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Chance Perdomo, an actor who starred in the television series “Gen V” and “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina,” has died as a result of a motorcycle accident. He was 27. R.I.P.

Somebody (not Tyler Perry) needs to make this a movie right now! But no white savior foolishness but definitely a non-documentary film will I feel equally piss off everybody for various reasons aka a great fucking movie.

This is the money Marge. Reblog for good fortune

Palestinians are no longer asking us to help stop the bombing.

They are asking ( I would normally say begging, but proud as they are, Allah save them. After 106 days, they never begged for anything) for food.

They fear dying out of hunger more than being shredded to pieces by bombs

The messages they send.... How can I tell it's worse.. I can't put it into words, but it's worse

i’m not done talking about Palestine. 🇵🇸

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!!!💜💜💜

What y'all Spotify Wrapped lookin like?👀

Y'all...it so fuckin cold in ATL rn, it makes ZERO sense😭

THIS IS NOT FALL WEATHER, WHAT THE FUCK😭😭

Sana just gave Elle Woods during the part of the conversation regarding Dale's true nature and I loved it😂

Like, "what else is new?" 😂😂😂

Beautiful work!!!! @moonshine-nightlight

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

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 30

[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

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog. 

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance. 

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?” 

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped. 

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into. 

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it wasn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems….empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost. 

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale. 

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around. 

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you. 

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?” 

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure. 

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.” 

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair condescension if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true. 

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face.“Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on. 

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead. 

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

Bunny Hours turned 5 today!

I've had this blog for five years, oh wow

We finally get to meet our family!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter Twenty-Five

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

[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

You’d thought the galas had been uncomfortable, but apparently they are nothing compared to the three Northridges in an argument.

You’re all in the study Grandmother’s been lent for your stay, Dale and yourself at a table with Dale’s paperwork spread out around him while Grandfather paces having long vacated his own chair. You wish you could occupy yourself by reading his notes, but they’re in a shorthand code you don’t know. Probably for the best for secrecy purposes, but unhelpful as a distraction. You wonder if Dale will teach it to you once you have the time.

“Unacceptable,” Grandmother says, frowning at Dale. You think it’s the sternest she’s ever looked at him given her usual soft spot for her grandson. “Pride is no excuse not to use every advantage at your disposal to locate these enemies.”

“Unnecessary,” Dale corrects. He presses his lips together before he forces himself to take a deep breath. You appreciate how he keeps his frustration contained, his eyes trained on his notes and waiting to respond when the original Dale would not have. You want to comfort or show your support for him, but you’ve no idea how. So you keep your hands clasped in your lap and hope that when the moment comes for you to assist, you notice it. “All the combatants were defeated; we need to focus on who paid them. I doubt any of the true architects behind the attack would be found out by exorcists. Such people would only be useful at locating the mercenaries.”

“You cannot be certain that the skinwere is truly vanquished,” Grandfather insists, not pausing in his pacing.

It’s challenging to know when you should speak up and when you should keep silent in this argument, particularly when it is not yet your family. Your inclination during verbal fights is nearly always to remain silent. Your eyes dart to Dale, whose expression does not give away that he is by far the most knowledgeable regarding whether or not he has killed a demon or merely removed a possession. Unfortunately, that would not be a helpful interjection.

Grandfather continues, “It might have simply returned to the Depths. What will you do if it returns? In a new body, it will already know your strength and will be more prepared. It will have all the knowledge it gained prior to the attack. It could take you by surprise. An exorcist—”

“Is unnecessary,” Dale repeats. He finally looks up from his papers to meet first Grandfather’s and then Grandmother’s eyes in turn. “I know that it is vanquished. An exorcist will only waste money to confirm the same thing. Many of them are charlatans regardless, no more able to identify and banish a demon than anyone else and only able to part the gullible from their coin.”

“I know plenty of competent and qualified exorcists, Dale,” Grandmother’s tone is arch, clearly not thrown off by Dale’s rebuttal. “The persistence of the demonic is not to be underestimated.”

“We have been dealing with these threats longer than you have, my boy,” Grandfather says, a paternal and condescending tone to his voice. “We have the experience. We have the contacts. We should be leading this investigation and yet you are willfully keeping vital information to yourself.” 

“Yes, and I shall continue to do so,” Dale replies, eyes back on his papers while you resist the urge to fidget under Grandfather’s intent and frustrated gaze. He had shared some of the information he learned about the employers of the mercenaries from his separate, second fight with Two with you, but nothing with his grandparents beyond his confirmation of Two’s defeat. You’re not sure that his grandparents realize he’s told you even a word or two more than them and are not sure if you even want them to find out. “I was the target of this threat and I shall be the one to see it ended.”

“Now is not the time to act too big for your britches,” Grandfather snaps.

“If this is a bid for maturity, for lordship, it is misplaced,” Grandmother’s voice is clearer and sharper. “Only the childish attempt to do things in isolation, mired in a false sense of independence, in pride, in hubris. There is no need to prove yourself, Dale,” her voice gentles here, at the end. It is interesting to hear them make points that would be valid, if only they were aimed at their grandson and not the present Dale. They don’t know they are arguing against a stranger, that their words are aimed at a ghost. “There is nothing to prove. There are only enemies of Northridge to deal with, with everything we have at our disposal.”

You wonder how the original Dale would have handled this argument, if he even decided to have it. The point might have been moot given how much this Dale needed to draw on his nature to win it. Maybe instead you and his grandparents would have been here, reading a ransom note. Maybe you or grandmother would not have survived the night.

“You expect us to trust your judgment,” Grandfather says, strain in his voice as he attempts to rein himself in, “but there are actions that speak against such rational thought. I still cannot believe the utter foolishness that you demonstrated, chasing after one into the night. Do you know how many of those demons have powers over darkness?”

You look down at the papers on the table, just in case your eyes or expression otherwise give away how ironic you find that statement. Picturing Dale’s control over shadows and darkness  brings back memories of the fight. It also brings up memories of the dream you had last night. The dream’s images conjured to your mind by the sight of this new Dale, with his humanity an obvious after thought, to be contemplated while asleep. Darkness poured over the estimate of the human form, his bright eyes, the strength and speed he possessed in those moments.

You feel your cheeks heat at how the dream had diverted from the memory it began by rehashing. Of how it was routed in the manner of his hand on your chin after the fight had ended. In your dreams, his grip had once more been delicate silk over wrought iron strength. He had done more than look as he checked you were whole. His voice had that same reverberation of feeling and affection you heard near the end of the fight, when your name on his lips had evoked such emotion. 

“I was not acting out of immature pride or foolishness then and neither am I now,” Dale replies, snapping you back to the present. His jaw is set as he puts his pen down to give them his full attention. “I am acting as I see fit, based on the circumstances at hand. I had received the training required and the knowledge to hold my own in such a fight. I had observed my opponent and knew the limits of his capabilities as well as my own.” 

Dale’s confidence in the fight, even more so than in the tournament, had been obvious. Even now it was a comfort to you, to know how strong he truly was. This Dale’s strength is an asset, not the concern it had been originally. You still might have advised him to include his grandparents, if you didn’t know what you knew and how dangerous such a thing could be to him now. He must be walking the line between those who know who hired the mercenaries and those who can tell what he is very carefully indeed.

“My estimation was correct as I returned and they did not. It was not luck or coincidence and I’ll not discuss in maybes,” Dale adds at the end when it was clear Grandfather was going to add something more. “We are already here, now, and we are not discussing the actions already taken, but those yet to occur.” 

Dale clears his throat and shifts in his chair before continuing when neither of his grandparents spoke, allowing him the time to do so, despite their misgivings. It was interesting to watch, and unlike many such discussions in your family, but perhaps the circumstances that were different here resulted in the older relatives not simply talking over the younger ones. “Those circumstances are clear: the attack was directed at me personally, the attack was a coordinated effort of fellow nobility, and they did not see Northridge as capable of defending herself from such threats. I have corrected them on the final point. They will be unprepared for such an eventuality and will need time to re-group and plan, as well as raise funds due to the amount paid in advance to the assassins. They will see the wedding as too distracting to us to move quickly now, which I am also subverting.”

“Most likely, they don’t even know that the assassins have failed,” you chime in with a glance at Dale, glad to have thought of something to add. Some of this you’d discussed with Dale the other night while you and the doctor bandaged him up. Unfortunately, since you’d been joined in the dressing room by the doctor and Dale’s valet, you’d not been able to continue your more private conversation. Since then, the only time you’ve been alone, have been short walks between meetings which has been the time to discuss much at all. “From what we overheard, it is unlikely that they had other team members. It will take time for their lack of communication and lack of success to reach their patrons—who might even think they simply took the money paid upfront and then left, if we’ve managed to keep word of the attack properly stifled. That confusion and uncertainty is something we can take advantage of as long as we are subtle.”

Dale is clearly trying for patience, but he’s also frustrated when his grandparents don’t seem particularly persuaded by these arguments. “We all agreed that keeping the news of this attack as quiet as possible and painting it as a minor event was for the best. Have either of you changed your minds regarding that decision?”

“No, of course not,” Grandmother replies, frowning. 

She tries to continue speaking, but Dale continues instead, “Your primary resources are the full might of the law and those at your disposal in Northridge, your contacts in the realm of the law throughout the country and beyond, and your prior experience dealing with similar attacks during the height of your senate career.” Dale is exclusively addressing Grandmother at this point. “The majority of those resources would require bringing in a great deal more people and would undermine our decision to keep this attack quiet.”

“And my experience?” Grandmother asks, arching a brow.

“Which I have listened to extensively over the years,” Dale says, a mild tone of long-suffering grandchild in his voice, likely a mix of the original Dale’s familial condescension and his own exasperation given his personal greater experience. “As well as in the past few days as you recounted more details that had been omitted from the stories you told in my youth. If there is anything further you wish to share, please do so. However, throughout your tales, you worked exclusively with a small network of those loyal to you and involved only Grandfather in our family.” The implication that this is what Dale was doing by excluding them and including you was obvious.

“That is no reason not to share your strategy with us, Dale,” Grandmother says, disapprovingly. “My parents were unable to provide helpful advice in this arena, not in the manner your Grandfather and I can. I cannot recount every detail of every experience I have had. Sometimes the smallest details are most relevant and yet do not come to mind until the moment of connection is made. I cannot provide such insight if I am blinded.”

“I appreciate that,” Dale replies. “But the danger posed by making you a target, is greater in my mind than the value of that minute insight might afford. If I were struggling on my path of discovery and response, I would agree share further, but I am not.”

“And what of my resources?” Grandfather is agitated by Grandmother’s considering silence and at being ignored.

“My understanding of those you have at your disposal are primarily contacts for exorcists, demon hunters, mercenaries. Additionally, given the speed at which such lives are lost and won, I expect many are outdated. I mean no offense, but, you last actively utilized them over a decade ago. I think you certainly have solid relationships you could pull on that would steer you in the right direction to active members far quicker than the average person. But that it would still take time. And they are not who we need at this time. The assassins are all dealt with, I do not believe new individuals will be contracted with soon, and so the patrons are my focus.”

