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#let 'em burn
chiropteracupola · 1 year
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TWO OF THEM!
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scionshtola · 25 days
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sweet distraction
summary: On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town. Corisande saves her from ending the night early. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 2.4k | rated: G | read on ao3 notes: a modern day AU of sorts, where Y'shtola is a geologist new to town and Cori is a ranch hand who shows her around. there's a little bit of Hilda/Joye in here because I could not resist [divider credit]
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On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town.
“Leave your books and your research in your motel room for one night,” Hilda had said outside Y’shtola’s room only an hour ago, the same thing she’d said to Y’shtola every weekend since Y’shtola had arrived in town a few weeks ago. Y’shtola had shocked them both by agreeing, and then Hilda had shocked her by abandoning her for a pretty young woman, blonde hair divided into two braids over her shoulders, the moment their drinks had arrived. She’d given Y’shtola a shrug and a wave as she followed behind Joye, carrying both their drinks.
She could have left then, could have gone back to her room where her books and her research still waited for her. But something had held her back, something that had her keeping a vaguely interested eye on the crowd as she pushed her straw around her drink. 
Part of her—a small part—had hoped Corisande would be here tonight. Not that Y’shtola thought about them often, but they’d spent the greater part of the last few weeks together, with Corisande escorting Y’shtola around the Haillenarte ranch as she ran her tests on the land. It was only natural that her thoughts might stray now and again toward the ranch hand who had practically become her coworker. It was hardly her fault that ranch hand was six feet tall, with bright green eyes and the most sincere smile Y’shtola had ever seen. That was barely an observation worth noting—a simple declaration of fact.
She pushed thoughts of Corisande from her mind with a sip of a drink. She couldn’t deny there was some kind of connection between them, friendship and understanding forming between them from their very first meeting, when Corisande had shown both interest in and knowledge of Y’shtola’s work as a geologist. But Y’shtola was here for work, and she was not here for long—there was hardly even time for friendship. 
Anything else would only be a distraction.
“Mind if I join you, miss?” a soft voice said, pitched just loud enough to hear over the music. Y’shtola looked up and found herself staring directly into those bright green eyes, that sincere smile directed her way. 
“Oh,” Y’shtola said, unable to keep the note of relief out of her voice. “You’re here.”
Corisande tilted her head. Her long hair, free of its usual braid, fell in burgundy waves over their shoulder, soft pink highlights catching the warm light. “Were you waiting for me?”
Y’shtola shrugged, and tried to recover. “I figured you would show up sooner or later. Everyone else in town seems to be here.”
“There’s not much else to do on a Friday night around here,” Corisande said, with a knowing quirk to their smile that tugged at something in her, though she could not quite decipher what.
That did not bear thinking about. She tore her gaze from their mouth, letting it fall over them on its way back to her drink. Their usual plaid top had been left unbuttoned, the tails tied together in a knot on one side, revealing a low cut black tank top beneath. 
Y’shtola took another sip of her drink, mouth suddenly dry. 
“I didn’t expect to see you here, though.” Corisande set her drink on the table, a swirling sunset-colored concoction in a tall glass, and draped her jacket over the back of a chair before sliding into it. “Especially not sitting alone.”
“I was talked into taking a break,” Y’shtola said, tilting her chin to where Hilda sat with Joye, their heads bent close together. “And promptly discarded at the door for another woman.”
Corisande glanced over their shoulder, and a smile played on their lips when they turned back. 
“So you had no choice but to sulk at a table alone all night instead of, I don’t know, dancing,” they teased, gesturing toward the crowd on the dance floor that Y’shtola had kept an eye on all night—just for something to do, certainly not on the lookout for any pink tipped ears standing above the crowd. 
“I’m not sulking. I stayed to finish my drink,” Y’shtola said, swirling her glass in their direction. “Besides, I’m not much of a dancer.”
Corisande rested her chin in the palm of one hand as she sipped her drink, looking at Y’shtola with a glint in her eye that concerned her. There was an embarrassing swoop in Y’shtola’s stomach when Corisande smiled. She ignored it.
“Dance with me,” they said, tilting their head again so that Y’shtola had no choice but to follow the fall of their hair.
It took her a moment to realize what they’d said. She gave a short, incredulous laugh in response. Hadn’t she just said she was not much of a dancer? She opened her mouth to protest, but a voice boomed from the stage before she could speak. 
