands to my ticklish waist. “Kissy time can wait until later, mister.” 

“Hmmmph, yer no fun.” 

“I’m sure we’ll both be loads more fun when we’re tipsy later,” I note, taking his hands in mine and leaning into him. 

“Oooo, don’t tempt me, babe. Already wanna kiss all over you, yer not helpin’.” 

“Harry, I’m dressed as Rachel from the football episode in nothing but sweats. How in the hell is that sexy?” I wheeze, squirming when his fingers find just the right place on my ribs, because he’s gotten it memorized by now. 

“Told ya that ya look like sumthin’ else when ya wear me clothes. Plus, there’s never a time where ya don’t drive me mad with how beautiful ya are.” 

“Harry,” I sigh happily, opening my closed eyes to watch him litter kisses along my face in the mirror. “You know, I bet we’ll even win best couples costume.” 

“Hmmm, ya think?” he wonders aloud, lifting his head to look back at us, and in my eyes. Gently yanking on my pigtail, I giggle as I turn around and thread my arms around his neck. “Y’know what, reckon we look cute t’gether even as Ross and Rachel, but always as Harry and Becks.” 

His sunshine spreads a wider smile on my face as I hide my blushing face in his neck. The olive green button down of his slips under my fingers from behind his neck, and then again, I see the cat face scribbled on his face and ‘Ross’ written on his forehead from that one episode of FRIENDS. 

“We make a good team, huh?” I ask him, my fingers dancing over his beaming face. 

“Ya, we sure do, babe. And we’ll make a better one if ya don’t mess up me makeup I took far too long t’ put on.” 

“Okay, fine,” I relent, my thumb drifting along his cheekbones before it finds his bottom lip. “How’s this spot?”

“That works just fine.” 

“Oh, you don’t say?” I snicker, pulling down his warm lip only to have it spring back against his teeth. 

He shakes head with red cheeks while humming a response, but it doesn’t go very far until I envelope his lips with mine, sure that I’m screwing up his makeup but neither of us care. The kiss only grows sweeter when I think of the last Halloween that we spent together, and how this one is already starting off miles better.

We really have made it, haven’t we?

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Magic Vs. Science

Chapters: 13/25 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Series: Part 1 of 9. Summary: Magic and Science, are they the same or are they completely different? It just takes one person to point out all up and downs. Along with breaking the stereotypes that come up with being a wizard, alchemist and most of all being human. Thank you, @amynchan! D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

“English and Edward’s accented voice.” “Amestrian or another foreign language.” “Written notes.” ‘Thoughts.’ First Name: Informal Last Name: Formal (Or used to annoy others)

Ling looked over his balcony, Lan Fan dutifully by his side. He sighed hopefully, looking down to all of the nobles and courtiers of his country. It was a tight fit, despite being the largest courtyard that his largest palace had to offer, but he wanted to make damned sure that everyone heard his announcement. There could be no excuses. This was a delicate matter, thanks to his great-great-great-great-great.... Well, an emperor long past, anyway. This had to be perfect. He nervously grabbed Lan Fan's hand.

"People of Xing."

Every head popped up, even the servants, noticing that the Emperor had addressed everyone, not just the nobles. 'Good. A good start,' Ling thought hopefully. He caught his breath and started again.

"People of Xing. All of my children. I step forward today with an announcement, with a new decree, and with a confession, all in one." Ling ignored the mumbling of his audience and demanded silence as his fear ebbed away, hand still tightly grasping Lan Fan's. He continued, knowing that he was finally righting a wrong.

"Many centuries ago, my ancestors discovered magic in this empire. At first, they extorted it, but once the villagers learned of it, they grew afraid, and outlawed it, made it taboo, with a sentence of death. This you know well, for every law and history book will tell you. What it WON'T tell you is the rest of that story. It WON'T tell you how, through all of these years, though it is death to all, it is secretly taught to the Emperor and his next of kin. How there is an entire vault full of magical artifacts that I, as your leader, am EXPECTED to use daily for my own protection. But I am not that type of emperor. I am not a liar. I am not a hypocrite. I respect and love my people. I try every day to be fair and firm. So, let it be written, as of today, magic is not taboo! You shall NOT punish those that have it, or I shall have YOU punished! For there is no excuse! You have heard it here, from the mouth of your Emperor!"

"It is my wish to teach the ones with magic in a controlled environment, so that they may learn to harness their powers, to use them for the good of their family and country. I myself will be there when my duties allow, as it is customary that the Emperor learn to control the artifacts in his possession. These people are not to be harmed. They will be frightened, believe this to be some sort of trap. I want you to soothe them. Bring them peace. This is my will. Send out the criers."

-.-

"Magic?"

"What is the Emperor thinking?"

"Mama, what's magic?"

"Please let this be true..."

"The Emperor is looking for every individual that has any magical ability..." A crier announced. Several people from the town began to crowd around him to listen to what was being said. It is rather rare when a crier would come around and for them to announce such a thing, what a wonder. What was being said caused worry to stir up within them? For centuries, there had been a stigma about magic in Xing. More especially so in the rural parts of the country compared to the more populated areas, where time seemed to stay still and nothing seems to progress any forward until something or someone were to come and destroy that sense of normality. Perhaps this time around, this could be a good thing. A good time for the change for once, for it has been too long for this to remain in the dark, in complete fear.

The town matriarch was seen conversing heavily with the next town over's noble, pointing at the crier worriedly, gathering her children to her. When he responded to her, she visibly relaxed, though still seemed a bit disbelieving. As they spoke, she cried, hugging him in relief, then bent down to her children to hold them. Together, they listened intently to the crier.

"If you possess such capability then you are to..."

A good change, indeed.

-.-

Edward leaned against his desk, scanning through the exams of the students of his upcoming class. Out of all the students that took the class, they are the only ones that showed a good balance of knowledge and common sense.

Knowledge and common sense, two factors he looks for in a student. There are several other factors that are needed, but those two are the main ones when considering kids that grew up with a magical sense. What really makes these kids have Edward's nod of approval is their way of answering the important question, 'All is one, one is all'. Knowledge and Common sense is one thing, but to have an understanding of the world around them is whole other issue.

"Is that him?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"We met him during the summer, that's him."

"...I saw Professor Snape once pull him by his braid to avoid falling over the moving staircases..."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Edward's head snapped up toward the main entrance of his classroom. The door was partially left open, just enough to allow him to hear them and to have someone peak in to see him. Pushing away from the desk and placing the exams on it, he headed over towards the main entrance. The students kept on rambling on about him and about the class.

Edward peaked his head through the partially open and stared down at his chattering students. They seemed to be so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't even notice his presence. The Alchemy teacher reached over and tapped on a shoulder on one of the students, a Hufflepuff by the looks of it. The Hufflepuff turned around to stare up at Edward with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. The other students realized the Hufflepuff's sudden change of behavior and turned around to see the reason for it. The two Gryffindors, one Ravenclaw, and one Slytherin saw the golden-haired Alchemy Teacher who was staring at them with a blank expression.

"All of you are zirdeen minutes late for class." Edward stated before he disappears back into his classroom. The five students glanced around at each other and quickly filed into the classroom with panicked expressions. Second first impressions, not so good.

When the students entered the classroom, they could see that Edward pointing at the desks in the front of the classroom. Said desks had their exams they had taken to even be in that class to begin with. Each student sat in their respective desk which had their exam on them.

"My name is Edward Elric; you are to refer to me as Mr. Elric. Is zat understood?" Edward stated he scratched his chin as he heard that familiar echo of 'yes sir'. "Before ve actually start I have to say this... At any moment, I vill kick you out if you cross a cerdain line. Varnings are giffen, depends on hov much you bized me off zat moment."

Edward voice started to grow harsher and became heavily accent as if to prove his point. The point he wanted to make, it was said loud and clear to the give students. "Is zat undersdood?"

"Yes, sir."

Good." Edward said with a chuckle. His voice went from dark, ominous, and heavily accented to a light-hearted, humorous, and much easier to understand. "Let us talk about the reason all of you took this exam. Vat is your reason to learn Alchemy, lie and you are kicked out."

One by one, like the first class the day previously, each student gave their response to why they took the exam. Edward chuckled when he hears the two fiery-haired Gryffindor's reasons for wanting to learn Alchemy. Perfecting their pranks, good one. As long as they are not played against him or done in his class, then it is fair game on their part. The class of five wanted to comprehend alchemy, to understand it to the smallest tiniest detail. Once that was over with, Edward motioned for them to look through their exams. "I want to go over all of your responses for the second to the last question. All is one, one is all."

-.-

'Another day of introductions.' Edward inwardly thought as he repeated his introduction speech to his new class. He inwardly groaned at the fact that it was only Wednesday and he needed to repeat this for two more times. This class doesn't necessarily have the smarts but they do have common sense. At least it isn't so dull...for now.

-.-

Edward leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to a Ravenclaw give out his own explanation what Alchemy is. It was already Thursday and the weekend needed to arrive faster. Thursday class...filled with smart-asses. They reminded him far too much of himself in so many ways that it is annoying him to no end. Especially how the kid kept going on and on how Alchemy is all about magic, not about 'muggle science'.

If only Edward could toss the kid out his window or abandon him in a deserted island for a month. Perhaps that will teach him a thing or two. Or three...four.... five.... infinity.

-.-

"When I vrote this test, I allowed zome leevay for more people to pass... Typically this is something I would not normally do..." Edward drawled out to his last class of the week. He ignored the looks of disbelief the students were giving him. "Considering vith your magical background and different mindzet towards..."

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. "If Teacher could see me now...she would be kicking my ass..."

-.-

"The first class vas okay, they kept an open mind about Alchemy. Zecond class we mostly talked apout the riddle. The zird class...ugh...vere do I start vith them. The fourth class...smart azess. Today's class, itiots. Zis is vat happens when I play nice..."

Severus was sitting on an armchair while he listened to Edward rant on about his first-week teaching. It was clear that the Golden Blonde had multiple up and downs about teaching, and this is only the beginning for him. A very long beginning.

"There are a few that show promise but I also see some zat have no business in learning Alchemy. Den..."

Severus took out a bottle of firewhiskey from his person and two glasses. "Firewhiskey?"