“I have contacts among the peers,” Grandfather says defensively. “Many who might have heard of who would use such an underhanded move such as this or who could discover such tactics. I am not so far removed from the game.”

“And this is the crux of the matter, is it not?” Dale’s frowning and for the first time in a long time, he reminds you of the old Dale. Your heart races with anxiety over his disapproval, even if it’s aimed at his grandparents and not you. You’d forgotten how much he’d made you nervous in the beginning, perhaps because this Dale makes you nervous too, but the difference in why has never been more stark. 

This Dale worries you because of how much you still don’t know about him, about what he wants and what he plans. The conversation you were hoping to have that night never occurred, your time together interrupted by servants and doctors and Grandfather. You haven’t been alone since, except for short spans in the halls, where anyone might overhear and so you are both careful to remain vague. The lack of clear communication has become a larger and larger source of frustration for you. Sometimes he makes you feel as if there is more at stake because you believe there is more to gain from his partnership.

That Dale had worried you because of what you did know of him, rather than how each new hint you discern for this Dale reassures you. The original Dale, his arrogance, his moods, his overconfidence, his heavy handed assumptions, and his temper—his clear ability to hold grudges—all caused worry and nervousness to creep through your veins. 

And in the split second Dale reminds you all that, he also helps wash it away. Because it is so clear, that while he’s frustrated and displeased with this conversation, obviously tense from the subject and the line he has to walk regarding what he knows and needs to do with his grandparents, you are not afraid. Not of him.

 He takes a deep breath, his stare intense, but his jaw unclenched, his hand open on the table. “I also have such contacts,” Dale points out. “Fresh contacts from my travels and time in court. I am the one who moved directly in these circles that the ones targeted me have come from. I am the one most able to deal with this threat. You must know that, even if it worries you.”

Grandmother frowns, but doesn’t look away. “I cannot approve of you keeping us out of this investigation, especially given my involvement already, but I do understand why you wish to, however much I wish I did not. None of my fears lie with your capabilities, my Dale.”

“I know,” Dale replies, leaning back in his chair. His arm moves to the armrest and the back of his hand brushes against your own, just a touch too strongly to not be deliberate. You startle a little at the pressure, enough that Dale retreats, his fingers curving around the end of the arm rest. You hasten to correct yourself, not able to explain that you were surprised, nothing more. Carefully, you place your hand on his forearm, fingers loosely wrapping around his wrist and giving a, hopefully, comforting squeeze. A reminder he’s not alone.

He continues to look at Grandmother, but he turns his arm over and you slide your hand into his. It's grounding in the same way your embrace had been and you’re all too pleased to be able to do so now. “However, I believe it to be the right move, the one with that will grant the greatest chance of success with the least complications. And I will stand by it.”

You look over to Grandmother and find her staring at your joined hands. Your instinct is to let go, like a child caught doing something naughty, but while your hand spasms, you’re able to calm your racing heart and keep your hold on Dale.

Grandfather opens his mouth with a frown, but Grandmother cuts him off, “Very well. We will let you handle this, for now. If another attack occurs, we will not be kept to the sidelines.”

“Understood,” Dale replies, but you can feel his relief in how his hand relaxes in your own.

“And the moment you believe that you can use our help, you must promise to ask for it,” Grandmother continues, not looking away to Grandfather who’s come to stand beside her.

Dale nods, but she continues to wait and you give him a look. He blinks in surprise before realizing what she wants. “I promise that if I believe further aid from you would be warranted, I will ask for it.”

“See that you do,” Grandmother says before her demeanor lightens, her smile nostalgic as she says, “You have grown so much, my boy.”

Dale looks startled. This time his hand twitches in yours. It's clear he has no idea what to say and so he merely nods, looking back down at his papers. He tries for casual as he replies, “Yes, well, that is what tends to happen.”

Grandmother’s smile only widens and Dale reaches with his free hand to straighten the papers. Something written catches his attention, though you’ve no idea what given his shorthand code. “Actually, I was hoping to get your opinions on one part of my investigation.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says gruffly, still obviously displeased with the turn the conversation took, but not enough to disagree with Grandmother.

“I would appreciate your impressions of the two primary candidates I have for one of the patrons,” Dale says after a glance at you. When you walked over with him to the study and discussed this part of the conversation. You shared your impression of three primary patrons, which he confirmed having received the same information from Two: the Duke, the knight, and the heiress. You have no thoughts on two of them but you did express your suspicion of the knight from Eastmont, due to both his animosity and his knowledge of demonics, which Dale agreed with.

Dale seemed to have his own suspicions about the heiress, but the Duke, he’d only been able to narrow down to a short list. Hopefully, not only would Grandmother and Grandfather be able to advise on who to look at first, but also should mollify them regarding Dale more or less shutting them out of the rest of the investigation and action he planned to take against these conspirators.

“He was referred to as ‘the Duke’, which I believe to be literal,” Dale says. “Between that and the reference to gambling, I suspect either Duke Gaelole or Duke Karihas. Both I played at cards and won substantial amounts from, though of course no cheating was needed on my part.”

Grandmother cackled. “I taught you too well, sweetheart. I am also surprised that those two are still playing as they did.”

You’ve only heard these names and not had any personal interaction with either of them. It begins to get harder to follow certain family connections, when not bragged about, and so it's possible you went to school with a grandchild of one of them. That’s likely the only connection you could have had, sheltered as you had grown up.

“Duke Karihas,” Grandfather rubs his chin as he speaks. “He is arrogant, too fond of the drink and I can only guess, more susceptible to it than before. However, it is not his style to hold grudges. His memories tend to fade quickly with time, no matter the size of his losses. His children fund such vices these days as he still breaks even more often than not. Duke Gaelole on the other hand…”

“He plays the gallant and generous lord, but in truth, he would gut his own grandson in an alley over disrespect or a lost bet,” Grandmother pronounced. “He plays the amiable host, the graceful loser on those rare occasions he loses, but he is cold as a fish and as ruthless as a demon.”

“I had thought, even though the loss was smaller, that he might be the true enemy,” Dale admits, the frown deepening on his face. “There were repeated losses and he grew both more charming and more insistent as time wore on for rematches. There was a look in his eyes when I finally refused to play anymore hands and collected my winnings. A dangerous one.” 

You wonder how the original Dale’s memories appear to him now. You wonder how he grew to learn how to read human expressions. You hope this Dale isn’t inclined to gamble, no matter what skills Dale used to possess. You feel now is not the time to bring such a matter up, but you feel buoyed that you likely will try to discuss it with him, because you feel you can.

“He’s got deep pockets, Dale,” Grandfather warned. “And he does not hesitate to dip into them as he pleases. He’s notorious for holding grudges and acting on them. Notable careers ended or reputations ruined, if he so desired. Tread very carefully with him.”

“I understand,” Dale replies gravely. He looks back and forth between them. “All I ask is that you allow me to take the lead on this matter and to trust that if I can use your assistance, I will ask for it. I know you would wish to do the same. Trust I would not put my faith in empty pride if I truly did not feel I had the resources required to bring these enemies of our family to rest.”

“I do not like this,” Grandfather says. “I do not think it is necessary.” His shoulders slump, ever so slightly, “But I would do the same, and have done so in the past.”

“You have a year or until another attack,” Grandmother warns, “before we act, with or without your leave. It is only in consideration of your determination and persuasion that I allow you this freedom to deal with the threat as you will.” Unexpectedly, her eyes find yours, “And I also trust that you are not conducting your investigation alone. That you are involving your soon to be spouse as well. 

“Yes, Grandmother,” Dale replies dutifully, you echoing him only a beat behind. He smiles at you in response, resting his hand over your own and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Pardon my intrusion, my lords, my ladies.” You turn to see Grandfather’s valet opening the door to come in. “In addition to alerting you that it is time to begin preparing for this afternoon’s gala, I also have a letter.”

“Our thanks for the reminder,” Grandfather says. “Who is the letter for?”

His valet walks over to you, rather than any Northridges. “It is addressed to the family, but to my lady’s attention.”

You accept the letter, frowning at the handwriting of the address. It doesn’t look familiar and you’re not expecting any mail. Are you? After these past couple days, anything unexpected makes you nervous. You quickly break the plain seal, wanting to get past this new tension as soon as possible. The message inside is short and in a hand you do recognize. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Dale asks, leaning closer and clearly as on edge as you had been. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh, nothing like that. My family has arrived.” You don’t know why the thought is so foreign, so disconcerting. And yet everything that has happened in these whirlwind days seems so far removed from your life before Northridge, that your family seems like an unexpected intrusion. You knew that they had to be arriving before the wedding ceremony, but Mother had said travel was more unpredictable than she’d expected and hadn’t been able to provide an estimate for their arrival. “They will be joining us at the gala tonight.”

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.

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, ALPHABET MAFIA

just a few reminders:

- first pride was a riot

- black & BIPOC queer people are the foundation of our entire nation and the global culture

- we owe most of our rights and progress to BIPOC trans women/femmes and different communities of lesbians, trans/gnc folks and elders.

- trans people have always existed, they are ancient and indigenous to many cultures and places and are SACRED.

- I’m glad you’re here and there is community out there for you, waiting with open arms. Don’t give up just yet, please.

- rainbow capitalism isn’t liberation

- we are all we have, be fucking better to each other

- lesbians have done so much for lgbtqia+ people and should maybe idk stop being erased for no reason

- biphobia is real and just bc your ex cheated on you doesn’t make it bi folks fault, you’re projecting babe

- being queer doesn’t dissolve white privilege, pls touch grass

- be safe at pride. they’re coming for us all and we need to protect ourselves.

- not everyone wants to use the word queer/dyke/fag etc. I’m glad you reclaimed the slurs used against you, me too, but not everyone wants to and you need to respect that. LGBTQIA+* exists for a reason.

- the black and brown belong on the flag.

- the A is for asexual/romantic, not ally.

- get some pussy (or whatever you do (or don’t do)) and make space for joy! because black/queer joy is revolutionary and fucking righteous just as much as our anger is, too

- Juneteenth coming up too, issa parade in my city fr

- asexuals/aromantics belong at pride. Period. Full stop.

- safe sex is the best sex

- get tested!

- it’s okay to not watch the news. america is hell, go take a nap

- people 100% know themselves better than you ever will, people are who they say they are and you don’t get to decide that for them. respect pronouns, identity, etc. or argue w ya mama/god/someone else cause it ain’t finna be me ❤️

- you deserve relationships that feel safe and actually are safe. Don’t settle.

- learn your queer history. they won’t teach us. they took our elders from us.

- Black LGBTQIA+* history IS Black History.

- we all need to be thankful to the house mothers and the ballroom scene and those who gave us what we have now, regardless of who you are.

- don’t call yourself a stud if you’re not BLACK. wit a capital B and at least one BLACK parent.

- not everyone is out. happiest of pride month to y’all. you’re still gang and we love you just as much. 💗

- our collective liberation lies in the fact that we are all tied to each other. if you’re down for the gays but not the theys, you’re not as decolonized as you think you are.

