#i was so mildly confused on the first watch thinking it was a translation issue but now its clicked

[firelise]

okay i felt sad still trying to make sense of ITSAY/IPYTM so i went back and rewatched episode 3 (aka a masterpiece) and now i am sobbing real tears bc it just hit me like a ton of bricks that teh translating the song lyrics at sunset was bar for bar direct foreshadowing for the fuckery that was part 2

i will not be well for the foreseeable future please respect my privacy at this time

[zombiesbecrazy]

translation not required

Summary: "I don't know, Robin. I'm not an expert but I think that’s a lot of blood. More than normal."

AO3

There were three thoughts running through Damian’s head on a loop. The first was ‘run’ because, despite his usual instinct for fight instead of flight, he knew when he was outgunned and they needed to escape to in order to regroup to figure out how to get back to the space taxi that was miles away. A very close second was ‘Father will be so jealous’ because despite the gravity of their situation they were running from a dinosaur-like creature, which Father always had a keen admiration for. The third and final thought, though it was quickly closing rank on the other two was ‘ouch’ because in their haste to escape from the dinosaur and the hoard of local planet natives who appeared to be worshiping it, he had ended up with a knife embedded in his thigh.

It was a matter of numbers. They had thrown at least fifty knives and as skilled as he was there is only so much dodging someone could do.

Gravity was strange on this planet and Jon had issues getting height when he attempted to fly so they were running at top speed, dodging through purple shaded trees with their sharp branches slashing against their bodies, until suddenly they were airborne, having apparently run off the side of an unseen cliff with the ineptitude of an animated coyote. Damian felt Jon's arms wrap around his waist and he somehow managed to slow their fall and adjust their trajectory into a natural cave opening half way down the cliff instead of them plummeting to the ground. They still landed hard, but Jon did his best to take the brunt of the force, tumbling with unpracticed clumsiness but it was sufficient for the purposes of not dying.

They were temporarily safe from their pursuers in their accidentally discovered shelter and that was satisfactory enough for a moment of reprieve.

Assuming that the dinosaur couldn't fly.

Jon scrambled to his feet, brushing of his hands on his pants and breathing heavily, then rushed over to look out the mouth of the cave to see if they were in the clear. “Hecking poop. I think we lost them.” Apparently convinced that the coast was clear, he wandered back to Damian, plopping down beside him. “Did you see that? That was a dinosaur.”

Of course I saw it, I didn’t just not see a dinosaur trying to eat us, said Damian to himself, but kept his sharp words to himself and nodded. “I think it was more specifically something close to our carnotaurus, but yes. A dinosaur who they think is a deity of sorts.” Damian was still on the ground, but had shuffled back to lean against the cold stone wall. His injured leg was stretched straight out in front of him, but he hadn’t shifted his attention to inspect the damage yet, opting instead to take a moment to collect himself. He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and started counting up in French in multiples of six as a way to relax and distract himself from the pain that was building as the adrenaline wore off.

Jon apparently had other ideas once he noticed the primitive knife sticking out of Damian’s thigh. “Oh, shoot. Does that hurt?” He sounded like he wanted to poke it for some reason to see if it actually hurt or not but was restraining himself because he knew they Damian would snap at him. “That looks like that’s gotta hurt.”

"It's intense," he managed to not spit out, parsing out his words so that they were measured and balanced. He managed his breathing and forced himself not to grit his teeth. "It's manageable." He could almost hear a voice that sounded a lot like Grayson in his head "in case you need a translator, that's Damian speak for 'ahhh, this really fucking hurts'", but this was Jon and Jon didn't need a translator because he was perfectly fluent in Damian.

There was silence in the cave for a bit and Damian mildly wondering if he was starting to fall asleep when Jon piped up again. "I don't know, Robin. I'm not an expert but I think that’s a lot of blood. More than normal." It was a lot less jovial and a much more concerned tone now. When Damian first started taking Jon under his wing, Jon had overly freaked out over any little scrape that Damian got, but he hadn’t overreacted about anything in quite a while. Perhaps being in space made him more anxious. "Is it supposed to… spurt like that?"

Those words caught Damian’s attention, opening his eyes lazily to cast his gaze down to his leg, ready to argue with Jon because it was just a flesh wound, but on closer inspection he wasn't wrong. Damian could see blood leaking out around the hilt of the blade still in his leg, spurting out in perfect rhythm with his heart rate, and now that he was sitting still it was pooling beneath him, staining the golden interior of his cape crimson.

Spurt versus ooze was the difference between artery and vein and that was the difference between dying and living, especially when they were lost in space, potentially thousands of miles from home.

"We need to cauterize the wound." He tried to keep the tension that was building in his chest out of voice, trying to keep Jon calm before Damian had to ask something that he knew would terrify Jon. He knew it terrified Superman, but Jon was still just a kid. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell him? Maybe Jon would understand?

"How? We don't have anything hot enough." Jon scanned the cave, but if was of course barren of any fire making tools. “Unless you have something in your belt that I don’t know about?”

He didn’t. Nothing that would work as fast as or well as the alternative.

“Superboy.” Jon blinked at him without any sign of understanding what Damian was hinting at, causing him to sigh, breath shaky with controlled effort. He didn’t want to say the words. He wanted Jon to just understand and do it and for it to not be a big deal, but that would be too simple. "You have heat vision, Jon."

"Yeah? I don't understand how that…" his words trailed off and the confused look was slowly replaced with sheer terror as he understood and he immediately started backing up across the cave, scooching back as if that would make the problem and the solution go away. "Damian, no."

"It's the only way. The blood spurting like that means that the knife hit my femoral artery." Stony voice covered his fear, attempting to be strong and stoic, trying to channel his Father and his bravery. He was terrified, but he could control his fear. He needed to be the calm one. He may be the injured one, but he wasn’t the one with the difficult job to do. "It's barely stemming the blood now but in order to get out of here it needs to be removed. And without your skills..." Damian looked back towards the growing amount of blood underneath him and inhaled sharply. "I'll bleed out."

"But my aim… I'm still practicing Damian. I can hit bottles in the backyard. I'm not ready for something like this." He edged closer again, carefully making sure not to touch the injured site.

"I need you be ready." Damian grabbed his hand. “I refuse to bleed to death in a cave on a random planet.”

"I don't wanna cut your leg off by accident," Jon whispered, eyes welling up with tears. He was terrified. Damian wasn’t sure if he was more scared that he would hurt Damian more or kill him, leaving him alone and lost in space by himself, but both were valid concerns.

But just as Jon spoke Damian, Damian also spoke Jon.

"Neither do I and you won't," Damian squeeze Jon’s hand, trying to lend him some of his faked confidence. "But if you do, cauterize that as well. It is alright. I’ll forgive you. I just need you to stop the bleeding."  Jon bit his lower lip, looking at the wound, watching the blood steadily flow, before looking back to Damian and nodded firmly.

Jon let go of Damian’s hand and shifted lower to the injured leg, hand hovering over the knife, ready to pull it out before trying to seal the wound. “On three.” He swallowed and started to count.

He went on two, just as Damian knew he would. All the Kryptonians he knew always seemed to go on two.

Screams filled the cave, echoing off the walls and Damian was aware enough to know that not all of it was his. The pain he had expected, but the smell of his burning flesh was something else entirely. Logically he knew what it smelled like, he had experienced it before, but knowing that it was his own was a million times worse. He didn’t quite black out, hanging onto consciousness with the last scrap of his willpower, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that there was a chance that they’d have to move at any moment if they were discovered and he couldn’t afford to be fully out of it right now, but he was close to the edge, detaching himself from the pain, losing himself in his coping techniques, trying to meditate away the worst of it. Everything became dreamlike and vague as he floated through the waves of pain.

It was finally Jon’s voice that brought him back into himself, slowly making him more aware that it was over. Haze leaving him, he could hear Jon’s tearful apologies, and was able to recognize that he was no longer attending to his leg, but instead was now between Damian and the wall that had previously been holding him up, arm strapped across his chest, holding him in a tight hug as they both trembled, whispering in his ear and Damian wasn’t sure if Jon was actually talking to him or more to himself.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, Damian. You’re okay though. I did it. The bleeding stopped. You still have a leg and everything.”

“Jon.” Damian had to choke out the name for the sound to come out and the arm around him tightened. “Thank you.”

“That was terrible,” he mumbled. “You screamed so loud.”

Damian hummed in agreement. "I wasn't aware that you could cry while using your heat vision. I would have assumed tears would evaporate." It was such a stupid thing to say. Why on earth would he say something like that to the person, his best friend, right after he had saved his life? It was just something that came out without thought and he cringed at his own misstep. He didn’t mean that. He meant to say ‘thank you for saving my life, Jon’ not sound like a total ass that most people thought he was.

But thankfully, Jon laughed softly and lifted his arm to wipe his cheek with his sleeve. "Shut up. I'm not crying. You're crying."

"It was an observation, not a criticism. And we're both crying. It isn't anything to be ashamed of." Years ago he would have thought that it was a weakness, something to be exploited and used, before he understood the good that it could do. ‘Just pain leaving the body, kiddo’ the internal Grayson voice told him.

"Good. Because that was really scary. Let's never do that again." Jon sniffed and his arm tightened around him again. “I’m sorry it hurt so much.”

“I’m sorry you had to do it.”

“Its okay.” They sat there for a while, just the sounds of their breathing filling the cave while they rested. It was beginning to get darker beyond the mouth of the cave and Damian was about to suggest that they attempt to make an escape, but Jon beat him to it. “We really have to start thinking about getting out of here. They had to have heard us. Do you think that you can handle being moved if I give you a piggy back ride? I think I know where we can find Space Cabbie and then we get the hell off this planet.”

Instead of focusing on how much it would hurt to move or thinking about how they had almost been sacrificed to a dinosaur lord and how he had almost died, Damian snorted. “Language, Jonathan Kent.”

“I think I earned that one.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Blow By Blow ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

~~*~~

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Two hours and another coffee later, Edge had worked his way through most of the folders and had a brief web conference with the Economics and Global Affairs. He was starting to think absently of lunch when he heard the commotion from the outer room.

It was only raised voices so far, Janice’s sharp and very likely protective. Edge couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the other voice came through the door clearly with, “…my fucking brother!”

Perfect, may as well add to the chaos of the day. It was his brother who’d taught him trying to avoid unpleasantries only led them back to haunt you. Edge pressed the intercom button. “Let him in.”

Of course Red would have to make a grand entrance. He could have teleported in and no one would have been the wiser. That meant he wanted Janice to see him, as well as anyone he passed in the hallways. Trying to fathom Red’s reasoning for the things he did was a fool’s game, but all too often it turned out that he was right.

It didn’t mean Edge couldn’t be aggravated about it.

The door opened allowing Red to shuffle in and Edge frowned. His brother looked tired. His clothes were more rumpled than normal, his jacket pulled close around the same t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before. Dark reddish circles were embedded beneath his sockets, but his endless grin was as wide as ever. That grin had stopped fooling Edge long before he’d been out of striped shirts.

“When did you get in this morning?” Edge kept the question light. It made it more likely for Red to answer than if it were a demand.

True to form, Red only shrugged. “never left last night.”

He bypassed the guest chairs, coming around the side of the desk and when he took Edge’s chin in two sharp fingers, forcibly turning his head, Edge didn’t protest. Using his injury as an excuse to manhandle him was getting to be a habit of the people around him, anyway; his own brother at least should be allowed.

Unlike any of the others, Red only studied the bruises impassively. “got you good, didn’t i. coulda given you a matching crack.”

No apologies and Edge did not expect one. Instead, he pulled away from his brother’s grip with a scoff, saying dismissively, “Not a single one of your attacks came close to the force necessary to break bone.”

“no?” Red wandered back around to flop into one of the chairs with enough force to send skittering back an inch. “might hafta try harder next time.”

It was incredibly difficult to keep from smiling at that. He shouldn’t be as darkly amused as he was; every other person he’d met today was upset by the bruise, including his husband who was likely still fuming at home. But his brother whom Edge knew loved him, who had sacrificed a great deal for him over the years in so many ways, his Underfell brother, only suggested that perhaps he should try to up the damage.

He really did love Red.

But thinking of his husband— “Where is Stretch?”

“hm?” Red’s bland confusion at the question was one of the worst lies he’d ever told. “you askin’ me about your liability? dunno, probably at your place.” His grin widened even as one sharp fingertip scraped over the wooden arm of his chair. Edge stifled a wince as he silently mourned the loss, watching curls of wood shavings fall to the floor. But demanding Red stop might tempt him into dangling answers rather than being direct, if only to be aggravating. “see, that’s a good question because it’s been a helluva morning. first, the honey bun shows up on my porch and when he sees i ain’t there, i start getting these interestin’ texts. dusting off some old threats, if you get my meaning.”

He did, all too well. Edge could have done without knowing Stretch already tried to see Red before Edge secured a promise from him and that sheer chance prevented it. Ah, the barriers against peril this morning were conspicuously thin, weren’t they.

“Let me see them.”

He didn’t hold out much hope on that and it was no surprise that Red only grinned wickedly. “nah. s’between me and him.” Red shifted to lay sideways in the chair, his feet dangling over the newly shredded arm. “your liability has a hell of a mouth on him,” Red said, contemplatively. “or fingers, i guess. does pretty good with those languages, think i learned a coupla new things. his science needs a brush up, though. some of the shit he suggested ain’t physically possible, there’s no way in hell my skull is gonna fit where he wants to shove it.”

And there was a field of landmines to tread carefully over. “He was only worried about me.”

Red slanted a glance his way, his eye lights brightening. "you think i’m mad at him?" He laughed, raucous and loud, pounding his fist on the cushioned seat as if Edge had told a joke filled with offensive references to bodily functions. “for trying to protect you? nah. he’s like a tall version of one of them little weenie dogs who thinks they're a rottweiler. thinks he can do some damage. ‘course they can still give you a hell of an ankle bite. bet your pretty little liability would give it a good ol’ try.”

There was something boastful in that, a sort of pride, Edge realized. Red was terribly smug that Stretch would try to threaten him over his own brother.

Of course he was. He was probably patting himself on the back for ‘helping’ Edge secure such a perfect spouse, the little shit.

Some of Red’s humor faded. “you, now. you might’ve stayed home.” It was mildly said but Edge knew a rebuke when he heard one. “and not just 'cause you look like a walking ad for a new fight club. he’s awful wound up about lizard lady’s tests.”

“I know,” Edge sighed. “I’m not sure why. I’m worried myself, but he’s had lower HP.” And if those thoughts were keeping Edge awake at night, a memory of the last time Stretch had been down to a base of four HP, well, he wasn’t about to bring it up.

Red sucked on his teeth loudly. “wanna know what i think?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“i think that it ain't about the tests. it’s that he thinks all this shit’s his fault.”

Edge stilled. He blinked once, slowly, breathing in against the sudden raw magic thickening in his throat.

“he’s thinkin’ about how stupid he was to use their little machine alone,” Red went on, and each word stung, “and now he’s let you down, let his bro down, let the whole world down. he’s been stewing about it for a while, i’m bettin’. he gets out of the hospital again, starts doing better, then finds out his hp’s dropped. every time he just gets that little voice in his head to shut up, here it pops up again, like some kinda nasty yo-yo remindin’ him how he fucked up.”

“and then we’ve got you here,” Red waved a careless hand at Edge’s face, “lookin’ like i belted you, and his brain latched on to that shit. this's his chance, right? all ready to protect you from your mean ol' big brother, that'll make it up to you, for sure."

"That's ridiculous, he has nothing to make up for."

Red shrugged. "didn’t say it made sense. honey bun has issues, you knew that before you ever saw what he keeps in his pants."

"I'll thank you to not talk about his pants in any capacity." But Red was wrong about one thing; it made an upsetting amount of sense. Stretch had been trying to avoid telling him about his HP from the beginning because of Edge’s reaction at the hospital. Frightening as it was, he’d kept this to himself, even dragging Red and Sans along to keep quiet about it, though that probably hadn’t taken much persuasion. All because he was afraid of making Edge angry. If this was anyone’s fault, it was Edge’s; in trying to protect Stretch from his temper, he’d hurt him deeper than he’d realized and the memory of Stretch begging him not to leave was still painfully sharp.

Enough. Assigning blame wasn’t going to help anything, but now he needed to think about what would. Point blank was not going to be effective for Stretch, that much he knew.

Red was still lying in the chair, his hands folded over his chest as he contemplated the ceiling with unnecessary interest, and the urge to needle that blatantly rude calm was nigh on irresistible. “If only you were as apt at dissecting your own issues as you are others.”

His brother only snorted loudly. “oh, i got myself all dissected, don’t you worry about me, little brother. diagnosis: complete fuck up.”

Edge shook his head, reluctantly amused. “I stand corrected. Have you seen Jeff yet today?”

The chair squeaked as Red turned his skull towards Edge, his sockets narrowed, but he accepted Edge’s reorientation, “not yet.”

“It’s his first day. He was very nervous when we drove in this morning. He’s been through a lot lately. I don’t want him worrying that if he’s a little overwhelmed, his job will be in jeopardy.”

“like you’re gonna fire him?” Red laughed with more honest amusement, “after all the work you put in gettin’ him here?”

Edge allowed a reluctant smile. “Exactly.”

“your side liability is doin’ fine—”

“Don’t call him that!”

“—they’ve had him reviewing press releases all morning, makin’ sure they sound right to a human audience. shit gets lost in the translation, sometimes. he’s not bad, got a decent eye for detail.”

“Good.” Jeff would likely discuss his first day with Stretch later, hopefully with excitement, but it was good to confirm he wasn’t struggling.

“welp, can’t say i enjoyed the chat,” Red sagged out of the chair to his feet, already fumbling into his jacket for a cigar. “fuck me, you all are exhausting.” He paused, the slender cigar clenched unlit in his teeth as he dug around for matches. “paps? you need another workout, you call me.” It was not a question and Red waited until Edge nodded. “i’ll try and avoid that pretty face next time. oh, and maybe check your phone.”

“Brother, don’t you dare…!” Edge started, irritated, as Red lit a match with a flick of his thumb, holding it to the cigar. The first foul curl of odor filled the room even as he shortcutted out, lingering behind him.

“Asshole,” Edge sighed to no one at all. That pointed little reminder would be hanging out for hours. He started to reach for another folder and paused. His phone was sitting where he’d dropped it, dark and inconspicuous, and he picked it up, unlocking the screen. The last text wasn’t from Red as he’d assumed.

i’m sorry

Edge exhaled slowly. That had been over two hours ago, and he could easily picture Stretch curled up miserably on the sofa, waiting for a reply.

His fingers hesitated over the screen, ready to type out an answer. Instead, he opened the phone app to repeat his last call. The line picked up, but there were no words, only a damp, shuddery breath. He’d been crying and Edge closed his sockets, pained.

“You don’t have to say anything, love,” Edge told him quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I know you’re worried about, well, a great deal right now. Listen to me, no matter what Alphys has to say, we’ll handle it together. I love you. We can talk about everything else later, anything you want, and I won’t try to lie about any of it. That’s a promise.”