“Alright folks, you know what time it is! Who’s ready for some good old-fashioned line-dancing?”
Corisande’s lips parted, her eyes growing wide in excitement. She reached across the table and grabbed Y’shtola’s hand, pulling her to her feet and halfway to the dance floor before Y’shtola came to her senses with a shake of her head. 
“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, though she could not quite get herself to pull her hand from Corisande’s, their callused fingers warm against hers. 
“As your appointed guide, I can’t in good conscience let you skip out on a line dance,” Corisande answered, reaching to take Y’shtola’s other hand as well. 
“You’re only my guide at the ranch,” Y’shtola said, still not stepping back. 
“Consider this an anthropological extension of your research, then,” Corisande said, squeezing her hands. “You’ll have fun, I promise. We can stand at the back, and if you get lost you can just watch me.”
Their lips curled into a sly grin then. “You look like a quick study.”
Y’shtola did not like the way her heart skipped a beat at their words. Music started up again on stage, and Y’shtola’s protests died in her throat when Corisande moved their hips in time with it. They tugged on her hands with each slow swivel, and Y’shtola could not stop her gaze from following the long line of their legs, from where their dark jeans tucked into their tall brown boots to where they clung tightly to the curve of their ass. 
“Please?” Corisande asked. “Just one song.”
“One song,” Y’shtola relented. Corisande beamed down at her, and Y’shtola could not help but smile back. 
She let herself be pulled into line at the back of the crowd. The dance had already begun, and Corisande fell easily into the steps beside her, while Y’shtola watched the woman leading and did her best to follow the callouts. 
After a moment, Corisande caught her eye, her lips already quirked into the teasing grin Y’shtola was quickly becoming familiar with. “Good, but I know you can give it more than that,” she teased.
Y’shtola kept her eyes carefully away from where Corisande’s fingers framed her silver belt buckle, her hips swaying. Instead she followed the next step, sliding to the left and punctuating it with a quick shuffle and spin, finding her rhythm easily as she picked up the steps. When she met their eyes again, their grin had grown wider. 
“As you said,” Y’shtola said, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m a quick study.”
Corisande’s head tipped back with her laughter, a sweet sound that warmed Y’shtola more than any drink this place could serve. 
When the lines turned and Y’shtola found herself behind Corisande, it was difficult not to watch her. She leaned into each movement, her long wine-colored hair swaying, a carefree ease and rhythm to each step that somehow made Y’shtola more comfortable in her own movements. 
They turned again, facing the front of the bar, and together they clapped and stomped and stepped in place with the others. Y’shtola’s skirt swung and swirled about her knees as she kicked and glided. She slid to the right, just a bit too far, and Corisande caught her with one arm around her shoulders and spun them both around. They leaned in and, just loud enough for her to hear them over the music, said, “I knew you weren’t one to do things halfway.”
Now it was Y’shtola’s turn to laugh, bubbling breathlessly out of her as they released her. The lines turned, and she felt their eyes on her from behind. She cast a glance over her shoulder, and they met her gaze with a warm smile, one that felt inexplicably secret and knowing between them despite the crowd around them. 
They caught each other’s gaze more often than not for the rest of the dance, smiling and laughing as they stepped and clapped. Each glance set off a spark in Y’shtola’s chest, leaving her warm from more than just exertion.
Corisande’s dark blue pickup rolled to a stop outside of the motel. They’d passed the short drive in a companionable kind of quiet, Corisande with one hand on the wheel and Y’shtola watching the night pass by outside the window, settled in the jacket they had slung over her shoulders. Every so often their gazes met across the cab for a moment, until Corisande’s kind smile made Y’shtola’s cheeks heat and she had to turn away. 
Now that they’d arrived outside Y’shtola’s room, she found herself reluctant to end the night so soon. But she supposed there was no use in staving off the inevitable. 
“Thank you for the ride,” she said, forcing herself to unlock the door and reach for the handle, though she did not open it just yet. “And for the dance. I had far more fun than I expected tonight.”
She could just make out Corisande’s gentle smile in the dark. They leaned back and stretched their arm across the back of the seat. “Better than a night spent with your data?”
“Yes,” Y’shtola admitted with a small laugh, and their smile grew. “I think I needed the break—I’ve been so caught up in my work I’ve hardly let myself have one since I got here. It’s good to be reminded every once in a while.”