"Firewhi...vat is that?" Edward stopped mid-rant and gave Severus a questioning look. He saw the Potions Professor hand extended out with a glass filled with what he presumed to be Firewhiskey. "Is that alcohol?"

"Yes."

"Is it strong?"

"Yes."

"...Vill you stop me from doing anything stupid?"

"Maybe."

"Fine. Pass it over here."

-.-

It was a known fact that Roy Mustang was useless in the water.

It was also a known fact that Alexander Armstrong sparkled and bragged about any and everything that he possibly could. Really. Roy considered it a sickness, but with his mouth currently covered by both hands, gloves, firmly placed in his pockets, he really couldn't complain.

"What a wondrous day to be sailing!"

"The wondrous day my..." Roy's eyes went wide when he felt the ship he was currently on shake excessively. 'I hate water...'

Roy glanced over to see Alexander parading around the ship without his coat and shirt. The man was sparkling again. Sparkling! Roy groaned, but naturally, Alex failed to notice. He, instead, was showing off his muscles to the rest of the passengers of the ship.

'If only I had my uniform to make the man stop reacting in such a manner,' Roy silently wished. As it were, the Amestrian Scooby Gang were incognito while heading over to Great Britain. To be more precise, Magical Great Britain. The only issue was that they had to take a ship for the primary part of the trip, while in the guise of a group of college or university friends on a trip. All of this to get in contact with the British Ministry of Magic, all because of the former Fullmetal Alchemist. Führer Grumman had ordered for them to get in contact with the British Ministry of Magic.

"There has to be a form of communication between both parties," he'd ordered. "Or at least, clean up after your charge!"

Typical. It always has to be an Elric causing such ruckus. This should be easy, but no... They have to deal with people that wave around sticks and play truth in a level that should not exist in any way in their eyes.

Roy's eyes went wide and covered his mouth with both hands once more when a particularly large wave hit the boat, rocking it excessively, all while Alex sparkled right in front of him. 'All my suffering to clean up after an Elric. AGAIN. I am going to make him pay...'

-.-

"Finally...I found the library." Edward moaned at the sunlight as he walked into the library with memorized eyes. It was one heck of a view, that was for sure, but as much he wanted to read every single book in here; there was something much more important he needed to do.

"Mr. Elric?"

Edward turned his head towards the direction where he heard his name. He saw an older woman that looked like an underfed vulture. By what Severus had told him that this is Madam Irma Pince, the school's librarian. Someone that is highly possessive and protective of the school's books. "Madam Pince?"

"Professor Snape had informed me that you would be coming here..." Irma stated with clear annoyance in her voice.

Edward mentally will have to ask Severus when he did such a thing, it has been a couple of weeks since he arrived at Hogwarts. "Is dat so... I just found dis place, been very busy."

"Of course..." Irma stated, she pulled out a rolled up parchment from her robes and passed it over to Edward. "This is a list of all the books that are related to Alchemy."

Edward took the parchment, unrolled it, and scanned through them. He recognized the vast majority of the titles on the list from his visit in Diagon Alley. Right next to each title is a note of whether or not the book was checked out or still in the library. To his annoyance, the vast majority of the books that were checked out are the books that he does not approve of. "Great... More work."

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[ariadnelives]

Chapter 4 -- The Drawing Board

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3]

“Okay,” Ariadne said seriously, pushing her wire-frame spectacles up on her nose, “we've had our fun, blown up a spaceship, made a lot of money and helped a lot of people, but now it's time to assassinate a teenager.”

Pilar stood next to a large whiteboard with a multitude of lists and diagrams scrawled on it. “Or at least lay the groundwork to do so. As you can see,” she explained, pointing at one of the lists with a large measuring stick, “the impostor Ariadne has a variety of identifying features that distinguish her from our Ariadne.” The list read as follows:

THE IMPOSTOR ARIADNE

Fourteen or maybe fifteen

White

Blank, evil eyes

White robe

Shoulder-length blonde hair

Dirty Liar

Forced smile

THE REAL ARIADNE

Twenty years old

Black and proud

Beautiful, sparkling eyes

Short, curly black hair

Charming liar

Genuine, pretty smile

“Now, here's the issue,” Ariadne said, “We have no idea where her headquarters is. The cultists are active in every single bio-dome on Mars, and each neighborhood has established a 'Red God Life Center.'”

“The six largest Life Centers,” Pilar picked up the briefing here, “are heavily guarded. The worst part is, they've used a part of our own mythos to justify this.”

Ariadne continued, “Our crew is largely orphans and runaways. Some of the people we're running away from are very bad people. Ship Trap is so well concealed and fortified partially to keep the authorities from finding us, but also to keep the past from coming to look for those of us who've escaped it.”

“According to the literature they've posted on the FTLnet, these six life centers are heavily guarded to provide a safe refuge for anyone seeking it,” Pilar said, wringing her hands uncomfortably. “Our eyes and ears on the ground have told us that when someone goes into the Life Centers, they always take those damn Suffering Tests and come out preaching the Good Word of the Red God, even people who already had deeply held beliefs of their own when they entered the building.”

“We believe they've been using a textbook form of psychological conditioning. They offer a desperate person a safe haven, then convince them that they owe everything to the cult, and if they refuse to submit to the brainwashing …” Ariadne was too uncomfortable to continue.

“… If they refuse to swear their allegiance to the cult, they get kicked back out on the streets to die,” Pilar explained. “The idea is, you get a safe bed and three meals a day as long as you work for their church.”

“That's sick,” Taryn almost retched. “I mean, making people do your bidding just to stay alive?”

“Exactly.” Ariadne touched her nose in agreement. “That's part of why it's so horrifying that she's stealing my name for this. Every single one of you knows that you don't have to serve on my crew. You do anyway because you like helping people and, honestly, piracy is really fun, but you'd always get the bare necessities even if you just sat around all day.”

“Anything short of that would be monstrous,” Pilar said casually, “which is why we're going to kill the leader of the Red God cult and show Mars what we really stand for.”

“The problem,” Ariadne went on, “is that we can never quite figure out which Life Center she's staying at. Media accounts place her at as many as three of them.”

“So she moves from place to place?” Taryn suggested. “I mean, she has to know you're a real person, right? She might be moving around trying to stay secure.”

“I mean, three at the same time,” Ariadne clarified.

“Easy enough to accomplish indoors with a powerful enough hologram projector,” Pilar mused, “Her followers claim she gives off a divine glow. This could mask the fact that she's just a projection.”

“She's also paper-white and platinum-blonde,” Ariadne pointed out. “The same effect could be achieved with a concealed spotlight and a fog machine. A hologram could be disrupted by a stray housefly landing on the crystal.”

“Decoys?” Sweettalk wondered “Three young women, similar body types, with identical hair and clothing would be difficult to tell apart.”

Deathsbane nodded. “That weird ritualistic makeup could mask subtle differences in their facial features. If properly contoured they could look identical.”

Pilar pointed out, “Let's not forget that the last time we encountered one person in multiple places at once, the explanation was 'lifelike android spies controlled by a dictator.' Perhaps Occam's razor isn't the best route to go here.”

“Spacebreather's right,” Ariadne agreed. “The theory that the fake Ariadne is actually three people is the most likely answer, but we can't discount the idea that she's got holographic or robotic duplicates.”

“Is it too ridiculous to believe she's actually a prophet?” Pilar smirked.

Ariadne stopped this train of thought. “Okay, let's not get into supernatural mumbo-jumbo.”

“Is anyone considering the obvious here?” Sweettalk wondered out loud.

Pilar sighed. “If it was obvious, would you need to ask? Just say what you're going to say.”

“We have to consider the possibility that there is no singular 'Fake Ariadne,' and that whoever's doing the sermonizing isn't the ringleader,” Sweettalk pointed out.

“Otra ves no…” Ariadne muttered, and despite the fact that Pilar had been the first one to propose this possibility to Ariadne, her disdain for Sweettalk made her more inclined to dismiss it.

“We've considered that possibility,” Pilar said calmly and in spite of herself, “but there's no credible evidence to suggest the impostor Ariadne is not the head of the Red God cult.”

“Is there any evidence to suggest she is?” Sweettalk asked. Sasha looked impressed at her audacity. “I mean, she's like fifteen, have you ever heard of a fifteen-year-old cult leader?”

Ariadne groaned. “Why can't anyone get off this point? I had my own space station at fifteen! You're only seventeen and you could practice law if you wanted! Deathsbane was one of the best doctors in the system at thirteen! We're surrounded by teenage masterminds; is it so hard to believe the same could be true of one of the bad guys?” Pilar bit her tongue.

“No one's saying it's not possible,” Sweettalk insisted, “but you have to admit, that isn't the best sample size. You and Sasha, well, haven't you considered that you're a little… exceptional?”

Sasha blushed.

“I'm just saying, think of the implications here. If you're running a cult with a prophet who can be in three places at once, does it make sense for two of them to be robotic decoys and one of them to be real, or does it make more sense to have three robots?”

Ariadne sighed. “Three robots.”

“Same goes for holograms. If she could pass off holographic decoys as herself, would it make sense for her to ever appear in person?”

“She'd probably remain behind the scenes, but that doesn't prove she's not—”

“See, it proves that she's not necessarily what she appears to be. Holograms and robots can be customized to look like whatever the designer wants. She might look like the 15-year-old we've been hearing about, but she could look like anyone.”

“And what about your theory?” Pilar's jaw tightened. “You posit three body doubles, made up to look identical.”

“Yes, three girls, all of them smokescreens. Three teenage girls in a cult, all about the same age, with a clear physical resemblance? This is going to sound indelicate, but most cult leaders are adult men, and many of them take multiple wives. It's plausible that he could have had three daughters born to three different women, all within a few months. With enough makeup, half-sisters could look similar enough to pass off as the same person.”

“That's sick,” Taryn said, frowning.

“Sicker than holding people's food and shelter hostage to get them to promote your cult door to door?” Sweettalk replied.

“That's enough,” Pilar snapped. “Your theory is plausible, sure, but only if we accept multiple things we have no reason to accept.”

“I'm just saying—”

“I know, and I acknowledge what you're saying is a possibility, but it doesn't change anything.” Pilar seemed to be making an effort to calm down, torn slightly between her distaste for Sweettalk and the fact that this was literally the exact theory she'd been trying to propose for the past few days. “Whoever the ringleader is, we've still got to take them out.”