There was no reply, and Edge considered disconnecting, giving Stretch some time to gather himself. But before he could came a single word, “wait.” Small and soft, almost too low to hear. He did, patiently, listening to hitching breaths and sniffles that ached in his soul, until finally there was a faint, “i love you, too.”

It was enough for now. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“okay.” Still too quiet, too subdued, but this time Edge disconnected the call. He held his phone a moment longer until he could force his fingers to uncurl before he broke the glass. The temptation to go directly home was difficult to resist, but he did it anyway. He needed a little time to think, to settle his thoughts and his soul. Stretch might well still be miserable and worried, but going in without a strategy was only going to make things worse.

And strategy was his strength.

His door suddenly opening caught him off-guard, halfway to forming an attack before he saw it was only Antwan, likely taking advantage of Janice getting coffee to sneak in. “Hey, can we talk a min…what the fuck happened to you!?”

Edge groaned.

~~*~~

tbc

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Nineteen.

Harry easily slipped into his new routine. Every day after lunch he would slip away to Voldemort's manor house and keep the Dark Lord 'company' while he performed his meditation exercise. Harry would read while he sat there; some days Voldemort would supply him with a specific book, but other days Harry would just read his text books or work on homework for some class.

He was spending almost all of his evenings with Ron and Hermione again, but he still tended to spend at least a half hour a day as he continued working on copying the book down in the chamber. By Wednesday night he had almost finished copying it. He left the chamber with only five more pages left to copy, and a hand cramp. He and Hermione were spending a lot of time in the evenings working on translating it, and their efforts had gained the curiosity of Ginny, who had started 'helping' them – which really meant that she was sitting at the table with them and asking questions that were slowing down their progress.

Ron was clearly very annoyed at their boring little side project and was spending more and more time with Seamus and Dean.

Thursday morning arrived and Harry had Transfiguration during first block and then a free period. Once the class had begun to clear out, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione and told them to go on ahead. When they looked at him with curious confusion, he told them he was going to speak with McGonagall about his classes for next year and they both understood quickly.

Harry stood up from his desk and packed away the last of his books just as the last of the other students left the room. Professor McGonagall looked up to see him still standing there and rose a single questioning eyebrow in his direction.

"Was there something you needed, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Actually, yes. I was hoping to speak with you about my elective courses and my options for next year."

She looked mildly surprised by this but quickly stood to her feet and began to walk towards the door to the class room. "Alright, Mr. Potter. Shall we continue this conversation in my office then?"

"That would be great," Harry said with a grin as he began to walk beside her and out of the classroom.

After a brief journey down the corridor, the two of them reached the deputy headmistress's office and sat down on opposite sides of her desk. Harry quickly began to explain to her what he was hoping to do with his classes for the following year.

"This is a very unusual request, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said after he had finished explaining everything.

"I really don't see why it's not done more often. I mean, how many people really know what they're going to be interested in later on in life, when they're only twelve years old? Besides, worse case scenario, I end up in the class with the third year's and take my Ancient Runes and Arithmancy OWLs in my seventh year."

McGonagall nodded her head slowly, but from the thin-lipped frown on her face, he could tell she wasn't convinced.

"I'm also thinking about looking into some private tutoring this summer in both subjects. At least the theory and all the reading. If I can pass competency tests in August, I was hoping that maybe I could get placed with the forth years."

"Private tutoring?" McGonagall echoed with surprise.

"Yes. I've already spoken with someone who is willing to help me. Do you think it would be possible to arrange for a test in both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?"

"Well, I..." she began hesitantly before huffing a bit and then giving a somewhat resigned sigh. "I'll have to speak with Professors Septima and Babbling to see what they think of all of this. There will also be the issue of making sure that the classes work with your normal fifth year class schedule. There may be timing conflicts."

"If that does become an issue, perhaps I could apply to the Ministry for a time-turner?" Harry asked with big, innocent, puppy-dog eyes.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, which only made Harry grin.

Harry ducked his head and then took on a more serious expression. "All fun aside, Professor, I really am serious about this. It's important to me. I made a mistake at the end of second year. I chose the wrong classes. Pure and simple. And I chose them for the worst reasons."

"And what reasons would those be?"

"I chose them because everyone said they were easy. But now I realize that I'm just wasting a precious, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are really valuable subjects, and I'm really interested in learning both of them. Now that I've realized what a stupid mistake I've made, I'm trying to fix it. Surely it isn't too late?" he finished, with a pleading tone.

McGonagall gave another resigned sigh. "I will admit that I would normally tell you no in this situation. However the tremendous improvement in your classwork over the year, and the fact that your other professors have given similar reports during staff meetings leads me to give your request more consideration than I usually would."

Harry blinked. "Staff meetings?" The teachers had been talking about him in the staff meetings? Somehow this didn't exactly sit well with him.

"Yes, your classwork improvement over the last year has come up several times in our meetings. Even Professor Snape has had no choice but to admit that your work has improved," she said with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

Harry choked out a bit of a laugh that he tried to morph into a cough. "Is that so?" he asked innocently. "That must have been quite painful for him."

McGonagall snorted. She would deny it till her dying day, but Harry had heard it and he would never forget it. He had made McGonagall snort.

"Yes, well... Mr. Potter... Taking into consideration your improved worth ethics and study habits, and your sincere desire to learn the subjects, I will do my best to help you with this. I cannot guarantee anything, but I will try."

Harry gave her a huge smile and thanked her profusely before bidding her farewell and heading off to find Ron.

– –

By Thursday night Harry had finished copying the last few pages of the ancient elven book and returned to the common room to help Hermione with translating it. The book seemed to be made up of several ancient legends, and the further they translated, the more and more interesting they were becoming. However translating the texts was still extremely slow-going, and Harry found he rarely had the energy at the end of the days to dedicate a lot of his focus towards the task. In contrast, Hermione was becoming down-right dedicated to it, and Ginny was acting as her personal cheerleader.

During the last week, Harry hadn't felt nearly as strong a need or deep seeded desire to spend an hour each day practicing the dark arts as he once did. The anxious, antsy, tension that had eaten away at his mind each day up until he was finally able to get down into the chamber, had dulled significantly now that he was spending several hours a day in the company of the Dark Lord.

Harry had absolutely no explanation for why spending time with Voldemort every day would have any effect on that irrational itch he'd been experiencing for months now. Despite not having an explanation for it, the fact that it clearly had an effect was obvious. Harry decided that he needed to try speaking to Voldemort about it and see if the Dark Lord had any insight into the matter.

The more time he'd spent in the man's company, the more comfortable he felt with actually asking questions, so the idea of trying to explain his experience to Voldemort and asking the man's opinion wasn't nearly as scary or intimidating as it might have once been. But this would also mean openly broaching the subject of how he was affected so strangely by Voldemort's presence, and that still made him feel a little hesitant. Despite the fact that they had acknowledged that the two of them were interacting in a way that was probably a bit odd for both of them, they hadn't actuallydiscussed it.

Unless it was normal for the Dark Lord to spend large amounts of time with individual followers and pet their hair if they sat within reach.

But somehow Harry seriously doubted that was the case. It really didn't seem like the sort of thing Voldemort would normally do.

Saturday arrived and Harry portkeyed to the manor as soon as he was finished with lunch. Voldemort was already in his usual meditative position on the floor and Harry took up his usual spot a few feet away.

After an hour, and the most powerful spike in Voldemort's parselmagic that Harry had thus far sensed from the man, Voldemort stood, stretched and sat heavily in his chair. He read a couple muggle newspapers and then went through the Daily Prophet – Harry had learned that the house-elf, Mixey, was going out daily to acquire a copy of the magical paper for her master – Voldemort sighed, set the papers aside and stood up.

Harry turned and watched the man, curiously for a moment without saying anything. Voldemort took a few steps towards the door before turning back and looking at Harry expectantly.

"Coming?"

Harry blinked, but then quickly scrambled to his feet. He followed Voldemort as his long fast strides quickly took them down the stairs and through the corridors towards the ballroom where they had performed the resurrection ritual.

"So what are we doing?" Harry finally asked as he managed to make his strides match Voldemort's and walked beside him.

"I am going to begin teaching you a few important skills during your visits here. The first one is apparition."

Harry's foot caught on the rug and he almost stumbled in surprise at this, but he collected himself and caught back up.

"Apparition? You're going to teach me to apparate?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter. I'm going to teach you to apparate," Voldemort echoed while rolling his eyes.

"Can the Ministry detect that? As I understand it, you need a license to apparate, and you can't even take the test until you're seventeen."

"The Ministry cannot detect it from you because your trace is gone."

"Oh, well that's brilliant," Harry mused as a grin spread across his lips and the pair of them entered the ballroom.

Voldemort quickly began to explain the theory behind it, and then apparated from one side of the ballroom to the other, and back again, so that Harry could feel his magic during the act. Once he learned that Harry had never experienced apparition at all, he did a side-along apparition just to make sure Harry would know what to expect.

Harry spent the next two minutes crouching on the floor trying to make sure he didn't lose his lunch.

"I thought portkeying was bad..." Harry grumbled as he finally felt stable enough to stand up straight. "What is with all forms of magical transport being horrifically disorienting? I can't use a floo without falling on my ass, I've only just barely begun to land from portkey travel without stumbling, and now this. Ugh..."

Voldemort chuckled in amusement. "You'll get used to it."

"So... I'm curious, when you apparate, I hardly hear a sound from you. It's almost as quiet as a house-elf's pop. Everyone else I've seen apparate always makes a loud crack."

"Again, it just takes practice and power. I'm sure with some work you will also be more than capable of near-silent apparition. You certainly have the power reserves for it."

Harry nodded his head thoughtfully. "You know, I had another question I've been meaning to ask since we started this."

"Yes?" Voldemort said dryly with a sigh of impatience.

"We're apparating inside the manor, but I thought that the manor had anti-apparition wards all around it?"

"I am keyed into the wards, and I have keyed you in as well. So we will be able to apparate in and out of the manor, as well as aparate within it's boundaries. No one else will be capable of the same thing, however, unless I key them in as well."

Harry blinked. "You've keyed me into your apparition wards?"

Voldemort rose a single challenging eyebrow, and Harry ducked his head to try and conceal the huge grin that was spreading across his face.

"Are you're curiosities sufficiently satisfied now? I would appreciate getting on with the lesson."

Harry chuckled and smiled up at the man. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's get on with it."

Voldemort rolled his eyes at Harry, but quickly slipped into what Harry had deemed his 'teacher mode'. Harry didn't manage to apparate that evening, but Voldemort said he was convinced Harry would get it within a few more lessons with relative ease.

When the lesson had come to a close, Harry casually thanked Voldemort and said 'bye' before heading out to the time-turner room and then returning to Hogwarts.

– –

It was Sunday at lunch, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all sitting in the great hall eating. Or rather, Ron was eating, Hermione was working on translating some more passages from the ancient elven book, and Harry was thumbing through a book on occlumency he'd found down in Slytherin's study. He had disguised the book's cover to look like his charms text book, while also casting a mild notice-me-not charm on it, and so far, no one had noticed it.

"Harry, are you sure you copied this part down, right?" Hermione's voice cut into his focus suddenly and he looked up at her with a blank face.

"Hmm?"

Her face was buried in her copy of the bound notebook that he had given her, while the Old Aldric language book sat on the table beside her.

"This part here... I can't find this word anywhere... I almost think you may have copied it down wrong," she said with her brows furrowed as she continued to look back and forth between the two books intently.

"Hm... I suppose it's certainly possible. I've tried to recheck my work pretty thoroughly."

She huffed in frustration and set the notebook on the table with a thwap!, causing Ron's cup of pumpkin juice to wobble precariously for a moment. Hermione's eyes widened as she watched it in horror for a second before it became clear that it was not about to spill on the notebook. She sighed in relief before returning her attention to Harry.

"Are you sure you can't just bring me the original book?" she asked in a pleading voice.

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Sorry Hermione, but I'm not willing to remove it from the room where it's kept. It has to stay there."

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hard look. "Could I just go to the room then?" she asked after a second in an innocent tone.

Harry gave her a hard look for a long moment. It had been a while since their last spat about Harry's mysterious secrets. He supposed he was due for another. "Sorry 'Mione. I'm not telling."

She huffed, folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. For a long minute she fumed quietly. Harry assumed she was just going to let it go, but this time, she didn't. "Why!" she cried in a sudden explosion of pent up frustration.

"Why what?" Harry said, taken aback by the intensity of her burst.

"Why won't you tell me where it is you're going! What are you doing! Where are you going? Are you breaking a school rule? Are you leaving the grounds?"

"I'm not breaking any rules, and no, I am not leaving the grounds. Where I go is still within the school," Harry lied easily.

"Then why can't you tell me where it is! Why don't you trust me! You talk about us earning your trust back, but you know trust is a two-way street, Harry James Potter! If you keep pushing us away like this, how are we supposed to trust you!"

Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He was getting fed up with making excuses to them and realized that he was going to have to give her something to hold her off a while. "Maybe I like having a secret place that only I can go to, and no one else can bother me at, did that ever occur to you?" Harry asked with a rather pointed look and raised eyebrows.

Hermione came up short, frowned, and looked legitimately hurt. "So you go there to get away from us, then?"

"I go there to get away from everyone, Hermione. You see, during first term, there was this thing where every bloody student in the school suddenly hated the very air I breathed, and all I wanted to do was get away from all the glares, snickers, and snide remarks. I found someplace that I could to to be alone and I got used to it. I found that I honestly enjoyed the alone time, and that it allowed me to think clearer and get more accomplished. So even after people decided to do another flip-flop and stopped hating my guts, the fact that I enjoyed the alone time didn't change. I got used to it.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not actually hiding anything big? Maybe I just found a secret room in this big crazy castle filled with old forgotten secrets, and that room has some books in it, and I like to go there to read and get my work done? That's it. No big crazy conspiracy. No rule breaking, or devious ulterior motives. I did go there for my animagus practice, but now I just go there to be alone and read in peace."

Hermione still looked rather crushed at this point, and not as convinced as he was hoping, so Harry huffed an annoyed breath and pressed on.

"Maybe you aren't entirely clear on some of my personal history, Hermione, but before Hogwarts, I was always alone. I went to school, came home, did my chores, and then I got locked away in my cupboard and spent all my time alone in a dark little space with absolutely no company. When I got to Hogwarts I thought 'This is my chance to finally make friends without them being chased away by Dudley, and to try and be outgoing, and spend my time with people.' But it's always been forced for me. I've been forcing myself to be outgoing. Forcing myself to be social. I've realized that I'm not a naturally social person. It's just the way I grew up. I've come to realize that I enjoy being able to go someplace and just be alone. It's like I can breath again. I spend some time alone to recoup, and then I feel the ability to be around people again.

"And it's not like I'm not trying here. I mean, you have to acknowledge that I'm spending less time there then I used to! I've been with you guys every evening for the last two weeks! I'm even including you in this project with my book! So come on! Give me a break, will you?"

Ron and Hermione sat there, looking at him with rather stunned expressions for a long, thick minute before Hermione's jaw began to move a bit.

"They locked you in a cupboard?" she asked in a weak voice.

Harry blinked. "I've mentioned my cupboard before, haven't I?" he asked, mildly surprised and confused by her response. Hadn't he mentioned it before? He did suppose he had glazed over it a lot in the past. He didn't want their pity. Plus, he recalled having actually been rather ashamed of it. Like it was somehow his fault how his relatives had treated him. He no longer held those delusions though. It wasn't his fault at all. His shitty muggle relatives were just monstrous assholes. For them, it was all about fear of what they couldn't understand or control. Magic scared them, and Harry had personified it. Harry had realized that it was simply human nature to instantly try to destroy anything that scared or confused them. His relatives were scared and confused by him, so they tried to break him. And someday, he would repay them for their sacrifice and kindness. Harry remarked, sarcastically, internally.

"What kind of cupboard?" Hermione asked, her voice getting harder and a bit cold.

Harry sighed and let his head fall into his hand. "Uh... a boot cupboard, I guess. Under the stairs. They put a little cot in there for me. I lived there till I turned eleven and got my Hogwarts letter. The Dursley's panicked when they saw that my acceptance letter was addressed to 'Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs'. They thought they were being watched and finally moved me into the extra bedroom."

"They had an extra bedroom, but they kept you in a cupboard!" Hermione all but shrieked.

Harry's eyes widened as he glanced around the great hall for a second before he glared back at her, hard.

"Would you keep it down!" he hissed angrily. Harry pulled out his wand and did a few quick movements with it while silently incanting the proper spell in his mind. The sounds of the great hall suddenly muffled into a distant buzzing noise, as the three of them were enclosed in a small privacy ward. "Look... how the hell did we even get on this? Weren't we arguing about me sneaking off to a secret room or something?"

"How could they do that!" Hermione said in a horrified, sad voice, apparently not listening to Harry. "They still treat you terribly, don't they? Oh, Merlin! The bars! The bars on your window!" She turned her gaze to Ron, who was suddenly looking rather pale. "Before second year when Ron and the twins rescued you... oh Harry! How could they treat you like that?"

"Yeah, well I've got a better question for you. How could Dumbledore leave me there as a baby and not once check up on me? Or better still – how can he know about it now and still make me go back? Says it's the only place I'm safe," Harry sneered sarcastically while rolling his eyes.

Hermione looked horrified. "He couldn't possibly know! Harry, you have to tell Professor Dumbledore! If he knew the truth, he would never make you go back!"

"He does know, Hermione," Harry said through clenched teeth. "He knows perfectly well, how they've treated me my whole life. My aunt has written him letters over the years, begging him to take me back and leave me with someone else. He knows how much they hate me. How much they wish to be rid of me. And I've told him how they treat me. That they don't feed me and that they work me like a bloody house elf each summer. He knows Hermione. Honestly, I thought you knew. Or at least, I thought you would have figured it out from all the clues."

"No..." Hermione said in a weak little whisper as she began shaking her head back and forth. "No... I never knew... Oh Merlin Harry... I'm sorry... I never realized... I..."

"Hermione," Harry said in a hard tone, "Just stop. There's nothing for you to apologize for –"

"Yes there is!" she insisted. "There is, Harry! I should have realized! I can't believe I was so stupid that I never listened! You have mentioned the cupboard before, but it was always in passing and you acted so dismissive about it that it never stuck. I wasn't listening. I should have... I should have..."

"Should have, what, Hermione? What could you have done?" Harry said, leaning back on his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well I should have done something! Told a professor, or something!"

"I've told teachers. Back in primary school I tried telling people and it just got me in trouble. The only times my uncle has ever really hit me were after I told people at the school and they visited the Dursley's or called them. All the rest of my life they just neglected me. Dudders made a sport of beating the shit out of me, but I got pretty good at running from him and his friends, and he's let up since he found out I'm magical. And I've told Dumbledore about all of this and he doesn't give a damn. Telling McGonagall won't do any good because in the end – for some unfathomable reason – Dumbledore thinks hehas say over where I go for the bloody holidays. Well, fine. Whatever. Asking to go somewhere else won't work. So I just won't ask."