“Happy to help,” Corisande said, the sincerity of their tone causing an embarrassing flutter in Y’shtola’s chest. Before she could get out of the truck to avoid any further flustering sentiment, Corisande’s eyes darted to the radio, which had been playing at a gentle hum in the background since they’d left the bar. “In fact…”
They shifted toward Y’shtola. She froze, her breath caught in her chest as they leaned in, until they bypassed her in favor of the window crank. Y’shtola watched them roll down her window, and then hop out of the truck and come around to the passenger side. They opened her door and helped her out of the truck with one hand, before ducking back into the truck, leaning across the seat. 
“What are you doing?” Y’shtola asked, watching them. The volume on the radio climbed and a soft, slow song emanated from the truck’s speakers, a woman’s gentle twang carrying toward her. Corisande straightened and faced her, shutting the door behind them, but it wasn’t until Corisande held their hand out, palm up, that she understood what they intended.
“You haven’t had enough dancing?” she teased, but she took their hand. She hesitated a moment, and then rested her other hand on their waist.
They moved closer without pause, putting their arm around her shoulders. “One more dance, before you get back to work.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing any work tonight.”
“Sure you weren’t,” Corisande said, beginning to turn them in small, slow circles.
“Well,” Y’shtola said, a bit sheepishly. She looked up at Corisande, who smiled teasingly down at her. “I may have wanted to go over one set of results—but only one.”
“Of course, only one,” they agreed, in a tone that indicated they definitely did not believe her. “And then another, and another, until it’s four in the morning and you’ve scattered papers all over your room.”
They lifted their arm, leading her into a twirl as she laughed before pulling her back in, somehow closer than before.  
“You may have a point,” Y’shtola said, surprisingly pleased at the way they seemed to know her so well already. Corisande only hummed, and they fell back into the same comfortable silence they’d had in the truck. Y’shtola found herself leaning in, her head resting on their chest as they turned. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt this relaxed, but nothing came to mind. And yet it hardly seemed strange at all that she should find some kind of peace in their arms, a sweet distraction from her duties here, though she had only known them a few weeks. 
When the song ended, Corisande stopped turning them. They held Y’shtola for a moment longer, and then released her, stepping back. The cold night air rushed into the space between them, making her shiver.
“I suppose I will see you Monday,” Y’shtola said. It suddenly seemed an eternity between now and then, though in reality it was only a few days.
“I suppose so,” Corisande said, her smile small but warm. She squeezed Y’shtola’s hand before letting go. “If you need a break before then, you know where to find me.”
“The ranch? Or line-dancing at the bar?” Y’shtola teased, pleased when she was rewarded with Corisande’s laugh as they turned away, heading for the other side of the truck.
“Definitely line-dancing,” they called as they climbed into the truck, reaching over to turn down the volume on the radio.
Y’shtola got the feeling that Corisande would not drive away until she was inside her room, so she bid them goodnight and went inside. It wasn’t until their headlights had completely disappeared that she realized she was still wearing their jacket. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it close for a moment, letting the peppery scent that lingered on it take her back to the moment Corisande had held her close, her head against their chest as they spun. 
She shook her head clear of the memory, slipping the jacket off and hanging it over the back of a chair. Though she had planned to do some work, it seemed it would be a largely useless endeavor with the way her thoughts kept drifting toward Corisande.
Instead she readied herself for bed, and fell asleep to thoughts of Corisande’s hand in hers, and the sweet sound of their laugh. 
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acknowledge-reigns · 20 days
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See I really can't take some of y'all asses seriously. When C*dy referred to a group of men of color as "goons" and called their culture "bullshit" fanning the flames of lateral violence against POC in a fandom where racism is already a huge issue and me and others simply stated that these were racist micro aggressions y'all called us over dramatic, y'all called us soft and said it was just storyline/a script and we were taking shit too seriously. Y'all said we needed to grow thicker skin because wrestling ain't nice and shit talk happens. But suddenly y'all wanna act like y'all give a fuck about marginalized communities and jump to become captain cancel culture the second Roman calls Seth a cross dresser. As a QOC (Queer of color 😅 I think I made that up just now.), I'ma need y'all to be so fucking for real. Y'all hold Roman to a way higher standard than anybody else on that damn roster and it's wild.