- shout out to fanfiction writers who have been single-handedly providing queer art/content/representation for years while the industry continues to make a mockery of us or intentionally leave us out. one thing we gonna do is help someone find their queer awakening, and get that story right. love us 🤪 go team

- your life means something. it’s important beyond comprehension. you look good. your ass is fat (if you want it to be). get the mullet as a lil treat.

- it’s gonna be ok baby. pinkie promise.

Destroy the myth that libraries are no longer relevant. If you use your library, please reblog.

I have seen The Little Mermaid live action...and now I will be scouring the internet looking for good fanfiction cuz why not👁👁

THE MOVIE WAS GREAT BY THE WAY, FU- Ahem, I mean, for those of you who were hating... how does it feel to be as wrong as two left feet on a fish?

Sidenote: We (I was with my sisters) took my nephew as well because he's a huge fan of Halle already, and he LOVED it. Said it was the coolest movie ever (and he likes Jurassic World).

Be lookin at my phone like: What the hell are you doing?!

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

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.” 

we all must get weirder and more queer. i am completely serious and genuine and this is urgent. please get weirder and gayer now. if you see me acting weird and gay mind your business a little bit.

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

This made my day🤣🤣🤣

@aswrittenbybri

THIS IS NOT A DRILL, I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

I just finished the Miles Morales video game and oh my god it was so fucking good 😭😭🩷🩷🩷🩷 (Totally didn't cry during the ending scene of the final boss fight)

THE CHARACTERS, THE PLOT, THE SUBPLOTS, THE VISUALS, THE GAMEPLAY. INSOMNIAC HAS DID IT THE FUCK AGAIN!

WEVEW8DBDJDEJSISBDSJWKWDBSKSMS DDBEJJEBEBS

I've never been happier to engage with a slow burn series 😭🤧 kinda wish Sana woulda kicked a little more ass though but it's okay though cuz she still fought

Another great story part Moonshine!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Three

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: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41189829/chapters/118476739

Warnings: Violence and Death (nothing too graphic, but its prevalent enough I wanted to mention it)

[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

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice. 

“Dale!”

There’s a second of silence before muffled confusion is evident from the hallway on the other side of the door followed quickly by pounding footsteps. Vi spares you a glare, but Clen seems unconcerned, merely readying his crossbow.

The door bursts open before anything else can happen and you can’t help but flinch as it hits the wall.

Framed in the doorway is an alert and worried Dale, his mouth in a hard frown and his hand already on the hilt of his sword. You watch as his eyes land on the four strangers arrayed in front of him. He draws his sword before he unerringly finds you and the unconscious Grandmother. That’s when fury ignites in his eyes.

“What is happening here?” Dale asks, his voice outraged as he takes stock of the situation. 

“Northridges simply enjoy asking after the obvious, do they not?” Clen asks Lasky before looking back to Dale. He lifts his crossbow and aims directly at you. Instantly you tense, ready to drop to your knees and out of range behind the heavy wooden desk. You freeze where you are because that would leave Grandmother a free target. “This is a kidnapping, your lordship. If you don’t cooperate with us, your fiance and grandmother are forfeit. Surrender now. Prove yourself more intelligent than the rest of your ilk.” 

Keeping your dagger in your strong hand, you grope blindly on the desk for something to use as a shield, cursing yourself for not thinking of grabbing such a thing earlier. As your fingers close around the ink mat, a sturdy leather mat to absorb any ink that might seep through when writing, your eyes meet Dale’s. You can almost see a cold certainty enter them before they slide back to Clen.

“No. You may surrender or run,” Dale retorts. “I’ll not go with you nor will I allow you to continue to threaten my kin.”

“Oh, lordling,” Lasky coos, “You’ve barely begun to hear threats. Wait until you learn of my plans for your wife-to-be. Not that you will continue to live for much longer, but I doubt you’d still wish to marry after I’m through with her.” 

You swallow down bile and hope Dale hurts him.

Dale growls, a dark, rolling sound that fills the room. You shiver, feeling it resonate through you, and quickly check to see that Grandmother has not yet awoken. The mixture of concern and relief that fills you at that fact doesn’t help any of your nerves settle, not that you expect them to for several days—provided you live that long.

“Do not—” Clean warns before cutting himself off with a curse as Dale charges. He manages a single shot in your direction before he’s forced to meet Dale’s sword with his own. The shot is still good enough that it hits your makeshift shield of an ink mat. The arrowhead pierces through the leather to scrape your arm and knock it back, but it doesn’t make it any further than that through the mat.

The clatter of the crossbow hitting the floor is nearly masked by the shouts and grunts as Clen, Vi, and Lasky begin fighting with Dale. Your eyes find Two, but he’s watching the fight, not you. Dale has managed to get his back to a wall, limiting his opponents ability to surround him. They’re appearing to have trouble ganging up on him without hitting each other, limiting their approach. 

With no better opportunity, you place your dagger down on the desk and open the closet door. You grasp the back of the chair Grandmother is on and begin tugging it is in towards the closet. You choose to keep your eyes forward towards the fight instead of putting yourself between Grandmother and the action. Hopefully if you see anything coming your way, you can intercept it before she gets further hurt. 

The chair is heavy, but you’re terrified, especially since you no longer have even your thin dagger in hand. The adrenaline seems to help as you drag the chair across the rug, grateful at least there’s no sound to alert the others to what you’re doing. The three assassins currently trying to fight Dale seem to have fallen into a pattern, with Clen engaging Dale’s sword and Vi trying to get at him with her spear from the side, herding him towards the opening in the wall to another side room. Lasky waits in that room, a seemingly endless supply of knives in his hands.

True to your suspicions, both Clen and Lasky seem to have some sort of  demonic enhancement to themselves or their weapons, although they remain clearly unpossessed. Clen has a strength to his movements that matches Dale’s own while Lasky’s daggers seem to come back to his sheaths when they miss. You eye the knife lodged in Dale’s leg and wonder if it's a good thing they don’t pull out to return when stuck.

You cross the threshold into the closet and have to focus on maneuvering in the much tighter space. It seems to primarily hold cabinets for files which you realize once you back into an ornate handle. It’s at a perfect height to jab painfully into your neck and prevent you from pulling the chair the final few inches into the closet.

You side-shuffle out from between the cabinet and the chair, mind racing as you check if the chair even will fit. The top of it is just under the height of the handle so you think you can manage it. You scoot around in front of the chair, a nervous glance over your shoulder to see the fight still raging, a confusing knot of bodies and weapons that you can’t make heads or tails of except that Dale is still holding his own. 

Kneeling down, you lift the front legs of the chair off the ground so they can get over the higher board marking the entrance to the closet and heave. After a few seconds of straining which feel like an eternity,  the chair finally moves those last few inches, thudding into the back cabinet and fully crossing over the threshold into the closet. You set the chair down, trying not to dwell on how it’s likely a bad sign that Grandmother hasn’t woken up for any of this movement.

You get to your feet, glad you’d pushed the chair towards the middle of the closet even before you’d realized how shallow it is. That leaves room on either side for you to fit in. Unfortunately it means that it’ll take too long to turn the chair around and try to wedge it against the door. Or maybe that’s a good thing because your hands are shaking and your palms sting where the wood of the back and legs had dug into your palms. You half close the closet door as you turn around. You're even more nervous now, after having your eyes off the fight for so long. You need to see if there’s anything nearby that might work as a wedge instead and check on the fight.

Dale seems to have gotten more room to breathe, the others all pushed back, but he’s in that doorway, with little at his back to guard it. Lasky takes advantage of that space before Dale can, sending a series of knives flying at him. Dale deflects two and dodges the other two. Unfortunately, with Lasky on the other side of Dale from you, you realize with a jolt of terror that sends the dodged knives in your direction.

One lodges into the desk, but the other flies just over it. You try to move out of the way and you manage—mostly. The knife lodges solidly in the closet door and through your skirts, pinning them in place. 

“Darkest damn—” You can’t help but let a minced oath out as you frantically begin pulling on your skirts, trying to get free. How the knife was sharp enough to pierce the fabric of your skirts but not enough to rip them now is proving nearly as frustrating as it is terrifying. 

You glance back at the fight and your eyes meet Lasky’s. Desperately, you reach for the knife hilt instead while your other hand fumbles to pick your own dagger up again. You swallow when you notice Lasky is indeed circling the fight, heading for you. You grip the hilts of both daggers so hard the little imperfections on then dig into your palms.

You point your own in the direction of Lasky’s approach while continuing to tug futilely on the dagger pinning you in place. Nothing you do seems to budge it and your hand keeps slipping off given how much you're sweating. You give up on pulling and start to simply shove at the hilt with the palm of your hand. 

“Did I pin a pretty little butterfly?” Lasky asks. He’s got another dagger in his hand, but he comes to a stop a few feet from you.

You keep your eyes on him, but don’t answer, giving the hilt of the dagger another strike with your palm. You feel it wiggle and wrap your fingers around it. If you can move, you don’t want him to know in case the element of surprise will help. 

At the same time, where can you go? Or rather, can you afford to leave grandmother? She’s hidden now, but if one of these assassins decides they need her or just wants revenge when the inevitable becomes clear. Dale is the only one here who you know will walk away from this fight. Whether everyone else, including yourself and Grandmother, will is still to be determined. 

“Did I nick your tongue too?” he taunts. “Do not pretend to misunderstand what your role is. Your little lord is proving more of a challenge than we expected, especially since Two isn’t helping.” 

You think he grimaces at that, but it’s hard to tell with his mouth covered. Still, for all his taunts, he’s clearly strung a lot tighter than he had been before. Good. 

“So you are going to help bring him to heel, as intended.” He flips the dagger in his hand in a deliberate move to show off. You chance a glance behind him to see Dale finally pushed into the side room and out of your line of sight. You’re certain the idea that you did manage to make eye contact with him is just false hope. You have to figure out how to get out of this yourself. And right now, running isn’t an option.

“You are not going to win this,” you reply, your voice a little rough, but still intelligible and not obviously full of fear, hopefully. “You should leave.”

He takes a step closer instead. “Just because he didn’t immediately fold, doesn’t mean he will triumph,” Lasky corrects, some anger coloring his voice. “He’s outnumbered and once Two remembers why they’re here, he’ll be outclassed.”

“Then should you not be aiding your companions?” you ask, trying to tug on the dagger with as little obvious movement of your arm as possible. Anything to keep from drawing Lasky’s attention to what you’re doing.

The lines by his eyes crinkle, he must be smiling under that mask. You feel more dread pool in your stomach. “Do you not see? That is what I’m doing. For all your threats, you’re no real match for me and while I still do not have any rope, I’m just as capable as taking out an eye as you are, if not more so. You need to remember who you are dealing with and surrender.”

A noise from behind—something heavy crashing into the wall and possibly a bookcase given the cacophony that follows—draws both your attention. Unfortunately, Lasky refocuses just as quickly as you do and so you’re still in a stalemate, both holding daggers, but truly, there isn’t a contest here. There is no question who will this fight, just what the collateral damage could be.

You hate this. You hate everything about this situation, from the fighting and Grandmother’s condition, to Dale in a fight against multiple opponents. Most of all you hate this man in front of you.  But what can you do?