"But you can't go back there! They can't treat you like that! It's criminal!"

"Yeah, I'm aware of that now."

"Professor Dumbledore must just not realize how bad it is. Harry, you've got to just tell them!"

"No."

"But you don't want to go back to the Dursley's right?"

"Correct. And I'm not going to be going back."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but then stopped, coming up short with a confused look on her face. "Wait... what?"

"I'm not going back. But I'm not asking Dumbledore for permission first, either. In what way is it his business what I do over the summer? Legally, it isn't. If I get permission from the Dursley's to go somewhere else for the summer, that's all that matters because they are my legal guardians. Dumbledore has no say over my life while I'm not in school. So I'm going somewhere else, and I'm not telling him."

"What! But... where? Harry, that's dangerous! You're not thinking of running off with Sirius are you? That's just not safe! You saw how Sirius has to live, Harry –"

"I'm not going to stay with Sirius," Harry broke in.

"But where are you going then? What if someone comes after you! There was that Death Eater attack at the World Cup, and we all know that someone wants you dead, because they orchestrated this whole tournament thing. Harry, it's just not safe to run off without telling Dumbledore where you're going."

"If no one knows where I go, then no one can find me. That's why I'm not telling anyone. And I'm sorry, but that includes you two. If you don't know where I am, no one can force you to tell them. Nice and simple. And by the way, Hermione – if you run off to the headmaster before the end of the school year, and tell him that I'm planning to run off this summer, I swear I will never speak to you, ever again. Do you understand me? You can feel free to go off and tell him that I've been abused and neglected by my relatives and just see for yourself how seriously he takes it, but mention that I'm running off, and we're through. I will never trust you with a secret, ever again. Do you get it?"

Hermione jerked back as if she had just been slapped.

"Harry... I..."

"I want you to understand something here. I'm trusting you with this info. Do you see? You know the whole 'trust is a two way street' bit from a few minutes ago? Well, here I am, trusting you. I've just told you something that no one else knows, and I have no intention of telling anyone else. Ifyou tell someone else, then you're betraying my trust. You've already seriously betrayed my trust once this year Hermione, and in my game, it's two strikes and you're out, not three."

"Harry! Come on, give her a break!" Ron said, speaking up for the first time in ages. Up until this point, he had sat there with a shocked and utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.

"This goes for you too Ron. I don't see you running off to the Headmaster like I see Hermione doing it, but the warning goes for you too."

"Why do you think that I would run off and snitch!" Hermione asked indignantly.

"Because you would convince yourself that you were doing it to help me. To protect me. To keep me from making a mistake or something. You'd convince yourself that you were being a good friend by betraying me, but I will never see it like that. As far as I'm concerned, it's just betrayal."

Ron nodded his head a bit and looked thoughtful. "He's got you there, Hermione. You probably would run off and tell. It's just like the thing with the Firebolt, last year."

"Ron!" Hermione cried out. She looked back and forth between Ron and Harry with hurt in her eyes before she sunk a bit in her seat and looked down into her lap.

"I won't tell anyone," she said weakly. She paused for a moment and then appeared to make up her mind about something. "But I still want to try speaking to Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster about your relatives! I just can not believe that they would know about how they treat you, and still make you go back there!"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "Suit yourself."

Hermione sat there gnawing on her bottom lip with a look of deep concentration for a few minutes before she looked up at Harry with legitimate worry in her eyes. "You really can't tell us where you're going?"

"Nope," Harry said simply as he returned his focus to his book.

"But how do you know it'll be safe?"

"You can never know these things Hermione, but I do know I'll be safer there than I am at the Dursley's."

"But I thought that your relatives house had some super fancy wards or something?" Ron pitched in.

"The blood wards are worthless against everyone except for Voldemort himself," Harry began, and then silently added, and they're probably worthless against him now too, since he's got my blood in his veins... "I think Dumbledore threw up a whole bunch of wards on his own on top of them to keep out Death Eaters, but they only work so long as I'm in the actual house. If I leave the house to go to the park, or just down the street, then I'm out of their so-called 'perfect protection'. So to stay 'safe' I have to, literally, be a prisoner in my own home.

"And while the wards protect me from Death Eaters, they don't protect me from Vernon, or Dudley, or any of Dudder's shitty friends. I've had a lot more bruises and broken bones at the hands of those arses than I've ever had from Death Eaters. Personally? I'll take my chances with the Death Eaters."

Ron looked pale and Hermione seemed shocked to the brink of tears.

"Broken bones!" Hermione gasped. "Are you serious?"

Harry huffed and looked up from his book in annoyance. "Yes, Hermione. Broken bones. My left arm, and my right wrist, to be specific. Ages five and seven. Probably got some fractures over the years too, but they went untreated. Vernon was too cheap to let me see a proper doctor unless there was a bone practically protruding from the skin. I suspect I've got a bit of a magical healing factor because without it I doubt I'd still be alive with all the beatings Dudders and his buddies put me through. In any case, all the more reason for me to stay the bloody hell away from those people. I'm Not Going Back."

"Alright, Harry. I totally agree that you definitely should not ever have to go back to those horrible people, but are you sure that where you're going is really going to be safe?"

"Yes, Hermione. I really am sure. I mean, technically, I've got two different ideas in mind for what I could do this summer, but I'm definitely leaning more towards one than the other, and that option would actually put me behind wards even more powerful than the 'super fancy wards' that Dumbledore put on the Dursley's."

"No way!" Ron gaped.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, well it's a new residence and the wards are being constructed right now, but it's some seriously high level security. For that matter, I'm not totally sure I'll even be able to receive owls there, because I'm pretty sure that he's adding anti-owl wards in the mix, but I'll make sure to send you guys letters so you know I'm still safe."

Hermione's jaw floundered, helplessly for a few minutes. "I... but... Harry, how did you... I mean... this place that you're going to go to, how did this all come about? How long have you been planning this!"

Harry could see the hurt in her eyes at realizing that he had once again been hiding something that she probably deemed as 'a big deal' from them.

Harry sighed, closed his book, and gave Ron and Hermione a long, hard look.

"Have you ever heard of legilimency?"

"Legililiwhuh?" Ron said. He turned and looked over to Hermione, expectantly but she just shrugged, helplessly.

"Wow, really?" Harry said, looking at Hermione with legitimate surprise. "You've never heard of it, Hermione? Really?"

"No! What is it?"

"It's a mind magic. Really high level magic and very few people can learn it. It lets you read other people's minds. You can sift through their memories and their thoughts, and they'll never even know that you're doing it, unless they know the counter magic called occlumency. The only thing that a legilimense needs to read your every private thought and memory, is eye contact."

"Blimey!" Ron whispered, looking horrified.

Hermione looked disgusted by this new information, but then she looked very thoughtful. "Harry..." she began hesitantly, looking up at him, "why are you telling us this?"

"I've been teaching myself occlumency, so no one can read my mind. Neither of you have that protection in place. If I had told either of you what I'd been up to, then certain people in the school, could have taken that knowledge from your heads without you ever even knowing it."

"Who! Are you saying that there's someone at Hogwarts who can perform legilimency?"

"I know of at least two people in the school who can," Harry said dismissively.

"Who?" Ron and Hermione asked in the same whispered hush.

"Snape and Dumbledore."

Hermione gasped.

"SNAPE!" Ron roared, looking a mixture of horror, anger, and disgust. "Snape can read our minds!" Ron paused, grimacing in thought for a moment before he gasped again. "But Snape's a Death Eater!"

"We don't know that Ron!" Hermione instantly reprimanded. "And it's Professor Snape!"

Harry then sat back and watched as the two of them began to bicker about Snape and what it could mean that he was able to read their minds, and all Harry wanted to do was point out that he hardly gave a damn about Snape, and was far more ticked about Dumbledore doing it.

Now that Harry knew the signs to look for, in retrospect, there were a number of instances where he had been sitting with the headmaster and he was sure the man had used legilimency on him. First year, second year, even third year. If Dumbledore had read his mind, in the instances when he suspected the man did, it would mean that Dumbledore knew about Harry and his friends investigating the stone, and that Dumbledore knew about Harry having found the diary, long before Ginny took it back... hell, Harry had known that the diary belonged to Tom Riddle, and if Dumbledore read his mind when he suspected the man had, he undoubtedly saw that.

It all just led more and more credence to his theories that Dumbledore wanted Harry to keep having run-ins with Voldemort, and Death Eaters, and near-death experiences. The real question, was why?

Harry refocused on Hermione and Ron, just as Ron was getting all red-faced with his own frustrated insistence that Snape was pure evil and couldn't be trusted, against Hermione's arguments that Dumbledore would never let the man teach if he hadn't earned the headmaster's trust. It was an old argument and Harry rolled his eyes.

"But anyway!" Harry said interrupting them. "The point is that if I tell you guys too much, then someone can pluck the knowledge out of your minds, even without you realizing that they've done it. If you two knew how I came across this place I plan to go, you could figure out what the place was. Anyone who knows legilimency could read your minds and pluck the knowledge right out of your heads and you couldn't do a thing about it. When people realize I haven't got back to the Dursley's like I'm supposed to, and they can't find me, you two are sure to be the first ones that they go to. Any clues I give you two are just going to be clues used by other people when they go trying to find me. The best way for me to stay safe is if no one knows where I am. And that means absolutely no one."

"But what if a Death Eater or someone out to get you finds out, and then none of us know where you are and can't come help?"

"You really really don't have to worry about it. I'm not a fool Hermione. You know – Constant Vigilance, and all that? I'm taking Moody's advice to heart. Remember him? Mr. 'You're-not-being-paranoid-if-people-are-really-out-to-get-you'? Trust me when I say that I'm taking loads of precautions."

Hermione heaved a heavy, defeated sigh and nodded hear head. "Alright, Harry. But please be careful! And you have to promise to write to us at least several times a week so we know you're alright."

Harry grimaced a little, realizing that that would be rather annoying, but it was a fairly simple step to secure their cooperation.

"Fine, but I'm probably going to by cycling owls. Hedwig is too obvious and easy to spot."

"Harry... you mentioned a 'he' earlier, so you're staying with someone specific?" Hermione began to ask hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Well, I mean... how can you be sure you can trust this person? I understand that you can't tell us who it is or anything about him, but what do you know about him? What makes you think you can trust him?"

"I know a lot about him, actually. And I really, honestly do trust him. I trust him with my life. I know he can, and will make sure I'm safe. I'll be okay. Don't worry. I really have got this covered."

Hermione frowned sadly and her shoulders sagged somewhat but she nodded her head.

Harry went back to his reading, but paused as he realized that out of everything he had just said to his friends, it was the last statement he made that had the most truth to it.

He trusted Voldemort with his life. He'd already placed his life in the man's hands several times, in fact.

He trusted the most dangerous and deadly Dark Lord in half a millennium with his life, and he felt safer and more secure in that trust than he ever had in placing his trust in anyone else.

He cracked a smile and chuckled to himself at the insanity of it..

[ladyramora]

Teddy bear

Another request from @mistresstuki who wanted something with Raubahn and Nuala. Also starring Ramora, Alphinaud, Pipin, Foulques, and some F’lhaminn. 

Hope you like it! 

- - -

"Wait, wait! One more time? Slowly, please?" Ramora watches Nuala's hands, trying her best not to feel like an idiot as the pretty duskwight slows her hand motions considerably to cater to Ramora's learning capabilities.

Ramora copies her, very badly she must admit, as Nuala's lips curve up in good-natured grin. Silent giggles spilling from the warrior monk's grinning lips as she shakes her head and corrects the placement of Ramora's hands.

Ramora smiles at her own failure. "How do you put up with me, dear Nuala? I am not a quick study in any sense!"

Nuala pats her hands, smiling ever so sweetly. She motions to Ramora, hands moving ever so slowly.

Ramora tilts her head, brows furrowing as she tries to interpret the slow signing of Nuala's hands. "I...? Will - ...get it - eventually?"

Ramora sighs, shaking her head. "You are too kind, my friend. You know Alphi teases me mercilessly about it?"

Again Nuala laughs, seeming surprised.

Ramora nods. "Yes! You don't believe me? Alphi may be sweet to you, but he is merciless when it comes to me! A sharp tongue to go with that smug, pretty mouth!"

Nuala grins, signing slow again.

Ramora squints, struggling to understand. Nuala has to repeat her signs several times over. "Takes one.. to... know one?" Ramora gives a theatrical offended gasp. "Nuala! I'm surprised at you!"

Nuala grins at her mischievously.

Ramora looks up at there is movement behind the other duskwight woman, a smile curving her painted lips as she instantly recognizes the addition to their group of companions.

"Hohh? Look who it is, Nuala! General Raubahn has come to pay us a visit."

Ramora makes eye contact with him, pointing to herself and then Nuala. Me or Nuala? Raubahn smiles warmly, but motions to Nuala. 

Ramora nods, looking to Nuala with a teasing grin. "Oh, sweet Nuala. It must be so hard to be in such high demand. General Raubahn is asking for you. Will you not go greet him?" 

Nuala perks up at that, signing rapidly to Ramora and then turning away to meet Raubahn

Ramora gives a strained smile to Nuala's retreating back. "Yes, I'll pretend I understood all of that. I'll just practice then, shall I?" 

"She said she would talk to you later, you big tease. Keep practicing, you'll get it soon enough, end quote." Alphinaud says to her as he walks to stand by her side, the both of them watching as Nuala rushed forward to greet Raubahn.

"I, a tease? Don't be salty with me, Alphi. I'll just have to kiss you till you're sweet again!" Ramora says, reaching out to curl the stubborn hair sticking up from Alphinaud's hair around her finger.

Alphinaud swats her hand, rolling his eyes. "You kiss me anyway, no matter how," Alphinaud squints, curling his lip, "...salty, I am. Which, thank you, by the way. Your impossible lipstick marks are always a delight to explain." 

Ramora grins at him. "You're welcome. Shall I give you one now?" 

Alphinaud clears his throat and points in the direction of their companions, swiftly changing the subject, "Look, there. General Aldynn is worse off than you. He hasn't the faintest idea what Nuala is signing at him!"

Ramora blinks, well aware of a divert in topic, but allows him to escape. For now.

Alphinaud laughs lightly. "Pipin seems hesitant to tell him, as well." 

Alphinaud sounds amused, but Ramora has no idea what that sign means either.  She copies it, crossing her wrists just over her chest and curling her fingers.

Alphinaud closes his eyes. "Stop that. It just looks lewd when you do it."

Ramora grins. And does it again, this time intentionally trying for lewd. 

 Alphinaud groans. "Why are you like this?" 

- - -

Raubahn blinks, smiling warmly as Nuala signs at him rapidly. "Slow down, Nuala!" He says, laughing in amusement. "I do not think Pipin can keep up to translate for me!" 

Indeed Pipin is struggling, staring up at Nuala's rapidly moving hands, finding difficulty with his lalafellin stature forcing him to crane his neck backwards. " 'Tis all right, Father. I think I've the gist of it. Nuala is.. very pleased to see you?" 

At Nuala's nod, Pipin smiles and continues, "She has not seen you for many moons, and though she missed you, would like to know if aught is amiss?"

Rauhbahn smiles. "Nay, Nuala. We have only come to sort out some small matters. There is naught to worry yourself over." 

Nuala beams, stepping close to Raubahn and holding her arms out. Raubahn laughs, scooping the warrior monk up into his arms and twirling her about in his embrace. 

Pipin sighs, watching them with a smile. 

When Nuala is sufficiently dizzy, Raubahn will set her down again. Nuala stumbles, grinning so hard that she looks drunk. She turns to Pipin, gesturing to Raubahn and making a certain sign that Pipin struggles to remember. 

Raubahn is looking at her with a confused furrow to his brow though his smile remained. "What is she saying, Pipin?" 

 Ah! Now Pipin remembered! Teddy bear! 

Wait. "Teddy bear?" Pipin mutters to himself. Too low for anyone but those with enhanced hearing to hear. Nuala beams. Grabbing onto her upper arms with curved hands. A hug! Doubling the movement and gesturing to Raubahn. Then repeating the earlier gesture after two others before it. 

 Pipin smiles. "Ah. I see. Nuala says... Your hugs are..." Raubahn looks at him and Pipin clears his throat. "Er, very... nice? Warm?" 

 Warm like a teddy bear. 

 How to tell him what she actually meant... 

Nuala blinks at Pipin, but still smiles at Raubahn as he gives a gentle laugh.

Raubahn smiles, rubbing at his neck. "Thank you, Nuala. Your hugs are most pleasant as well." Raubahn tilts his head, copying Nuala's earlier sign. "What does this mean? Strength? Warmth?" 

Nuala looks to Pipin, raising her eyebrows and signing teddy bear again. Pipin scratches his cheek, avoiding her stare even as he begins to feel a nervous sweat. "Err, something like that?" Should he tell him? Would his father be offended? Perhaps he should lie.

"It is... not a sign I am overly familiar with?" Forgive me, Father, thinks Pipin as soon as the lie slips from his tongue. Nuala knows. She knows. Her pretty tea green eyes narrow at him, and Pipin feels sweat bead on his forehead as he puffs his cheeks out and avoids her stare with averted eyes.

He looks to the sky instead. "Oh! Look at the time, Father! We mustn't be late! I'll just go on ahead, shall I?" Pipin can feel Nuala's disapproval, her eyes staring lasers into his back as he retreats like a lying coward. 

Raubahn frowns. "That was rather abrupt for Pipin. Forgive his rudeness, will you, Nuala?" 

Nuala sighs through her nose, nodding her head. She couldn't very well continue on trying to sign to Raubahn with no translator. 

 She opens her arms again, expression hopeful. 

Raubahn laughs. "Another? I am not leaving just yet. Ah, but it has been some time since we last met. Come here," Raubahn opens his arms and Nuala steps into them, inwardly squealing in delight as Raubahn hugs her tight and twirls her around again.  

- - - 

"What does this mean?" Nuala looks up from her book, tilting her head as Ramora signs at her. 

 Nuala grins, searching for a pen and paper to jot down her answer.

 Ramora takes the slip of paper, dark eyebrows arching up with her amused smile. "Teddy bear?" She chuckles. "Would I be wrong in my assumption that this is your preferred sign for Raubahn?" 

 Nuala beams, nodding her head. 

Ramora covers her mouth. "How cute. Does he know that?" 

 Nuala sighs, shaking her head. 

 Ramora's mismatched eyes positively sparkle at that nugget of knowledge.

 "He doesn't?" 

 Nuala stares at her. Perhaps she should not tell Ramora such things given her mischievous nature. Too late now. 

 She signs slowly, expression as stern as possible. 

 Ramora tilts her head. "Don't.. cause... trouble..?" Ramora smiles. "I would never!" 

 Nuala looks at her.

 Ramora sighs, raising her hands up in surrender. "I won't cause trouble in *your* life, Nuala. You have my word." 

 Ramora pouts, grasping Nuala's shoulders. "Do you think so little of me?"