“It does change something,” Sasha said somewhat quietly.

“How's that?” Pilar asked, some of the steam settling.

“If it's real teenage girls, then they're brainwashing children, and that doesn't seem like the kind of thing we stand for.”

“Deathsbane is right,” Ariadne announced. “I hate to admit it… I really hate to admit it, but if the girl on stage isn't the ringleader, and I'm not conceding that, then she's a victim, and it's our job to help her.”

“So what's the plan?” Taryn piped up. “We can't just go in there guns blazing.”

Pilar looked thoughtful, and said “I think our best bet is to start with basic reconnaissance and information gathering. Station teams in safehouses near the Life Centers, one in each bio-dome. When canvassers come by, we invite them in, act genuinely curious. We need to learn as much as we can about their organization—”

“—things that we can't learn from their propaganda or their official pitch,” Ariadne cut in. “We have to get them to go off-book and tell us something their bosses don't want us to know without blowing our cover.”

“Okay,” Pilar said, “Standard stakeout procedures, observe and report. I'll be sending your squad assignments and mission specs to you by lights-out tonight. Take the evening to pack a bag of essentials. This shouldn't be a long stay.”

“I hope it's not too short,” Sasha said. “It's been a while since I've been back to the mainland, it'll be nice to stand on solid ground again.”

“You're not going,” Pilar said. “We need to leave a skeleton crew in command, you and a handful of my best Whiptails, in case the station comes under attack; you're the only one who knows the station as well as Ariadne and me.”

“I assumed you two would be manning the command center, you know, stay in the loop and all that.” Sasha sighed.

“We have our own mission,” Pilar explained. “We'll be paying a visit to La Pesadilla, see if she can shed any light on this.”

“I thought you hated La Pesadilla.” Sasha tried in vain to hide her exasperation with her sister.

“Everyone hates La Pesadilla,” Spacebreather replied. “She's a blackmailing lowlife who doesn't care about anything but lining her own pockets, but the upshot of that is that if there's something shady going down, you can bet she'll have eyes and ears on it.”

“But—” Sasha pleaded.

“—Dismissed, crew,” Pilar cut her off.

Ariadne patted Sasha on the shoulder as Pilar retreated down the hallway and the crowd dispersed. “I'm sorry. You should know, I fought her on this… but believe me, this place practically runs itself.”

“Not helping,” Sasha grumbled. Sweettalk hung back but kept her distance.

“No, you're not listening.” Ariadne put a hand on each shoulder and made eye contact over her glasses.

“What?” Sasha couldn't quite mask her frustration.

“This place is so well fortifed that you could basically leave it abandoned and nobody could touch it,” Ariadne said.

“Yeah, I get it.” Sasha tried to break eye contact, but Ariadne held on. “My sister doesn't want me leaving the station so she made up a job that doesn't need doing just to keep me here.”

“No, no… well, yes, that's exactly what she's doing, but you're not listening to me. You're hearing but you're not listening,” Ariadne said pointedly. “Spacebreather and I are going to be gone for a few days, but this place is so self-sufficient that you could probably just… take off for a day or two, have some fun, and as long as you got back before us, nobody would even know.”

Something clicked in Sasha's head. “Oh!!”

“She's very smart, really,” Sweettalk called from the other side of the room, “she's just new to mischief. I'll see to it she takes full advantage of what you just said.”

“Good man,” Ariadne said, disappearing down the corridor.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Sweettalk muttered to Sasha, “You know we aren't going on vacation, right?”

“I figured you'd have something up your sleeve.” Sasha smirked. “What's the plan?”

“They have La Pesadilla,” Sweettalk said, smiling, “and you know I've got my own shady contacts.”

“I thought you weren't on speaking terms with him,” Sasha said.

“Well, he could never resist a challenge,” Sweettalk explained, “and if you bust out and come back with some real answers, we could shove it in your sister's face.”

“Well, I don't know about face-shoving, but if you think he can get us some answers…” Sasha trailed off. “…Either way, I'm sure Pilar's given an order to keep me on the station, and you're the only one of her Whiptails who'll disregard that order.”

“You might want to talk to Fastwing.” Sweettalk winked. “Tell her you'll need to pull the ripcord. She'll know what that means.”

[capmerthur]

THE BODY SWAP

Summary: It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV, bonus Gaius, bit of George, mentions of Will.

Excerpt PART IV:

“I’m supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn’t a bad one. Except I’m not you; I do not *fall* for no reason twice a day. So. I’ll make you fall. That’s more plausible.”

“No way! You’ll end up in the stocks!” Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn’t want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. “Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon.” Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic’s sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. “So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I’m clumsy, as ever; you’re noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn’t want me hurt to start with?” (pause, before adding) “If he doesn’t though, I’ll stand guard next to you.”

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER IV)

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin's internal crisis as he shares what he's uncovered until now: "It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves."

"So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally."

"Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?"

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur's usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: "But why you?"

"Well, obviously *you*'ve forgotten, but I am Camelot's Crown Prince, responsib-."

"Which is exactly what's bothering me!" Merlin can't help but interject. "Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?"

"Oh... Do you think... Could someone be... training on us, then? Before attacking-"

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you're head of security. We shouldn't rule anything out."

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: "Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We'll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn't work?"

Merlin can't help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: "That's... a lot; on both accounts."

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: "I know."

/

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: "So. What's on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?"

"Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there's concil, tomorrow."

"Well, let's start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It's mostly your father's duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you're to hear and listen..." Fear grips Merlin at once: "But it's public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!" He MUST protect Arthur's body: "Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?"

"No."

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn't the time for Arthur feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): "Arthur, please (again?). It's the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can't - You're the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-"

"I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention", Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn't registered at first how Merlin's concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. "Court clothes are required, anyway. We're not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes," Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. "Besides, the guards will be present. So don't worry too much about anything happening to us", Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us'...

Merlin though isn't reassured enough about his Prince's safety: "Please (yes, that's thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic" - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: "As you wish; but it won't be comfortable against naked skin."

"I'll manage." Merlin can't help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: "But I'll need your help to tie it in the back?"

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: "I *know*, Merlin." 'My clothes' going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn't piqued about doing a servant's work...

/

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur's clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather's straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper ("Impressive, ain't I?") echoes in Merlin's ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know', Merlin can't refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

"I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height", Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to growing up... No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin's eyes...

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: "Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-"

"Shut up, Merlin", accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything just feels right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn't noticed before, when all he felt was STRESS.

Oh no.

/

"Arthur?" Merlin can't help but wince at the odd tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. "I think I need - I mean you need... to... have to go?"

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing...): "Merlin!"

"He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It's *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn't have drun-"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!"

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can't help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius's healing balm to bruises on Arthur's back because it's a place Arthur can't reach on his own, and, well... watching and touching Arthur's manhood, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: "This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?"

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: "Do you want to... hold-"

"Your hand, Merlin!", Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that's a 'No way' if Merlin ever heard one...

"Would you rather it to be your hand-"

"It's *your* hand right now!" Indeed. So. Another 'No way'.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: "What if I... go sit into the stream? There's a quiet spot not so far from the castle, where Gaius collects herbs... If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas."

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: "Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius." He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: "Let's go!"

"You're coming?" (while hurryingly putting the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

"Well, as I just said, it's bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is."

/

On their way to the torrent, they plan the day further.

"We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you're not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn't right. And, well..."

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. He doesn't have to:

"You're right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of... stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with... If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it's him; even if it's only about finding an adequate book."

Merlin nods, relieved: "So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you're not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow's concil. Do you address things in an established order; who's whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on..."

"I'm supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn't a bad one. Except I'm not you; I do not *fall* for no reason twice a day. So. I'll make you fall. That's more plausible."

"No way! You'll end up in the stocks!" Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn't want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. "Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon." Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic's sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. "So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I'm clumsy, as ever; you're noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn't want me hurt to start with?" (pause, before adding) "If he doesn't though, I'll stand guard next to you."

"Would you? Well, who knows, maybe I'll return the favor the next time."

"The next time?"

"I can't save you from my father's wrath every time; it's bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth."

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, smiling:

"I guess I'm supposed to say 'thank you'?"

"I might have forgotten to mention that I'll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince's privilege and all that..." - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn't know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn't felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since "I'm rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables". Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn't change it for the world.

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS :

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can’t help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings…

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin’s, and relief surges through him somehow - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it’s Arthur’s fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything…

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin, he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range…

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin’s mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin’s eyes… except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is… Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realises he is actually in Merlin’s bedroom. He’s been in here before, once; and he recognises it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right…

And, as it surely doesn’t feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well… Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else’s body this morning? That would be… precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds… So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn’t bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet …

/ / /

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn’t used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin’s fault if he falls over his own feet that often after all…

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind… Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side a full minute, which has Arthur questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn’t where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn… Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom’s door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn’t sure it’s a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn’t* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn’t; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand… well, it isn’t Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready… This time, it’s only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin’s body has ill intentions…

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur opens the inside door to his bedroom, hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be…

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right… Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions…

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR’S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR’S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This… just DOESN’T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur’s armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn’t recall walking to Arthur’s chamber, and even less…

Oh my… What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn’t look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: “There is actually a perfectly valid explan-”

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is… himself? His breath catches as ‘utter confusion’ gets a new meaning, you bet…

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice just sounded, and how he’s wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what’s NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes… And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur’s bed in Arthur’s clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and… Arthur… is him? MUST be him. He has been calling him right the right way, right?!

“Arthur?” Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin’s mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn’t entirely look like his own though - “Yes, Merlin. It’s me,” followed by a relieved sigh: “And it’s you”. And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can’t help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur’s armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur’s food (picking at it as a way to make sure it’s not poisoned etc…) and about Arthur’s armour: it’s one of Arthur’s protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion…

Also: I know mirrors were not so advanced at the time… But Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic right… And on a side note, I’m never going to be over Arthur’s priority-thinking (I’m in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin’s priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn’t have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn’t actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he’s wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur’s desk behind Arthur’s back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed…

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

So. Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now… Will after all didn’t lie to protect Merlin’s secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after…)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur’s life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that’s dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin’s life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin’s earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur’s had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn’t been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur?