Another smash and thud sounds from behind Lasky, but he doesn’t bother turning to look this time, just takes another step closer. He steps to the side, blocking your sight-line to the rest of the fight although not before you see a figure thrown across the room. You can’t even hope to identify who.

With another step, you give up on the pretense and give a final pull. This time the dagger is freed from the wall and you take a stumbling step downalong it, away from Lasky. You hastily bring that knife up to bare as well, holding one in each hand. You’ve had no training in the use of two daggers or even much training at all with your non-dominant hand. 

It’s clear Lasky knows that too, his confidence is obvious. The secondary reason for that becomes evident when the knife in your hand that belongs to him starts to tug. You’d thought if you were holding it, it wouldn’t try to return to him, like when it had been stuck in the wall, but apparently that’s not true. It fights your grip, attempting to go to Lasky and into its sheath on his arm like the others had.

You hold on tight, not wanting him to be further armed even if you don’t know how to wield it well yourself. He takes another step forward and you take another to the side. You notice that he’s steering you away from the relative safety the desk might have afforded you. The only good thing is that he seems to have completely forgotten about the fight going on behind him. Unfortunately, whenever you move to compensate, he blocks your own view. 

Finally he breaks the stalemate you’ve been locked in and rushes forward. You hastily stumble backwards along the wall, unwilling to give up the, perhaps false, feeling of safety it gives you. He slashes at you with his greater reach and you try to dodge, but you can feel his strike connected. Luckily, between the fabric of your dress and the manner in which the corset is boned you’re not pierced or cut by the blade. However, on his pull back, he catches your arm, slicing it and leaving a hot line of pain on your underarm that makes you cry out.

Your mind spins as the attack throws off your balance. You try to ignore the drip of blood down your arm, the sting of the cut, and the satisfaction in his eyes. Your palms are sweatier than ever and you have to focus on not trembling. The pull from his own dagger has only gotten stronger. With half an idea in your head about that, you kick out, slashing with your dagger more in the hopes of gaining back even a foot of space. 

It works, you catch some part of him, and he curses as he takes a step backward. “Would you simply stay—”

You lower your center mass and just as he raises his arm for a stab from above, attempting to use his height to get at your throat or chest, you release your grip on his dagger. In such close quarters, it doesn’t have time to turn or aim effectively. Given the strength it had been pulling at, it’s out of your hand like it was shot from a slingshot. Between your attempt at aiming and Lasky’s own speed, it misses its sheath entirely. The blade sinks into his armpit instead and he screams in pain.

Lasky’s fingers release the dagger held in that arm as his other hand clutches at the knife now embedded in him. You don’t waste any time standing there, immediately retreating, trying to find somewhere else to go, somewhere else to hide—anything to keep him away from you.

Should you go for the courtyard? Two’s no longer guarding that door—at least as far as you can tell, who knows if he needs to be near it to stop you from leaving. You feel a pang of guilt and regret for no longer staying to guard Grandmother, but with Lasky specifically focused on you and no real way to hold him off, you’re no use to her except to distract from her. The closet door was slammed shut so hopefully these assassins will just forget she’s even there. 

You head back towards where you came from originally, where Lasky’s been herding you. Hopefully you can find some of the Governor’s guards—or anyone, really. You sloppily knock over any chairs, ottomans, side tables you come across—anything to slow down your pursuer as you go. A wild, likely foolish part of you wants to run towards Dale. For all the fight still raging, and him already dealing with multiple opponents, you know he’d try to protect you. But your presence would just make his fight harder. Right?

“You bitch,” Lasky’s voice is ragged with pain and you hear his heavy footfalls getting closer as you round a short couch. “Get—” Whatever words he was going to say next are cut off by a thump and a wet gurgle. Unable to help it, you turn around.

Lasky’s already much closer than you expected, his eyes wide with surprise as he looks down at the raw spike of iron protruding from his chest. You identify it as a fireplace iron and look beyond him to see Dale’s back disappearing from the doorway.

A gasping cough brings your focus back to Lasky in time to see him collapse over the back of the couch and stop moving. You pant where you stand, feeling staggered by the sudden absence of an immediate threat. You can’t dwell on Lasky’s death, you can barely process your gratitude to Dale—only relief Lasky’s not capable of hurting you anymore. 

Should you return to Grandmother? You hadn’t actually gotten that far with how messy the room is. Hide in that closet to defend her if need be? Hadn’t you just proved how ineffective you’d be at such a task? You got in one good blow that was more accident than anything and still needed Dale to—. 

You hesitate and absently use your dagger to finish a cut made to the fabric of your dress. You take the strip of cloth and wrap it around your bleeding arm. The sudden pressure on the wound makes you flinch and grit your teeth against the renewed pain. 

Just as you secure that makeshift bandage in place and resolve to leave to find help, Vi comes running full speed out of the side room. You know the moment she spots you because she changes direction, heading for you. Immediately, you try to run for the door, but she anticipates your movement. She runs around wide, blocking that as a viable exit. 

Without thought, your turn, heading back the way you came and for the courtyard. She’s fast though, faster than you with her sturdy boots and training while your skirts and soft shoes only slow you down. She catches you just before the desk and closet you’d started this mad dash from.

A side hit from the spear bruises your side and you cry out as you are spun around. There’s desperation in her eyes as Vi lunges to cover that last few feet between you. She slams you back against the wall, her spear shaft across your throat. Your wrists too are pinned up in the skilled maneuver. Her wide, terrified eyes bore into yours. “What the fuck is he? You’re going to—”

The clash of metal on metal followed by a wet cough and a triumphant growl from the other room cuts her off. You only try to wrestle her for control briefly. You’re no match for her strength. Instead, you try desperately to wriggle your hands free, trying only to get more room to breathe. Your head is tilted back, your throat throbbing as she fixes her gaze back on yours. You try to say something, you don’t even know what, but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“They lied, he’s not human,” she spits. “He’s a skinwere.” It’s clear Dale’s revealed enough of himself that she knows he’s possessed, not enhanced. Another word for a possessed human is a demon wearing human skin or skin were for short. It’s a very negative term though and you think she might be local—you’ve heard that term used more in Northridge than even at school. No wonder she’s scared out of her mind. 

She must be able to tell you’re not surprised by the news because her eyes narrow, “You knew.” It’s not a question, but you can’t speak or even move your head to answer anyway. She doesn’t seem to need you to. 

She pushes against you with her spear, completely cutting off your air before she pulls back enough to let you speak. You cough, gulping in air as she orders, “Tell me how to kill it. Tell me—”

Before she can make any more demands, you drop your whole body down heavily. There was enough space now between the spear and the wall to let you, although it still wrenches your wrists and hands painfully. Your head hits the wall as you tilt it back to allow the movement.

Wrists and head hurting from the spear, backside throbbing from smacking into the ground as a dead weight, you’re moving before you can think about it. Crawling around her legs on your hands and knees. You scurry towards anything that can be perceived as safe. The sound of something heavy being flung into the wall makes you flinch.

A heavy blow to your back makes you yelp, collapsing onto your stomach. “You’re not going anywhere,” Vi snarls, the butt of her spear, pressing down with insistent force. “Not until—”

The pressure abates abruptly and you turn on your side to see something long and black around her wrist, pulling her weapon off of you. Your vantage point, combined with your throbbing head, makes it hard to follow all the action, but it looks like a black snake that Vi tries to tug off with a yell. 

She draws a knife with her free hand to strike the black thing, but the crack of bone breaking causes her to scream as her spear drops from her limp hand. It falls harmless to the floor. You manage to pick it and throw it far away. You know she’d be more capable of taking it from you than you would be at wielding it.

Vi finally looks behind her, following where the solid shadow stretches to and screams at whatever she sees. You only see another long dark ribbon of tangible blackness wrap around her neck before she’s pulled backwards with a strangled sound. She disappears out of your sight. 

Another thwack and gasping whimper make you wince, paralyzed on the floor, mind unable to decide what to do next. 

You hear footsteps heading for you accompanied by a tap of wood on wood. Then you hear a worried, “Sana?” 

Relief floods your body and you desperately need to see Dale, to reassure yourself that despite the horrible clashes and yells, the violence and the destruction, he’s whole. No matter what he must look like given what you’ve seen and how his voice still has an echoing, deep quality to it. You brace yourself on your palms to push yourself up. Opening your mouth to answer him, you’re interrupted by a crack before you can.

“I knew it,” an unfamiliar voice meets your ears. It has a strange, otherworldly grit to it and you freeze instantly. “How all these other humans are so blind, I’ve no notion.”

Dale hisses, “Hide,” before you hear him move away from you and towards the voice. You follow his suggestion, too cowed by the return of the threat to want to do anything else. Half crawling and half dragging your tired body, you tuck yourself under the heavy wooden desk.

“As though you are a paragon of subtlety,” Dale snaps back. He’s clearly nearly in that other side room once more, but his voice carries more than perhaps he’s even aware. 

“Ah,” the voice concedes, the sound carrying just as easily. Is that a demon power? You wonder with only slight delirium, projecting your voice? “ But I am not trying to be. Neither of us are.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” a far more human voice replies this time. “Us.” The two voices overlay on that word before the more inhuman voice continues, “We are not all so rude as to kick out the original owner. Some of us know what it is to share.”

You realize it’s Two, who has apparently decided to finally enter the fight and who’s strange nickname suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I care not how many of you are fitted in that body,” Dale replies. “You’ll do no more harm here. You’ll not fulfill your mission.”

“Perhaps,” the casual menace of this voice is not intimidated by Dale’s confidence or orders. “Or perhaps there is simply more to be gained and less to be shared.”

Dale must see no more reason in talking because there is only the sound of movement and metal after that. Grunts sound from all three voices, perhaps more distinct given your inability to see and only to hear. They’re not enough to tell you who’s winning and you’ve no notion of how Dale stands in contest with another actual demon. Neither are likely attempting to hide their natures, but is that an advantage to one or the other? Or a wash?y

Does the Two being both help or hinder them? They had also implied that Dale was not sharing his own form, which meant the human who had been Dale was gone, didn’t it? Neither of them are mentioning Clen, so is he dead too? What sort of creature was the demon in Two? You know demons vary wildly, even the intelligent ones, in a manner far greater than humans did, what if this one was more powerful than Dale? 

It feels like ages of simply listening, though in reality is likely only a minute or two. You can’t take knowing so little about what is happening. You hesitantly move forward and cautiously kneel up to see just over the surface of the desk. 

They’re indeed still in the other room, moving so fast you can hardly tell who’s who. Front he glimpses you catch, neither of them are in forms that are entirely human anymore. Part of the fight seems almost mundane, the swords meeting and breaking apart as they circle, engaging and dodging stabs and slashes. The shadows in the room move unnaturally and at least two seem to be even more independent than that. They whip around Dale to meet and deflect animate stonework, colored grayish-green with a rusty red shot through it. The rock seems both to come from the columns and walls of the room beyond, despite looking nothing like ones in this room, and from nothing at all.