 Nuala snorts.

Ramora gasps. "You've been spending too much time with Foulques and Alphi, both!"  

- - -

The first time someone calls him "The Bear", Raubahn is confused, but corrects them. He is the Bull of Ala Mihgo. Not Bear.

 The second time is a coincidence, surely? A mildly annoying coincidence. 

 But the third time? That. That is a pattern. 

 It is one of Nuala's... friends? Suitors? A duskwight elezen. What was his name again? It feels rude to ask now after talking to him for so long. Plus, Raubahn thinks - eyeing the sort of grumpy neutral expression on the man's face - he seems the type to take offense.

 "Why do you call me that?" Raubahn asks him. Skirting around the issue of not remembering his name and attacking the main puzzle head on. 

 The duskwight eyes him, setting his drink aside. "Because of this," He says, and proceeds to make the same signing motion that Nuala had. Wrists crossed in front of his chest and spread fingers curling inward.

 "Warmth?" Raubahn guesses. 

 The duskwight - who Raubahn will later learn is named Foulques - laughs at him. "Not familiar with sign language, are you?"

 Raubahn frowns. He knows several different ways to kill a man, but this was not one of his talents. "Nay. I do not. Will you tell me what it means?" 

 The roomful of chattering Scions has grown oddly silent, but Raubahn ignores it. 

 Foulques shrugs, sipping his ale. "It means teddy bear."

 Raubahn slams his hands down on the table, scattering the pieces of their strategy game and surprising Foulques enough to choke on his ale. The room is hush with suspense. Was General Aldynn about to attack Foulques? 

"Finally!" Raubahn exclaims with a thankful grin. "I know now what it means!" 

That cheeky Nuala, branding him with such a cutesy nickname!

 Raubahn gives a boisterous laugh, sending his chair scraping backward as he stands, crossing the table to slap a friendly hand on Foulques's shoulder, jostling the smaller man with heavy handed pats. "Thank you, my friend!"

Foulques stares at him, wide eyed and intimated. His almost death flashing before his eyes. "Y-... You're welcome?" He stammers. Gods, the man was huge! 

He now understood Ramora’s playful comments.

“Ohh? Strategy games with Raubahn?” Ramora had laughed, referencing the sign that Nuala used for him as she said, with a grin, ”How fun. Just don’t poke the bear!” 

  - - -

"Nuala!" 

Nuala looks up from her practice of her more difficult kicks and jumps, wiping sweat from her brow. Raubahn had come to greet her, looking ten kinds of pleased. 

 He signs at her, smiling wide and with good humor. "Teddy bear!"

Nuala grins at him, signing rapidly.

Raubahn laughs, stepping close to grasp her hands between his own much larger ones. "Forgive me, Nuala, but," Raubahn chuckles. "I am not that advanced yet." 

Nuala beams, shrugging her shoulders. Raubahn smiles at her, releasing her hands so she can gesture. "Tell me, why teddy bear?"

 Nuala stands on tiptoe to cup his face, smiling extra big. She strokes under his eyes, then pulling back to make a gesture Raubahn understands. Hug. 

Raubahn smiles. "My face, my eyes? The hugs I give you?" 

 Nuala nods, twisting in place almost bashfully.

Raubahn chuckles. "I see." 

He opens his arms and Nuala perks up, stepping close for Raubahn to scoop her up and twirl her about. 

Nuala is smiling when he puts her down, stumbling dizzily for a moment before she finds her feet. 'How?' She signs at him, and Raubahn tilts his head.

"How did I learn of it? Oh, it was one of your companions. The duskwight? Forgive me, I do not recall his name..." 

 Foulques? How did he... 

 Nuala squints in suspicion. 

 - - -

 Ramora sets down her third finished cup, grinning to herself. 

 "Should you not slow down?" Alphinaud sighs.

 "Nope!" Ramora says, popping the 'p' for extra umph. She signals for another glass.

 Alphinaud leans against the bar, looking at the side of her face as she drinks. "What did you say to Foulques earlier?"

Ramora tips back her fourth glass, giving a satisfied hum. "Just a little bit of gossip, you know me!"

 Alphinaud crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at the vagueness of that answer. He did know Ramora. Far too well. "And why are we drinking now?"

 Ramora hums, stacking her cups. "Because Nuala is going to want to wrestle with me later, and I find it more fun when I'm a little drunk!" 

 Alphinaud eyes the glasses stacked on the table, always amazed at her capacity for drink. A little, she says. Alphinaud covers the fifth glass before Ramora can raise it to drink."No more for her," He says to F'lhaminn, who only smiles and tips her head to him.

 "Oi," Ramora complains, but allows him to take the glass from her.

Alphinaud hands it off to one of their Doman friends, saying with a smile, "Would you send this over to Foulques? I think he could use it." 

 Ramora is frowning at him. "Less is better, Ramora," Alphinaud says, being a snarky, bossy little shite. "Or do you want to lose to Nuala so easily?" 

 Ramora sticks her tongue out at him.

 The doors bang open behind them them, and they both turn to see Nuala striding towards them. 

 "Nuala!" Ramora greets brightly. "We were just talking about you!"

Nuala huffs at her, signing rapidly. 

Ramora looks to Alphinaud for help, far from being able to understand as Nuala was not slowing down for her this time. 

 Alphinaud tilts his head. "Nuala says, and I quote, 'I said don't cause trouble! Raubahn scared Foulques half to death!' end quote." 

“Ohh, so Foulques can’t keep a secret,” Ramora mutters. “Good to know.”

Nuala gives her a look, arching her eyebrows.

Ramora shuffles behind Alphinaud for cover, clawed gloves pricking at his blue overcoat, grinning sheepishly. "But nothing bad happened. right? Foulques was the one who told him! And we even sent Foulques a drink!"

 Alphinaud coughs.

 "Alphinaud sent Foulques a drink!" My drink, Ramora doesn't say.

Nuala sighs, shaking her head and then gesturing between them, making a familiar sign that Ramora actually knew without struggle. 

Ramora shakes Alphinaud with her eagerness. "Wrestle? You still want to wrestle? Yesss!”

Nuala squints at her, looking to Alphinaud and then signing rapidly.

Alphinaud smiles, shaking his head. "Yes, I do not know why she did not just say so, either. She just loves the drama of it all, I suppose.”

Ramora looks between them. "Are you talking about me while I'm standing right here?" 

Ramora blinks as Nuala steps up to her, making a sound of complaint as the fair haired duskwight pulls her into a headlock and musses her hair.

 "Oi, not the hair! Let me take my gloves off first! Oi, Nuala! Nuuaalaa!"

Alphinaud smiles, watching them go. “What was that saying? You mess with the bull, you get the horns?”

F’lhaminn smiles at him. “Your usual, Master Alphinaud?”

Alpinaud nods. “Please.”

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter One Hundred and Seven

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

NOTES : So, as stated already, Brian Boru was the first undisputed High King of Ireland, he defeated the Vikings in battle and was all and all, one bad ass and brutal man. Domhnall (pronounced Do-nal and as many would recognise the name from the lovely Domhnall Gleeson who plays Hux as well as Bill Weasley among other things) was indeed one of his sons.

Maebh, Loki and Thor sat analysing the men in front of them, who, in turn, were analysing them. Behind them, Thodin and Nafi would not be forced from the room.

‘Are they not young for this?’ One of the men asked, indicating to the boys.

‘No.’ Thor answered bluntly, the men looked at the two others in question.

‘Thodin,’ Maebh indicated to her nephew, who nodded at the mention of his name. ‘Is the future king of Asgard. As you can tell from his appearance, he is Thor’s son.’ She then indicated to Nafi. ‘Nafi is the future king of Svartalfheim, and he is our son.’ Nafi nodded, though he scoffed slightly as the men looked at the boy and then to her in confusion. He did not know what Midgardian words Maebh had spoken exactly, but there was no denying their meaning. ‘As two future kings, and as men, they are very much encouraged to be here, regardless of the language spoken.’

‘They are fine youngsters, and no doubt will be formidable warriors and rulers.’ Lord Brendain stated.

Maebh folded her arms and stared at him. ‘Lord Brendain I am not sure if you are overplaying because of fear or because you want to lull me into a false sense of security, but regardless, I am in no mood for either of such. I have dealt with too many of my old realm’s men of late, in fact, I have to say merely speaking this tongue makes me want to wound something terrible, with a force not befitting this conversation.’

‘Understandable, of course.’ Brendain gulped. ‘We hear stories of what was done to you and your daughter in Laigin, the anger and indeed resentment you feel is very just, but we truly mean no malice or harm, we only want peace.’

‘All say they want peace, but when have you ever truly seen it?’ Thor commented.

‘Peace is an ideal, it is not always possible, but we should strive for it nonetheless, hence why we are here today to speak with you.’ Brendain stated.

Thor looked to Loki and Maebh, the second of which, gave a slight nod. ‘Maebh believes that your Boru is a man worth considering listening to and you claim to have terms, let us speak of them, and see if we can arrange a truce.’

‘Thank you.’ The lord bowed before he turned to the man next to him. ‘This is Domhnall mac Briain.’

Maebh sized up the man introduced to them. ‘Are you a son or a brother of Boru?’

‘Son.’ The man confirmed.

‘Part of me is suspicious, this can be interpreted two ways as far as I can see. That your father instilled a great deal of faith in you, wanting you to be to the fore of these discussions, or that you are the one he can sacrifice to here, and were we to slaughter you, permit his coming here with an army.’ Maebh stated.

The men gathered looked at each other in terror. ‘I swear to you, I am not here for a fight, quite the opposite. My wife is on Midgard, she will birth our first soon, I want to make it back to her as swiftly as possible.’ Domhnall explained.

‘I know that feeling.’ Loki declared. ‘I too have walked into the home of a sworn enemy, my wife heavy with my child, and me anxious to return home to her. Let us see if we can get you home in time. I was somewhat disappointed I did not.’

‘Did the talks take a long time?’ The Midgardian prince asked.

‘No, not overly. The stab wound I took from those who thought to doublecross the King of Svartalfheim and us, took longer than I would have liked to heal.’ The men’s eyes widened, looking for a moment to Nafi, having been told that he would be king of that realm. ‘So, if this is truly a peace talk, we can ensure that.’

Nodding, the men sat in a more relaxed manner, and they began to discuss matters that would need to be ironed out between the two sides to make such agreements work. After a time, the Warriors entered the room and gave a nod to Loki, Thor and Maebh, telling the trio that the nearby area had been scoured for possible surprise attacks, but nothing had been found. When the men gathered looked at the other Aesir worried, Maebh unashamedly admitted to them what was occurring, though mildly insulted, the men understood the reasoning for such. By the end of the day, those gathered were able to come to agreement on most everything. With the men given a place to rest for the night, they were invited to eat with Loki and Thor’s families. Though Nafi and Anna were supposed to return to Svartalfheim, they agreed to wait until after the Midgardians left, if for nothing other than to see what was agreed to report it to Ásvaldr and keep the other king in the loop of the situation with Asgard.

The men watched in awe as the Aesir families sat together, the notably sized brood of the Ulaidh born princess and the Aesir prince being the first thing they noticed. ‘Is there….how many children had you that so many survived?’ Domhnall asked in awe as the twins sat beside one another, both eyeing the foreigners warily, Kushtrim not letting Danu out of his sight.

‘Only two were lost, one before birth, another to disease.’ Maebh stated solemnly, thinking of her unborn daughter and beloved Liulf.

‘Just two, in that many years?’

Loki looked to his wife for an explanation. ‘On Midgard, more than two making it to adulthood is noteworthy.’ She explained.

‘I see. Having heard from Maebh what you call childbirth care is, what we would call, barbaric. You see it as sordid and filthy when it is the most honourable and great thing a woman can do. On this land, should a woman die during or because of it, she is automatically welcomed to Valhalla in the same manner as a fallen warrior.’ Loki explained. The men stared blankly at him. ‘Valhalla, it is…..what did you call it?’ He looked to his wife.

‘Heaven, they call it heaven. And if a woman died in childbirth, she is not seen as any great fallen martyr and the child cannot be buried on sacred ground, it can only be dumped like a dead animal.’ She explained. The Aesir stared at her in disgusted shock.

‘Is this true?’ Sif looked at the man that spoke Aesir in utter horror.

‘I, well, the child is unbaptised, so it is not deemed a child of God.’ Lord Brendain explained, though highly sheepishly.

‘Norns, I have never heard something so horrific.’ Frigga had been silent for the most part, unhappy with Midgardians having been so rude as to merely turn up for talks rather than checking with a messenger.

‘They also stab old women, I would not put such an act passed them.’ Vali stated, glaring at the men from beside his grandmother.

The men, bar Lord Brendain, did not know what Vali had said, they did, however, get the general gist with the tone he was using. Domhnall asked Brendain to translate, Maebh saving him the bother and did so before the Midgardian Lord could recall the words. ‘What can I say, my children cannot let go of the actions again our family just yet, perhaps they will with time, Frigga will never walk unaided again, her life has been shortened by this, she is the matriarch of this family and none of us can truly forgive what happened her, or the good men that fought and died to protect us the day Danu and I were taken from here, they were not warriors or fighters, yet they tried regardless.’ She explained unapologetically as Einar began to fuss for some milk. ‘You also are about to learn something else of here, we are not as prudish as you. This is not going to be done to offend you, it is simply timing on my son’s behalf and I am not finished eating.’ The men went from frowning to wide-eyed as Maebh moved her dress enough to allow Einar to feed from her. Loki and Thor looked on with amused faces, the children with confused ones and the men gasped and winced.

Mother?’ Kushtrim looked at her worriedly. ‘What are they doing?’

‘No one has harmed them.’ Anna commented.

‘It is because I have the audacity to feed Einar here.’ The children looked amongst themselves, failing to see the issue. ‘Midgardians see such things as sordid, to be done in private.’

‘But…..he has to eat.’ Danu commented.

‘Did you not say that that is why girls have them and not men?’ Vali asked.

‘Yes, but to men who embrace the God that these men have embraced, women are subservient and are required to act in a manner that does not tempt men.’ Maebh explained.

‘How is feeding a baby tempting men?’ Modi asked, utterly confused by the situation.

‘Because some men feel that their urges need be justified by the actions of a woman. Women are seen as the downfall of man, and need to be treated as such.’

‘According to whom do these women lead to the downfall of men?’ Sif asked curiously. They knew of the God that Maebh had been raised on, but they seldom asked of the teachings and ways of the God and life she had lived before she came to Asgard.

‘Men, ironically enough.’

‘There is little shock in that, is there?’ Thor scoffed, looking at the men. ‘Here, women are accepted for what they bring to our people. They are capable of something men cannot do. They grow and birth our children, an act as good as the strength of the Gods themselves, they can farm, tend homes, weave nets, cook, teach and even, scarily enough, tend to accounts, as such, they are not subservient to the men they marry and a nursing mother is the earthly depiction of the Goddesses of life and childbirth. Though Maebh does hold a title on Midgard now I believe, of an old Goddess.’

Brendain cleared his throat, his eyes very much looking everywhere bar at Maebh. ‘Yes, well, we have heard such, and talk of a raven….’ He paused when Danu sneered and pointed up. The men looked up to see Morrigan on the beam above them, having been there the entire time, watching them closely. ‘Oh, God.’ The man blessed himself.

‘So it is true….’ Domhnall stated. ‘You invoke the old Gods?’

‘I invoke no one, though I believe they seem to act as though they work through me.’ She smiled, sitting Einar up to wind him. As soon as she did, he reached for Loki, making small attempts to get to his father. Smiling at his son lovingly, Loki took him and winded him, Einar dozing off again as he did, leaning in against his father, surrounded by his natural scent, something that settled Einar every time. The men frowned again at that. ‘Men here are aware of what their offspring look like before they reach puberty.’ She informed them after placing herself inside her dress again. ‘You really have no idea the drastic and severe chasm of difference there is between these two lands, and while you think that this one is barbaric and uncouth, please be reminded that that sentiment is shared and reversed to you on this one. All peoples tend to see themselves as better than others and the most advanced, and any that differ from that are wrong and less enlightened, but in truth, there are many ways to skin a rabbit, as long as the rabbit is skinned, not many of them can be accused of being wrong, can they, but those who do not agree with others ways of doing it more often than not tell them they are wrong.’

The men remained silent, thinking over her words as Domhnall analysed her more. ‘You are seen as an equal here?’

‘No, for there are none to equal her here.’ Thor scoffed, causing Loki to laugh also.

‘But you are a man’s equal?’ Maebh nodded. ‘What age are you? You do not seem overly old, your youngest is not more than two months.’

‘I am, on my last recollection, not yet three decades. I was brought here when Nafi was five, and I was just two decades, he is now thirteen, you do the math.’ She smiled.

‘On Midgard, as you know, for a man to speak that wisdom, he often studies for years at a monastery.’

‘Yes, that is because he is a man, were he a woman, he probably would have been born with it.’ She grinned, causing Thor to bellow in laughter and Loki to be forced to translate for the rest of the family, who laughed along with him and Thor.

[kuriquinn]

Telanadas [2/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer:

first chapter

Sakura’s resolve to press on only lasts a half hour, if only because Nature makes a more convincing argument than Comfort. Darkness falls sooner than expected, and they are forced to find shelter.

As the winds grow strong enough to press the travellers up against the sharp, icy façade of the mountain, Sasuke spots a cave almost obscured by rock and snow. Even luckier, it is large enough that all four of them can fit comfortably inside without infringing on each other’s personal space. Having had to sleep crowded against Naruto on at least two occasions lately and subjected to his kicking, Sasuke is more than relieved about this.

Once inside, Kakashi uses his magic to erect a barrier of fire, offering both protection from enemies and the frigid gusts of wind. As the blood flows back into Sasuke’s fingers and toes, the mage conjures a small fire. Meanwhile, Sakura takes on the undesirable job of fashioning a small latrine at the back of the cave.

“That’s all we need is for one of you to wander out to take a crap and fall off the side of a mountain,” she says cheerfully.

Sasuke doubts any of them will make use of such a thing unless they are snowed in here for days. Then again, dwarves and humans have such odd notions of hygiene and propriety he cannot be entirely sure.

While Sasuke lays out their gear and armour to dry near the fire, Naruto digs about in their supplies to put together a warm meal.

Though meal is being polite, Sasuke thinks with a grimace.

“I do not understand how you people can eat this,” he mutters, the complaint escaping him before he can stop it. He was taught to consider food no more than fuel, but after weeks of the same paltry fare he has lost patience. “Do I even want to know what it is?”

“I think it was lamb at some point,” Sakura says, accepting the makeshift bowl of tasteless noodles and jerky from the human. “But the texture…isn’t one I’d normally associate with lamb.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” Kakashi replies mildly, shrugging one shoulder.

“What are you guys talking about?” Naruto asks, slurping down his share. “This is so much better than that frilly stuff we had back at the castle! I hate food I can’t pronounce. And this stuff never goes bad. I bet if we packed it away, it’d still be good to eat fifty years from now!”