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Nothing’s Wrong with Dale - Part Nine
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 9
[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] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]
After discussing Northridge infrastructure and commissioning a few more requests for various surveys and inquiries with the appropriate officials, you’ve moved onto military concerns since the household matters seem well in hand, at least for this estate. 
You’ll evaluate the others when you visit them. You’re fairly certain Bilmont is going to send letters to the stewards and housekeepers of those estates to expect perhaps more of a shake up than they might otherwise, but you rather think that’s a fair advance warning.
Martial prowess is generally expected for those of the noble class, but how much ability each member has varies based on birth order and general preference. First-borns are expected to be particularly competent, especially in their youth, with training in a variety of weapons, service to the crown for at least a year, and then lessons in command. Dale has such experience, having trained in Northridge for his younger years, then in the capital where he attained his knighthood, and four years of service to the crown prior to his release from that service. You’ve no idea what he might have done in his years abroad to keep it up—likely contests of skill with his friends and perhaps helping out a local lord or tournament—but you’ve no doubt he has.
While second-borns often get a similarly rigorous education—both in case something unfortunate happens to the oldest and they find themselves in that position and because they are likely to marry a titled heir—the education the other children in a family line receive can be far more varied. Some expect to study academics, some expect to aid their older siblings in managing family estates and matters, some go into trade, others exploration, and of course spiritual orders too. The possibilities are merely dependent on your family, your interests, and who is paying for it all–and how much they are willing to pay. 
You’ve never been particularly interested in anything combative, although you took basic courses in castle guard management, fief force management, self-defense, and general military history. You’d always been more interested in wound treatment and supply management rather than the gritty details of battle and fighting.
Luckily Dale, before and now, does have an interest in that. You’re happy to let him lead this discussion, following along well enough, but unable to ask the kind of follow-up questions Dale clearly can. It becomes evident through Bilmont’s answers and the reports that Northridge is adequately staffed, generally with competent leaders managing their forces. Grandfather, traditional in what he thinks a Lord’s primary duty is, actively manages their defense.
“I’m surprised Grandfather manages the militant forces,” you remark offhand. “Rather than Grandmother.”
“Lady Northridge never expected to inherit—she was third in-line,” Steward Bilmont explains. “Her oldest brother and his wife were drawn to battle so their death was seen as a likely loss, but no one expected her older sister and her family to get caught in that shipwreck.”
“Grandfather was second in his family, but his oldest brother had an heir before Grandfather was married, with more on the way, so it was a good match, but unusual in that the consort had more military training than the title holder did.”
In the end, the only substantial comment Dale has is regarding training. “Grandfather has done a good job maintaining our forces, but there are some newer techniques and technologies I know he has not implemented that I believe will help keep us on the forefront of military thinking.”
He stops to write down certain book titles that he’d like Bilmont to order copies of for the family library and you peer over the list to potentially read yourself when they arrive. “Some of those I met while abroad have given me interesting ideas. Some I had been thinking of installing as trainers, but I’m reconsidering a few of them.” He jots down another list of names, those in Northridge he thinks may need to be reevaluated based on the debriefing or reports and then those of potential candidates he has in mind to hire. As he does so, he mutters under his breath, “Why I ever thought that drunkard Wilhelm could be trusted as swordsmaster, I’ve no idea… 
You shake your head at that. Dale had wanted to install those loyal to him, those he could use to further his ends, regardless of their actual skills and competencies. Based on the stories from his travels, you gather Wilhelm of Aliers is a good hand with a sword, but more importantly his home fief was famous for its wineries. You wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of ‘potential candidates’ original Dale had wanted to install were chosen for similar reasons. 
“My lord,” Bilmont says, hesitant enough you know he doesn’t expect Dale to like whatever he has to say next. “I believe your Grandfather already has replacements in mind for the majority of those who plan to retire.”
“We’ll interview them as well,” Dale waves his hand dismissively. “I am aware many of currently in place seek to retire as he does, but I want to test all trainers and all candidates myself as they are to serve me, going forward.” His eyes dart to your own and he corrects himself, “Going to serve us. And so we shall have the final say.”
“Very well,” Bilmont says backing down, long practiced at knowing when to pick his battles. “Might I suggest you do these interviews with your grandfather present? I believe that will help the process go smoothly, particularly for anyone he already spoke to.”