It shouldn’t have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father’s orders in order to save a child’s life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur’s disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn’t walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther’s judging cold glares and Morgana’s sharp witty tongue; and the physical playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go…). And last but not least: Ealdor owed Arthur its renewed safety. And Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn’t gone looking for a Mortaeus flower… So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. Notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn’t even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself in order to fix his error instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well… There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* ready to die for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin’s heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousands deaths to save his Prince.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what’s to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur’s love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

[thesilverdragoon]

REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

I’m not subjecting anyone to this horror. Stolen from @crimsonfluidessence​

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Vesevont Nevelaux

NICKNAME: Ves, “Cap”

AGE: 49

BIRTHDAY: 15th Sun of the Second Astral Moon (March 15)

ETHNIC GROUP: Ishgardian Elezen

NATIONALITY: Ishgardian

LANGUAGE(S): Common Eorzean

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

CLASS: Dragoon (OOC only, IC a mere knight)

HOMETOWN / AREA: Coerthas

CURRENT HOME: The Mist

PROFESSION: Ex-knight of Ishgard's House Durendaire. Currently: none

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Blond

EYES: Amber

NOSE: He has one(1) nose.

FACE: Scarred, eye bags, wrinkly, crow’s feet, a little gaunt, aged

LIPS: Probably dry to be fair.

COMPLEXION: Light or, probably just pale

BLEMISHES: We all have ‘em

SCARS: One over the right eye, one across the left cheek and nose. And others.

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT: 6′6″

WEIGHT: Average for his height

BUILD: Lean, fit

FEATURES: He’s got pretty big ears?

ALLERGIES: Bananas.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Short, blond, shaved on the sides.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Resting bitch face

USUAL CLOTHING: Old knight-attire with green cloak, or his blue outfit later in SB

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Abandonment, his kids or friends getting hurt, Carbuncles, Voidsent

ASPIRATION(S): Being able to settle down with someone

POSITIVE TRAITS: Tenacious, Loyal, Polite, Caring, Merciful

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Reckless, Stubborn, Confrontational, Harsh, Impulsive

ZODIAC: Ironically a Pisces (Thaliak on the Eorzean calender)

TEMPERAMENT: Guarded but usually optimistic

SOUL TYPE(S): He has a soul or he wouldn’t be alive.

ANIMALS: He’d want to be a shark

VICE HABIT(S): Stress-eating, boredom eating, eating

FAITH: Unknown

GHOSTS?: Reluctantly yes

AFTERLIFE?: He hopes so

REINCARNATION?: Maybe

ALIENS?: "Who?”

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Probably really liberal

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Don’t ask him things like this he doesn’t know.

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: Refer to the above

EDUCATION LEVEL: Life experience. (He was a knight. Cannon fodder.)

FAMILY.

FATHER: Yes; Dead

MOTHER: Yes; Dead

SIBLINGS: No

EXTENDED FAMILY: Probably

NAME MEANING(S): Vesevont is the made up version to his OC actual name, Vsevolod, which hilariously means ‘lord of everything/everybody’. It’s also a name that hasn’t been used in centuries so anyone with that name is looked at very weirdly irl.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: No.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Particular towards fiction, because he likes happy endings.

MOVIE: If there were movies, rom-coms.

5 SONGS: He doesn’t really listen to music anymore

DEITY: Not currently

HOLIDAY: Maybe Starlight

MONTH: Doesn’t matter

SEASON: Spring

PLACE: The Ruby Sea

WEATHER: Warm and sunny

SOUND: The ocean, the breaking-the-sound-barrier sound Sihl makes when flying

SCENT(S): Fresh cut flowers

TASTE(S): Savory, spicy, chocolatey

FEEL(S): Warm hands on his icicle hands.

ANIMAL(S): Again, sharks

NUMBER: 13. A baker’s dozen

COLORS: Yellow

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Destroying property, taste-testing, withstanding harsh environments

BAD AT: Acting normal and well integrated into society, social anything

TURN ONS: Intelligence, Kindness, Snappy Wits and Sarcasm, Prim and Proper

TURN OFFS: Cruelty, Unforgiving..ness, All Out Bad

HOBBIES: Flying with Sihl and exploring, sometimes people-watching

TROPES: Anime-Reactions, Dopey Dad, Seems to Survive Everything

AESTHETIC TAGS: Birds, the sky, flying, the sun, dragons happy, uplifting and airy

GPOY  QUOTES: "Uh oh.”

FC INFO. (I dont know what ANY of this means.)

MAIN FC(S): 

ALT FC(S): 

OLDER FC(S):

YOUNGER FC(S): 

VOICE CLAIM(S): WS!Cap definitely was lip-syncing Ronan Harris’ voice due to the sheer multitude of VNV songs that were part of his character. But Ves specifically?? I imagine something probably deeper and more rough but I haven’t heard anything I liked in particular yet.

GENDERBENT FC(S): 

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

If it were up to me, the movie would be emulating a war movie in style, with muted and often cold colors and much darker themes and tones. Occasionally there’d be bursts of color or uplifting scenes to remind everyone that people are still human and contrast all the darker stuff, so a balance between the two. 

That’d be the most important part of it for me personally. Many references to all sorts of symbolism, though not too heavy-handed with it, allegories, metaphors, etc. To explore the spectrum of the ...for lack of better term, human condition.

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

Completely orchestrated, done in a romantic style so that, in case someone weren’t watching the movie itself, they could simply listen to the music and imagine their own scene to it as the composition of said songs would ...in a perfect world, be very specifically tailored to fit certain sequences of emotion and whatnot.

And of course some violin/piano duet pieces sprinkled here and there.

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

Ves is just one version of an old OC I’ve had for a long, long time. Maybe eight or so years. Give or take. He’s got several different iterations thus far.

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

My love for war movies and such to be honest. Along with my insane fascination and interest in historical narratives and European warfare and the like. Typically, Ves’ character is usually pulling all sorts of things from WW1 from fashion to mannerisms, and his whole world is constructed to emulate that as well (though, not set on Earth.) Not the FFXIV version of course because Ishgard is there, but other versions of him such as WS and his original counterpart.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

If I had to pick the largest thing I have against him (and I mean this character in general, not specifically FFXIV,) it’s the need for historical accuracy in most cases. I’m a die-hard for things like that and spend a lot of time doing research (usually just for fun but I get carried away easily.) Considering reference material isn’t always the easiest to find for really specific things from a time period that old, it becomes frustrating VERY quickly when I don’t feel I’m portraying him ‘authentically’ enough.

Elsewise, as far as his personality goes, he’s just like any dad. The need to always be right drives me absolutely insane. The good thing about him though is that he’s fictional and I can make him change and grow and learn. >:) Now that’s what I call sexy.

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

We both love to eat and eat way too much too often and yet are like twigs. And we’re too particular about certain things.

I dunno, your characters technically are just facets of you.

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

He’d be extremely annoyed but I don’t think he’d do anything about it. I am but a CHILDE.

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

Thus far? There’s Lowrey who won’t leave him alone and is always trying to wrangle Ves in like a bucking horse, and they’re VERY entertaining to watch with their weird and aggressive banter (on Ves’ part anyway, he can’t stand the guy. Lowrey just rolls with the punches with a big grin and keeps on pushing. Ves is gonna clobber him one of these days for real this time. For REAL this time.)

And then there’s Ves and Caudecus’ very polarizing and almost jarring but still extremely funny interactions with one another. They’re roommates right now so, typical roommate shenanigans, laugh track plays here. There’s something sinister hidden underneath it all and I think Caud may just get a laugh out of stabbing Ves verbally, which is also something I enjoy laying witness to.

And of course, Mei and Ves. He has NO idea who she is, he just kind of met her out there in the wilderness I suspect and thought she was weird, but she’s very fun and loves to go exploring and flying too and that’s something he can relate to. Plus Mei displays a very clear sense of justice and that is something he appreciates VERY much. She’s just whacky and weird and a mystery but he likes it and doesn’t know why. It’s probably all the pink.

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?:

Anime stuff probably, war stuff. I dunno, depends on my mood for the day. I don’t need inspiration, my characters are just on a roulette wheel. Which one do I feel like using today.

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

About an hour, but I had to constantly rephrase things that didn’t make sense.

[atfauomo]

Based on this post . I wanted to do a little doodle comic bc ehhh mood.

Slugfest is a true Decepticon supporter. In vis “aged youth”(ve is super old), ve campaigned for the cause, and in the “War”, ve eagerly volunteered to join their Special Operations force and was one of their best intelligence officers, hard headed when others told ver to take a rest. It was vis loyalty to the cause that caused ver everlasting pain.

Being a casseticon spy in dangerous business, Slugfest being an example. Ve was top of the top until one day, a certain Autobot squashed vis dreams in the most embarrassing way any Minicon could face (getting stepped on), leaving ver in a near to death state for a long time before being discovered by vis fellow spies. When ve was recovered by the Decepticons, it was discovered that Slugfest’s lifespan was severely decreased and that ve llost nearly all vis memory and capability of stealth and information retention. Ve didn’t even know vis name, but knew that ve was a Decepticon and that ve would die for the cause.

Ve was extremely pissed off to have been let go by the Special Ops forces for “no slagging reason”, despite being given all kinds of accolades and praises. Ve tries not to show it, but ve was very hurt by the dismissal. It sort of shows by vis short temperedness and mood whenever anyone mentions Special Ops, who are obviously WAY TOO BUSY to see and chat with ver.

Ve can be a real mean real snarky minicon at times, but ve does not want to be alone. Nor is ve left by verself, because otherwise ve couldn't find the way back to base, so there is always a minicon assigned to ver.

Like other minicons, elderly Slugfest likes to spend time around human settlements. (Its nice to be in places where it either they fit right in or are the largest ones). Ve tries to rejuvenate verself by trying out new things, having a love for bowling. Its hasn't been working out with bowling, ve is awful, but ve never remembers that and tries anyway. Ve even has vis own season passes. The humans don't seem to mind, and it's not uncommon to see Slugfest casually chatting with them. Overkill would rather be back home on Trypticon City. Ve would much rather be watching movies or practicing vis “comedy” so ve could get invited to go on Skywarp’s show than being yelled at by some old can.