Sasuke stares at him in disgust. “I cannot even tell if you are joking or not.”

“He is not,” Kakashi confirms, examining what is left of their rations. “I am rather sure these are from supply caches that have not been opened since the Storm Age. They were old before I stole them from the Circle of Magi.”

“And…I’m done,” Sakura says, offering her still-full bowl to Naruto, who cheers and adds the share to his own. Sasuke is tempted to do the same, but as it might be construed as a kindness to the human, he refrains. “What about you, Sasuke-kun? You didn’t eat like this where you grew up, right?”

As always, she is trying to find out more about him.

“No.” He intends to leave it at that, but when she gazes up at him beseechingly, a follow-up question clearly on her lips, he elaborates: “Simple fare. Bread made from seeds. Milk from our halla. Vegetables.”

He tries not to lick his lips at the mere thought of tomatoes. It has been so long since they had a decent meal.

“Halla?” Sakura repeats, confused. “Is that a kind of animal in Oto?”

Sasuke tenses, realising his unconscious slip.

“Not necessarily Oto,” Kakashi answers for him, eyes widening in understanding. “Halla are creatures like horned stags. The Dalish consider them to be noble companions.” He raises an eyebrow. “I had wondered about the markings on your face, Sasuke. They resemble none of the tattoos that the House of Crows use…but I have never seen that particular vallaslin before, either.”

“Dalish?” Naruto asks Sasuke in slack-jawed awe. “Wow, really? Arl Hiruzen used to talk about the Dalish, but I’ve never actually met one before!”

“Your powers of observation are worse than I thought, as you have been travelling with one for weeks now,” Sasuke bites out.

“Oi!”

“What’s vallaslin?” Sakura asks quickly, obviously attempting to curtail an argument.

Sasuke shrugs noncommittally, not wanting to explain.

“It translates to ‘blood writing’, if memory serves,” Kakashi says in his place. “A sign of adulthood, and adherence to the beliefs and traditions of the Dalish. It is surprising that one who submitted to the ritual would then be found working as an assassin for the House of Crows.”

“Chains of a past that no longer exists,” Sasuke interrupts. “I am going to sleep. It has been a long day.”

He turns away from the fire, a clear message that he has no intention of answering any questions or pursuing the discussion further.

He can feel Sakura’s eyes on him, but after a short pause, she suddenly says, “Well, that still sounds a lot better than what happened to me. I got this—” He imagines she is pointing at the rhombus shaped brand on her forehead, “—just for being born in the wrong place.”

“Heh. I understand what that’s like,” Naruto snorts.

“Maybe. Except as far as I know, Konoha doesn’t brand a newborn with a hot poker just because his parents were unwed.”

“What? No way!”

“Uh-huh. The minute a casteless dwarf is born, we get marked, so there’s no way to mistake who we are if the nobles catch us lurking in the richer quarters. Also, it makes it way easier for Carta recruiters to decide which kids they can press-gang into doing their dirty work.”

“Carta—the dwarven crime syndicate?” Kakashi questions, sounding surprised.

Back still turned in a pretence of sleep, Sasuke frowns. He does not find that surprising at all. It certainly explains her occasionally mercenary attitude and her talent for surviving insurmountable odds. The Carta offers about as friendly an upbringing as the Crows do.

“They’re the ones who smuggled lyrium to the Templars,” Naruto whispers, a little uncomfortable. No doubt he had comrades who suffered from that particular addiction. “You were one of them?”

“There wasn’t much choice,” she replies, unembarrassed. “Since the most respectable job for a casteless dwarf is sweeping the streets, and there’s only a few people who even get that job. It’s either work for the Carta or become a noble hunter. And I’d starve to death begging before I got on my back for some jacked-up noble because I might bear him a son.” She sounds abruptly fierce just then. “No disrespect to the women I grew up with who did that—there’d be no dwarves left down there if there were no noble hunters. But I won’t sell my heart for the small chance of pretty clothes and jewels.”

Sasuke snorts at this.

There is that naivety again.

“It seems we are talking too loudly and disturbing the elf’s sleep,” Kakashi remarks wryly, but Sasuke refuses to reply. It is enough that he has been forced by close quarters to listen to this.

Sakura is not so easily fooled; though she does not speak to him, her next words are pointed.

“People should be allowed to love one another without reprisal. Without duty or society or anyone else’s agenda getting in the way,” Sakura says, and her tone has lost all the levity he would normally associate with it. She only sounds like that when defending a cause that she considers worthy.

 “You’re right,” Naruto says quickly. “The world would be a much nicer place if that were true.”

“Perhaps some places,” Kakashi says carefully. “Circles of the Magi, for one. But for the good of the many, sometimes the desires of the few need to be set aside. Many a peace accord may never have happened if the belligerents in a conflict did not seal it with a marriage. And our world may have looked much different.”

“Maybe up here on the surface,” Sakura says. “Back in Iwa they’re so obsessed with blood purity that soon there won’t be anyone left to marry, diplomatic or not. If people could choose…if people could choose, Iwa might not be falling into the dust.”

There is sadness and anger in her tone, coupled with the sudden shifting of her body.

“Anyhow. It’s not like any of this matters here and now,” she goes on, and her tone is such an abrupt shift to cheeriness that Sasuke knows it is fake. “We just have to get to that temple and find those ashes to help Arl Hiruzen.”

“That is assuming they do exist,” Kakashi says reasonably. “This ‘Urn of Sacred Ashes’ could be nothing more than a rumour. Or a hoax.”

“You couldn’t have said something before we climbed half a mountain to get here?” Sakura jokes lightly. “Shannaro…”

“No, it’s real,” Naruto insists, faithful Templar even now. “Just wait, we’ll get those ashes back to him and he’ll be kicking down Danzō’s door in no time—believe it!”

The dwarf is not the only naïve one.

“I’m sure you’re right, Naruto,” Sakura says warmly. “But in order to get up there, we need to be at full strength. Which means sleep. I can take first watch if you want.”

“No, you’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard the last few days, Sakura. Take a break. Kakashi and I can keep a lookout since someone’s being a lazy arse.”

The recipient of the barb rolls his eyes.

“Naruto,” Sakura warns.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Go on, Sakura, he is right. You are no good to your cause if you pass out and freeze to death in the snow,” Kakashi coaxes.

“Hah! Like I’d let that happen!” Naruto scoffs.

“Well, thank you guys. I guess I can take an hour—but I will take second watch at least.”

That is what you think, Sasuke decides.

Annoying as the humans are, they are correct. Sakura is no good to them dead from exhaustion. Especially since Sasuke has thrown his lot in with her, he intends to keep her alive until he figures her out.

It should not be an issue to take the next watch.

There is a sound of shifting armour and the rustling of a camp bed, and he imagines Sakura has indeed turned in for the night. Kakashi and Naruto murmur to each other quietly, not wanting to disturb her; Sasuke is not so lucky, his ears picking up even the quietest whispers.

“I’m actually just as tired,” Naruto groans. “I’ll play you for first watch, if you promise not to cheat.”

“No, you go ahead and sleep. I’ll stay up and read for a little.”

“Ugh…just make sure you ‘read’ far away from my blanket.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. You mages are all perverts…”

Sasuke silently agrees.

After that, everything goes quiet (or as quiet as they can with Naruto’s snores). Sasuke allows himself to sink into a light sleep for a few hours, but when his ears pick up on Kakashi shifting in discomfort, he rouses himself. The older man has an odd propensity to take longer watches than he ought, to let everyone else rest. This makes no sense considering Sasuke does not need as much sleep as anyone else in the party. Sakura would say it is because Kakashi is an old mother hen at heart, but Sasuke is not sure. He does not trust humans, and mages even less, even when they do not wear masks to cover all but the eyes, the way Kakashi does.

With a stretch, Sasuke climbs out of his bedroll. He heads for the mouth of the cave to take a piss, then goes to sit beside the mage.

“I will take the watch until morning,” he murmurs. “You people are no use to me dead on your feet.”

“I sense there was concern in there somewhere behind all the stoic,” Kakashi remarks.

“Tch.”

“I’m serious, Sasuke. You are so tightly wound, it cannot be good for you. You know what would do you some good?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me.”

“If you went out some time, found a girl, and did naughty things with her that did not involve trousers,” the mage continues as if he hasn’t heard him. “If you are in the market, I know of at least one who is definitely interested.”

The way his eyes slide toward where Sakura is sleeping, albeit fitfully, leaves no question to whom he is referring.

“Len’alas lath’din,” Sasuke grumbles, turning away in contempt.

“Now, now, that is not very polite,” the mage says, more amused than offended. And it should not surprise Sasuke that the older man knows Elvish, especially given his remarks earlier about blood writing. No doubt he has read about it in his studies, locked away in one of those shemlen towers.

He honestly has no intention of replying, but Kakashi continues to look more amused than he should. It reminds Sasuke a little of the teasing his cousin Shisui used to subject him to, and now, as then, his pride does not allow him to let it go.

“What makes you think I have not already?” he hedges.

Kakashi chuckles. “I can smell purity a mile away. It is a talent.”

“That proves to be useful, I am sure.”

“Not that often, as it turns out. It would be much better if I could sense Templars. It might make them easier to avoid.”

Sasuke snorts. “You have my deepest condolences.”

“Heh. Likewise.” Kakashi puts away his well-worn, orange-covered book. “And so does she.”

The comment has Sasuke puzzling over it longer than he will admit.

When he gets it, he wonders if it is too late to hit the older man.

Translations:

Halla – type of horned stag, used by the Dalish to pull their landships

Vallaslin – intricate facial tattoos worn by adult clan members of the Dalish elf tribes

Arl – feudal title; rules over an arling

Lyrium – valuable mineral/material whose consumption can strengthen a mage and boost their mana

Len’alas lath’din - dirty child no one loves; Dalish insult

Comments and concrit are much appreciated, and very motivating! For information about supporting my original, non-fandom related works, you’re welcome to check out my ko-fi tip jar, or my patreon page. 

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Next Chapter

[channieskzlove94]

at the top of my recipes list is japchae because i had a mildly scarring experience with a local restaurant and i still dont know what vegetable(?) i found in it but it very uncomfortable to not know what i was going to be consuming and the next one is mango sticky rice which is actually really simple but everyone in my house loved it when i ordered some from a thai food truck (it was so good, wed had it before? but this was from an authentic thai owned food truck and it showed)

block b is so good! honestly some of my favorite songs come from groups that are disbanded or pretty much there topp dogg? theyre everything imo, 4minute? everything and more, and i wish i had gotten into kpop earlier but i live in a terrible area to be encouraged to view outside cultures

i think my favorite historical drama is the untamed (its chinese) because music is so prevalent also its very fantasy and despite the forced censorship regarding the main relationship (theres a whole uncensored novel) its still very apparent to me that theyre in love and stuff which i deeply appreciate but its incredibly long so it really brought out the worst in my attention span issues, ive also started watching rookie historian and i really like it so far but im not that far into it :/ i really relate to being totally absorbed in a drama and stuff though, if something really spectacularly catches my attention (without being 50 episodes all being 45 minutes long) i really get sucked in and its like all over for anything else

only one of my geckos ever tries to bite? and its only very occasionally- we try to leave him alone for the most part because its after a lot of handling. one of our geckos is albino! shes super super pretty but were really super careful about lights and stuff because of her eyes- i obviously cant make your decision for you but if you decide to get something other than a rodent maybe check give/donate the items to your friend and the shelter? because there are things your friend probably wouldnt need like another cage (obviously assuming you dont think youll get another rodent in the future)

mugs are super fun! i have a couple of fun mugs i was given as gifts and my favorite one is a black one that turns into the skyrim opening scene as it gets hot! also i looked at the mugs you mentioned and theyre super cute! i like rocks and shells and stuff as souvenirs (legally obtained, i bought a gypsum rose once and my life will never be the same)

tbh i cant pick between coffee or tea. im a bit of a snob when it comes to individual roasts and sources or types of tea (especially when it comes to earl grey) i also cant pick between iced or hot for either- its all go its place :)

im excited for you to see my blog too! ive not had my kpop sideblog for the entire time ive been into kpop? but its packed full of so much stuff! i actually didnt have all that many friends on tumblr? im 19 though so it kinda died down quite a bit among people my age, like obviously people are still joining the site but i feel as though its not As Big if that makes sense? also smth smth conservative hicksville, ohio population: many

it sucks that you couldnt attend that particular lecture but you might be able to find other events similar to it hosted on youtube or other various sites

whats one place in the world you want to visit assuming unlimited funds, n health n stuff? it can be a monument or a museum or a country or a city and it doesnt have to be some place youve never been before either. i think id like to see the ocean i dont even care where i am as long as i can actually see the sea or maybe go back to marble head lighthouse (its on lake erie) even though im terrified of heights- i went for what i think was my eighth birthday and it was pretty great all things considered

the melatonin i took is starting to kick in extra hard right about now so im sorry if something is confusing but i really do gotta go-🌻

oooh japchae!!! yes i love japchae. i think if you find a good recipe and make sure you aren’t unfamiliar with any of the ingredients it should probably be delicious when you make it! i’ll definitely check out the untamed! that sounds super interesting. and since there’s a novel i might see if i could read it! i hope they have a translated version or i’m doomed haha.  i’m not sure the shelter would take my cage but i’ll definitely donate the other stuff if i decided to get anything other than another rodent! hamsters require a lot of room to run around and dig so i made a big cage for her. it’s a little janky since it’s homemade so i think they shelter would probably say thanks but no thanks haha.  i have a terrible fear of being bit after a traumatic childhood experience with a hamster that would let go of my hand. i’ve gotten better at it but anytime i meet new animal species it’s always the first thing on my mind.  the gypsum rose sounds and looks super cool! i did a quick google search. do you have a shelf where you keep them and display them? do you label them?  I feel you on the tumblr thing. i’m 26 and most of my friends are completely out of the tumblr space. i came from a really small town in pennsylvania so i completely understand the conservative hicksville struggle. i went to japan one summer between 9th and 10th grade and when i got back everyone that it was weird that i had even wanted to go there.  when i was like 10 my parents and I went to the Crayola museum and it was so much fun. i have such fond memories of walking around and learning about the crayons and i just thought it was all so fascinating. i’d love to go back there. i’ve never been to a lighthouse before so that would be a lot of fun! i’m not suuuuper terrified of heights unless it’s like really really high! 

your fear of heights reminds me of minho in the fandom tour episode where they go to nami island. it’s so cute how he makes IN help him over to get on the zipline.  melatonin always hits me so hard. when i wake up in the morning i feel like i got hit by a truck and i usually end up sleeping through my alarm.  if you could meet any person in the world who would it be? i mean obviously i want to meet kpop stars but i’d love to meet the film director wes anderson. I love the way he frames and designs his films and i love to learn more about his inspirations.

[perfectirishgifts]

Surface Duo Review: Misunderstood And Underappreciated

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/surface-duo-review-misunderstood-and-underappreciated/

Surface Duo Review: Misunderstood And Underappreciated

The author holding Microsoft’s recently released Surface Duo.

I will be the first person to admit that I was only mildly interested when I initially heard about the Microsoft Surface Duo. My first smartphone was a Microsoft-powered HTC Titan, branded the XV6800 and made for UTStarcom. I loved that phone—it ran Windows Mobile 6 Professional Edition and came with Microsoft Office pre-installed on it. It was great for doing my homework when I didn’t have my laptop. Of course, the interface was horrendous for a mobile phone, but none of us knew any better at the time—all we knew was Palm and Blackberry. Microsoft eventually updated Windows Mobile to 6.5 in a last-ditch to save the operating system before it canned everything for a new version. Finally, Microsoft migrated everything to Windows Phone 7, but that ultimately pushed all Microsoft’s mobile developers to Android for trying to be too much like (sinking Nokia along with it).

A fresh new start

I give you all this history because my prior experience with a Microsoft mobile device was a mixed experience that ultimately left a bad taste in my mouth—hence my initial lack of enthusiasm at the  Surface Duo announcement. Still, I was curious to see what the company would do with its first Android device. Furthermore, I believed it was the right call not to run Windows, given the current state of mobile ecosystems.

I struggle to call the Surface Duo a phone because aside from its cellular connection and dialer apps, it does not act much like one (aside from having a cellular connection and a dialer app to make and receive phone calls). And to be frank, I think most people of my generation and younger don’t care much for the phone aspect of our mobile devices today; we prefer to chat and text much more than talk on the phone, and if we do use voice, it’s usually in one of our many chat apps.

The Surface Duo design is in line with the rest of the Surface portfolio, which Microsoft successfully built up over the years as a premium brand. However, we can’t call the Surface Duo  a premium Windows brand anymore—now it’s a premium Microsoft brand. As such, nobody was surprised by how incredibly sleek and thin the device is. It’s like nothing else on the market.

Growing pains

While I was not in the first round of reviewers who got the Surface Duo, I did get the device before it was available to the public. Unlike most reviewers, my experience was mostly positive. I attribute the discrepancy to the fact that I started using the device after the first major software update fixed many of the initial issues. Most of the Surface Duo’s software issues were fixed with the second major update. I do believe that this phone still has lots of room for improvement on the software side, but I also think that many people’s expectations of this device were simply outside of what it was intended to do.

The Surface Duo is a misunderstood device that Microsoft designed to fit into a yet untapped niche. I believe that is why the Surface Duo doesn’t have an outside screen or a three-camera array. There are a lot of people who don’t particularly care that much for smartphone cameras, and some who aren’t even allowed to carry a device with a visible camera into their workplace. The Surface Duo does still have a front-facing camera, which can be flipped outward, but the user experience in my opinion is not really that great and feels like a compromise. However, there is a somewhat strong case to eliminate the Duo’s camera for users who might carry two devices around, using the Duo as their work-only device,

Productivity powerhouse

I use dozens of phones per year and few devices have come close to matching the Surface Duo in terms of productivity. LG came pretty close with the V60 and dual screen setup as did Samsung with the Galaxy Fold line. Still, I believe the Duo’s dual screen design allows for the smoothest mutli-tasking experience in the industry. I believe this likely has to do with Microsoft’s Surface Duo launcher and how it handles applications. I think there’s still room for improvement on this launcher, though it’s gotten a little sharper with every Surface Duo update.

I split most of my productivity between Google and Microsoft apps, all of which have worked extremely well side by side. That said, I do not see myself using the Surface Duo for writing documents or working on spreadsheets because I prefer to use a keyboard and mouse for those applications, which starts to enter laptop territory.  I do see myself using apps such as OneNote together with Teams when I’m not at my desk. I like the ability to have both my active apps open at the same time and without having to switch between them, and switching between apps on the Surface Duo is generally pretty easy.

Microsoft has explored some app pairings, where one app launches on each screen, such as Edge and OneNote, Outlook and Calendar, YouTube and Microsoft News and Office and Teams (the last of which I use frequently).  I actually use the Surface Duo as my back-up device for Teams if I’m not at my desk. For me, the most common app pairing is Gmail with Google Calendar so that I can see my schedule when scheduling meetings or calls. Additionally, when I’m taking a break, sometimes its nice to browse Twitter while watching TikToks or doomscroll through Facebook and Twitter simultaneously.