Dale frowns, clearly not following, but you do. Grandfather must have already promised or as good as promised certain positions to his own choices. That might spread resentment, if they feel cheated or overlooked. Grandfather can help calm any tempers. “That sounds like a good idea.” You give Bilmont a nod of acknowledgment to show you understand what he means and he seems to grow a smidge less tense.  
“Perhaps we should meet with Grandfather ourselves ahead of time as well,” you say, turning to Dale. “He will have greater insight into those we already employ and has likely had to conduct such evaluations before. His experience would be helpful.” And hopefully you’ll be able to soothe any of his own wounded pride if Dale essentially overrides any decisions he’s already made.
Dale stares at you without blinking, clearly assessing your words and you try not to squirm. At some point though, you stop feeling the need to, lost in his eyes. It’s like looking down into a deep well, knowing there’s water as well as darkness at the bottom, but sure any movement you might attribute to the former is just your own eyes playing tricks on you. He releases you with a blink. You come back to yourself, taking a deep breath and wondering if it truly was deep or if you simply hadn’t been breathing while preoccupied by the darkness in his eyes, the sharp blue to his irises, his delicate eyelashes…
“Yes,” Dale’s voice shakes you from your still wandering thoughts. “A good idea, my lady. I wonder when would be best to—”
Dale’s wondering is interrupted by a knock on the door, which swiftly opens to reveal the man himself. Grandfather’s gaze is searching until it lands on Dale at which point he brightens. “Dale! There you are. The last of our early bird guests were able to make it today after all—Heath was able to board a faster ship and Francois stayed behind so Jeanne made great time.”
You frown, trying to remember what people are coming so early for. As far as you can remember, the tournament is the first wedding festivity and that doesn’t start for another five to seven days.
Dale grins at his grandfather reflexively, but he also looks confused as grandfather goes on. “What’s happening? My head is still trapped in these reports. We’ve been going over all the council rosters and committees in preparation for my taking over as Lord. Steward Bilmont has been a great boon in helping us get our arms around it all before we start pestering you and Grandmother for greater detail. We’ve drawn up a schedule and started sending out missives so we can…”
Grandfather stares incredulously at Dale until even he recognizes the cue for what it is and trails off. You suppose he was never particularly interested in paperwork before. You hope Grandfather thinks his greater interest is due to him finally inheriting and nothing more.
“It’s time for the hunt, of course,” Grandfather says, a mix of triumph and judgment in his voice as he reminds Dale of what should be obvious.
“Oh, yes,” recognition blooms in Dale’s eyes and your own. Ceremonial hunts among the nobility were common and traditional before both a tournament and a wedding. Usually only one betrothed went on the hunt—or there were two hunts—and various close friends and family who were to come to the wedding arrived a little earlier than most to join them. It’s a remnant from an even older time, more even than the tournaments, which were to show a noble family’s martial prowess, to the very basics of simply putting food on the table. “The hunt.”
“Yes, I’ve already had your valet finish packing your things,” Grandfather says. He smiles at you when he says, “Sorry to pull your fiance away from this riveting paperwork.” He even adds a wink.
You smile, inwardly glad you didn’t have to partake in the hunt. You can set traps and that’s about it. Bows required a greater degree of upper arm strength you simply didn’t have, same for spears. You know the basics on how to hold a human or wild animal at bay with one, but that’s all. The rest you know is all close combat self-defense, focused on using vulnerable spots to your advantage so you can get away. You’re perfectly content with that being the extent of your physical offensive capabilities. 
Violence has never appealed to you and if you needed to rid yourself of an unsavory person, well, you are quite versed in herblore. You are by no means an expert though, mistakes are so easy to make. You’d refreshed your memory of such things after meeting the original Dale, in case he ended up far less tolerable than he appeared. Even this Dale, you’re well aware of his allergy should his attitude prove more illusory than you hope.
Preparing contingencies always made you feel better, particularly since you knew you’d lose in a physical fight. You simply had to ensure you never ended up in one.
“Of course, I would never begrudge him his entertainments,” you say to Grandfather. It is nice, getting to know him and Grandmother,starting to feel like you fit with them and their interactions. Each day you feel like you know them a bit better, are able to read their moods and personalities more reliably. It’s a comforting feeling: settling in. “Or you.”
“And we thank you, my dear,” he replies. “It’s shaping up to be a good hunt—we’ve reports of stags in the north and only one bear sighting. There might be the usual boar complications, but that’s never bothered us, eh Dale?”
