How Did You Work Up The Courage To Tell Your Parents? Are You From A Religious Family? I Wanna Stop Hiding

How did you work up the courage to tell your parents? Are you from a religious family? I wanna stop hiding in my seemingly glass closet but idk yk

OH MY GOSH I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SOMEONE SENT ME AN ASK😭

Sorry if this is a late response, but I decided to do it after I figured it out myself and built a community of Allys/supporters or people who were also apart of the LGBTQ+, around me. I let myself become comfortable and sure in the label, before I told any family members, that weren't my twin sister or close cousin.

And I grew up Christian Baptist, idk too much about my own past denomination to pass judgement on it lol, but I what I can pass judgment on is my parents. Who still have their moments of oppressive behavior and language, however, they have supported me...surface level wise. If that makes sense. And i'm not afraid to look at them crazy, if they say something wrong.

Ultimately tho, it's up to you whether you want to actually come out to them, or not. If you think the aftermath or their reaction will not be, preferable, then you could wait until you're out the house to tell them (if you're living with them) or you could let them find out on their own somehow, like go around living your truth and if they ask you about it, then you can do it like that🤔

But I will PUSH the advantages of having a support group of your own, whether they elligble for that group or not. Hope this helps Anon, good luck!!!💜💜💜

TV Executives: “if the strike goes on, you won’t get new episodes of your favorite shows! You won’t get new movies you were looking forward to! Isn’t that terrible, what the writers are doing to you?”

Me: Bitch, that might have been an effective threat in 2007, but we have since survived a Covid shutdown and discovered ways to amuse ourselves while we waited, we can outwait this shit, too. I got a pile of shows saved I haven’t even watched yet, and a Mt. TBR waiting for me.

Compensate (and respect) your writers for their work, assholes.

This is the money Marge. Reblog for good fortune

Sana: I prefer you as you are too

Dale:

They're so cute together 😭 Another great chapter 🩷

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Four

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong With Dale Chapter 24

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] Part Twenty-Four

Grandfather is quick to spring into motion. Apparently, since the maid who’d come to get him had only known you were in distress and that you’d been with Grandmother for longer than expected, he’d brought a doctor with him. They thought she might have fallen, not that you’d been attacked, for all they had taken guards just in case. 

You two were immediately ushered to Grandmother’s rooms where you were pushed aside for the far more learned medical professional to take over. Instead, the captain of the guard began interrogating you over what had happened. You told him all you could, hopefully without giving away anything regarding Dale’s inhumanity. They’d seemed satisfied enough about your short, blunt answers and soon left to spread that information around. The last you heard from the captain was him ordering a thorough search of the entire property for any more conspirators and to see if anyone had been able to catch up with Dale and Two.

Resigned and exhausted, you’ve collapsed in the wingback chair in Grandmother’s sitting room.  You watch a maid bring something into Grandmother’s bedroom, the sound of voices—the doctor’s and Grandfather’s are the only ones you can identify, not that their words are intelligible—from the other room is somewhat soothing as at least no one is shouting. You thought she was going to be fine, but what did you truly know? They’d been in there for what felt like hours, though you have no real notion of the passing of time. 

Your eyes search out a clock and when you finally spot one, despite having no idea what the time could be, you’re still surprised to learn its two hours past midnight. Like trying to reach back a far distance, you try to remember what time it had been when you left the ballroom. Before midnight, surely.

Oh. Had this attack been ‘secrets' referred to in the astrologer’s calendar? You let out a small sound that might be a laugh because, brightness, you hope so. You’re not sure you can handle anything else happening today, especially anything with secrets of any kind.

You fidget in the chair a moment longer before you find yourself walking to the side table on instinct. You hang the teakettle over the fire with surprisingly steady hands. You’re boiling water for tea primarily out of a desire to do something other than sit around waiting for news on Grandmother or Dale. 