The first great dual-screen

Many have tried to make dual-screen work on Android and most have failed. I believe that Microsoft has made a very strong case for a dual-screen Android device as competition to some of the foldables out there like the Moto Razr, Samsung Galaxy Z Flip and Z Fold. Some people are not particularly sold on the foldable formfactor quite yet and many of them actually like the idea of a tight but functional hinged design with two screens. I think that Microsoft has really nailed this experience, albeit with some growing pains, and has shown that this form factor has real promise. Apps like Microsoft News fully utilize the dual-screen design in an intelligent way, which gave me some very exciting ideas about the future of mobile experiences. Obviously application developers have to enable this capability, but there are already some very compelling dual screen applications of the surface like extending the height of a standard webpage by using the device in “portrait” mode and extending the browser across both screens.

I am a big multi-tasker and I like to have many things open at the same time. I am that guy with 100 Chrome tabs open, across 4 windows on 3 monitors. I also like to do photo editing, video editing and write simultaneously. So, naturally, the Surface Duo is my go-to device. However, while I really do wish that I could make the Surface Duo my daily driver for everything personal and business, there are some shortcomings that necessitate carrying at least 1 or 2 other devices in addition to the Duo.

A great first try

While I have enjoyed the Surface Duo and I prefer to use it as my ‘work’ device over others, there are still lots of things that I would like to see Microsoft do with the second version. First, Microsoft needs to upgrade the camera and camera software. If the Duo is only going to have one front-facing camera, it needs to be much higher quality than what’s currently on the Duo. Personally, I can’t make the Duo my daily do-everything device because it doesn’t have enough cameras or good enough cameras. Triple camera is the minimum for me on a flagship device and that’s not going to change—I love taking pictures and I take lots of them.

While it’s forgivable that Microsoft didn’t ship the Surface Duo with this year’s flagship processor, it’s much harder to justify charging a $1,399 retail price for last year’s. For a Surface product, one would expect the latest Snapdragon, either an 865 or 865. Especially considering that without the latest Snapdragon, the Duo lacks both 5G and Wi-Fi 6 capabilities. I believe that these are all big misses on the device’s productivity and performance capabilities. Faster connectivity and processing power all translate to a better productivity experience and that story has been pushed by virtually all of Microsoft’s competitors in the space. I also believe that the 6GB of RAM the Duo ships with is low for a device being promoted for its ability to multitask and increase productivity. I believe that 8GB should be the minimum for any Android-based flagship, let alone one meant for productivity.

In terms of design, while the Surface Duo looks unique and extremely clean, it could benefit from a serious downsizing of the bezels at the top and bottom. The extremely thick bezels obviously hide a lot of the device’s electronics, but I believe that many of the components should be smaller to enable either a larger display size in the same body or a smaller overall body. That said, the overall build quality is absolutely fantastic and the device feels and looks absolutely premium.. The Surface Duo design seems to elicit the same reactions from people as the first Surface PCs did—amazement and confusion.

What’s next?

Microsoft needs to decide what its ambitions for Windows on ARM and Android are for the future. I think that Microsoft absolutely made the right call to launch the Surface Duo on Android and I don’t think it should waver from that decision. That said, Apple has leaned heavily into its own M1 processor and, as my boss Patrick Moorhead has illustrated, even companies as big as Apple have growing pains. The Surface Duo is Microsoft’s first real try at a smartphone since the company launched the last Lumia phones in 2016 with Windows 10 mobile. While there are many ways I believe that the Surface Duo could improve, especially in terms of system specifications and software maturity, there are glimpses of brilliance in there as well. As I used the Surface Duo more and more, I felt increasingly more productive and capable of multi-tasking in a way that I didn’t think was possible on a mobile device. For that alone, I hope that Microsoft comes out with a second version with an improved design, better specs and more polished software.

From Cloud in Perfectirishgifts

[dreadhaus-literature]

{A/N}

I’ve already talked about this before but I have more to say, so.

I don’t often cite “being old” or “getting old” or whatever. I don’t care about changing trends or hating on what’s become popular “with the kids” like some Boomer. Idc what everyone else is doing, that’s pretty much been a staple for me my whole life. I do me, you do you, we’re good.

But one thing that just continues to confuse me and my bitter old ass, and has my whole life is this concept of romance and what’s considered “romantic” or I guess, idk, “acceptable” to put into romance.

Now, let me preface my post with a couple things:

I grew up reading romance novels. Damn good ones, thank you Miss Christine. So I’m used to not only real sappy, happily ever after stories, but also the idealistic way someone ought to treat you.

A lot of what I say can be taken lightly or as a joke. For some reason this seems to be lost a lot in translation with me so let me just be clear. A lot of my points aren’t serious and are mostly just light-hearted jabs at what I’m talking about.

I’m not a complainer. I’m typically happy with anything and if not I ignore it and move on, so keep that in mind, too.

I’m not gonna waste my time with the whole “romance is different for everyone” because we all fucking know that already. This is just me talking about me.

So now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s sample the tea.

A lot of people are fucking awful at romance.

And I’m saying this having sampled a plethora of media on the subject. Bear in mind, I don’t consume media that doesn’t have some form of romance in it. I don’t read novels that aren’t romance or have SOME aspect of romance in it, I prefer ASMR videos that have personal attention triggers or are affection roleplays, I sample a fuckton of otome/dating simulation games, I consume x you/x reader headcanons and fanfiction constantly, I unironically watch rom-coms--I’m a sappy bitch. Love and affection are really the only thing that matter to me and it’s ironic as fuck considering how often I’m single, but whatever.

We already know fantasy > reality so we’re not gonna rehash that.

But that is my point. I don’t understand this sweeping trend of needing realism and shit in our escapism. That just...doesn’t work for me? It never has. I have a wild, vivid ass imagination and I know not everyone does, but it’s so fucking tedious for me to consume media and see people constraining themselves by reality because “this wouldn’t make sense in every day life”.

Bitch why do you think I’m here.

I’m a 6′2 lesbian of color with a hormone imbalance and a terrible family. I don’t fucking need reality for a goddamn thing. That’s the whole reason I’m here, to escape it.

And I’ve asked this question before, multiple times, but what is the fucking appeal of making characters mean to your audience? I know I’m probably in a minority here, but I will immediately lose interest in a character if they treat me like shit, even slightly. I am never and have never been one of those people who is all, “they could do whatever they wanted with me and I wouldn’t care,” like, nah. I’ve been treated like shit enough in my life, I come to a relationship to be treated well so you can fuck right off treating me like I don’t matter.

It’s so bizarre. Because I see it across the board. Like, all forms of romantic media is guilty of doing this, of creating these tropes of asshole types who are like, “I’m barely going to look at you. Date me,” and it’s like, my guy, you’d be talking to thin fucking air. That shit ain’t cute.

I ain’t a 1950′s housewife. You act right or you get to steppin’.

And I’m aware my independence likely has a lot to do with it. I’m 100% fine on my own so I don’t put up with foolishness, generally. Don’t have a need to, not scared to be by myself.

I very rarely get seriously invested in a lot of these otome/dating simulator games because the story is so flimsy or it’s very obviously just a ploy to “look at these pretty characters who’ll mildly ignore you” and that just ain’t for me. Looks are very much secondary in my book and if someone is attractive but they act like garbage they immediately become unattractive. If Tom Hiddleston was revealed to be some douche canoe that’d be it. I feel myself souring to characters when they act a certain way, and their appearance changes, to me. They become unattractive to me. Personality’s much more important, so the pretty pictures just aren’t enough to reel me in or keep my attention.

Monster Prom was the first one I can genuinely say I was wholly invested in. One, because I’m a monster fucker (thank you, Silent Hill during my formative years) and two, there was genuine care taken into the story. As a writer, especially a romance writer, I can be super particular about story-telling. It’s very easy to lose me to a bad story. But I loved the character concepts and designs in MP, a lot. I still do--but I will admit, the more I played, the more I got a little turned off because I started to uncover it was less about making the characters love you and more about “look how witty our banter is” or “watch how many times this character can give you the brush off or insult you, isn’t it funny?”

No. No...it isn’t.

Escapism, remember? But I’d have to be careful when I played MP because if I was having a bad day, it stung to be insulted or dumped/literally laughed at when I’m trying to feel better by escaping to a fantasy world with characters I love and who are supposed to love me.

I know I’m sensitive. And being emotionally abused my whole life has also left me with some pretty...well. Idk the right wording, but there are some things I don’t want to hear or be told because it puts me in a really messed up headspace. And so I take my opinion on what’s “mean” or “rude” with that in mind. I know these things about myself and there are times I’ll catch myself side-eying a response I get in these games, then laugh and be all, “Nah, that wasn’t a big deal.”

I have to do that in real life, too, so.

But that’s my whole point. I shouldn’t have to take myself out of the fantasy to remind myself that I’m not stupid just because some pixels on a screen are trying to be cutesy “mean” to me. No one likes to be called names or made to feel dumb or ugly or...idk, I just, that’s never been my style of writing romance and I don’t understand the appeal of it.

I always write to make my reader feel the best they’ve ever felt. No one in real life can adore and love you in the perfect way a fantasy character can. I learned that a long, long time ago. That shit really is only in fairy tales. So if you’re escaping a reality where people treat you shitty or make you feel unimportant why the hell would you choose to go to a fantasy life where characters you love are going to do the same thing?

I don’t understand writing characters, ANY CHARACTER, as being cold or aloof or mean to your reader. I don’t give a fuck who it is or what their character type is. I’ve said it before but love changes who you are, so whose to say a character who is cold and aloof and mean to everyone else wouldn’t be warm and affectionate with their lover? But that isn’t generally what I see, what I see are characters who remain exactly the same with their partner as they are with everyone else and so much for feeling special.

I can genuinely say there’s not a single character I’ve come across that I couldn’t write any way I wanted to, most especially romantically. Hell, if DC can write Bruce fucking Wayne initiating “I love you,” then you can write a character not being a bag of limp dicks to me.

The other otome game/DS I’ve gotten into is Obey Me! Been playing that for a while, and same with MP I love the character designs and the story. It’s engaging, it’s funny, the brothers are all diverse and adorable and I love them all ♥, but the same issue with MP I’m seeing with OM, too. There are times when the brothers are downright mean to you and I turn the game off for a while because I didn’t open it up to be insulted.

I can’t tell if it’s bad writing or if there’s actually people out there who enjoy that sorta stuff. I don’t talk to enough people to know who the hell this is for--and I’ve seen community comments along media where the readers just laugh it off and I generally do that, like in OM when Levi gets all tsundere or Mammon IS ON HIS BULLSHIT AGAIN (I love that idiot boy) but other times I’m straight up shut down by them and if that were me, IRL, that would be the end of a relationship.

Again, might just be preference. I don’t do hot/cold people, I spent my childhood dealing with an unpredictable household where one moment it would be okay to be in the same room or even look at my parents and the next I’d literally be shut up in my bathroom to have two sets of doors between me and them because it was safer.

Case in point? Earlier tonight I was spending time with Asmo in-game, who is just...an absolute flower and I love him so much, he’s so cute, but every single alone/personal time I spend with him he’s been fine to be touched, does that whole super cute, “More, more!” beg. So I went to touch him like always and he rejected me. Out of nowhere, after being thrilled with everything else we’d done together. And I immediately felt myself turn cold to him and had to stop myself--which is something I do IRL, too.

If you immediately switch up on me like that, don’t expect me to stick around. I can’t/won’t do it. Grew up with it, have no tolerance for it now.

And again, after I closed the game down, I was sitting there like, who is this for? Why is that even a thing? If I designed otome/dating sim games, the characters would all be receptive of MC because that’s the fucking point. If I wanted to be rejected I’d just fucking date IRL, I’m here to see pixels because I like feeling wanted, not insulted and told to go away--especially out of nowhere. That’s just...idk, mean to be mean?

It’s not that I get my feelings hurt, lol, I’m 30 years old and I know the characters aren’t real. It’s more that I’m just baffled by it. It’s illogical and leaves me scratching my head. I don’t understand what is so hard about making things perfect or why that’s so unappealing for so many people. The argument, “It’s unrealistic,” shouldn’t even be a fucking argument. None of this is real.

It’s like Joker, and how up in arms people get about seeing him written obsessive but still able to not be abusive to Reader. Like, writing him with his craziness intact, but making him obsessively in-love rather than abusive and people lose their goddamn minds.

“It’s unrealistic! He’s a psychopath, he’d never really be able to love you! He’s supposed to be abusive! This is OOC!”

Right okay but he isn’t fucking real? And your imagination is pathetic.

Going the opposite end of the spectrum, and you get a cold, aloof character like Crocodile and authors have zero issue with telling you he would never love you and he’d likely be mean to you a lot.

Cool, get away from me then. Also, why? You don’t treat the person you love the same as everyone else, otherwise...that’s not the person you love.

You wanna be realistic, let’s be realistic.

I’ve always considered my relationships like ripples in water. The people closest to me get the best of me, then further out will get some warmth and kindness but they’re not #1. Beyond that will get politeness and beyond that? Acquaintance-level. It’s like how ripples start out large and get smaller the further out they go. That’s how my heart works. I’m not going to greet my best friend the same way I greet a friend, because she’s more important and should know it.

And I wouldn’t treat my partner the same way I’d treat some rando on the street, but so many authors are guilty of writing characters so poorly there’s no discernible difference between me and some random.

And I hate it. ಠ_ಠ

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if you struggle writing any character in-character and still able to be in a loving relationship, you’re a bad writer.

And I’ll say it louder for the chuckleheads in the back.

If you struggle writing any character in-character and still able to be in a loving relationship, you’re a bad writer.

And to be honest, I wouldn’t be...idk, 100% surprised that there’s someone out there who is actually fine with this sort of thing? Like, I know some people are fine with being denied/rejected, given the brush-off, etc, but my childhood has taken that off the table for me. It goes really south for me, really fast. It’s to the point I have physical reactions to it, I wind up feeling so bad.

But I mean, they have to be writing it for someone, right?

Let me give you two examples, though. Picture your favorite character (FC).

Example A:

FC comes up to you before you could react to their arrival, home at last, and greets you with a chaste but soft kiss. “I missed you,” is said quietly, almost secretly, against your mouth--an admission you knew no one else had heard from those same lips. The words are backed up with action, an arm swept around the small of your back, fingers cinched against your hip to keep you locked to their side so when they straightened up, they took you with them. Tethered together as you’d been apart long enough.

Example B:

FC was home, had arrived home hours ago, but had made no attempt to come see you or speak to you. Finally, you’d figured enough time had passed they’d be all right with a small interruption, but the knock on the door goes unanswered. After a second try, a brisk, “Come in,” is your welcome. Once inside, a glance is spared for you but no more words exchanged. “I missed you,” is your attempt for more attention, met with a silent nod to show it was heard, and a gesture you could be on your way. They were busy.

I would argue that, given the choice, most would go with Example A. Which is insane, considering the majority of fanfiction and game play I see tends to lean toward B.

And the wording is super particular, too. In B, the wording “be all right with a small interruption,” implies the Reader is actively bothering their lover. The brisk greeting could be said to anyone, but shouldn’t be said to Reader if they’re meant to be someone special. And the lack of reciprocation speaks volumes. You missed them? Who knows if they missed you.

And again, if you’re really into defending realism, a relationship where a character wouldn’t speak to you or if they do, they’re treating you like shit? You’re not going to form a relationship to begin with. It’s almost like how we, now, look back at those old time housewives who put up with/made excuses for their husbands who barely paid attention to them and ignored their kids altogether because “that’s just how men are”. We’re repeating it, just modernizing it.

Well, y’all are. I’m not.

Because I am of this wild idea that escapism should live up to it’s name. That I should be able to disconnect from my depressing ass reality to go somewhere that people are always happy to see me and then treat me like they are.

Reality is often disappointing and I am of the belief fantasy shouldn’t be.

And like I’ve said before, you can write any character in a loving relationship without making them OOC. It’s about the way you make the character show their affectionate side, their loving side, that matters--making a cold character a fucking frigid cockthistle isn’t the right way to do it.

Using Example B, a cold character who may not express themselves as openly, when written properly, might not say, “I missed you too,” but they might put their work aside, set their pen down, and hold out their hand for you. The attention they pay you there is how they show you they missed you, too.

An aloof/busy character who came home and couldn’t immediately come to see you, who still had work to do, might text you from their office and tell you--

“I’m home. Come here.”

No flowery language needed, you know they missed you. And idk about you but I’d get all tingly from that text. (♡´艸`)

And that’s what I’m talking about! How hard is that? Apparently very! I see glimpses of it in media, from the games to shows to movies (fanfiction leaves much to be desired but good writers are few and far between) but they always chase it with some unnecessary rude bullshit and then I’m like, well here we are again, me ignoring lines of dialogue because you cain’t act right.

But I digress. Getting into certain things at least allows me to cherry pick characters out of it and then rewrite them in my own head--hell, I’m a comic book fan. I’ve been doing that shit for decades, lmao.

Canon? Nah son.

So yeah. That’s just been tumbling around in my head for a while and I wanted to talk about it proper.

OM was the reason I finally decided to sit down and write this all down, and I have been seriously restraining myself from gushing in the midst of all my commentary--because I really do love the Demon Brothers something awful ♥ they’ve taken over in a big way. But this isn’t the place, unless I start analyzing the stuff OM does right--and that’s partly why it kept my attention where other otome/DS games can’t. Despite running into the same blocks as the other, similar media out there, OM does a lot of things right.

I won’t go into everything, just a handful of examples, because there’s a lot of subtlety that I think is masterfully done:

The way Lucifer is first to defend you and check up on you

The way Mammon turns from calling you “human” to “my human”

The way Levi shares his personal collector’s items with you

The way Satan invites you to events that mean something to him

The way Asmo values your compliments over anyone else’s

The way Beel shares his food with you

The way Belphie actually smiles at you

Out of context some of those could sound super unimportant, but the game does an excellent job setting it up so that you know all of those things? Mean that you mean something to the demon it’s coming from.

Lucifer has a million things to worry about but he leapt to my defense (before Mammon, who is technically in charge of me) and he goes out of his way to walk by my room and then texts me if I’m too quiet to make sure I’m okay--and offers to accompany me if I happen to leave my room for any reason. Lucifer is a super great mix of, “Come here. It’s lonely without you. Spend time with me,” and “I’m only asking where you are because I should be with you...for protection.” Like, okay. I’m onto you, old man. ♥

Mammon has little respect for humans and initially begins calling me “Human” rather than my name (despite being told to call me by name because yes, I did tell that ill-mannered boy to call me Dot) but then it gradually changes to “My human” and now I’m annoyed my heart skips when he does it. Him going so far as to say as “his human” I should only let him protect me because “It’s me or no one, understand?!” I hate you made me love you??? Plus he’s a masochist and I could obliterate him for it.