Your heart is nearly in your throat as Dale’s shadows seem as if they would be far weaker than something so sturdy. A big chunk of stone falls from the ceiling causing Dale to need to dodge to the side. He catches Two’s sword stroke awkwardly as a result. A clatter reveals that he’s been disarmed. His sword sent flying from his hand to land behind Two. 

Dale retaliates with a riot of shadows which erupt between them and forces Two back. It also nearly leaves them out of sight of the doorway and you straining to follow what’s happening. Dale’s back is to you and only half his body visible, while Two’s nearly on the other side of that room. From what you can tell he’s beginning to resemble a statue more than a person, if a moving one.

“I believe you’re unarmed now,” Two says with a smirk.

“I do not need a weapon to be armed,” Dale snarls, the shadows of the room flickering dizzyingly. His entire body seems more amorphous than ever before. You think he looks taller than he typically is, but thinner too. The arm you can see is oddly shaped, as if it is bare but also, more like a medical mannequin from class—bone and muscle with no fat to be seen. He brandishes his hand to better display the black claws he now has. In fact, you’re certain he’d been wearing a green suit earlier, but it’s black now too. Even his dark hair is even darker, untied and wild, longer than it should be. 

You keenly appreciate Dale’s rebuttal, but you still hate that his sword is gone from his hand while one remains in Two’s. They shift their stances and you automatically try to compensate with your position to keep your view. You bump into a lamp that’s been knocked to the floor.

As you push it to the side, something on the ground catches your attention. You peek around the edge of the desk to get a better look and very deliberately don’t look too closely at Vi’s body, only a few yards away. Instead you focus on the long, thin piece of polished wood instead. Dale’s cane. 

Instantly, you know you need to get this to Dale and more than that, you want to do something, anything to help him. Carefully, you put your hands down on the cold stone floor to steady yourself. Then you move just far enough out from behind the desk to grasp the foot of the cane and pull it towards you. 

You grasp it firmly in your hands and peer back over the top of the desk, checking to make sure that Dale’s still the one closest to the doorway. 

Once you see that he is, you call out, “Dale!” Then you lean up high on your knees and throw the cane like you’ve seen others throw a javelin. It soars through the air and into the further room where Dale and Two are tangled in a confusing knot of shadow and stone. 

They break apart at the sound of your voice and Dale leaps backwards as if propelled by some of the shadows under him. A hand, black like he’s wearing gloves or dunked his arm in ink and clawed, snatches the cane out of the air with careful precision. You think you see the glint of a blue eye on the back of his hand, practically the only color standing out against his form now.

“Will that do you any good?” Two asks, seemingly curious more than anything as he watches Dale hold the cane. You can’t tell if his lack of anger over this fight, the way he keeps treating it like a tournament fight for entertainment, is a good thing or not.

Dale says nothing, merely twists the handle. He carefully pulls off the wood to reveal a long green rapier.

“Jade,” Two hisses, taking a full step back. “A dangerous weapon for one such as ourselves to wield.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Dales replies brusquely. “Humans regularly use weapons as deadly to themselves as they are to their enemies.”

“How adaptable. All the shade in your nature, I presume,” Two says, a mocking edge to his tone.

“You are not the only one who can use stone to their advantage,” Dale bats back as easily. 

Two lets out a bark of laughter and the sound seems to come from far more than two mouths, let alone one. You would give nearly anything for him to never do that again. “It has been so long since I spoke with one of us with intelligence still left to them up here. The sunlight seems to drive too many insane. Almost a shame to kill you.”

“A good thing then,” Dale says as he charges, “that you will not.”

The visibility of the fight becomes impossible after that. There’s too much movement from shadows and they move further into the room. You’re back to primarily trying to gauge the fight based on sound alone: thuds and crashes and ripping that you can’t identify.

“So close. But perhaps you are correct,” it’s the human voice this time, panting but not demoralized. Some of the sight line clears and you see Two hunched over, a hand on their chest. “I shall not be able to kill you nor collect the bounty so generously placed on your head.” They pick up their head, “However, the knight had the correct idea.” 

“Yes,” the grating demonic voice picks up and they slowly straighten. “I’m certain you must have supplies or books worth perusing. I can tell your form is impeccable underneath, despite your essence spilling out. This body, with him intact, still gets a bit stiff if I’m not careful. I shall be intrigued to ascertain how you accomplished such a thing.”

“You think I will allow you to leave?” Dale hisses. “After all you’ve done.” He throws a hand out to emphasize the general state of destruction around them.

Two laughs and it's one of the most unsettling things you’ve ever heard. It has a screech to it that makes your skin crawl. You are resisting the urge to cover your ears or yell yourself in order to drown him out when he looks over and meets your eyes. His dirty red eyes, the color of dried blood, bore into yours across the distance and he rushes for you.

He crosses the distance faster than he should be able to you and there’s a ripple in the walls that seems to respond to him. Panic seizes your heart and mind as you instinctively dive back down and under the desk. Your hands desperately latch onto and drag a broken ottoman to cover the open part of the desk.

Curling up behind it, you feel something slam into the makeshift shield, pushing you and the desk back, the wooden legs squealing against the floor as it moves. A wordless roar comes from further away and another crash echoes through the room. The sound of what you think are books falling to the floor and a heavy grunt follow.

Then, silence.

You cough a few seconds later, unable to help it due to all the dust the stone moving has kicked up. You think you hear a smothered groan while you attempt to stop, but you stay rooted in your hiding spot, waiting.

After another dull thump, Dale calls your name. His voice is still strange and yet you can hear the confusion and worry in it. You can hear a lot more than that actually. Your eyelids flutter despite being unable to see anything other than dust and dingy wood. 

Your name sounds different than when he’s said it in the past. There is a depth to it, meaning below the surface that you can hear when he’s like this. Like emotion and inflection and neither of those. 

There’s a layer of softness, of imagery that it conjures up, that you can almost feel through his voice. Of gentle sunlight through the window on a clear day. Your favorite chair and the taste of fresh, sweet honey melting on your tongue, soothing and comforting. Its respect and harmony and the potential to be more than you are alone, of joining and of belonging. Tension leeches from you in waves, like taking off so many heavy coats to stand unburdened. You want to drown in the sensation, you want to hear him say nothing, but your name for the rest of your life.

You want to come out, to go to him, regardless of what you might see. Hesitantly, you push the ottoman away and start to crawl out from beneath the desk. Shakily, you stand up and turn to face Dale.

To your surprise, he looks far more human than the glimpses you’d gotten of him during the fight. His eyes still glow unnaturally and his hair is too long and wild. He’s roughly the correct height again with no too tangible shadows or extra eyes, though you’re not looking at his hands on purpose. His skin for the most part is a shade of human coloring once more. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding either, no obvious large wounds or injuries. 

You can’t handle a direct conversation about his nature now, not after all of this, and so you look beyond him to assess the rest of the situation, although you can tell by a feeling in the air that Two is gone.

The room beyond him does look as though the bookcase closest to you had been tipped over or thrown towards the desk, but Dale is standing in such a way as to suggest he’d caught it before it fell. His free hand is also held open in a gesture towards the wall behind you, where you can see large bricks of rock have come loose, though not enough to threaten the integrity of the wall itself.

You meet his eyes once again and he finally relaxes, shoulders drooping as you both stand in the aftermath. Then he’s striding forward and the cool fingers of his free hand grip your chin as he examines you.

“I am fine,” you say, which would probably be more convincing if you couldn’t feel tears dripping down your cheeks. His eyes rake up and down your form, obviously trying to assess that for himself before finally settling back on your face once he’s done. 

Something that might be relief starts to spread over his face until he freezes. He withdraws his hand abruptly from your face, tucking it behind him with a speed you don’t bother to try to match. Instead you resist the urge to swap towards, wanting his touch once more as it had felt grounding.

Then he blinks, his eyes darting around the room with renewed concern. “Where?” Dale asks.

After a second of confusion, you realize who he’s asking after. Your hand closes around the door handle for the closet and you pull the door open to reveal a still unconscious Grandmother hidden away safely.

You grab one arm of the chair and Dale the other as you pull it out from the closet. You don’t even care that he’s clearly doing the majority of the work. It takes a second before you can see her chest moving with her breathing. 

“Grandmother will be too,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Good,” Dale says. He carefully brings a human thumb to wipe away your tears with a tenderness that does not match the danger that lingered in the way he still holds himself. You can’t help but lean into his touch, the safety he offers, if only to you. “It would only be worse for them if you were not.” His eyes slide to Grandmother’s unconscious form and menace seems to drip from his voice. “It shall be bad enough for them as it is.” 

You jump at the sound of a door opening, looking past Dale to see two of the governor’s guards walk in. They stop, gaping in the doorway.

Dale straightens, ignoring the reinforcements that have finally shown up. He doesn’t respond to Grandfather’s concerned voice calling his name and Grandmother’s and even her own. His head swivels to the direction of the courtyard, where Two went.

Fear grips your heart and your hand lands on his forearm, “No.” He doesn’t look back at you either. He gently, but inexorably pulls out of your grasp. You can’t stop him, you know that you can’t, but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving, of him pursuing this threat. “No. Dale. Don’t go after him!”

He ignores you, jade rapier in hand, and runs out into the courtyard.

“Damn you,” you say, voice tight as you try to stop more tears from welling up. What if he’s found out? What if Two can do more to hurt him? What if there are others in wait and he’s outnumbered? What if—? You wipe your eyes more harshly than perhaps you need to as you force yourself to focus on what you can do, who you can help.

While the other guards race to follow Dale, Grandfather hurries across the room to be on the other side of the chair, calling Grandmother’s name. You can feel her breathing, but you need to see if her heart is in trouble. You check her pulse as you tell him, “We need a doctor. Now.”

OOOOOOO Y'ALL NEED TO READ THIS, IT'S A MASTERPIECE

Felt like I got sucked in

Eloko – (Ee-loh-koh)

Author's Note: Okay so this fanfic is HEAVILY inspired by Nkundo folklore and the tales surrounding the rainforest that the Mongo people of Congo live near. This fanfic is lengthy, but strap in because it's a ride. Here are the sources I used, I highly recommend reading them if you're interested in stuff like this:

Congolese Creatures

Nkundo Mongo Tales: Analysis Of Form And Content by Biebuyck, Brunhilde Alice-Marcella

Word Count: let's not talk about it.🤠

Contains: Mean!jaded!reader (at first), a bit spooky (?), scars, brief mention of Izogie's past before Agojie, brief mention of helping someone obtain an abortion, strong language, exile, angst, fluff, falling in love at the speed of gay, happy ending.