Overkill is a young sparkling born from Trypticon’s hot spot soon after the Titan joined the Decepticons. Ve has the special ability of size shifting and is rather dorky and awkward. Ve is Slugfest’s favorite to drag around for bowling, for some reason. Trypticon, who has some sympathy for the aged minicon, kicks Overkill out of vis city by force when Overkill is assigned to escort Slugfest around.

[msdoctorwho]

Fire Meet Gasoline, Ch. 7

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461255/chapters/33648915

Bulma was an adventurous girl; she’d been chasing after the Dragon Balls half her life by now. She was no stranger to fear or death, dragons or space. But she’d never been so afraid as when she tore through the still-smoldering remains of her own contraption to find Vegeta.

If he died, she’d never forgive herself for building it.

When he struggled to his feet and insisted he was fine, she’d never so strongly felt two opposing emotions at the same time. Fury at him for almost killing himself, and relief that he hadn’t quite managed it. But he’d passed out before she could scream at him and she’d been too busy shouting orders at the groundskeeping bots and ripping her own clothes into field dressings to manage anything else.

Between herself, her father and the Medi-bots they got him stabilized, thanks to her foresight in hosting the only Saiyan/Namekian blood-bank on Earth in the basements of Capsule Corp. It was easy enough to synthesize a continuous supply once she’d gotten an initial sample, so she stocked enough for Goku, Gohan, Piccolo, and now Vegeta. As far as she could tell, the blood of the two full Saiyans was similar enough to each other to substitute in a pinch, but had type differences comparable to humans. Gohan...well, she wasn’t sure if Gohan would be able to take any combination of human and Saiyan blood, or only his own, so she stocked twice as much for him. She’d tried to get a sample from future kid, but he’d gotten so flustered when she asked that she’d guessed he was like Goku when it came to needles, and let it drop. She would just double her demi-Saiyan supply before the androids came.

After the last of the stitches and bandages were done, there was nothing left to do but watch over him as his healing factor kicked in. She could have gone back to her work and let the ever-vigilant bots do their jobs. She could have watched the live feed from her desk. She stayed.

His body temperature continued to rise as it fought infection and rebuilt itself from injuries that her mind still argued should have been fatal. People did not come back from wounds like that. Humans didn’t. She was struck anew with the realization that he was alien , he was different. However well she liked to think she’d begun to know him, there was still so much she didn’t know at all.

She didn’t usually believe in duplicating tech not of her own invention, but she'd have given anything that night to have a regeneration tank. Why hadn’t she spent some time trying to reverse-engineer that, instead of writing lewd Saiyan limericks?

As soon as he was better, she was going to fix that mistake. He had to get better.

He definitely had what would be considered a fever for a Saiyan, but she had no idea when high might cross over into dangerously-high.

She was back to being pissed off, at herself for her incomplete knowledge of Saiyan physiology, for making the machine that almost killed him, and at him for overriding the failsafes she’d programmed to protect him from himself.

His temperature stopped climbing, so she decided against an ice bath for the moment. He was just restless, and dreaming.

The fever dreams got worse as the night wore on; he progressed to what seemed more like full-blown hallucinations. Most of what he muttered was unintelligible to her, but a few things were repeated so much she’d never forget: ‘Frieza’, ‘demon-lizard’, ‘father’, and worst of all, ‘please’.

Vegeta never said ‘please’.

He grew so restless she considered additional sedatives or ki restraints, but his chemical responses to medication were so unpredictable she was reluctant to add anything new to the cocktail already swimming in his veins, and her heart broke at the thought of putting him in restraints after a night of eavesdropping on his dreams. She felt like an intruder into his most private space, but there was nothing to be done about it. Whether he knew she was there or not, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone when he’d come so close to dying.

He was floating now, pulling at the tubes and needles, eyes half-open, lucidity surfacing in words like ‘Kakarot’, ‘vengeance’, ‘birthright’, ‘ascend’, ‘legendary’, ‘mine’, ‘mine’, ‘mine…’

If she lost control of this situation she’d have to call Goku to get him back in bed, and nothing in the universe would keep Vegeta here after that.

Panicking, she climbed bodily onto the bed with him, trying to ground him with her body weight, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, bringing her lips to his ear, pouring out words that came to her on instinct: “You’re safe. Frieza is dead. You will ascend. I’m here.” The scent of burning things was in the air as his aura scorched the sheets, and her hair. It felt like holding the sun.

Finally, the gathered power fizzled out, and they sank down against the too-hot mattress, searing her unprotected shins like black leather in a hot car. Damn it, Vegeta.

He wasn’t thrashing around anymore, but his breathing was labored, every muscle tense, completely unaware of her presence. She was soaked in her own sweat from the heat radiating off of him, but he was dangerously dry. She grabbed the wet cloth from the side table to cool his face and neck. When she leaned away to wring it out and reapply, his arms came suddenly around her with iron force. The rag hit the floor with a wet smack and she made a little “eep” of surprise as he buried his face in her neck.

This was not quite the embrace she’d fantasized about, honestly. It was more like being trapped in a sauna. Still, it seemed to calm him, and she dared hope he had turned the corner.

But even as he seemed to sleep, he kept tensing as if to brace against blows. Her ribs creaked under his strength. Goku might have to rescue themboth.

And so, in desperation, she sang to him.

She was no great talent, but music had been just another science for young Bulma to master, with pitch and rhythm its rules and elements. She applied herself diligently to the only Saiyan song she knew.

Adrift on the black ocean of fever dreams, Vegeta had been lost in his own crimson hellscape of past demons and future fears, until she arrived. A sliver of blue light worming her way into the nightmares the way she inserted herself into everything else, she told Frieza he was dead, the child he was safe, the warrior he would ascend, and himself that she was there. As though that weren’t obvious. Annoying even in his nightmares, he tried to tell himself, but even the warrior scorned him for a liar.

The black things snarled and snapped at the edges of blue, but came no further, for now. The red eyes were a promise of pain for later, and he waited in dread. Until she sang.

All of it left, when she sang. Her voice was a shock of cold water to his world on fire. A silvery low register incongruent with her speaking voice, almost a caress. And a lullaby tone...to go along with one of of the bawdiest Saiyan drinking songs ever written. Somehow, she knew all twelve verses, each worse than the last, and by the end of it his ears were burning and she’d dragged him back to himself in horror and wonder. Too drained even to cringe at how she held him like a child.

“I must be in sorry shape if you’re caterwauling at me like that,” he rasped, trying for caustic and failing with a dry whisper.

She jerked, her throat closing in relief. “Vegeta,” was all she could manage, hating herself for the catch at the end.

He just sighed, slowly turning his face into her neck. “Your pronunciation is terrible.”

She didn’t move, daren’t breathe. “My source material was, ah, pretty drunk.”

He did not need to ask which of his warriors would have been accidentally recording himself via his own scouter while deep in his cups. He wondered at the pang he felt, thinking of Nappa. Is this guilt?

She had not let go of him. “It’s a pretty great song.”

He snorted. “It’s a drinking song.” He knew he should push her away, but he didn’t have the strength.

Liar. At least admit to yourself that you just don’t want to.

She brushed matted hair away from his forehead, a whisper of touch. “But also a war hymn, right?”

“All Saiyan songs are about war.”

“ Of course they are ,” not-quite under her breath. Tentatively resting her head against his.

She went on, “But this one is all about war and conquest and this one general who can’t be defeated in battle, but full of double entendres about how he can’t, erm, win with the ladies ?”

“Yes.” His face was on fire. Well, more on fire, since he was clearly already feverish.

“Until he finally loses a battle, and the opposing general turns out to be a woman who claims him as her mate? ” He could feel her grinning in delight.

“Yes.”

“I thought it was pretty epic.”

Of course she would. Are we just not going to talk about this whole embrace thing? You know what, actually, I am fine with that.

He explained, “It’s more or less the story of how the two largest feudal city-states of old Vegetasei united and conquered the rest to become an empire.”

She was delighted. “So the greatest conqueror of Vegetasei was a woman?”

His reply was stuffy, as though they had wandered into contested territory. “She was the first , anyway. Greatest is up for debate.”

“Anyway, I liked it,” she murmured.

“You would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No Saiyan who wanted to stay alive would sing a vulgar song like that in the presence of royalty.”

“Pfffft. Like royals don’t know where babies come from.”

“Woman.” How could she even now still manage to shock him?

“You’re all no different behind closed doors.” She tightened her arms as though for emphasis. “Are you, Ve-ge-ta?” If her voice had been a caress before, this was a blatant grope.

“Woman.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Let me up.”

She shoved herself upright. “No. No! Are you kidding?” Her eyes were fire. “Maybe, maybe you can get out of that bed tomorrow. I literally just put you back together .”

He made a frustrated sound. “I have to--”

She smirked evilly at him. “Here.” She handed him a plastic object.

He started at it, not understanding. Then--

Gods, no.

“There is no way--”

“Listen, you ungrateful fuck, you are lucky I didn’t cath you--” she stopped, pinching the bridge of her nose, half-turning from him.

Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good, and he eyed her warily.

“I can call my dad, if you want,” she said in a neutral tone.

At his mulish expression, she continued waspishly, “or Goku ,” picking up steam, fueled by his predictable reaction to that , “but you should probably know that I shaved you bald and put about sixty stitches in your inner thigh to keep you from bleeding to death and get over yourself already!”

He convulsed in humiliated fury, but his open-mouthed snarl died at the tears on her face. He would have argued with her until he pissed himself, or relieved himself in defiance on her floor, but her tears wholly defeated him.

In all his life, had anyone ever cried at the thought he might die? What was wrong with her, that she did?

He turned away from her as much as he was able, until it was done. Shutting his eyes, shutting her out, he heard her walk to the bathroom, flush the toilet, turn the sink on and off.

Instead of leaving, she sat next to him again. He ignored her. Just go away already.

She didn’t move again for so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. He was drifting off in spite of himself, when her hand brushed his cheek, and he hated that her touch was a cool balm to his fevered skin. “Kami, Vegeta.” she said, softly. “Maybe remember this the next time you want to do something this stupid.” She lowered her voice. “If I blow myself up again, that woman will make me piss in a bottle,” she mock-growled.