Levi is gonna get enough of calling me a fucking “normie”, aight. I’m not an otaku like you, kiddo, but I’m a fucking comic nerd so could you maybe chill--but the more you progress with him, the more he waits for you because he wants to show you his new manga or show or game. Someone wanting to share something personal with you is everything--god and he’s so tsundere he’s so easy to fluster. “It’s not what it looks like! I wasn’t waiting for you!” Outside my door? Right. Okay. “What, is that supposed to make me happy...? I-I’m sorry, don’t stop!” I love it.

Satan was one I wasn’t initially sure of. He’s very obviously hiding something beneath that cool, collected exterior (haha probably a lot of rage if you’ll ignore my Wrath pun), but he won me over pretty fast by inviting me to multiple events because, like Levi, he wants to experience things with me. Plus, when I get excited he appreciates it rather than making me feel silly. “That’s the answer I was looking for.” ♥ And he invited me moon-gazing so like, psh, yeah let’s get married.

Asmo I knew, immediately, I would have zero issue with. He’s the Avatar of Lust, which is one sin I’m real into. So while I wasn’t worried about him, finding out he had so many fans and lovers and the like, that I was worried would bother me. I’m possessive~♫ But the game did a huge service to me by showing Asmo wants my compliments more than anyone else’s. Him saying that to me made me coo, out loud. I’m typically not into narcissistic folks, but when it’s done a certain way? Like Tony. You can be important to a million people but if you show me I still come first? I’m smitten. With Asmo, the adorable way he’s almost like a puppy in wanting, “More! I want more! Just from you!” It’s so fucking cute.

Beel is best boy. Like, hands down, immediately crowned Best Brother. He is adorable, like the total giant teddy bear trope. And being the Avatar of Gluttony, food is everything to him. So when he started offering to share his food with me? Like boy oh my god. Freaking Sam hugging gif x100. I CAN’T EVEN EAT ALL THAT MUCH BUT YES, YES, A THOUSAND TIMES YES. It never fails to make me smile when I give him his favorite food and he goes, “You’re going to eat with me, right?” NOW I AM. Sobbing. While he tells me being hungry around me “isn’t so bad.” I’m not going to touch on the vore fetish he’s feeding in me every time he starts drooling and calling me a dumpling.

Belphie. Oh, Belphie. My difficult boy. Like Damian from MP I fucking knew you’d be a problem--WHICH IS DUMB YOU’RE A SLOTH, I’M A SLOTH. YOU LIKE NAPS, I LIKE NAPS. But he’s so aloof, he’s hard to pin down initially--but I was gonna get ‘im. I love how the game makes you glean Belphie’s caring for you from the things he says. “You’re late,” when you show up, because he was waiting for you. Or, “What were you doing?” because he wants to know what you’re up to and who with and why it wasn’t him. I adored his line, “I want to sleep but...come see me in my dreams or I’ll get mad.” Like baby I will live there. That and my other favorite is when he smiles and simply says, “Welcome back,” because he missed you and is happy you’re here.

That ^ is all quality. It shows that different character types can love and love well in their own way, without having to be assholes. Belphie loves differently than Asmo but you still know he loves you. The game falls into the same traps as others do, I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it definitely has my attention and I love the brothers now the same as all my other characters--where other games I’ve set aside and given up on.

I think I’ve rambled on about all this enough, it was just buzzing about in my skull and while I guess this is discourse? Really I wouldn’t even say it’s a hot take, it’s just confusing why this isn’t talked about more or why so many characters and games and stories and media are ruined by badly written attempts at romance.

My rule of thumb, or one of them, has always been similar to the golden rule:

Write your romance the way you’d want your favorite character to treat you.

I feel like, most of the time, you can’t go wrong with that. I certainly haven’t had any complaints, at least.

[scifibi]

hey!! congrats on 1.5k followers that's AWESOME and we loved caramelkru but mellamymake is so cute too!

ahhh thanks you guys! ty for all the love

YOUR BELLARKE FIC:

[also on ao3]

“You’re late,” Raven announces when Bellamy walks in, barely looking up from where she’s shaking M&M’s into a bowl with a distinct air of mild vengeance. “The last time we did movie night, you gave me all kinds of shit for being, like, two minutes late. And now, you’re late. So, A+ for hypocrisy, I guess, assho—”

“Shut up,” Bellamy says automatically, ducking into the kitchen with a furtive glance down the hallway. A chorus of muffled laughter drifts in from the living room, a small whoop from Jasper ringing clear above the noise. “Is Clarke here?”

Raven tears her gaze away from her snacks to raise a brow at him. “Of course Clarke is here. Why the hell wouldn’t Clarke be here? Why would you come all the way in here just to—” Her eyes widen, and she drops the bag of M&M’s onto the counter, turning to face him. “What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing,” he says defensively, crossing his arms in front of him. “Nothing’s up. Why would you think something’s up?”

Raven’s sharp gaze narrows. “Because you walked in here to find out if Clarke was here instead of just going in there and, I don’t know, using your eyeballs?” She cocks her head, face scrunching in suspicion. “Also, I didn’t ask what was up. I asked what did you do.”

For a brief moment, Bellamy pauses to think about what it would be like to attempt lying to Raven, just to get out of this awkward situation.

It takes him approximately two point four seconds to arrive at the conclusion that it would most likely be far less awkward if he chose not to attempt it at all.

He takes a deep breath, glancing warily over his shoulder. “Okay, fine. If you must know — last night, Clarke and I were hanging out—”

“Big shocker,” Raven deadpans, one brow arched. “Continue.”

“And we were— well, we had a few drinks—”

Raven snorts. “Even bigger shocker. And?”

“And then,” he says, his voice strained. “And then we… kissed.”

Silence.

Raven frowns. “And … ?”

He reels back a step, unsure how to react to her total lack of surprise. “And… that’s it. We got a little too drunk, and we— we kissed. By accident.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “God. You two are literally the most boring couple that aren’t actually a couple to have ever existed in the history of forever.”

“Hey,” he says, wounded. “That’s not boring! That's—”

She waves impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, now your heart’s all aflutter and the butterfly army’s laid siege to your stomach. I get it. What’s the real issue here?”

He shifts from one foot to the other. “I— I think Clarke might’ve forgotten about it.”

Raven does look surprised then, eyes widening in disbelief. “Say what?”

“I just—” He breaks off, raking a hand through his hair. “Nothing happened after that. But then earlier today, she… she texted me. Big shocker, I know,” he cuts in immediately at the sight of Raven’s mouth opening, rolling his eyes. “But the thing is, she was all— all normal. All friendly and shit, asking me what flavour chips she should buy for tonight. She didn’t mention the— she didn’t even mention last night at all.”

“Huh,” Raven says, one hand propped on her hip as she frowns in consideration. The Clarke Griffin they know doesn’t gloss over sticky situations in this way. She either confronts it head on, or avoids it altogether.

Raven purses her lips, brows furrowing tighter. “Okay, well. Who kissed who?”

“Whom,” Bellamy corrects automatically. At her scowl, he shrugs. “It’s ‘whom’ when it’s the object of—”

“Shut up,” Raven snaps. “Who did the kissing, all right? Who made the first move!”

“I don’t know!” he whispers hoarsely, glancing to the doorway to make sure they’re not being too loud. “We were, like, eight beers in each!” He swallows, trying to refrain from breaking out into a cold sweat. “It— it might’ve been her? Or maybe it was me. Fuck. I seriously, genuinely don’t know, okay?”

“Shit, okay, calm down,” Raven says, flapping a hand at him. “Jeez, didn’t realise you were this torn up about it.”

“It was a kiss, Raven,” he retorts. “It wasn’t like we just exchanged a drunken high-five.”

Raven levels an incredulous look at him. “You’ve literally had threesomes, Bellamy.”

He throws his hands up into the air, exasperated. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

She sighs. “Okay, okay, fine. Look, just… be cool, all right? You don’t know for sure if Clarke really did forget — which, by the way, doesn’t sound like Clarke at all. I’ve seen her throw back five shots of tequila in a row and then, right after, name all the Marvel movies in perfect chronological order.”

Bellamy pauses, his nose scrunching. “Chronological—”

Raven shrugs. “She says it’s a gift. Whatever. Either way, right now, what you do know is that she’s playing it cool. So, just, y'know — follow her lead until you can figure out what’s up.”

He blinks, his breathing evening out as he absorbs her words. “That's… actually not a bad plan, Reyes.”

She scoffs, picking up her giant bowl of M&M’s. “Good luck with the butterflies, Blake.”

“There you are,” Miller exclaims when Bellamy walks in, followed closely by Raven. “Will you please tell Jordan that we’re not watching Now You See Me for the second time in two fucking months?”

“It’s Now You See Me 2!” Jasper protests, already waving a Blu-ray case around. “The second one!”

“Now you’ll see my fist,” Miller threatens darkly.

“I think Miller’s a little tired of magic,” Monty translates mildly, and a knowing look passes around the room as everyone recalls their recent group attempt to watch all eight Harry Potter movies in a row, an experience that had — unsurprisingly, in Bellamy’s opinion — turned out to be more torturous than enjoyable.

“Okay, what about Ocean’s Eleven?” Clarke interjects, sifting through the small pile of movies on the coffee table. She turns to look at Miller, one brow raised. “Or are all heist movies off the table?”

Miller shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I can live with some Vegas action, sure.”

Jasper scoffs quietly, catching the Blu-ray case Clarke tosses him. “You know what else takes place in Vegas? Now You—”

“Finish that sentence,” Miller says loudly. “I fuckin’ dare you.”

While the rest of the group is temporarily distracted with alternatively trying to calm Miller down (Monty) and rile him up even more (Raven), Bellamy moves slowly over to the couch. He tries to play it cool, but it’s a lot harder to do that when he’s too busy figuring out how to wipe his clammy hands off on his jeans without being too obvious.

Clarke looks up as he approaches, her face already lighting up with a bright smile. “Hey, you took long enou—”

“Can we talk,” he blurts out.

Fuck. What.

One job, he scolds himself silently. It’s all he can do to refrain from slapping his palm to his forehead.

To his surprise, Clarke jumps up readily.

“Sure,” she says, leading the way back into the kitchen.

As he follows her out of the living room, he’s acutely aware of the butterflies fluttering back to life in his stomach.

Fuck you, he thinks despairingly. Like this isn’t hard enough.

Clarke spins about once they’re in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed expectantly. “What’s up?”

Bellamy swallows. Well. Now or never.

Never, his brain screams despondently.

“I just wanted to—” he begins awkwardly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, I thought we should— that is, when you—”

“Bellamy.” Clarke’s face is neutral, in that perfectly curated way only she seems to be capable of pulling off — blank, but neither cold nor hard. “We have about three minutes before one of the kids notices we’re gone. Maybe just spit it out?”

He clears his throat. “Right. Uh. I just wanted to… make sure we were good.”

Her brows furrow sharply, and he can practically see the word good bouncing off the walls of her mind as she processes the statement.

“Of course we are,” she says slowly, her face still slightly scrunched with what he thinks is confusion. “Why wouldn’t we—” She breaks off, her eyes widening. “Wait. Is this about the kiss?”

His jaw drops. “Oh, my God. You remember it?!”

She looks downright bewildered at that. “What? I kissed you, didn’t I? Why wouldn’t I remember it?”

Taking a brief moment to get over 'I kissed you’, he blinks at her. “But— but you were all… normal.”

Her cheeks bloom then, flushes of warm pink spreading across her fair skin.

“Oh,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I— I don’t know. I thought we could just keep going? Like, nothing has to change, really. This—” taking one step closer, she gestures between them, “—this is good, you know? We don’t have to act all lovey-dovey or whatever just because we’re a— a thing now.”

He’s not sure if a 'conscious blackout’ is an actual medical occurrence, but whether it is or not, he’s definitely going through one right now.

“A thing,” he croaks.

Her face grows even redder, and she shrugs, taking another step closer. “Yeah, I mean— well, I’d be fine with being that way if that’s what you wanted? I know I’ve never been big on PDA, I just thought you wouldn't—”

She trails off, frowning as she studies his face. “Oh. Wait. Did I—” She gestures between them once more, brows knitting together. “Was this not, uh, clear?”

“Could have been clearer,” he manages, slightly strangled.

A small smile tugs at her lips, the frown lifting from her features. “I’ll try to keep that in mind from now on.”

That revives his senses, his shoulders relaxing as he feels himself slip into their easy back-and-forth rhythm. “Yeah, next time, let’s not wait till the twelfth round of alcohol to have that conversation.”

She nods pertly. “Have serious relationship conversation before object of affection gets wasted. Got it.”

He opens and closes his mouth. He can feel pure joy bursting in his chest, but it’s too much. He can’t even handle smiling right now.

“Just to be clear,” he blurts out. He gestures between them. “This— this is happening, right?”

She pauses, cocking her head. “Well. I thought it was.”

His breath stutters. “Was?”

She shrugs, grinning wryly. “I don’t know. Now I just kind of feel like I took advantage of you.”

“I wasn’t wasted,” he says instantly. “A little disoriented, maybe.”

She rolls her eyes, but even that’s not enough to distract him from the extra step she takes towards him, bringing her within arm’s reach. “Okay, well, how do you feel now, hotshot?”

Finally, his face splits with a wide grin. He reaches for her, covering the last vestiges of space between them with a single step. “Think I’m about to feel a lot better.”

“Congratulations,” Raven says when they break the news to the group, one sardonic brow raised over her genuine smile. “You two are officially the most boring couple to have ever existed that are actually a couple.”

[chasingthecosmos]

By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: G Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 7/26 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? Rating may go up as the story continues

"So, what's everyone doing here?" Rose asked, tugging on the Doctor's elbow so that she wouldn't be separated from him and also to remind him that he couldn't simply turn and run off whenever something shiny caught his eye.

"They're here for the Festival of Offerings!" he announced grandly, smiling back at her. "Takes place every thousand years or so when the rings align. It's quite a big thing, locally - like, er ... Pancake Tuesday!"

Just then, one of the aliens in the booth they were passing by grabbed Rose's arm and forced her to a stop. She whirled to find a woman (at least, she thought it might be a woman) with an oddly dog-like face and menacing teeth staring down at her.

"Looking for a bauble, Miss?" the strange woman asked loudly. "We've got the finest wares in the whole System, right here! You'd look amazing in Reluvian Gold. What do you say, Sir? A fine necklace for the missus? Or earrings! We've got earrings!"

"Thanks, we'll have a look around," the Doctor replied politely, but Rose noticed that he brushed the alien's demanding grip off of her arm with enough force and authority to warn her that she should keep her hands to herself from now on.

"Do all of these aliens speak English?" Rose asked mildly, knowing that she would have to replay this old conversation as well, so as not to raise suspicion.

"Ah, that's the TARDIS!" the Doctor explained, just as excitedly as he had the first time around. "There's a telepathic field that she can project into your mind to translate spoken and written languages. Comes in handy quite a lot. You can understand them, and they can understand you!"

Rose fought the instinct to roll her eyes at him as she began to peruse the booth's wares. It seemed that he still didn't quite grasp why some humans might have an issue with his strange blue box getting inside of their heads. But Rose and the TARDIS had been through so many things together by now, she found that she couldn't really bring herself to be as angry as she had been the first time he had explained his ship's telepathic abilities.

"So, what do you say? Anything catch your eye?" the Doctor went on casually, watching Rose carefully as she inspected the glittering alien jewelry before them.

"I don't have any money," Rose reminded him, flashing him a pointed look over her shoulder as she leaned closer to poke at a long chain that looked to be made of gold. She knew that the Doctor didn't normally travel with currency - and she doubted that a century of time without her would have been enough to change that particular habit.

"Neither do I," the Doctor replied predictably, "but they don't use money, here. They trade in value. The more sentimental something is, the more value it has. A photograph, a love letter, something like that. It's called psychometry - the objects psychically imprinted with their history."

"That's ... different," Rose admitted, scrunching up her nose as she continued to casually shop through the alien woman's wares. How did someone rate value? It seemed a bit subjective to her.

"Better than using bits of paper," the Doctor countered stubbornly.

"Fine, then you pay," Rose challenged, flashing him a teasing look. "You're a thousand years old. You must have something you care about." No, he never traveled with money, but she knew for a fact that he did have bigger-on-the-inside pockets that were filled with various bits and pieces of varying value.

But the Doctor simply shrugged noncommittally and turned away from her without a response, a strange cloud darkening his green eyes.

"Talk about a cheap date," Rose teased, smiling at him in an attempt to lighten his mood.

"Oi!" he protested indignantly. The Doctor whirled around to glare at her, but at least the forlorn look had left his expression. "It's ... not a date," he grumbled under his breath as he turned to scowl at a row of bracelets that were studded with some sort of pink-colored gem.

"Alright, then, what can I use?" Rose asked, looking down at herself and trying to think of what she might have that would hold any sort of value. This was a new world, a new body, and new clothes - none of it held much meaning to her.

"What about your ring?" the Doctor asked mildly, not even turning to look at her.

"My what?"

"Your ring," he repeated, turning to nod pointedly at her left hand before turning his back on her once more.

Rose furrowed her brow as she glanced down at her left hand in confusion and noted for the first time that there was a thin, brass-colored ring around her third finger.

"But that's ..." she murmured breathlessly.

It wasn't her wedding ring - that had been handmade by her husband, and she knew for a fact that there wasn't another single ring like it in any number of parallel worlds. But it followed the same general shape that she had grown so accustomed to wearing over the past seventy-or-so years of marriage. It was thin around the bottom and widened towards the top, a single, open circle sitting where she was used to seeing a delicate rose-colored gem.

"That's got plenty of value," the Doctor continued with his back to her, his tone as unaffected as though he were simply discussing the weather. "You could buy this entire booth with that ring alone."

"No, that's ... I'm fine," Rose stuttered, trying to force words out through the sudden lump in her throat. "I don't really want anything anyway. It's fine. Let's go."

The Doctor flashed her an assessing look out of the corner of his eye, but then simply shrugged and led them off further into the alien bazaar. "Are you married, then, Clara Oswald?" he asked casually, his hands tucked primly behind his back as he quietly matched his pace to hers.

"I used to be," Rose replied quietly, staring down hard at her hand as she slowly twisted the ring around her finger. How had she not noticed it before? And how long had the Doctor known that it was there? Knowing him, he had probably seen it from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

"Bit young to be a widow, aren't you?" he asked curiously, and Rose wasn't even surprised that he had so accurately gauged the situation.

"Says the thousand-year-old alien with the baby face," she murmured sarcastically, flashing him a sardonic look out of the corner of her eye.

The Doctor chuckled good-naturedly, but Rose knew that he wasn't done questioning her - not by a long shot. "It's also a bit rude to assume a woman's age like that, Doctor," she continued, pretending to scold him. "And, just so you know, it's human custom to offer condolences in a situation like this."

"Oh, right ..." he murmured awkwardly. "Sorry."

Rose flashed him a forgiving smile and was prepared to let the topic of conversation drop when the Doctor suddenly asked, "How did he die?"