You ignore the pouches of headache and insomnia tea in your pockets to fuss with the options the Governor put in Grandmother and Grandfather’s rooms for them. You watch the fire more diligently than you need to, trying not to think about anything at all. Right now your thoughts are too full of worries for listening to them to be at all helpful. 

The water boils quicker than you expect, so you set the kettle on the thick pad to keep while you set the green tea leaves into the steeper. The motions of fixing your cup help settle your nerves, as does holding the warm cup in your hands once you’re done. 

You blow on it carefully as your thoughts start to flow once more. How much longer until someone sees fit to inform you on Grandmother’s condition? When will Dale return? Did you skirt the truth correctly while talking to the captain? You can’t even truly remember what you said. You know that you leaned heavily on the idea that you were hiding and confused.

“My lady,” you turn at the sound of your maid’s voice. She’s standing with Grandfather, having just entered the sitting room from the bedroom. They both look tired and worried. Worn out.

Your heart stutters in your chest and your grip tightens around the handle of your teacup so you don’t drop it. “How is Grandmother? Has her conditioned worsened?”

“What?” Grandfather reflexively glances back at the door as he frowns. “No, no,” he’s quick to reassure you, crossing the room towards you. “She’s gone to sleep, but she was alert and able enough to argue with the physician before that.” His mouth curves a small, but genuine smile with the telling. “Dr. Mull complimented your bandaging. She has no doubt Deidre will make a full recovery.”

You nearly sit down in relief. “Oh, thank the light. When I saw you, you looked...” You trail off not sure you want to tell him that he looked older, more tired, than you’ve seen him previously. Instead, you focus on the good news, on the worry you can put down. “I’m so glad to hear she shall be alright.”

Grandfather continues to look odd though, almost cautious in some manner. Did he want to interrogate you about the fight or where Dale went as well? He takes another step closer and reaches out towards you before he evidently thinks better of it. “Speaking of healing, do you not think perhaps now it is time to allow the doctor to do an examination of yourself, my dear?”

You’d already been trying to muster the right words to say to him about the events that his question’s topic throws you off-balance. You blink at him. “Me? I am fine.”

This time it’s your maid, Miss Adir, who speaks up. “My lady,” her voice has far more of the artificial calm pragmatism than it usually does when speaking to you. The maid you grew up with, who you had grown quiet close to, pointed it out to you once when your brother’s valet used the tone. Douglas had been insisting on joining a hunt despite having rode straight home from the capital for days straight and was dead on his feet. She said all servants had them for when nobles were being particularly hard-headed. Miss Adir hasn’t even said anything specific and you are already beginning to feel foolish. “You’ve multiple injuries, which surely with your experience, you know should be either attended to by a professional or at the very least properly bandaged.”

Reflexively, you adjust how you’re holding your arm, the cut stinging anew. With your attention drawn to it, the material of your makeshift bandage itches. You can see the sense in what she’s proposing, however, it feels as though you’re still waiting, as if the fight and the danger must still be present because Dale has not returned yet. It feels wrong to leave this room, to do something that feels as final as tending to your injuries when the events of tonight have not yet concluded. 

Grandfather must read some of your hesitance on your face and he adds, “Deidre gave explicit instructions to have your own injuries sorted before I went to sleep for the night, my lady.” 

It’s heavy-handed to use Grandmother against you like this, but now you can also see that his current worry is at least partially regarding you. Does that mean his suspicion over you is truly gone now? Is this all that had to happen? For you to be attacked by assassins? You should have led with that evidently. You find the thought funny enough you have to resist the urge to let out a laugh. You’re fairly certain it would not have come out right. “Very well.”

“Thank you,” Grandfather says, looking relieved that you're not arguing further. “Do you wish to wait for the doctor?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes. “That is not necessary. All of my injuries are only to the flesh. My head was unharmed and no bones have been broken. If my estimation of any of my injuries were incorrect, I shall inform Dr. Mull myself.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says, though not without a glance towards Grandmother’s room. You know you’re holding yourself stiffly due to tension and worry and yes, your lingering injuries, but you hope it only comes off as the former two. It must because he nods. “Yes, and I shall remain alert for Dale’s return.”