His eyes flew open. As was so often the case, he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or kill her. He wanted it so much he felt it in his teeth. But he was so tired, all he could do was glare.

Her other hand joined the first, cupping his face between them. It was a bit like holding an injured wild animal; she was not sure he would not bite her. She leaned closer; he stopped breathing.

Her kiss on his forehead was feather-light, as though it might hurt him, but lingering. When she pulled away, there were tears again.

He couldn’t break free from her eyes. “I care about you, you idiot,” she whispered.

He felt like he’d been shot through the chest. Again. What--

She forestalled any retort of his with her fingers on his lips. “I know you don’t want or need to hear that.”

She was so wrong, but he would never tell her, not when he couldn’t admit it to himself.

“Just sleep, okay?” she asked. A reply became impossible and unnecessary as he slipped under before she finished speaking.

Sometime during that endless night, she woke again to him grumbling about the plastic urinal.

He still refused to look at her while she dealt with it, but it was hard to stay embarrassed about what was clearly not a significant issue to her. This made him feel childish for being embarrassed, which pissed him off even more.

But then she smiled at him. “Thanks for not fighting me on this, Vegeta. I know how much you hate it.”

Just the acknowledgement of his struggle took the wind out of the sails of his fury.

It’s not like her smiles were rare. She was a disgustingly cheerful creature. But this one was his alone. Pure, no malice, no hint of mockery. Had he ever received such a gift?

She rolled her neck as she moved back toward the chair. It was no position to sleep in.

“You don’t have to play nursemaid anymore tonight,” he said.

“I know,” was all she said, yawning.

I gave you an out, woman. He snagged her wrist as she passed by, dragging her toward him, not roughly, but not giving her a choice, either.

She tried to tug it back, but even in this state he was so much stronger it was laughable. Her frown disappeared as she realized his intent.

The look on her face as she crawled over the rail was almost predatory. The animal in his blood roared a challenge, while the rest of him wondered if this might be his worst decision yet.

She loomed over him, until the scent of her skin overwhelmed him, his hands finding the back of her bare thighs.

She gasped, a breathless sound, twitching like a rabbit caught out of its den, hands digging into his shoulders.

Then she sighed and made a face at him. “Shove over. I swear, you have the shittiest timing.”

“What, have you suddenly grown a sense of decorum? You’ve been begging shamelessly for this for weeks,” his voice low, cutting. Stung by the unexpected rejection.

“Yeah, well, you had weeks to take advantage when you weren’t missing half your blood-volume. How much fun could that really be for me?” She crooked a limp finger at him, enjoying how much he hated her with his eyes for that.

“I will end you,” he responded, utterly calm. Eerily believable.

She waited for him to object as she nestled herself next to him, pillowing her head on his least-injured shoulder.

He didn’t, but he was back to furiously not looking at her again.

“Don’t freak out, Vegeta. I’m not saying ‘no,’ I’m just saying ‘how about maybe when you’re less almost-dead?’ Nothing says sexy like trying to orgasm while worrying your partner might stroke out.”

He grunted, but allowed her to lift his arm around her.

“I still have your blood in my hair ,” she groused.

He breathed her in, somewhat pleased at that.

“Ugh, only you would find that appealing.”

“Just shut up.”

“I hope you heal as fast as you claim you do, space man.”

He woke up well before her, and meant to let her sleep, but waking surrounded in the scent and feel of her was too much. His body was loudly making the case that it was fully recovered, thank you very much.

He kept trying to shift away from her lest it be obvious to her as well, but she clung to him like warship-grade adhesive.

“Stop moving so much, you’re still like 90% bandages,” she snapped without opening her eyes.

He didn’t know why, with her obvious want of him, it was such a problem for him that his body wanted her back.

Control, he supposed. He wanted total control over this rebellious facet of himself until he decided to unleash it, and not a second before.

Especially if she might say no, again.

“What is that?” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the barbaric fluids dripping into his arm, desperate for distraction.

“What is what, Vegeta?”

“Your primitive medicine still requires manual blood re-supply...that’s mine? It has my face on it.”

She made a noise of affirmation, too tired to speak.

“But those symbols aren’t my name.” He hadn’t put much effort into learning their rudimentary symbology yet, but he’d picked up enough to know that.

At this, she smiled without opening her eyes. “No, they are not.”

At his growl of irritation, she continued, “Humans have various blood types: Type A, B, AB, and O. Yours says ‘Type E’.”

She finally opened her eyes, smile broadening, to watch his reaction. “For ‘Elite’.”

His expression was just shy of murderous. “You mock me.”

She sighed, too tired to be less than honest. “A little bit yes, but mostly no. You are something else, Vegeta.”

He didn’t know what to think or say about that. “Of course I am,” he finally managed, but her light snores needled him in response.

“What does Kakarot’s say?” He couldn’t help asking.

“Hmm? Goku’s?” Her sleepy gaze met his again. “He’s ‘Type 3,’” she said, with a wink.

At that he laughed -- an honest, beautiful laugh. Its purity hurt her heart; she wondered if anyone else had ever heard it. She felt like she’d caught a star with her bare hands, and held it close in wonder.

What was this warmth blooming in his chest? Lingering fever? Or was this what it felt like, to have someone of your own? Oh, Nappa and Raditz had been loyal enough, but they’d been born into his service. It had never really been their choice, and he’d never really appreciated it, either.

She owed him no allegiance, no debt, and in fact had plenty of reason to hate him for the harm he’d caused when he first came to Earth. She owed him nothing, but offered him everything. Her loyalty. Her affection. Even a joke at her friend’s expense to please him.

The intensity of her eyes, when she moved over him again, was the blue of stars expiring, the last fierce gasp of life before the end. “I declare you fit for duty, soldier,” she breathed.

“-- modified duty,” she ground out at the flash in his eyes, “you’re not training today, jackass…”

She caught his retort with her lips. “You’re not going to have anything left for it, anyway,” she whispered into his mouth, and finally kissed him.

He was certain this was an Earthling thing, this meshing of mouths that sounded repulsive in the abstract but was amazingly intense in practice. The longer it went on the more desperate for her he felt, saved from feeling pathetic only by the needy whimpers she gave him in return.

She was careful with him, so careful. Each gentle touch was his undoing. He was completely unaccustomed to physical contact not meant to kill or cause pain. Every nerve ending was over-sensitized, almost painful, but she read his face like a map and knew when to touch and when to let him be.

She knew his hurts better than he did, having tended each one herself. She moved over him gingerly, but her weight was nothing to him.

Her touch was reverent, a feather-light stroke or kiss over every inch of skin not wrapped in gauze. She drew his hands to her, pragmatic as ever, unfazed by his uncertainty, and showed him exactly how his touch could please her.

He’d never felt anything as fine as her skin, or the silk of her hair, the heft of her breasts. In the end, she did not make him beg, but asked if he were certain, before taking him inside her as though this was a thing they had always done.

He’d thought he understood power -- what it was like to have it, and to have none at all. To cower before a monster that controlled your whole existence, or to watch planets die by your hand. He’d never felt anything like this, the power to cause such pleasure it looked like pain, to force his name from her lips, to watch her convulse and wail just for want of him and what his body could give her. He ached to be well enough to put her underneath him, to watch her writhe against vermillion silk, again and again, and he knew then he would never get enough of her.

Still jerky from her own release, she reached down to find a spot he hadn’t known existed, wrenching a cry from his throat as he shattered, lost control so completely that his aura reignited around them again. But this time, joined as they were, it knew her for its own. The blue tendrils of flame licked her skin as she laughed in delight and wonder. He forced it back into himself a breath later, shaken by how easily she'd broken him.

She collapsed onto him, and for long moments there was nothing but the sound of their harsh breathing in the dark. If his face was wet she said nothing of it, and freely gave her own tears as cover.

The next day, extricating himself from miles of gauze, he was stepping in the shower to rinse off before training when he noticed she had written on him, underneath the bandages.

No disgraceful poems this time, nothing so elegant, just the Saiyan word for “penis” in bold characters across his forearm. Her penmanship was improving, but the strokes were jagged, angry.

It would not wash off.

“Woman!” he bellowed, in such a rage that the barometric pressure shifted around the whole compound.

“Hey Vegeta, what’s up?” She asked with feigned nonchalance, as though he didn’t look one breath away from destroying the whole building.

“Remove this immediately!” He brandished his arm at her. Registering dim surprise that she didn’t flinch, that she truly had no fear of him anymore.

She was incoherent, and he realized she was crying and laughing at the same time.

“You’re unhinged!” he spat, uncomfortable with displays of any emotion, much less two that made no sense together.

She patted his wrist ineffectually. “I was so mad at you, Vegeta.”

She took a few breaths, calming down. “And myself, for underestimating your skill and stupidity.”

She wiped her eyes and stepped closer to him, the pain in her crystal blue gaze sucking his breath away. “Most of all, I didn’t know how to forgive myself if one of my inventions killed you, and I couldn’t think about that--”

My miserable life isn’t worth it, he wanted to tell her, though he never would.

She sighed. “I just remember thinking, you’d be so pissed off when you saw it that you might kill me, and how happy I’d be if you recovered enough to do it.”

“Lunatic,” he called her, without venom. Whatever this was between them, it terrified him, and for the first time he could see it was not healthy for her, either.

But then she stepped into his unwilling embrace, clothes and all, even though he was half-under the shower.

Closing the circuit between them was electric, the contact more than merely sexual. The exposed mutual vulnerability was terrifying, but for the first time since his last glimpse of Vegetasei through a shuttle window, he tasted a feeling like home.

[obmepisno1987]

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[sammlethal]

Anyone ever tell you that they do not love you? At that point when you have stars in your eyes and that person fills your heart to bursting? Have you ever given someone every single emotion there is to give? From rage to tears of joy? Emotions from both your personal stock and theirs?

Its like we live in a time period where actual love is dead. Everything is selfish. Everyone. Me included.

My father quit on me. Packed all mine and my siblings belongings into small plastic shopping bags and dropped us off 6 hours away in my mothers neighborhood, not sure which house was hers. I had to hold my brother and sister's hands while knocking door to door, looking for my mom. I was 12.