Dale looks back at Grandfather, his eyes having strayed back to the report in hand, but the grin he gives him is sharp enough so he must still be paying attention. “I’ve never minded a boar hunt, although a stag hunt’s focus on the chase is not to be undervalued.”
“Precisely,” Grandfather agrees. “It's been too long since I’ve been on one of considerable size and even longer since I’ve hosted. It is shaping up to be a marvelous one.”
“Yes, I suppose it is too late to cancel,” Dale says with some reluctance as he straightens from the note he was jotting down. As he passes it over to Bilmont, he gives a slight sigh. You too are disappointed in having to cut your discussion short, but it's no real hardship. You can pick back up where you left off when he returns in a few days and while it's nice to try to order things before the wedding, the truth is that there’s too much going on to make much headway. Once all the festivities pass, there will be more time and less interruptions.
“Cancel. What sort of a joke is that?” Grandfather replies flatly. You look up to see him blinking at Dale in confusion. Fear drips down your spine at the change in his demeanor, at the hint of accusation mixed in with the confusion as he says, “You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”
“There’s simply so much to get started with,” Dales says, an eager grin on his face. “Just now we were discussing the roads and the councils–training and appointments we want to discuss with you.”
Grandfather though, just stares at him, brow furrowing in confusion and defensiveness. “You speak as though Northridge is in dire need of attention. As if your Grandmother and I have been sitting on our laurels letting it go to seed.”
You flinch at the accusation and Dale at least needs no warning to see how his comments could have been misconstrued. “Oh! Of course not,” Dale says, face falling. “That’s not what I meant at all. My apologies, I am simply looking forward to this next part of my life and am eager to apply what I’ve learned to my home.”
The offense drops from Grandfather’s face, but something that worries you more takes its place: suspicion. You are suddenly aware that Grandfather has always been less oblivious to who Dale was, regardless of his opinion on what were flaws and what were not, and therefore may notice how uncharacteristic it is even just for Dale to apologize. This combined with his reluctance for the hunt, appears to be making Grandfather question things you hoped he won’t.
“There’s so much I need to learn,” you say, hoping your voice is a sufficient mix of modest and hopeful. “Lessons in school rooms are simply not the same and since Dale has been away from home, there’s plenty for us to catch up on.”
Grandfather’s eyes are unusually sharp on your face, but he nods at your explanation—after all, it's a true one, if not complete. 
“Yes,” Dale says, following your lead easily—you’re not even sure if he’s doing it on purpose. “I find myself wishing I had attended to more meetings and such before I left as you and Grandmother often bid me.”
Grandfather looks mollified by Dale’s addition to an extent, but he still looks far too intent for your liking as he surveys the pair of you. “Of course.” He strides over to Dale and claps a hand on his shoulder. “I’m pleased you are keen to begin taking up your responsibilities, Dale. However, there is no need to neglect the festivities as well. This is a time for celebration in addition to duty. You’ll quickly find that duty will always remain, waiting with more for you to handle. The hunt however is now and if we have any hope to make the most of our time, we must leave sooner rather than later.”
Grandfather keeps his eyes on Dale’s face and no doubt sees the slight reluctance on it. The first Dale would never be so slow to leave this stuffy room with its paperwork behind, let alone for a hunt in his honor.
You are trying to think of the right way to prompt him before anymore seconds go by, when his eyes dart to your own. You seize the opportunity to say, “You should go, enjoy yourself. All of this will be here when you return.” You give him what you hope to be an encouraging nod. “You were just yesterday discussing how you felt as though you’d not had enough practical opportunities to ensure your hunting skills remained sharp.” That is even true, although you expect he meant that he hadn’t had a chance to go hunting since he became Dale rather than since Dale returned from abroad.
His mood seems to shift easily with your words added to Grandfather’s and he regains his enthusiasm from the hunt. “Yes, I had. You’re quite right,” he says, turning from you to Grandfather with a grin. “I haven’t a chance to use the spear I picked up in Anjou yet. Perhaps I can even get some more practice in with the Khinat bow we all took up while there.”
You relax as he talks until your eyes leave his to find Grandfather staring at you. It takes all your practice at hiding your anxiety not to react beyond a small stiffening in your spine. Had Grandfather noticed that Dale had looked to you for how he should react? Has he noticed how very, very odd it is that Dale should look to anyone for advice, let alone you, when he was always too headstrong and self-possessed? That he had needed your encouragement?