You nod and gesture with the hand still holding your teacup to the tea table. “Please, help yourself to some green tea. I freshly boiled the water only a few minutes ago.” When Grandfather stares at the pot with mild distrust, you add, “No special blends, just the green tea provided by the Governor. I was merely thirsty.”

Grandfather blinks back at you before smiling sheepishly. “Lovely. Thank you.”

You nod. “You are welcome,” you murmur as you let Miss Adir usher you into Grandmother’s dressing room.

“I’ve had some fresh clothes brought for you and I've got your medical bag,” Miss Adir says as she guides you into a chair. “Why don’t you finish your tea while I set it all out, hm?”

You nod, feeling like it’s all you’ve done for the past few minutes but helpless to think of what to do or say instead. Quietly, you sip your tea as the candles in the room are lit. It looks similar enough to your own dressing room here in the governor’s house, but larger. None of the details seem to stick in your mind and you find it easier to look down at the cup in your hands. 

In what feels like only a few seconds, you realize the cup is empty and Miss Adir’s hands are carefully taking it from you. “Let’s stand you up, my lady, so we can get you out of this tarnished ensemble. Oh, how do you want to do this, my lady? Should you change first or bandage yourself first? Or should I?”

The confusion and concern in her voice finally snaps you more fully to the present. You push up out of the chair and finally take a good look in the mirror, needing to better assess the situation in order to answer her questions. 

“Oh,” you say as you stare at yourself. You’re not sure if you expected to look worse or better, but it’s still a surprise to see the evidence of the night’s events on your person. 

Your hair looks mussed, almost as if you’ve slept on it, and your cheeks still have the faint evidence of tear tracks on them. Your eyes too are red at the edges, pupils still wider than even the dim lighting should require. The rest of you, well your dress as a whole looks like you’ve taken a tumble down a hill except instead of streaks of greenery, there are streaks of gray rock dust. Your makeshift bandage stands out as obviously as the large tear from where it had come from on your dress, exposing the cream of your stays. 

Your injured hand automatically goes to cover the hole and you feel a pang of pain at the movement. The aches and bruising you know must be under everything don’t show beyond the general disarray your clothing is in. Then there are the splatters of red, dried to a darker, rustier color, which are not from your own injuries which stand out starkly on the light green fabric. “Oh my.”

Miss Adir comes closer, hovering with her hands clasped tightly. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather the doctor see to you?”

You shake your head, but feel more present having truly seen what state you’re in. “No, she would not tell me anything I cannot tell myself. We should take all of this off, clean and bandage what can be, and then re-dress.”

“Yes, my lady,” Miss Adir seems dubious but grateful you’ve decided on a course of action. 

She carefully helps you out of the dress, though you fight the urge to remind her that it's likely destined for scrap. Even if the dress could be salvaged, you doubt you’d want to wear it again. After she loosens your stays, you fiddle with the busk to pull out the sheath and dagger. You set that aside separately so it can be strung along a leather thong. You’ve no desire to be without it anytime soon. You might sleep with it nearby.

Soon enough from your stockings to your shift, all has been carefully peeled away, leaving only the bandage left. Your front mostly looks normal, although there’s a bruise forming on your hip and another on one of your thighs you don’t remember getting. It’s your arms that have the most obvious damage, your wrists from the spear and then the cut on your arm. None of the other scratches and nicks you’ve picked up warrant bandaging.

Miss Adir hisses in sympathy as she comes over with some cloths and a basin of water. “Oh, your back.”