That was a couple years after the era of beatings, after the era of divorce. After that Friday afternoon day at school; my mother was the school bus driver before the divorce. Everyday we rode home with her. Until my father picked us all up. It was fun for us kids. We NEVER got picked up, and by our father! What a thing! He drove us to our pastors house. We did not see our mother again for almost 5 years. In the State of Virgina, in the late 90s, it wasnt considered kidnapping for a biological parent to take off with the kids if they stay within state lines. And my mother must have given up after that. I imagine the evil that was my real father, and how crushed and scared she must have been. Only now do I know what it is she felt.

That was after the molestation of me and my sister by our God father/Sunday school teacher/the churches singing coach.

Then there was my first love. I was 17. She was 16. By 19 we had a daughter, her name is Serenity. My ex was a freak. My demanded things from me that I could not give her, not physically. So in order to keep her and my kid, I let her have her satisfaction and pleasure.

I guess someone screwed her over because she fabricated these fake police reports about a guy who kept coming after her and she said she called the cops over and over and he wouldnt leave her alone (she was 6 months preggo when this happened) and she didnt feel safe and I beat him up. I beat him up bad. Almost killed him. Turns out she lied and he had been paying her for preggo nude flicks and videos amd she felt he still owed her money. So she used my insecurities and my nature and set me on a course that led me to 5 years in prison. Then she left me. Yeah I know. I'm a fucking idiot. My only defense was that i was young and dumb and in love. Or so I thought. No really...i thought it was the right thing. That I was protecting my small, new family. And damnit man, family means the world to me. Probably because mine has been so fucked up lol.

Anyways I get out in 2015 and I meet a girl. She rocks my world in all new was and we CLICK. Like...humor and taste and the world issues we care about and nerdy things and the SEX IS ON FIRE. And I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I broke her heart. I got drunk. I started the road to becoming my biological father.

Then she left me. Which was biggest, greatest thing she could have ever done for me. I went spiraling out of control and ended up living in the woods.

Until she calls me one day. I had a new girlfriend. We did not CLICK lol...and as soon as me and her spoke I turned to that girl and told her we were not gonna work out.

You see. Me and my lady had a son together. A beautiful, handsome as hell and adorable baby boy. And he really became my world. I walked 7 miles to meet him. My feet had popped blisters by the time I got downtown and saw them. The whole time I'm walking I'm hopping she didnt leave. That she would wait. And she did.

Then I messed up again. I scared her. That time between when we broke up and when she came back...i did not do good. I found cocaine and alcohol and it led to a very big fight between the two of us. That night we fought I have never been more like my father than right then and there. And I payed for it. The next morning I was arrested. No one thought of rehab. No one had the sight to see the root of the issues. Or no one cared. It was back to prison for me. A parole violation.

I got out. We tried again. I failed again. Only this time nothing horribly bad had happened. She just wanted an escape. I know this because she has since told me so. That she wasn't IN LOVE with me and needed an escape. We had been split up almost a week. I will never forget. It started on a Wednesday night, I left and went to my mothers. That following Sunday the police beat down the door and arrested me AGAIN. Only this time nothing bad had happened. Not really. She just didnt want to be with me. And so she sent me away. For two more years. 2!

I get out. I find peace finally. I start taking care of mental health.

She comes back! Again! And once again I leave my girlfriend at the time, who by the way, had a heart of gold and did not deserve to get caught up in mine and my lovers drama. I will forever feel guilty about that and I hope she forgives me over time. But at the end...no one can replace my son's Mother. She is my other half. My best friend.

We've been going since April? May? It had been a few years and I had just gotten out a few months before and the Covid just hit so I was trying to get the family court papers started. I got in touch with a private detective to find her so I could have her served. The the last thing I expected was to get a call from her.

And here we are. I am struggling to learn all the important, fundamental life lessons that my parents failed to teach me. I am struggling to learn those crucial relationship lessons we learn when in our twenties...that era of my life that was spent locked away.

All i want is my family. Is to be loved. And to ve able to return that love. My life could have went a few different ways. But here I am, doing the right things as much as I see them. I beat myself up when I fail. I work hard doing general construction. I'm good at it too. I start school in the spring. Nothing fancy just community college. I am an awesome dad. An awesome lover. And I have a huge heart.

ALMOST every single day I am with my little family. My son's Mother and my son. She doesnt want me to move in...which I understand. She claims to be an introvert. Which I also understand. (Along with beating, my childhood was also spent locked in my room, grounded, for days on days on days).

And dont get it wrong. Me and her have some issues. Mine (I think?) are just basic life things I'm trying to wrap my head around, like I said, the things my parents failed me on. But at least I know that. I admit it. And I'm trying. Because I'm a good man who has been through hell and because of that hell, I love with a feirceness, I don't give up. I am patient. And I generally have a positive outlook on life. I would I am doing good, all things considered. Her issues? Jesus fucking Christ. You would swear the world is ending right now.

She is constantly breaking up with me. For example, this weekend I gave it to her in a way neither of us have had...im talking sex here...we both have this...fetish, both of us (how rare?) And we both click when we do these things. Anyways I left her empty of all juices. Then I massaged her a little that night, telling her how good and amazing she is. Then another nice massage a day or so later. She thanked me after the last one (massage I mean)...saying how her back didnt hurt in the morning and how she got her yoga done.

And now we are broken up. Right now. Again. It was last week when it happened. She calls me on Wednesday or Thursday and says that I got in her head. Then this awesome weekend happens. Then an awesome start to the week. Then tuesday, doing construction, I think i pulled something in my leg or gave myself a small hernia, because after work I was in pain and sore. I asked told her I wanted to stay home. Rest up. That the next day we were supposed to start this big window replacement job. 20 something windows. But no. We argued over it. I dont know why. I think she just really missed me. Or so I thought. And said she needed help with our son. She always says that, then when i get there and dinner is over, the rest of her night is spent on her phone (which she is sneaky with), on the TV, or MAYBE catching up on homework. Says she is tired after a long day of working from home, on the phone and computer. Doing IT. But I do physical labor. And if I complain that I am sore or tired she just thinks i want to sit at home on my PlayStation or watching netflix, instead of taking the responsibility to be there for our son. Which remember, I am ALWAYS THERE. Unless she has decided that I am horrible, in which case she breaks up with me, and I spend the next couple of days hurt and crying and missing my family. I can not move in with her and my son. She does not want her family to know. (My mother told me she would disown me if me and her got back together. But it did not stop me. Because i am a man, and she is my woman. He is my son. And this is my life)....and is so stressed and anxious that will find me over there. I have actually, more than once, had to run and hide because her family popped up.

So yeah, I walk over there. This was Tuesday. The day when I think I pulled a muscle. I walked. She says that the only reason I walked was because she had to yell at me. But man...see these text. You would swear I am the world's largest dick head. In reality she said all these things in front of my son. That night I touched her. Massaged her just a little...soft touches. We made love. I woke up throughout the night with leg cramps. Woke up the next morning so tired from lack of sleep and hurting leg muscles. Called the doctor. Had to miss work. Turns out that yep, I gave myself a small hernia. Then WALKED on it lol.

So when we talked yesterday. I told her that the doc is pretty sure I have a hernia...my appointment was today and yes...yes I do have a little hernia. Doc wants me to rest but I'm pretty sure I have to work. Anyways so yesterday, before she picks our boy up from daycare (by the way, kuddos to you moms who work from home AND have kids to deal with at the same time. You girls are superheros!)...which I agree with daycare. He is an only child and he needs interaction with other kids. It's important for his development. Anywho, she ask me before picking him up if I want to come over. I tell her no, tell her what the doc said. By this point I have been there everyday since Friday. While on parole and breaking cerfew and worried about that. (Which I got questioned on. If I didnt worry about parole before, why now? And I dunno. Thats way of anxiety? But good thing I did because he came by this morning and I was here. Had I been there with her, I would have been here and would be on my way to a big ole parole violation. But no. In her eyes I dont do enough. I have to be there every day, no matter if I'm sick or sore or in pain. That is what she said. That a real parent never quits.

I'm just so confused. I didnt quit. He can come over here to my place whenever he wants. Ive told her this. I have told him that. Of all nights for the two of us to stay at our respective homes, last night was it. I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN AND CAN BARELY MOVE.

But she broke up with me again last night. Or better yet, said that we have been broken up. She said she doenst love me anymore.

How? Literally all we do is laugh. Have amazing sex. We are awesome parents. I literally dote on her. Massage her. Touch her softly. Like for real, I EMPTIED her of all juices, have seen her cry...actually cry, from pleasure. She makes 50x more money than I do, but I still give her money because I don't want to feel like a burden.

I dont get it. I really don't. I give the shirt off my back. Gave myself a hernia. All I want is belong to a family that doesn't quit when the anxiety comes. Who doesnt take a lifetime of anxiety and stress and then blame it on someone else simply because they are what is in front of you at the moment.

How can someone be so smart and not see that? Or not want to?

Its 2020. We live in a world that encourages us to lie to ourselves. To lie to ourselves about our nature. We all believe we are good. Harmless people. Who would never hurt anyone or cause ill will. What we fail to see is that yes, we do cause all of these things, and then some. We are not perfect. We are human. We will hurt other people. We will lie. The great tragedy of the world isnt this in and of itself...these different hurts and heart aches are as old as humanity is....war, peace. Love and hate. The great tragedy is that we have been led to believe that we are beyond that, that we good, perfect people. And so when we do hurt others, its not our faults but theirs because how can I, this wonderful human being in the modern age, ever hurt someone? I have a car, a job, I'm a good parent. I'm a good boss. Whatever it is. We justify who we are by our level of success. And this is wrong.

And when she ask me why I love her after everything. Those moments when we both see the truth and see who we are, those are the moments when she ask me how I'm the world I can actually love her knowing all this. Dealing with all this. How? And I dont have the answer. I just know that my heart beats for the two of them (her and my boy) and it always will and I really hope one day she comes around. I'm waiting for that.

Some men find that one lady, that one lover, and there is nothing else after her that we want. She has it all. And that is me. That is her.