~ Synopsis: Izogie and her sisters were traveling to the Kingdom of Kongo, and they decided to take a shortcut through the Kongolese rainforest... which soon turned out to be the best and worst decision Izogie has ever made. ~

Song Inspo:

~~~

The sun hung high in the clear blue skies and its light rays were offensive and penetrating. Sweat beaded on Izogie and the other Agojie’s foreheads due to the mixture of heat and heavy humidity. They were running out of water, and dehydration was creeping up on them. 

They stood in front of the Kongo Rainforest with heavy breaths, contemplating whether they should take a shortcut through without an experienced guide and risk it. Some argued that they didn’t want to chance it, the rest thought they would make the journey shorter and obtain water and nourishment at the same time. With a small session of democracy, it was decided that they take the nature route.

Leaves half the size of their bodies shielded them from the blazing sun. Twisting paths with no patterns, an indication how people seldom trekked through, eventually led the traveling Agojie group to an open clearing with a pond. If their tongues weren’t feeling as dry as the Sahara desert, they would have kept walking to find a stream where the water was mobile and bacteria concentration was lower, but they decided to push their luck further.

Izogie was filling up their canteens after they hydrated. Her sisters were arguing which way they came from and where they were supposed to head next. She tuned them out to focus on her own thoughts of the mission they were set on, confident they would make it out of the forest either way to the Kingdom of Kongo. She was sent on a mission to aid the Kongolese royal militia in their training and battles. If she was successful and King Ghezo gave her the recognition she deserved, she would for sure become Miganon after General Nanisca was crowned the Twin Woman King. 

A determined smile graced her face at the thought of achieving her dream. 

Filling the last canteen, the ripples in the water stilled, and her reflection gazed at her. It was so clear. Almost like a mirror. The warrior marveled at how she could clearly see the scars on her neck and shoulder, tilting her head left and right to observe her features. Her comrades had long ceased their discussion from behind her, so she turned around to call their attention.

“Ode, Oseye, come look–” As if a mischievous god abruptly blew out the candlelight that was the sun, Izogie turned around only to meet darkness and looming forestry behind her. Panicked, her eyes shot up at the sky to search for the sunshine that illuminated the area just seconds before, but only the full moon creeping behind clouds gleamed through. 

“Ode! Ekhosu! Oseye! Stop playing, where are you?!” She jumped to her feet, heart pumping in her ears. The sounds of crickets only answered her cries and dread festered under her skin, lifting the hairs on her arms in alarm. She opened her mouth to call out again, but her breath hitched. 

The crickets stopped chirping. The wind stilled. The idle leaves froze. 

The rainforest held its breath.

Izogie cautiously scanned the space, only moving her head, afraid any sudden movements would set something off. A violent chill ran down her back as the feeling of being watched intensified. Her blood ran cold, and the death grip on her machete left her hand clammy with frightened sweat. 

A few heartbeats of silence passed… then she heard it. The scratching of tree bark directly across from her. 

She took an instinctual step back, bouncing the machete in hand to shake off nerves. An ominous, stifling aura radiated off the surrounding trees as variations of that same sound came from multiple directions. As the foreboding atmosphere continued to close in on her, a desperate command pierced through her mind.

‘Run!’

Pivoting on the heels of her feet, she bounded deeper into the forest.

Branches nicked at her limbs, giant leaves smacked her face, spider webs futilely grasped at her body, and stones, sticks, and dirt painfully imprinted the bottom of her feet as she ran for her life.

A glimpse of white entered her vision, and before she could maneuver herself, she collided with the figure. 

The wind was knocked out of Izogie’s lungs as she was sent spiraling to the earthy forest floor with a painful thud. “Ow, fuck!” She groaned. A similar sound came from near her and she was on her feet in high alert, ready for combat. 

The full moon slipped from its hiding spot behind the clouds, casting its lunar rays on the figure before her.

Your all white attire, now sparsely stained with mahogany soil, brightened under the moonlight. The long beaded fetish necklace that daintily decorated your neck clinked together as you shifted to see who rudely rammed into you. The soldier’s defensive demeanor faltered as she beheld your radiance. You winced as you rose to your feet, dusting yourself off. Your eyes met, and if looks could kill, Izogie would’ve combusted into flames.

“You have the nerve to raise your sword to me yet you’re the one who ran into me?” A string of curses were on the tip of your tongue. Your attitude laced with a hint of venom threw her off. 

“You came out of nowhere!” She snapped back, sheathing her machete. Your eyes bulged in disbelief at her lack of apology. You scooped up your fallen staff off the ground and stepped to her.

“It’s the fucking rainforest, everything can come out of nowhere, you insolent little b-” 

ᗠ ェ Ƞ Ꮆ

A bell echoed, surrounding the both of you. Izogie’s vision blurred and head spun, making her stumble. Without wasting a second, you dug in your sac, whipped out another fetish necklace, and placed it around her neck.

When the strange jewelry hit her chest, her senses cleared almost instantly. You quieted the question forming on her lips and yanked her towards you.

“Run and don’t look behind you!” She didn’t need to be told twice.

Izogie was hot on your heels as you led her to gods know where. The branches creaked and croaked along with the pounding of your feet. She dared to peak up to her right, and saw two shadows zipping in the treetops just above you two. 

Her foot stuttered at the shock and she almost lost her momentum. You snipped at her to keep up if she valued her life. Your apparent lack of fear at this whole ordeal had her wondering how often you ran into creatures like this.

With a labored breath, you gripped your staff and mumbled an incantation. The sphere of it glowed, reflecting off the dark green leaves. The sudden bright light stung at her eyes and she focused her gaze at your feet to guide her, which didn’t slow down in the slightest. 

‘There’s… 5 of them.’ You sensed. ‘Easy enough.’

Just in time as you planned, you two stumbled into another clearing. You skidded to a stop, and Izogie bumped into your backside again. Grunting in pure annoyance, you shoved her aside and pivoted to the forge you emerged from. The malevolent energy grew nearer as trees shuffled to and fro closer to you. You raised your staff to the stars with gritted teeth, holding your breath.

With a short cry, you swung it in front of you in a strong, fluid motion, releasing a white airy crescent of light that wafted through the trees. Izogie shielded her eyes from the blast, and animalistic screeches of agony from the forest filled the night. The putrid constricting sensation that seemed to prey on her ceased with the screams, allowing her to take a fresh, deep breath. 

She watched in wonder as the light from your magic staff dimmed to a regular piece of wood that anyone would have figured was a walking stick. Izogie was learning fast that nothing in this forest was what it seemed. You stood there glaring through the trees, daring another creature to try you. After you sensed nothing, you started hiking in the direction of your home. 

Hearing no footsteps behind you, you turned around. The woman was dumbfounded and frozen in place.

“Follow me or stay there like an oaf. I don’t care.” You called back, returning to your journey. The thought of moving through this forest alone was enough to make her scurry behind you with a clenched fist around the hilt of her sword. 

The walk to your home was silent, excluding the occasional hoots of owls and buzzing of insects. Eventually, you two stopped in front of a large tree. Izogie scrunched her eyebrows, looking around for a hut.

“You live…here?” She cautiously asked, not wanting to piss you off more than you clearly already were. With a few knocks of your staff against the tree bark, rows of a stepping ladder materialized from it, leading up high into the large leaves. With a pointed finger, you motioned her gaze upwards.

“I live up there. Go first.” You curtly ordered. She wanted to call out your attitude, but reminded herself that you just saved her life from whatever was hunting her. She’d have to deal with it for the time being. You climbed up the ladder after her and instructed how to open the latch to your treehouse. As soon as you two filtered into your space, you repeated the same action with your staff like before to lock your place up. You lit a few candles and Izogie watched as the light revealed the humble abode.

Your home was surprisingly spacious for it to be in a tree. A pile of neatly folded clothing was stacked under a hammock hung by a closed window. On the other side of the room, there were a few pots, pans, small stoves and grills, and utensils neatly tucked in the corner. The solitude aura your home gave off indicated that you lived alone.

‘As if anyone would want to live with that attitude.’ She bitterly thought, casting a glance in your direction. You were bent under your sleeping area fetching some fabric to put together another hammock for her.

“My name’s Izogie.” She broke the silence. You made a few knots in the blankets before answering.

“Y/N.” You responded simply. It was quiet again while she watched you assemble her hammock. After you finished hanging it up on the other side of the room, you finally turned around to face her. 

“What are you?” Your interrogation started with scrutinizing eyes. Izogie straightened her back, returning your gaze.

“I’m an Agojie. A warrior of the Kingdom of Dahomey.” Her response earned a surprised quirk of your eyebrow from you. 

“You’re a long way from home. What exactly are you doing in the Kongolese rainforest of all places?” You crossed your arms, your curiosity deepening.

“I was sent on a mission by the king to help with Kongo’s royal militia. My group ran out of water and food and thought we could replenish here.” The stupid idea had you shaking your head and chuckling. Her face contorted, feeling slighted by your response.

“So no one has told you about the evil witch?” You inquired. She said no. You trudged about your room and began the infamous story.

“Well, let me tell you. There’s this malevolent being that resides here – the forest – and she’s known to stalk you during the day. Disguising herself as plants, insects, and animals to not raise your suspicion.” Her eyes followed you intently, fully immersed in the tale. She wondered if that thing in the woods was what was following her. You inwardly smirked at how you held the fearless warrior’s attention.

“Then, as soon as the sun retires its limited protection of her victim, the pale moonlight allows her to transform into her true, grotesque form. When her victim least expects it,” You paused in front of her, ending the story in a hushed tone. “she devours them, not even leaving behind bones.”

Izogie suppressed a tremor you produced in her core. The laugh you held back tumbled out of you and you slapped your stomach. If you were going to babysit for the next few days, you might as well have your bit of fun. “Well that’s what they say about me anyways.” You breathed between giggles, shrugging. Her eyes widened at your last remark.

“Wait wait, you're the witch? I was imagining some decrepit, ugly cannibalistic hag, but–”

“But instead you bumped into a young, hot cannibalistic sorceress?” You sassily put your hand on your hip and smirked. Her face burned as she felt flustered by your teasing.

“Uh I mean– wait, you’re not actually a cannibal are you?” You rolled your eyes, moving over to your hammock.

“Gods no. Do I look like an eloko to you?” You asked rhetorically. She tilted her head, shrugging. “That’s what was chasing us. You’ve never seen one so that’s good. Let’s keep it that way if you value restful nights.” You laid back and placed your sac down. Now Izogie had a million questions.

“Okay, now that you know a little about me, what are you?” You stared at her a bit peeved at her dense question.

“Isn’t it obvious by now? I’m a witch who lives in a treehouse, in the middle of a rainforest. Nothing more, nothing less.” You snipped. Your attitude didn’t deter her from pressing on.

“Okay well, it was daytime when I got here, but while I was fetching water it instantly became night, and my sisters were gone…” She trailed off. The thought of them encountering the horrors of this jungle without a grumpy witch to help them twisted her stomach in knots of anxiety. Your expression softened as you observed how torn she looked. You strangely wanted to reassure her that they were probably fine, but you couldn’t bring yourself to set her up for miracles that won’t happen.

“Gazing into certain ponds here will make you lose sense of time. And if your sisters were gone, then…” You started, but the pained look she shot you – begging you not to continue – ended your statement. You tore your gaze away and absentmindedly looked at anything else but her. She was silent for a few moments before her curiosity nagged her to ask more questions.