“Has everyone else arrived?” Dale asks, not seeming to notice the odd tension in Grandfather’s shoulders. “Last I heard, Uncle Wellington was still claiming he’d need another two days before he’d be joining us.”
Grandfather’s eyes leave yours to reply, “Yes, Welly got here an hour or so ago, with his hounds in tow.”
“Wonderful,” Dale says with feeling. “I must continue my quest to persuade him to let me keep one of his magnificent hunters.”
Grandfather seems to relax even further at that proclamation, chuckling and squeezing Dale’s shoulder. “You know how he is with those dogs, I think he vets anyone he gives one to more than he did his childrens’ spouses. No reason to give up hope though, perhaps this will be the year.”
Grandfather heads for the door and Dale follows, pausing to remind Bilmont to send certain papers to his room per your earlier conversation. He also pauses at your chair. “You’ll have to let me know if you decide anything while I’m away, yes?”
You smile, blushing slightly from the way he bends his head so close to your own. “Of course, though I doubt we’ll make any concrete plans until you’ve returned. I’ll have a write-up left in your study.” 
You knew he was going on this hunt, but since some people were joining from out of Northridge, it hadn’t been clear when they would be going. Now, you feel some concern for Dale, a pang of nerves at how he might fare or behave alone with the others. It’s likely just because Grandfather seemed to notice something just now, but you feel a strange sense of foreboding. 
Still, you certainly can’t say so—nevermind who else is still in the room—but you are always nervous about many things, most of which turn out to be nothing. You reach for something concrete to focus your attention and worry on. “Do you have enough tea and medicine to last you on your hunt?”
Dale’s eyes glint in response, his smile softer than his more typical grin these days. “Thank you, sana, but I have all I need—Mr. Murray,” his valet, “knew what was to be packed for this trip and I left explicit instructions for those which you’ve prescribed to be brought.” 
“Of course,” you murmur, shy in the face of his gratitude and respect, neither of which you fully feel you’ve earned. It does remind you that not only is there the hunt, but after is the tournament—perhaps you should prepare some extra recipes, just in case. You’re sure the new doctor, along with any other physicians brought by guests, will be more than adequate. It couldn’t hurt though. You search for words that will move the conversation forward. “Have an enjoyable trip,” you settle on, looking back up at him from underneath your lashes. 
That softer smile is still on his face as he nods. “We shall return with a most magnificent prize, I am sure.” He picks up your hand, the one resting on the arm rest and presses a whisper of kiss to the back of it, his lips soft, before releasing you to walk over to where Grandfather waits by the door.
Your eyes drift past Dale to find Grandfather staring at you contemplatively, his brow furrowed once more, and fight the urge to freeze. Dale is more affectionate than he had been before, but nothing he’d done was beyond what was within the bounds for a betrothed to do. Surely any growing familiarity can merely be blamed on seeing more of each, rather than a fundamental shift in Dale’s personality, right?
Grandfather’s expression smooths out once he sees you noticing to be replaced with a perfectly polite smile. “I shall return him to you safe and sound, my Lady,” is all he says. “Have no fear.”
You return his smile and will yourself to believe that it is only your overactive anxiety gnawing at you—nothing more. “I thank you.”
[Part Ten]
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margumis · 11 months
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haven-gum-rockrose · 3 months
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Hey hey did you know my favorite fic trope is hypothermia? I just think its so nifty
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virfujiwara · 1 year
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"I want the whole world, the whole world, the whole world in my hands but it's just slipping through like sand"
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bojanus · 3 months
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i'm literally SO neighborly instead of ignoring the fire alarm of a nearby apartment forever I went upstairs to make sure nothing was actually burning down and ended up helping someone who just moved in and was too short to take down the fire alarms on the ceiling
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teehee women in stem <3 this is my scorponok design, buy her cyberbees to support a small business
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argxstxs · 11 months
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yeah yeah right right right because when you don’t SEE someone, they aren’t real, right? like yeah you love your kids and you’re doing all of this for them you’re breaking your back for them but no no I can’t call because maybe the poison drips through, right? my daughter was the victim of a racist attack and she doesn’t want to go to school anymore but if I have them followed for their safety even after my ex-wife begged me to stop having their nanny interrogated in the park it’s okay right? because it’s not real?? I want you safe but I can’t have you at atn because then I have to see you reacting to the decisions I’m making and it makes it real and what then?
and then! and then and then!! your dad dies and nothing matters anymore right? nothing matters because we ALWAYS got chicken and never got steak and it doesn’t matter that I threw tantrums and got hit because it’s not real! none of it is real!
so yes! let’s screw the entire fucking country and electoral system just so we don’t lose the company because who cares! the people? oh those people aren’t real! we’ll be in the west wing. nothing matters, Ken!