You turn to examine it in the mirror and wince. There’s a large knot where Vi had used the butt of her spear that’s already quite dark and angry looking. You feel an unexpected thrum of satisfaction at the sight of it, as though how much it hurts is now justified by the sight of the damage. “Yes, well, nothing much to do about bruising.” You reach back with your uninjured hand to run your fingers over the damage, checking as gingerly as you can for anything more that the sight might be disguising. “Nothing’s broken. I shall simply have to be careful of how I sit.”

“We can add a pad under the stays to keep from pressing on it too harshly,” Miss Adir says. “My mother did so after she was knocked into a fence post.”

“Yes, no stays tonight though.” The Governor had ordered your wing into a lockdown: no one in or out except guards and the servants already there. With no guests and the late hour, you were not getting any more dressed than you had to.

“No, no,” Miss Adir agreed. “Your bandages are here—I believe they are the correct ones, but your bag is over there if you require something else.”

“Thank you,” you say, reaching to check she had the right of it before taking a cloth and dipping it in the warm water. As you begin to unwind the makeshift bandage, she begins to help clean off the rest of you. It’s nicer than you expect to have the feeling of sweat cooling washed away until she does so.

The bandage sticks to your skin and you have to be careful not to leave any loose threads in the cut. You narrow your focus to cleaning the cut and making sure you don’t need stitches because that task seems like something you can manage.

The slash is longer than you initially thought, but not as deep as you’d worried, no matter how it hurts. Miss Adir helps hold the end of the bandage in place while you wrap it up. 

Accomplishing even something as simple as that, in this quiet room that feels separate and safe from the rest of the world has helped to resettle you, though you can feel exhaustion begin to nip at your heels. You try to shake it off, resolving to get another cup of tea soon. 

Some renewed urgency floods your veins with the only true injury you can treat handled. Feeling cleaner helps too as you put on the fresh shift and drawers. You sit back down to put on your stockings and when you do, you notice Miss Adir biting her lip. “What is it? Is something else wrong?”

“No, no,” she’s quick to reassure you, before biting her lip again. “Only, are you really okay? I can’t believe something like this happened here. What if myself or Miss Nila had been with you and Lady Deidre? Suppose Lord Dale—”

“Miss Adir,” you say, placing a hand over hers which you’ve only just realized are trembling. “I am fine. You heard Dr. Mull say Lady Deidre will recover, yes?”

She nods, looking up at you with wide eyes. You’re reminded that, while you always feel young, she is a couple years younger than even yourself. Before this wedding and your arrival, she’d primarily been a general maid, not assigned directly to any of the Northridges. She must feel even more in over her head than you do. “Lord Dale did arrive in time and the guards were summoned timely as well.” Something occurs to you. “Were you the one who discovered Grandmother and I were not where we were supposed to be?”

Miss Adir nods, some tears in her eyes. “When I got back up here with your pastries and Miss Nila said you still hadn’t gotten back, she went to tell Lord Archibald and Lord Dale while I alerted the captain. He did not seem to think much was amiss, but I convinced him to at least check with his other guards in the wing. I’ve heard such tales from the other servants since we’ve come to Connton. He’d just discovered some were not at their posts when Miss Nila came to tell him of your shouting and Lord Dale rushing into a fight!”

You smile at her, relieved that notice had been spreading as you’d hoped. “Then you did exactly what you should have.”

“Shouldn’t I have done something more? When I think back on how slow we were to fetch anyone or how long it took to discuss matters, I can only think at how frightened you or Lady Deidre must have been while we took our time.”

You shake your head. “We were frightened because of the actions of the attackers, not your own. And you had no reason to think anything grave was amiss. Neither Grandmother nor I would place any blame at your feet.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Now,” you stand back up. “Help me into my petticoats and dressing gown so we can rejoin the others.”

“Yes, my lady,” she replies with a lightness in her step that you feel yourself. Strange how reassuring her had helped you center yourself. What is done is done and everyone did the best they could, including yourself. It did not however, help alleviate your worry over Dale, who was still in the fight, perhaps even literally.