“How long have you lived here?” A sigh left you. You obviously weren’t from the forest, but remembering how you got here in the first place always reopened that resentful wound in your chest. 

“A few years I guess. I don’t know. Time doesn’t really matter here.” Izogie could feel the wall you put up in front of you as you refrained from eye contact. She settled with your response and asked one last question for the night.

“So you’re here alone?” This time you turned to her, expression unreadable.

“No one is ever alone in the forest.” 

The eerie statement sent chills down her back, mind recounting what transpired before. 

“It will take a few days to travel out to the nearest village. If you want to stay alive, listen to my directions and gather some common sense. We leave at sunrise, get to sleep.” You turned over in the hammock, slightly swinging it. She hesitantly walked over to the candles and peeked at your silent figure from the corner of her eyes. Blowing out the candles, she retired for the night.

You both left at dusk as planned. On your trek, Izogie was irritating you with endless questions about every single thing she saw now that the sunlight revealed everything:

“What kind of bird is that?”

“One that tweets and chirps.”

“Is that a 4-foot spider?!”

“Yes, don’t bother it and it won’t bother you.” 

“Do you have any water?” You shoved a canteen into her chest and shot her a glare.

“What kind of tree is this?” You stopped in your tracks and grasped her arm, harshly pulling her to the tree in question. A gasp left her lips at your sudden aggression. You let her go once you two were in front of it.

“Ask it.” You commanded. She looked at you with an incredulous expression. You huffed. 

“Ask ‘Mr. Tree, what kind of tree are you?’ Go ahead, ask!” You pointed to the tree with your chin. Thinking you were serious, she cleared her throat.

“Uh, Mr. Tree, what kind of–”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes get a grip, let’s go.” You exasperatedly groaned, turning on your heels and walking away. She hurried to your side, face burning with embarrassment.

“Well excuse me, I’m new to this mystical forest thing. If there’s elokos–”

“Biloko. Biloko is plural.” You interrupted, making her roll her eyes.

“If there’s biloko, who knows what else there is?” She exclaimed. You glanced at her before answering.

“Look, it isn’t ‘magical’, it’s just how this forest and its inhabitants are. It may seem mystical to you outsiders, but it’s just like a Tuesday as far as we’re concerned.” You hopped over a medium-sized rock and kept your pace. The warrior examined the side of your face and observed the white tribal make-up that decorated it. Your braids were kept neatly in a bun, wrapped with a white scarf that matched your tube top and skirt. Realizing she was practically checking you out, she spoke again to distract herself.

“We?” She asked. You nodded.

“I told you last night that we’re never alone, right? Now hush with the questions you’re giving me a headache.” You waved her off, feeling the soreness creep into your throat. This is the most you have talked to someone in years and the raspiness in your voice was starting to reveal that.

You both marched in silence for only ten minutes, and Izogie filled the silence again.

“So do you have forest friends?” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head for the hundredth time on this journey, but you answered nonetheless. She had an inkling feeling you would. You came off as not wanting to be bothered, but you still engaged with her even if you didn’t have to. 

“Yes.” Izogie waited for you to elaborate, and seeing her look at you expectantly made you gripe in frustration. “If I tell you, will you please keep your mouth shut?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” You both knew she wasn’t going to.

“Mokele-Mbembe and Indombe.” She noted how the names rolled off your tongue fondly. She nodded, repeating them in her head as you both walked for about an hour. 

Approaching where a river was supposed to be, you observed the exposed riverbed that was littered with flopping fish in confusion. You kneeled down to inspect how wet it was, and the soil came up loose and muddy on your fingers; this river was just recently blocked.

Izogie watched as you scratched your head and contemplated on the next move. Before she could ask what was on your mind, you gasped in surprise.

“Oh, of course!” You squealed. Your lips curled up into a genuine smile of excitement that profoundly contradicted the annoyed frown that often colored your features. 

‘Why couldn’t this version of you greet me first?’ She wondered, noting how cutely your cheeks perked as you beamed.

You beckoned her to follow you down to where the river was supposed to be flowing from. Thankfully, you weren’t walking for long to run into a strange hill that spanned across the riverbank, damming up the water. It seemed to be a grayish-brown stone with rocky projections lined down its center.

“Who on Earth put this here?” She questioned. You only responded in a knowing giggle that drove her mad. Izogie frowned, not in the mood for nature’s surprises.

You boldly started climbing the rocky hill, grabbing onto its stumps until you reached its peak, and the warrior had no choice but to follow you. Settling between two stumps, she noticed something strange about the landmass. 

‘Is this… breathing?’ What happened next answered her question.

“Mokele-Mbembe! Wakey wakey!” You sang out to your friend so it reached his ears. A few seconds later, he grunted to life and slightly shifted. Izogie clinged onto the stump for dear life and a string of curses sputtered from her mouth in pure disbelief. 

A long neck that was curled to the other side of the river gradually lifted out of the water. A sharp curved horn attached to a narrow head presented itself in front of you, and you two were met with the intimidating gaze of Mokele-Mbembe. Her jaw slacked in astonishment at the mighty creature. You, however, weren’t phased in the slightest.

“You’re taking a nap on the river again! You’re gonna dehydrate the villages in the east, silly.” You teased him. The dinosaur-like creature puffed air out of his nostrils in a huff, spraying water droplets on you. His eye trained on Izogie when he noticed another figure on his back. Subconsciously, she hid behind you slightly, nervous that his jaw would open and that’d be the last thing she saw that day.

Sensing her fear, you nudged her. “This is my friend, Izogie.” 

Twisting your neck to her slightly, you whispered. “Don’t worry, he’s on a plant-based diet.” Izogie wanted to reply with a smart remark, but she felt that she would be flung off his back if she talked to you anyhow. You turned back to your friend.

“May you take us further south until nightfall, pretty please?” You requested. Mokele-Mbembe raised his head higher.

“… Oƙαყ.” Shock ran through the warrior at hearing his guttural, but audible response.

‘Oh hell no, he can talk?!’ She could not even begin to react as he shifted his weight, rising to his four feet. The sound of water rushing came from below and she watched as the flow of the river returned from under him. You reclined back unto the stump Izogie was holding onto, palms cradling the back of your head. 

“Finally, now my feet can rest.” She watched as you closed her eyes and took in the warm sun. You looked so blissful in this moment and she couldn’t help but examine your features. Your white wrap aesthetically contrasted your dark skin, making it pop. Black eyelashes were curled and fluttery in the soft breeze that was created from the traveling creature. Her gaze sloped down the curve of your nose onto your plump lips– and it lingered there. And you could feel everything.

What she didn’t know was that each facial feature she studied, it warmed up as if to let you know that you were being checked out. You would never tell her that though. A chuckle rose from your chest, causing Izogie to cough. She felt like she got caught even though your eyes remained closed.

“What’s so funny?” She inquired, still staring at your lips. The corners of your heated lips lifted into a grin. “Oh nothing, just enjoying the sun.” After a few moments, your lips cooled.

For the remainder of the trip, you two – well mostly Izogie – spoke about random things, and a few grunts from Mokele-Mbembe showed that he was also immersed in the conversation as well. Trees opened up to a clearing large enough to set up camp for the night as the sun hovered just over the horizon. The creature kneeled, aiding your descents down its backside to the forest floor.

“Thank you, Mokele-Mbembe. Make sure to eat well!” You thanked. He slowly craned his head and blinked.

“… Oƙαყ.” And with that, he trekked in the direction he came from. Izogie thought she had heard and seen it all at this point, but she knew there was probably more to come for the remainder of the journey. You both started to set up camp, returning to your conversation as you gathered nearby material for a fire and tent.

“What does your day-to-day look like here?” You pursed your lips at the question, thinking about your usual routine.

“Besides babysitting lost people?” She rolled her eyes, nodding. Your comment held no malice like it usually did, and Izogie noticed how the time you spent together was starting to soften you. “I gather and study herbs. Make oils, soaps, butters, and potions. I sight-see sometimes during the day, but I don’t usually venture this far.” You placed dry logs in the center and stacked them over each other, preparing a fire.

“You seem to know the way to the village pretty well though.” She noted. 

“Yeah, thanks to my impeccable memory. You’re not the first person I had to escort out of here, you know. And with the way you outsiders lack sense you won’t be the last.” The last remark peeved Izogie and she turned to you, her patience with your rudeness wearing thin.

“You’re not even from here either! You were an outsider at one point too. Why’d you choose some rainforest over another village?” She pressed. You whipped around to her, steadily growing defensive at her question.

“Because the same shit that got me here in the first place would happen in a different village! I just don’t want to be bothered with other people’s problems anymore.” Your face grew hot with resentment. The woman shook her head in disbelief, dropping the leaves in her hands and crossing her arms. Her reaction pissed you off.

“What? You don’t believe me? Well, it’s true!” You tried to convince her.

“You say that while you’re helping me get out of here without even being asked to.” She retorted. You froze, realizing she in fact didn’t ask you to guide her. The revelation at your apparent caring nature, the same nature that exiled you to the forest, made you want to scream in frustration into the shrub. You rose to your feet, abandoning the logs behind you and marched to her, getting in her face, feeling her breath fan on yours.

“Oh? So you don’t want help? Because I can return home right now and let the oh-so-fearless warrior figure it out on her own.” You mocked. Izogie’s head tilted up to the sky, sending up a silent prayer to whichever god was listening – to give her the patience to not check you where you stood. The view of her craned neck accentuated her collarbones and the tension you felt became layered with something… different. She sighed, bringing her eyes back down to lock with yours.

“That was not what I meant and you know that.” She softly grabbed the sides of your arms when you looked away, not wanting to listen. It was either the growing chill of the night or her delicate touch that sent shivers down your back. You weren’t ready to find out which.

“I understand why you’re guarded but–” You grimaced, throwing her hands off of you.

“Do you?” You challenged, and her patience snapped.

“Yes, Y/N, you’re not the only one who has distrusted and despised the world before!” Her outburst quieted the comebacks that were queued on your tongue. “Been jaded enough to want nothing more than to get away from everything and everyone!” You stepped back, your defensiveness crumbling as she scolded you.

She took a deep breath, recollecting herself before continuing, not wanting her point to get lost in her emotions. 

“But that doesn’t mean you close yourself off to the world because the people around you didn’t receive your heart well.” She calmly elaborated. Your tense shoulders dropped as you began to comprehend what she was saying instead of listening to respond. When you stayed silent, she took that as a sign to continue.

“When… when I had 14 years. I was treated horribly. By my own mother. By the men she would…” She paused, looking down at her scarred palm as repressed memories started to seep into the front of her mind. She balled her hand into a fist. “I just hated my life, and the world. But then I joined the Agojie, and for the first time in my life, I was safe to be my true self. Because I was in the right environment.”

Your eyes were downcast to the ground, but you were listening closely.

‘This… isn’t the right environment for me?’ You pondered. You’ve grown accustomed to the ways of the rainforest. You practically knew almost each path, plant, animal, and spirit – good or bad. And you were more than capable of protecting yourself, taking care of yourself, for you only had you to rely on every time the sun set. Every time you watched a fellow human walk back to their village as you escorted them out, you struggled to understand why you would feel envious of them. The forest was your home and you were content.

But coming back to your high house from a lonesome trek back through the forest reminded you why you felt that way; they had people who would welcome them home with open arms, and you did not. And the recurring revelation had you falling to your knees, face wet with tears, each time.