And Rose knew that she shouldn't tell him the truth - this conversation was dangerous enough already. After all, this man who she was talking to now was deeply connected to her husband in a way that was confusing and terrifying all at once. She knew that she shouldn't have even let on that she was married in the first place - the Doctor was right, her new, mid-twenties body would raise questions if she went around like the grieving widow that she was. But how was she supposed to know that the Bad Wolf would somehow make her a parallel approximation of her wedding ring without telling her?

Still, the temptation to blurt out the truth was too great to be ignored. She knew that it was selfish, but Rose had no one else who she could talk to about her husband, and she still missed him so terribly that it took her breath away sometimes. The man before her may be wearing a different face, but in some ways, he was the only other person in this world who even knew who her husband was.

"His heart gave out," she muttered, not daring to meet the Doctor's eye as she spoke. "About a year-and-a-half ago."

And for once, the Doctor surprised her by letting the conversation end there. Rose knew that he had more questions - how could he not? But he kept them politely to himself as he nodded solemnly and repeated his quiet condolences.

Rose, however, knew that she was never going to get a better chance than this, so she asked, "What about you, Doctor? You're a thousand years old, why are you wandering out here alone? Don't you have other friends or ... anyone else?" She didn't dare bring up Susan again, and certainly not Gallifrey, but Rose hoped that maybe he would deflect the question and at least tell her about his most recent companions. He had had friends in the dalek asylum, and the fact that he had still not brought them up concerned her greatly.

"Friends? Yes, of course I have friends!" the Doctor replied, his loud exuberance returning once more, along with his nervous fidgeting. "I've got loads of friends - all in different time periods across the galaxy. You can't do as much traveling as I do without making friends."

And enemies, Rose thought silently to herself. Out loud, she asked, "Well ... where are they, then? Why aren't they here with you?" And she knew that it hurt him to remember, but she just had to know what had put that deep, heavy sadness on his shoulders.

The Doctor only paused for a moment, but it was all that Rose needed to see that his hurt ran even deeper than she could have imagined. Finally, he threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, "Nah, they've got better things to do! They're all off living their lives, having babies and anniversaries and building debt - all that boring, normal stuff. They don't need me. Besides - I've got all of time and space to see! Can't forget that. There's so much that needs doing - worlds to save, people to meet, food to try."

The Doctor punctuated his chattering words by dipping his finger into the green whipped thing that was still slowly melting in Rose's hands and then brought it to his mouth with a gleeful grin.

"See?" he insisted eagerly. "Can't get that back on Earth, now, can you?"

Rose took a moment to watch him before replying. She wanted so badly to tell him the full truth of who she was, but she still didn't quite know how to explain this strange situation that they now found themselves in. She knew that as long as she decided to keep this secret, she would have to be subtle in order to keep him from getting suspicious, but she couldn't have stopped the words that came next even if she wanted to. She knew that he needed them now as much as he had back when he had first met her, and she wasn't about to let the Doctor go on in misery if there was anything that she could do to stop it.

"It's better with two," she muttered quietly. "Wouldn't you say, Doctor?"

Her words stopped him in his tracks and the Doctor turned to stare at her in unrestrained shock for a moment. She could practically see his brain working behind those new, bright green eyes of his. He was looking at her as though he had seen a ghost, and he wasn't quite sure if he could believe the proof of his own two eyes.

Rose threw caution to the wind as she stepped forward and firmly took his hand in hers. She watched as all of the air whooshed out of his lungs as though she had firmly and solidly hit him right in the gut.

"Right ..." he murmured slowly, continuing to stare down at her with a complicated expression. "Quite right." And Rose was pleasantly surprised when he offered her a kind smile instead of more suspicion.

"This way!" he said, suddenly tugging on her hand and jolting her immediately back into the adventure that he had planned. "There's this Hilomian soothsayer that you simply have to meet. Oh, I hope he's still here. The last time we met, he told me ..."

And just like that, he was back to his over-ecstatic Doctor-teaching-mode and he went about leading her off to see the many wonders of the universe. Rose grinned like a fool as she followed after him, hoping beyond hope that maybe this time the universe would be kind, and she wouldn't have to be torn from his side again.

[sentrava]

When Trying Isn’t Enough: How Immigrants Experience the Danish Language

I’ve been in Denmark for nearly eight years and my Danish is…fine. I understand pretty much everything and can speak fairly well. My accent is, of course, atrocious, but I simply sound like a non-Dane speaking Danish. Danish is something that I’ve worked on at a range of intensities since moving to Copenhagen for the first time in 2008.

At that time, I didn’t think I would be staying forever, so I didn’t engage with the language in a serious way. When it became clear that my family would make Denmark our home, I dove in, taking intensive language classes and speaking in Danish as much as possible. I’ve had varying degrees of success, and I’ve found that the best way for me to improve is to learn the language alongside my toddler son; this has actually proven really useful.

A few weeks ago, I was having a conversation in Danish. The context isn’t important, and I don’t want to call out any specific person, but suffice it to say that it was a conversation that a) required my full attention as it had to do with my child and b) included some mildly complicated language. After an hour long conversation in Danish in which I responded to questions, asked my own questions, and generally acted like an engaged human being, I misheard something. Just didn’t quite get that particular sentence. Immediately, the person I was speaking to said, exasperated, “do you need us to get you a translator?”

Record scratch. Huh? Haven’t we been speaking in Danish for an hour? I stuttered out that I had simply misunderstood and that, no, I didn’t need a translator.

I left the conversation embarrassed and internally scolding myself for my mistake. But as the day went on and I reviewed the exchange in my head (obsessively; living in a second language has made me sensitive in ways that I usually am not), I began to wonder how common this experience was for non-native Danish speakers. What is the threshold that immigrants in Denmark experience for language mistakes?

Part of the problem with Danish specifically is that most Danes speak English. They speak it so well that should you not be able to speak Danish, they will usually switch to English without even asking.

That’s not the case for many other languages, and so the issue of “switching over” doesn’t exist. This would appear to be a non-problem (“oh no, the entire population can make your life easier! I’m so sorry for you.”), but for those of us actually trying to learn the language and who would like to see our efforts bear fruit, it can be an obstacle to convince people to keep speaking in Danish, even when our Danish isn’t perfect, or more truthfully, very good.

It’s not so much an issue of not being able to communicate as it is an issue of not being accepted. I can get by in Denmark just fine without learning Danish, but I’d never feel like I was really home. Forming strong relationships and being a viable candidate in the job market (though this doesn’t hold true in some industries) in Denmark is largely based on whether or not you can speak Danish.

After my failed conversation, I began asking immigrants to to share their experiences with the language. I also asked Danes where they feel the line is; when do you switch to English, or even just correct someone’s language? And why?

American immigrant Kate Krosschell tells me, “When I’ve noticed a change in a conversation, it’s often this look of confusion and is usually related to the way I pronounce something. People switch to English a lot, which I think is meant to be inclusive, but then I still end up getting excluded from the conversation. There’s a wall that gets created then, and the non-Dane has no control of that wall,” she explains. “My coping mechanism is to lean into that and make fun of myself. In the moment, that can really work, but then I often walk away from the conversation feeling like I misrepresented myself, or that I was willing to put myself down to make someone else comfortable.”

The theme of having to gently mock your own language skills came up repeatedly in my conversations with immigrants, with the underlying message of, “make fun of yourself before they do.”

British immigrant Kevin Kafesu explains, “I attempt to speak Danish from time-to-time, but I do it with humor; I haven’t quite reached the serious discussion [level of language]. My confidence always drops after [a Dane] says, ‘huh?’ Then, and only then, do I switch to English.”

American immigrant Amanda Yee sets out what she sees as a problem of adaptability, rather than conscious choice: “I have found that there’s not a lot of variations of Danish; in English there are so many dialects and accents. There’s also so many second-language speakers in America, so our ears are used to adapting to that. Danish people’s ears don’t seem to adapt. So I don’t know if it’s intolerance, but it has been a deterrent to me in embracing the language, because no one understands what I’m trying to say. I have a French friend who speaks Danish and I watch him when we’re out; people are really receptive to him even though it he’s clearly got an accent. In terms of that switch over, I’m not sure if it’s condescending – it might just be easier for Danes because they speak English so well – but it can come off that way.”

Australian immigrant Lena Rutowski says, “From the beginning I insisted to my workplace that I only wanted to speak Danish and everyone in my life who knows me well respects that. Sometimes people hear my accent, however, and use English automatically.  I once called a person out on it and he said ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t actually realize I was speaking English, it’s just like a switch was flipped.’ I can appreciate it isn’t intended as comment on my language ability and that it is unconscious and unintentional. But it’s also telling about how ingrained the idea of ‘pure Danish’ is to Danes, given that hearing accented Danish ‘flips a switch’ in their heads.”

But Danish photographer Morten Nordstrøm pushes back on the characterization, explaining, “I’ve never done or seen anyone [switch over]. I think most Danes are just super impressed when people from other countries speak our language. We know it’s a tough one to crack.”

I agree that Danes seem to know their language is difficult to learn, but that sometimes translates into a desire to “protect the language” rather than to open it up to second (or third, and so on) language speakers.  So rather than engage with semi-good Danish, Danes would rather speak English, thus reserving Danish only for those who speak it on a native-level. It’s a case of: if you can’t get the language right, you don’t get to have it at all.

Those quoted for this article do not represent the full range of immigrants in Denmark; they are ages 30 – 40, they moved to Denmark for love or a job or an adventure, not as refugees, economic migrants, or as young children without a choice. While the group is racially diverse, it’s not socially diverse, and that’s notable in the Danish context. Denmark is a country currently grappling with its own national identity and changing demographics. It’s not a pretty process, and it involves a lot of exclusionary language and action, including holding “Danishness” – and specifically the Danish language – close.

In switching over to English, maybe Danes are trying to be helpful. Maybe they genuinely don’t understand the accents of non-Danes, as Amanda Yes notes, and Danish is a very pronunciation-focused language – but this is another historical symptom of a homogenous population. Maybe they just love the chance to practice their English. It’s likely that it’s all these reasons, and a few others too.

The reasons are important insofar as they explain the set of actions, but they don’t change how those actions make immigrants feel. When trying your best isn’t enough, where do you go?

I don’t have an answer yet, but it starts with taking these language snags a little less personally, and also letting Danes know how it feels when they do happen. Perhaps it just starts with pointing out, free of anger and free of expectation, “Look, I’m trying.”

When Trying Isn’t Enough: How Immigrants Experience the Danish Language published first on https://medium.com/@OCEANDREAMCHARTERS

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Here Comes the Brides

Summary:  At Alphys and Undyne's wedding, Edge is more comfortable keeping watch than dancing. He's less content with what he sees.

Notes: Part of the ‘by any other name’ series

Also on AO3

~~*~~

If pressed, Edge would have admitted that it had been a beautiful ceremony. Both brides were lovely and while Edge didn’t find the general female form appealing, he could appreciate their choice of dress. Alphys was in a flowing white dress, her veil floating around her shy, smiling face in a swirl of tulle. Undyne had chosen a tuxedo, managing to look equally elegant and dangerous; Edge had no doubt that there were weapons concealed beneath the gorgeous cut of those trousers and he more than approved. Undyne, at least, understood the importance of being prepared.

From their table, Edge had a clear view of the entire reception. Undyne had done that deliberately, she’d informed him of as much the week before with her typical bluntness. There would be security, they would be prepared, but if the worst happened, he was the one she trusted to help her keep the ones they loved safe.

She trusted him.

(His Undyne had trusted him as well, as much as anyone in Underfell could trust and it wasn’t a betrayal that he couldn’t go back home. It wasn’t.)

(the betrayal was that he didn’t want to)

They were in New New Home, they should be safe but he’d made the mistake of believing that before.

The buffet was finished, though Monsters still went up occasionally to poke at the remnants, and most of the guests had been dancing for the past hour. Edge was fairly certain that Stretch had danced with everyone available except for Asgore, Red, and Edge himself, and Red might have been willing if it hadn’t been for the incident with the two of them and Edge’s car last month. Since he’d told his brother that another stunt like that would result in Edge pulling his spine out through his jaw, he had been somewhat unwilling to drag Stretch out on any other jaunts.

Speaking of Asgore, the King was making his way to Edge’s table in the slow, dignified way he had, the manner of a Monster that was often too-large for the world he inhabited.

He stood next to Edge for a moment, watching the dancers cavorting and laughing, before saying, “The ceremony was lovely.”

“It was,” Edge agreed. “You did a beautiful job on the flowers.”

Asgore only nodded, a little pink with obvious pleasure. “I’ll have designs for your wedding next week. Look them over and let me know what you prefer.”

“Of course.”

“Yes, it was a beautiful ceremony,” Asgore kept his gaze on the dancers where one of the brides was twirling with Frisk. The other was close by, chatting with the Dogi. “I’d spoken to Undyne about allowing it to be broadcast over to the Humans, perhaps a live feed on Youtube, but she believed it would be too much for Alphys. I suspect she was correct, Alphys struggles with too much attention.”

Whereas Stretch basked in it, Edge thought sourly. “If you're about to ask what I think you are, you can save your breath.”

“I wasn't,” Asgore said mildly, “However, I would point out that allowing Humans to observing our traditions would humanize us to them.”

“Be that as it may, I will not allow my vows with my lover to be a tool in this fight,” Edge said, low and firm. “Not that. Besides, you've met Stretch, of all weddings, do you honestly believe that ours is the one you want to advertise?”

“You do have a point,” Asgore chuckled.

“If you want to livestream ceremonies, we can discuss it on Monday. The lighting of the Gyftmas tree in the main square would be a better choice, it matches Human traditions as well as a wedding.”

Asgore considered that, nodding slowly, “Some of the religious leaning parties will object.”

“I suspect advertising same-sex marriages would have the same effect,” Edge said dryly. He was under no illusions about the Human world where that was concerned.

“True, true,” Asgore sighed. “This is why I have a PR team, to think of these things.”

Before Edge could agree with him, Stretch came bouncing over. He’d already lost his tie somewhere and a cuff link, his shirt half-unbuttoned. It was honestly appalling how being adorably mussed was such an attractive look on him.

He ignored Asgore, tugging instantly on Edge’s hand. “c’mon, come dance with me!”

“No, thank you,” Edge told him and noticed Asgore taking the moment to make a discreet exit. Coward.

All too quickly, Stretch gave up, a fair sign that he was exhausted and too stubborn to give in. He flopped into the chair next to Edge with a whine, picking at a half-empty plate of hors d’oeuvres, grumbling, “oh, come on! are you going to leave me standing around at our wedding?”

“I’m not planning on any dancing whatsoever at our wedding,” Edge said archly, “so that won’t be an issue.”

Instead of the expected sarcasm or loud protest, all that came was a quiet, “oh.”

With some surprise, Edge looked at Stretch to see him eye lights downcast, tracing his finger absently against the table. 

“Oh, honestly, of course we are going to have dancing,” Edge exclaimed, “I was kidding! And I will dance a pre-determined amount with you, so choose your songs wisely.”

“haha,” Stretch gave him a lopsided grin, “you’re hilarious. fine, sit here alone, me and my dance fever can handle this.”

With that, he was off again, and if there was less bounce in his steps…well. Edge noticed things and he knew. What he didn’t understand was Stretch’s reaction to his teasing; it wasn’t anything new, Edge was well accustomed to playing the straight man to the seemingly endless comedians who ruled his life. Stretch had never taken him seriously before so why now, why this?

It was the fact that they were at a wedding, it had to be. Edge knew he was anxious about their upcoming nuptials, that he understood. What he didn’t understand was why.

They’d been together for close to three years and living together for over one. Marriage should be a natural progression but for all that it was obviously what Stretch wanted, he was behaving strangely about it. Simple anxiety? Edge didn’t know and Stretch didn’t seem willing to discuss it. Whenever Edge brought it up, be it the invitations or the floral arrangements or the dinner, Stretch varied between utter boredom or even outright disdain into nervous joking and, occasionally, fleeing the room.

Anxiety, it had to be. Well, once the ceremony was through, he’d likely relax and be able to enjoy the party. It was just a firm indication that it would be best to keep things simple and that Edge had known to begin with.

That aside, either way his joke had stolen away some of Stretch’s joy tonight and while he hadn’t intended it, that didn’t make it less true. With a sigh, Edge got to his feet. The things he did for love.

First, he went to Undyne, silently and discreetly indicating to her that he would not be keeping watch for the moment. She accepted that easily, her eye gleaming and perhaps only Edge could see the shift in her demeanor as she became watchful. Next, he went to the DJ, who to Edge’s eyes seemed to be approximately twelve. He was reluctant about Edge’s request but a twenty-dollar bill smoothed the way easily enough.

The energetic song that had been thundering out faded and the soft strains of saxophone music rose. The dance floor cleared and Edge caught hold of Stretch before he could escape, pulling him into his arms. He stumbled briefly before he caught the rhythm, allowing Edge to guide him into a slow waltz.  

“kenny g?” Stretch shook his head, but he was smiling, “are you serious?”

“You listen to your music and I’ll listen to mine.”

“yeah, well, edgelord, you need less leather in your closet and more button up sweaters to listen to this.”

His voice rose into a startled laugh as Edge twirled him unexpectedly, and Stretch moved with easy grace back into his arms. He didn’t know why anyone would be surprised that Stretch was an excellent dancer. Dancing had similar elements to fighting and for all his Sansy ways, at the end of the day, he was a Papyrus.

“The waltz was scandalous when it first came out,” Edge informed him, pulling him in a fraction closer.

Stretch offered him a lopsided smile, “great, but no one thinks of the wild, rebellious ways of mozart when they dance it.”

“They should. The man wrote a composition that essentially translates into ‘kiss my ass’.”

That earned him another startled laugh, a softer one, and Stretch settled his head on Edge’s shoulder and simply let him lead them across the floor.

A glance around confirmed that they were alone on the dance floor and Edge caught sight of Alphys watching them from the sidelines with starry-eyed pleasure. Edge resisted the urge to scowl at her; Red had taken entirely too much delight in showing him the secret manga she’d published online about Reg and Rus, going into entirely too much detail about their personal lives, and he had not been amused. But it was her wedding day and he wasn’t about to spoil it by giving her an anxiety attack.

Jeff was standing with Antwan, also goopily starry-eyed and Edge did glare at him. To no effect, apparently Jeff was finally getting over his reticence about Edge.

Pity.

It seemed better to close his sockets and simply enjoy the feel of Stretch in his arms, his warmth, and the faint spiciness of his cologne coupled with the sweetness of his magic.

The music ended with a last flourish and Edge came to a stop, ignoring the applause around them as he took Stretch’s face in his hands and held him still for a soft kiss. Sooner than he would have expected, Stretch drew away, again giving him that faint, lopsided smile.

“hey, i’m going to head outside for a smoke.”

Edge frowned, “All right.”

He watched Stretch make his way to the doors, already searching through the inside pocket of his jacket for his cigarettes. Edge was a little confused but sat back down and took back over his watch, waiting for him. And waiting. 

Stretch didn’t return for a long time.

 -finis-