When you and Miss Adir emerge from the dressing room, you see Grandfather look over to you and some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “You look much better, my lady,” he says as he gestures you into your former seat. Miss Adir leaves to take your previous garments away and you see a guard peel off from the wall to accompany her.

You thank Grandfather for the tea he pours you, but you can see an eager, but reluctant look in his eyes that tells you that, since he has been reassured of your state, he too wishes to ask you for details on what happened.

What follows is a near identical set of questions as you’d fielded from the captain and you’re relieved to find that your previous answers do come back to you. It is only when he starts to repeat himself, obviously frustrated that you cannot provide more information, that you begin to grow weary once again. You know he is not truly angry with you, at least you do not think so, but it is a tiring exercise to walk the line between what information to reveal and what not to.

“I’ve told you,” you finally say, cutting off another question about what had happened to the leader, Clen. “I spent near as much as I could hidden after being assaulted by Lasky and then the other. I don’t know when in the fight he even died. I could see nothing.”

“The room is a mess of destruction,” Grandfather says, having gotten up to begin pacing. “Far more than would come of an ordinary fight, even with ones so brutal.”

“They had enhancements from the Depths,” you remind him. “Not the woman, but the others.”

“Yes, so the Captain said too.” Talking through everything seems to be how Grandfather is processing everything, you simply wish it did not feel quite so much like he was trying to catch you out in a lie. Unlike the days before, you can tell he isn’t actually suspicious of you. “There was only one that left alive at the end, yes?”

“Yes,” you reply. You debate telling him anything more about two, but likely the captain will anyway. Still you don’t want to upset him further so you cautiously add, “However… I do not think the one had enhancements.”

“Oh,” Grandfather stops pacing to stare at you. “Not what I would have suspected.” He relaxes,  “That is a good thing, they should be easier to apprehend.”

“You misunderstand,” you say, shaking your head. There is no point in delaying the information. “I believe that one to be possessed.”

Grandfather pales at your words. “Caverns below, true possession? Did you alert the captain to your suspicion?”

You nod. “Of course.” Now you wonder if the captain had kept that to himself until Dale’s return so as not to worry Grandmother or Grandfather. Had he reported while Grandmother was present? Regardless, it’s too late now and you want Grandfather braced for the information. “I could hear very little—they kept to the edges of the fight initially and I was hidden as best I could, but at the end… They spoke in voices. Multiple voices. Not to mention the strength they displayed and their interaction with the physical world beyond that of a human.”

Grandfather looks truly shaken and you begin to regret letting him know. “I cannot think on the damage one such as them might wreak.” You resist the urge to point out he’s already seen it. “To think someone hired such a horrible monster in order to attack our family. Dale mentioned being able to combat such lower tactics and evidently he held his own, but I now more greatly understand your concern on his going after them.”

“He had a blade that seemed able to damage even those from the Depths,” you say, wanting to give Grandfather some reassurance, but obviously unable to say that Dale is in fact on even footing with Two.

“That is good to know. Perhaps I should acquire something similar. Too many tools that can be used against those from the Depths are from the Depths and therefore, too great a risk to have in one’s possession. That is why we banned them,” Grandfather says, half to himself as he slowly begins pacing once more. “What manner of influence did the possessed one have access to?”

“Stonework,” you reply, knowing you are likely encouraging Grandfather’s fear, but unable to keep your fears in any longer. “They seemed to partially turn to stone, but that might have been a trick of the light. I did not get a good look. They treated the entire fight, those they had been working with, Dale and myself, as if… we didn’t matter to them, not as people. At least, that is how it seemed to me.” 

That is what, looking back on everything, unsettles you the most. How they didn’t care that their companions had been killed. They did not enter the fight until it was just them and Dale. Even that they seemed to see as an entertaining challenge, more than a fight with lives at stake. The demon in Two had seemed far less, for lack of a better word, human than this Dale was. It had been extremely disconcerting and frightening, bringing back old fears that maybe this demon Dale was only a good actor. But to what end? 