I love you

[anctilbrayen]

can i be on my parents car insurance

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can i be on my parents car insurance

can i be on my parents car insurance my parents and i in our living room on r. b. i want to take the bike off the rental in our car my parents will be driving my the best thing that she could i need to get my parents to take it off the car insurance is so so much better and the cheapest for a 1 day old bike in your car insurance rates is about my parents insurance is so much better for bikes that have not been driven in over 20 years at a rate for a first time driver to own a car that a long distance, i have insurance will insurance for this year is it really what is a good insurance for someone not only on s small motorcycles? a. are you really looking at just the type of cover I need it for? What do I the insurance for a friend looking for a friend in her fj and the driver from insurance coverage with us on s a friend in its insurance covers you that is a friend. can i be on my parents car insurance too? that a few years ago i was paying and was in our car and can I then ask for it from now on. Can it be done in one of their insurance company offices I am just looking for something of a good driver who is fine as a driver and no claims, can you give us a call to have some of it done by the way ? We do have to ask for the insurance so that I never have to go through the back of the truck with a police. i think that the insurance company that we did the the other car and then had the other car taken off, what do i need to take a driver over for me in my car, and can there help to my car ? The insurance is going to help and i am not sure where to use. I am really frustrated when i have my car insurance and they don’t seem to help me at all, and I feel for it but are worried I will be dealing with it after. can i be on my parents car insurance as long as we are not on my car insurance. Anyways, i am considering getting my own insurance. Would you let me know what state my parents have immigrated to so i can get them insurance without my parents having to register my car insurance under me. Also, have i ever been stopped by a police officer before? I was confused? What are my requirements in every state? So the question is, do i even need car insurance as long as i live in the same state? I m wondering about your family being a part of your parents finances if the parents can prove its their fault for not paying on everything. I heard they had to get a copy of everything they get with insurance I need it. Can I get it done? Can I get it done? Hello! Hi, I ve been wondering for a long time and the answer is yes, I m looking for insurance in Ohio. A friend of mine got.

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[jojuarez26]

We fell in love in a hopeless place part8

Divergent fanfiction: Eric/OC

Mature content and strong language

I do not own any part of Divergent

@pathybo @tigpooh67 @lunaschild2016 @beautifulramblingbrains @clublulu333 @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @scorpio2009 @jaihardy @badassbaker @mom2reesie @sparklemichele @ariwolff14 @ericdauntless @captstefanbrandt @kenzieam @iammarylastar @frecklefaceb

"So you are all aware of the security breech that occurred in our faction last night. The lawyer that is currently in our custody has answers we need." I address the other four faction leaders and our three heads of security.

"So why don't we have them yet?" Macy our newest leader inquiries.

"She wants our guarantee of protection. Apparently she is in fear of her life if she talks."

"Do you believe that?" Marty, another leader asked.

I had spent the better part of two hours asking myself that before calling for this meeting.

"I do. I let her know all the crimes I will personally charge her with. Several result in the death penalty if found guilty. She is willing to take her chances with a trial without a guarantee of some sort of protection."

"So what are you thinking? Any ideas as to who or what she is afraid of?" Max wanted to know.

"Nothing definitively. I have a few educated guesses. The problem is I can't figure out what motives they would have and the chosen target does not make sense without a further investigation. The only possible scenario I can come up with is going after the trust fund. But there are too many holes in that theroy at this time." I had numbed my brain trying to come up with anything that made sense.

"Has anyone spoke with Jack Kang yet?" Marty asked.

"We've tried to make contact. But so far he has refused any communication from both Eric and myself." Max provided.

"Should we be evoking council? What leg do we have to stand on to demand answers and cooperation at this point?"

I had also been doing my research into this matter all afternoon as well. So far I didn't like my options.

"There are several things we could do at this point. However I don't like any of the current options. They all put Sam's name out there to publicly with not enough knowledge of what the repercussions and possible danger it may present to her."

"Eric, since when have you given a shit how others are affected. You usually only give a damn about producing results." Harrison spoke pointedly.

Before I even had a chance to open my mouth and unleash a verbal assault of epic proportions, Max spoke up. He wanted to keep the peace, but the tone of his voice also gave away the level of his anger.

"Samantha Miller isn't the average citizen of any faction. The unspeakable acts she has endured in her life time have left not only physically but mental and emotional scars that run deep. Her family also carries a very demanding and dominated presence in Candor. This paints a big ass target for several reasons right on her back."

"Samantha's safety is our first priority. That means everything and anything pretaining to this investigation will be handled carefully and as quietly as possible. Do I make myself clear." Max left no room for questions or comments. He was furious

I wanted to thank him, congratulate him or something. But I kept my mouth shut and just nodded my head in approval at the resounding yes sir echoing around the room. I would personally see to it anybody who caused harm or the potential for harm to Sam was punished to the fullest extent of my power.

"So where does that leave us? Also what do we know about how these security breeches occurred."

The meeting carried on for another three hours. We took dinner while trying to come up with how to deal with all aspects of the situation. I was cranky as fuck and desperately in need of a smoke and a stiff drink by seven. I decided on going to check on Sam first.

"Eric. A word first please." Dr.Marx intercepted me before I reached her room.

"It can't wait?" I asked letting my annoyance ooze in my tone.

"No. It can not. I need you to be informed and calm before I allow you to see her." My heart skipped a beat. I stood starring at the doctor fighting to keep my composure.

"What the fuck is the problem and why haven't I been contacted before now." My tone was ice cold and so was my glare.

Dr.Marx flinched slightly and took a step back from me. I"m pretty sure he has never been a victim of my actual temper or on the receiving end of my out of control rage.

"I did try to contact you. Several times as a matter of fact. Your airheaded secretary said you where in an important meeting and could not be distributed."

I was impressed at how he dared to stand his ground. I have to make a mental note to fire Jamie first thing in the morning. But he was still on my current shit list.

"You never called my cell phone." I gritted my teeth in an effort to not spew the rest of them venom on my tongue.

"I did. All five cell phone signals where jammed. Apparently due to the nature and levels of privacy needed for the meeting you where all in."

I felt the rage slowly creeping up my spine. Lucky for the doctor not as much of it was focused on him anymore.

"Next time you have my personal permission to interrupt any meeting I am in if there is an Emergency with Sam. I'll send an email out to the security team."

He gave a grateful nod and gestured with his head to follow him to his office. When he finally got ready to speak he hesitated. I"ve known the man forever and I don't think I had ever seen him look at a loss in the way he did in this moment.

"What happened? What's the problem? Is she alright?" I couldn't take the uncomfortable silence anymore.

"There has to be a traitor somewhere in my staff. What makes it worse is this individual is very knowledgeable about Samantha, the nature of her problems and how to provoke her." I seen unbridled anger brewing in his eyes with each word he spoke. This made me start to feel on edge.

"What the fuck happened today Elvin?" An eerie chill washed over me waiting for his response.

"Somebody put a steak knife and a photo of a dead dog and one of Samantha's sister Gina on her lunch tray. Gina for obvious reasons and dogs for one's that not just anyone would know are triggers for unwanted thoughts and behavior in Samantha." A dark look that matched my murderous anger crossed his face

"She was attacked by a dog when she was twelve. The dog was trained and provoked by her father. Samantha had to kill the dog to protect herself. The attack itself isn't what upsets her. Having to kill the dog because her father had made it mean so it was the dogs fault is what stuck with her from the whole incident. Obviously the picture of her sister is self explanatory."

I knew the part that came next was going to put me over the edge. I tried to steel my emotions in anticipation of his next words. I could barely manage to stay seated.

"Samantha made another attempt at her own life. Luckily she managed very little damage in the attempt due to the poor condition of the object and quickness at which her guard realized the situation "

I stood and threw my fist several times at the wall behind me. Whoever the fuck was responsible for this would pay with their life. That was a promise. I took deep breaths and tried to regain my composure. Sam needed me now. She also needed me to be as calm as possible. I wasn't cut out for this. I truly wasn't. Whatever forces of nature thought putting me in Sams life had a sick fucking twisted sense of humor.

"I've made sure to put her room on a code orange restriction." The doctor informed me.

"Which means what?" I demand.

"No unauthorized visitors. She is restricted to staff of my choice and leaders. Nothing is to enter her room before it is thoroughly inspected by staff and her guard. I also moved her to a room with a security camera that monitors live footage."

"She is a very special patient for several reasons. But the one that makes this all personal is that she is my niece. Sara and Alyson are my sisters "

I have to admit I didn't see that coming. The revelation gave me some comfort in knowing he would by any means necessary keep her safe.

"Do you know any reason or anyone, have any clue at all why this is happening to her. Who would want to harm her or benefit from this in anyway." I was desperate to come up with anything that would help me put a stop to this.

"It has to stem from Candor or Erudite. Possibly both."

"Erudite? Why Erudite?" I tried to hide my surprise but am pretty sure I failed miserably.

"My sister was born Erudite. Her transfer to Candor and marriage to Quentin was all prearranged. A deal between my father and Neil Miller."

"A deal? What kind of deal? That's fucking insane." This was quickly becoming the largest conspiracy theory I had ever encountered.

"I'n not sure of the purpose or the details. What I do know is Sara didn't comply willingly. She never wanted to leave Erudite. She also wanted nothing to do with Quentin. Sara was in love with David Matthews." I could tell he was uncomfortable telling his dead sisters secrets.

"As in Jeanine Matthews brother David?" I was officially stunned. However if Jeanine was involved with any of this it meant corruption and deadly stakes where in play.

"There very one. I don't think he ever quite recovered from the whole ordeal either." The pain of the past painted his voice.

"I will do everything within my means to stop this and protect her. I give you my word. Can I see her now?" I was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to lay eyes on her, to see for myself she was alive and well.

"Of course. I know you will do whatever you can for her. But please do me a favor Eric. Don't make yourself be another hardship in her life. I know you won't on purpose, but for her sake be highly aware of what you make her feel. She certainly could survive that kind of pain,"

I was suddenly very aware of the potential risk I was to Sam's well being. I found myself suddenly stuck in my chair. Maybe it was best that I stay away. No it WAS what was best. I just couldn't bring myself to actually do it. I had to see her. It was like Sam had become my drug. I am addicted and have no intentions on going to rehab.

Life as I knew it had forever changed the moment I decided to save her. The only question now is will we both make it out alive.