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four2andnew · 10 months
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WIP ask! WIP - Rebel
Thanks for asking about my WIPs!!
So this one is semi inspired by Castles by @pebblysand - specifically the notion that Harry kind of acts out in muggle ways and the tension between Harry and Kingsley but Harry and Ginny are together in this. Kind of Him & I vibes mixed with Let 'Em Burn
It started as a need to escape and quickly turned into a movement once his friends caught on, and then their friends caught on, and then their friends caught on, and before he knew it, the vast majority of the magical population between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five were living a delicate balance between the wizarding and muggle worlds. The end of the century was upon the muggles and the end of Voldemort’s reign of terror was upon the wizarding world and everyone was partying like it was the end of the world. Which, maybe it was.
Either way, Harry just knew he was fucking done. Done being the Chosen One. Done carrying the expectations of the world on his shoulders. Done being the fucking hero. He was seventeen, his girlfriend was sixteen, they were alive and by God he was going to fucking live. Doing it all in the muggle world was just the two finger salute to the stodgy old fucks on the Wizgamot who weren’t doing enough to punish the few Death Eaters that had been captured and were doing their damnedest to slow down the trials while the old Auror guard was arresting anyone that looked at them sideways. It was the first fucking war all over again.
So Harry found himself venturing into the muggle world to escape. Escape the pressure. Escape the nosey reporters. Escape the hypocrisy.
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officerjennie · 18 days
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Smile for the bard ask game :)
Thank you for the ask! :D
My OCs aren't actually in a set world - I use them in all sorts of worlds - so I don't really have a fun fact about the world itself. But I do have a fun fact about one of my OCs.
My son Fukuma has a secret name. Each member of his clan receives a true name at birth that only a few people will ever know. This name is believed to tell a great truth about them or their coming lives. His true name is rather foreboding, though not all of them are - some true names just relate to where someone lives, or their outlook on life, or what brings them joy or pain.
Only two people know Fukuma's true name. I actually figured out his true name way before I figured out he went by Fukuma ^^
Bard Asks
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razzledazzleroxy · 5 months
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wait why do so many people think the original mainline games and steelwool games take place in the same timeline that makes no sense
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burnem · 1 year
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All my troubles on a burning pile-
- all lit up and I start to smile.
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gremlins-art-dump · 1 year
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Anyone else remember that one scene in Episode 1 of Ninjago: Master of Spinjitzu, where the Ninja hang Lloyd off the side of a building a few metres/feet up in the air by his cape? Which is wrapped around his neck, and would be holding up his entire weight?
And has anyone else realised that would mean Lloyd was literally choking, and the Ninja didn't notice or didn't care?
Nope? Just me? ...ok
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ALSO! bonus!
After Lloyd fallen to the ground and hurt himself a little while after the Ninja had left(he fell because of his struggling AND his fire tears burnt through the traps of his cape, if anyone wondering(my HC))
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fireflowersims · 1 year
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Imagine it's 3:30 AM, you're in bed, sleeping like, ya know, a normal person does, whrn suddenlt you are workn up by noises
Is it rodents? Is it a big-ass freight plane? Is it a disaster? Are sirens foing off? No, no, no and no
IT'S YOUR ASSHOLE BITCH OF A ROOMMATE SLAMMING DOORS, AGGRESSIVELY UNLOCKING HER DOOR AND LEAVING AGAIN!
Oh and did I mention you wake up to the amell of nicotine in your bed?
Your bed that is as far away from he door as possible?
I lid you not I woke up to that fuckign stench IN MY BED
I can't stand this, I should issue a complaint to the landlord. This is incredibly anti-social behavior.
What fucking reason could she have to come in this late/early, WAKE PEOPLE UP, then leave the house again?!??!
I don't know, I don't care, I just want to sleep damnit.
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