You force yourself to focus on Two and the problem at hand, as always feeling as if Grandfather might somehow be able to read your worries and thoughts on Dale on your face. “The others were more obviously there because they were paid well. Two seemed to have an entirely different agenda and was far more dangerous because of it, not to mention his abilities, which were far greater than those with mere enhancements.” You shudder at the memory of the cruel menace in his voice, which only seems to grow worse to your mind now that there are fewer things to focus on. It had physically discomforted you to hear, but now it seemed to suggest they had personally inflicted harm to others the likes of which you could not imagine.  “I never want him near me again.”

“Yes, the machinations of those demons from below are incomprehensible except to spread chaos and destruction,” Grandfather replies, scowling fiercely. “If I ever run into one of those demons, I—”

Whatever threat he was hoping to make is cut off by the door opening. You both turn, Grandfather’s hand to his sword hilt and yours to the dagger lying on the table beside you. 

Dale is in the doorway, looking worn but whole as he walks in.

“Dale!” you and Grandfather say at the same time. Grandfather has put his hands on his grandson’s shoulders, looking him over, before you can even get to your feet.

“Are you alright?” he demands. “What happened? How could you go off on your own like that after someone so dangerous?

Dale carefully places a hand on Grandfather’s arm, pulling it off his shoulder. “I am alright. I’m sure you’ve been informed of those who attacked us. The other had to be stopped. I ensured they will no longer harm our family,” Dale replies, his voice blunt and tired.

You try your best to assess Dale for injuries or other signs that might give him away in his exhausted state. Similar to you, you expect the majority of his injuries are bruisings, but nothing appears obviously broken, nor is he bleeding profusely from anywhere in particular. Relief finally floods you at this confirmation that he is going to be alright. You can’t help but let out a breath of relief which brings his gaze to you. You try to offer him a smile, but he still seems on his guard, which must mean it was a poor attempt on your part. 

He looks back at Grandfather. “How is Grandmother?”

“She is recovering well,” Grandfather says, beginning to herd Dale towards her room. “Come, you must let Dr. Mull assess your injuries.”

“There is no need,” Dale attempts to protest.

“Of course there is,” Grandfather retorts, not slowing down his pace in the slightest. Dale turns pleading eyes to you.

“Let him look you over,” you say, “And so long as he approves with it, I can provide the rest of the supplies or aid with any bandaging.”

Dale glances from you to Grandfather before he slumps, realizing he’s outnumbered. “Yes, sana.”

With that, the pair disappears into Grandmother’s bedroom. 

You set about readying the dressing room to tend to Dale, or for the doctor to do so herself. You only hope if it comes to that, Dale has himself under control. Not to mention that if Dale is injured severely enough for the doctor to wish to do so would be very worrying indeed. 

Miss Adir is sent for more water and cloths while Dale’s valet goes to fetch him fresh clothes, though you hope Dale can just go to bed rather than be kept up even later being interrogated. 

You’re checking on your supplies, making sure you have enough bandages when you hear the door push open further behind you. 

“Sana?” You turn to see Dale in the doorway.

“Dale, how are you? How is Grandmother? They said they didn’t want too many people in her rooms,” you ask, following him into the room and taking a closer look at the slashes that pepper his clothing.

“As I’ve said,'' Dale still sounds tired, but also less stiff. As if he too is finally feeling the release of some tension generated by the fight. He takes off his jacket, clearly knowing you need a closer look to help care for his wounds. “I am alright. So is Grandmother. She was sleeping easily and the Doctor said there will be no lasting damage. She said similarly for me, if not for a few scars. One of my ribs is broken, but nothing else is. She agreed that your training would be plenty to help with the other cuts, though with a similar warning to let her know if anything requires stitches.”

“Oh good, yes,” you say, your hand clasps around his wrist as you turn his arm to better see the longest cut on it. The red staining his shirt looks dark, but human and you hate how much of it there is. Perhaps you should have left the bandaging to the doctor. What if you do not have the right training after all?

He leans closer to you, causing you to look up. There is caution in his face as he says, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” The more people asked you the worse you were starting to feel. With Dale finally back here and whole, if not uninjured, everything finally seems to have fully caught up with you. “I just…” you can’t find the words for what you're feeling and trail off. Your frown deepens, frustrated with yourself, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I... I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“It would be understandable, if you were not,” Dale murmurs. Your fingers hesitantly brush the edge of his torn sleeve. “Sana—”

He gently pulls you by your forearm closer to him. Without giving it any further thought, you collapse into him. Wrapping your arms around him and fisting your hands in the back of his shirt in an effort to stop from shaking. 

You bury your face against his chest. He’s solid and firm beneath you. The scent of dark spice with the hint of woodsmoke envelops you. He’s not warm, but that’s alright, your face feels warm enough with the effort of holding in nonsensical tears and with embarrassment at how you’re reacting. You can’t bring yourself to let go of him though, not when you finally feel rooted to the ground again.

One of his large hands spans your back while the other rests on your head, with enough weight that you feel him, but no hold, no pressure. You’re sure if you tried to push away, he’d let you. 

You press closer instead, mumbling another ‘I’m sorry’ through closed eyes.

“Hush,” he says, and there’s no judgment in his tone, only something you think might be fondness as he adjusts his hold on you. “You did so well, handling everything, I was beginning to worry about what else you might have faced in your past to prepare you to handle such an event. For a second, I nearly wondered if you were entirely human.”

That pulls a startled laugh from you. “That does seem to be a popular theory.” First Grandfather and now even Dale, if only in jest. You could hear the mild irony in his tone and enjoy the inside joke, for all it doesn’t help dissipate the surreal feeling of this night. You loosen your hold on the back of his shirt, but the thought that perhaps Dale would prefer if you were more than you are makes your hands spasm. He had said you’d done well, but what if that was only with the caveat that you are human? What if he wants someone more like him? “So sorry to disappoint, but I’m definitely only human.” 

If he notices how desperately you are clutching at him once again, he doesn’t show it. “Nonsense,” he intones and, as always, his words are so self-assured that you are already half-way to believing whatever he is going to say next. “I would only be disappointed if you were anyone other than who you already are.”

A wry smile crosses your face because you think that’s a compliment. In fact, you think it might be the highest compliment you’ve ever received. Pulling back a little, you tentatively look up and meet his dark, endless gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkle and there’s a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you.” You give him a squeeze and start to pull away. “I prefer you as you are too.”

His eyes widen slightly and a surprisingly vulnerable expression crosses his face. “Is that so?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you reply, hoping he can hear how certain you are. “It is.”

He grins down at you, a strangely boyish pride on his face, and you flush, finally letting go of him. His own hands fall from you and to distract yourself from their loss, you fuss with your hair and clothes. When your eyes dart back to his own, he’s watching you with an indulgent smile. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” you admit because you truly do. 

“Good.”

“How are you?” you ask, looking into his eyes to better assess his answer, to try to communicate you don’t just mean physically. Perhaps he faced all sorts of events like today in the Depths, but you don’t think so. He hadn’t panicked, but he had not been unfazed either.

He frowns, as if he hadn’t thought to take stock of how he felt until you asked. “Concerned and angry, but no longer as unsettled as I felt even moments ago.”

You nod because that honestly sounds like your feelings exactly. “Will you be able to find who did this?”

“Oh, yes,” his entire being seems to darken, the shadows around him that much deeper than they were seconds ago, the air that much colder. “The responsible parties will be found and punished accordingly, as I told Grandfather. Make no mistake about that.”

“Good.” 

i’m not done talking about Palestine. 🇵🇸

I'm trying not to cackle, my niece is asleep😂😂🤣🤣

This made my day🤣🤣🤣

@aswrittenbybri