“Y/N?” Your name coaxed you out of your thoughts. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” She bent down slightly to read your expression. You instinctively turned away.

“I guess.” You mumbled, returning to the campfire you were working on, trying your best to contain the sob that was crawling up your throat. 

She stared at your back feeling dejected, thinking that she didn’t get through to you. Izogie didn’t understand why she bothered, it’s not like it was her place anyway. Wordlessly, she picked the leaves back up and got to working on a tent.

You both had dinner in silence. Watching the fire’s flames and sparks lick the night air between you, not brave enough to make eye contact across it. The light may expose the years of hurt that both your orbs held. 

The sun went to sleep, and so did you, as the words said before echoed in your dreams.

The sun rose on a new day, and the energy reset, leaving space for the two of you to talk again. You waved your staff over the clearing to remove the cloaking spell you set up last night, shielding you from evil spirits that had nothing better to do than disturb your night’s rest. 

Your talk yesterday still sat with you as you two conversed and hiked. It was easy to be silent with people you’ve helped in the past, your cold exterior easily rendering them intimidated and mute, but it didn’t work on Izogie. There was something about her that made you feel comfortable enough to talk about things and ask her questions that you genuinely wanted the answers to.

“So, an all-women army, huh? That’s… impressive.” ‘And hot’. You internally added.

“Some say we’re more ruthless than the men.” She puffed her chest slightly with a gloating smirk and you chuckled.

“Well you have to be in your field of work.” You said. She glanced at you.

“Is that how it is for you too?” You hummed, shrugging your shoulders.

“Depends on the situation. If someone comes to me with a problem,” You met her eyes, smizing. “I solve it.” Her eyes and smirk widened at the potential double meaning in your statement.

“Ohh okay, what kind of problems were you solving if you don’t mind me asking?” As if you would actually mind her inquisitive nature at this point. 

“Well, there were illnesses that needed cures, mothers who needed babies delivered, children needing protection, men who needed a clear reminder not to mess with me, and women who were lonely and needed some special company.” Her eyebrows quirked up at the last part, jerking her head to you. You laughed at her shocked expression.

“I was just a non-judgemental shoulder to cry on! What did you think I meant?” You raised an eyebrow. She scoffed at your tease.

“The way you worded it made it seem like you were bedding them.” She put it simply. You giggled.

“Well they did actually come to me for that.” An abrupt cough escaped her, earning a laugh from you. “But I always declined, and they settled for a venting session. I was practically fighting them off of me, you know? Life was hard for me back then.” You sighed in faux fatigue.

“Ohoho, so you had them like that, huh?” She nudged your arm playfully. “Not surprised though, your face alone could have a hundred women and men at your feet.” The unexpected compliment had your face burning up. But you remained unperturbed.

“And are you among those women?” You probed, watching her grin at your question.

“Well if I remember correctly, I did tumble to the ground when you ran into me when we met, so technically, yes I am.” She gazed down at you with hooded eyes, the humidity of the forest intensifying the tension between you two. You almost folded under her heated attention.

“Well I think you are remembering incorrectly because you’re the one that ran into me.” You corrected, nudging her back. She rolled her eyes with a shake of her head.

“You’ll never let me forget that bit will you–” Her steps halted. You had walked a few strides ahead of her before noticing something on the ground caught her attention. You followed her gaze, and there were pieces of fabric on the ground. They matched the uniform she was wearing right now.

With shaky hands, Izogie scooped up the tunics that belonged to her sisters. Horror shot through her gut like a bullet. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she thought the absolute worst. You marched up to her, quickly examining the clothes for blood. There was none.

“Look look, Izogie. There’s no blood. That probably means they’re alive somewhere. Maybe they went to the nearest village that we’re going to.” You tried your best to reassure her, but perplexity and anguish remained on her features.

“So they took off their clothes and went naked? Y/N, that doesn’t make sense.” She dropped the tunics and her hands intertwined, resting on top of her head in disbelief. “None of this makes sense to me. Where are they?!”

You picked up the clothes and shoved them inside your bag. She started to pace, mumbling to herself and you couldn’t allow her to lose her mind in a place where it was very easy to. You gently reached and grabbed at her chin, demanding her full attention.

“Listen to me, hm? They will explain to you why, because we’re going to find them, okay? I’ll help you find them.” Your eyes searched for an understanding in hers. The torn tears that threatened to spill from her eyelids sent pangs of anguish through your chest. She softly nodded. As you were about to pull away, her arms enclosed you in her embrace. The unfamiliar warmth surrounded you and you basked in it, wrapping your own arms around her waist.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged you like this.

“Thank you.” She whispered in your ear, holding you closer. 

And you also don’t remember the last time someone expressed gratitude. You nodded in her shoulder, rubbing her back, and you both stayed like this for a few moments before she released you. Wanting to still provide some form of comfort, you held her hand without thinking, but she accepted it.

The rest of your walk continued like this, your hand in hers, as the bright star in the sky made its habitual orbit to the horizon. 

The orange light peaked between the leaves and the dropping temperature started to raise goosebumps on your skin. You were guiding her to an old camp you set up a few years ago when you were trying to find your place in this green abyss. It wasn’t as elaborate or high in altitude as your main house, but it beat sleeping on the ground again. 

Separating your hands, you knocked your staff against the trunk of the tree, and you gently smiled as stepping grooves materialized before you, leading up to the tree camp’s entrance. You let her go up, scanning the area for potential threats before you followed suit. 

The place was much smaller than your main place, so there was no room for separate beds or anything. Not that you two minded. Izogie grew as comfortable in your company as you did in hers. You locked the latch after you pulled your sac to the side. 

A shiver audibly left Izogie’s lips and you glanced in her direction. Searching about the room, there were no grills or stoves like you had back home that were here, and starting a campfire in a wooden treehouse was out of the question. The only thing you could do was close the windows to keep as much of the cold air out.

When you went to shut the window, a glimpse of a familiar scaly pattern in the corner of your eye caught your attention. You poked your head out the window, craning your head to verify if you were seeing clearly in the darkening jungle. Your face lit up in glee.

“Izogie, come here!” You called. Soft approaching footsteps sounded behind you and you felt her warmth as she took her place beside you, also looking out the window. Izogie looked down and sideways, but she found nothing worth looking at.

“What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?” She questioned, rubbing her arms. You looked at her with amusement.

“You can’t see my friend?” You teased. She guessed that it was Mokele-Mbembe, but you shook your head no. You grabbed your staff and reached outside the window to the tree, hitting it a few times. Then you called out to her.

“Indombe! It’s your favorite human, Y/N! My friend and I are kind of cold. May we borrow your heat for the night?” Several moments of darkness and cold passed, and you both waited. 

Then what Izogie saw next instantly topped her experience with Mokele-Mbembe.

A warm, vivid orange chain of light illuminated the branches surrounding you both, twisting and glowing, radiating a potent warmth that settled the raised skin. Indombe was about five feet wide, with a tan underside and copper-colored overcoat that glistened against the dark leaves. Izogie could not tell where she started or ended, but by the scales, she knew your friend was an abnormally large serpent. You yelled your gratitude to her and sat down.

Izogie turned to you. “Where’s her head?” You shrugged.

“I’ve only seen her head once, and I traveled miles to meet her face-to-face. So she’s pretty long. I wouldn’t be surprised if she spans the whole jungle.” Her mouth was ajar and you giggled, gently closing it. The environment that used to be cloaked in a dark void was now replaced with a rich glow that almost emulated the dawn. Though you weren’t a stranger to the scene, you marveled at the sight every time.

The critters that would usually retire for the night, crept out thinking it was still daytime. Slow blinking lights of fireflies floated around, texturizing the atmosphere. Flowers that detailed the soil perked up to the lustrous light that provided them with extra nourishment for their vibrant petals. The ensemble of flora and fauna all interacting after hours made you mumble a breath of gratitude to the gods that you got to witness such a breathtaking phenomenon again. And Izogie breathed a similar prayer as she got to see your world through your eyes for the first time.

“I can see why you stay.” She said, placing her hand over yours, rubbing her thumb over it. You looked down at her hand and turned it over to open her palm, exposing the scar that detailed it.

“What happened here?” You asked. Her mouth quirked up in a side smile.

“I burned a man with an ember.” She turned your hand over to see a long scar under the hand tattoo you tried to hide it under. “And what happened here?”

You sighed. “The village nearby happened.” Her eyebrows furrowed, irked at the thought of anyone laying a hand on you.

“Who would bring themselves to hurt a kind soul like you?” You softly laughed at her comment.

“Now, I’m kind? I thought I was a jaded, mean witch.” She continued to caress your hand and stared at you with an expression you were unable to decipher.

“That was before I got to know you, despite how hard it was.” She smiled. You looked down at your lap, feeling a rush of emotions as you gathered the courage to become vulnerable with someone you only met two days ago. Exhaling the deep breath you took in, you nervously began.

“Uh, well… I used to be the shaman for the Nkundo village near here.” She nodded, indicating she was listening. “And one day, a woman with child came to me. Her husband was nothing short of a monster, and she wanted to cut all ties connecting her to him. I advised her to just take him out, because I specialized in that too, but she insisted she wanted the tea she requested made, so I did.” Your eyes squeezed shut, hands trembling as the painful memories surged forward.

“A few days later, he came barging in my hut, cursing me, my name, and my honor.” A bitter laugh escaped you. “He accused me of killing his child, and that’s when I knew she threw me to the hyenas… the village didn’t even let me explain myself. Before I knew it, I was scrambling to this forest with an inch of my life.” Salty droplets hit Izogie’s hands, prompting her to wipe at your tear-streaked face. Weeps of sorrow escaped between words as you continued.

“I-I was the first one they went to when they needed something, but when I needed my honor protected, they discarded me like I was n-nothing.” You sniveled. The heavy boulder of resentment, betrayal, and despair you lugged around on your shoulders over the years disintegrated, allowing you to breathe without the stifling weight. Arms took you forward, meshing you into her chest in a comforting embrace that you needed. Izogie laid back while you rested your front in between her limbs, resting your head in the crook of her neck.

Her fingers traced patterns into your shoulder as she held you close. Hearts that laid on the left sides on both of your chests, now unified to your centers, synchronizing each beat, pumping the same amount of blood. Indombe’s heat mixed with yours melted the icicles of anxiety, worry, and fear that hung on her heart hours before. She felt solace in your embrace, and she could only hope that you felt the same. You felt a pair of pillowy lips gently place a kiss on your forehead. 

Your head tilted up to meet her half-lidded gaze and her breath wafted over your lips. Worried that she made you uncomfortable, she softly apologized. You shook your head, reassuring her it was okay. Bringing up nimble fingers to cup her cheek, you asked her: “May I kiss you?” 

Her thumb caressed the side of your lower jaw, and she nodded. “Yes.”

You didn’t move right away, eyes flickering to her lips and her doing the same. Steadily, she cradled the back of your neck and lowered herself to you, melding your lips together in the first of many euphoric kisses you two will share. 

Bliss. That was the only word you could think of to describe that moment. It was just pure bliss that you desired to cocoon yourself in. 

After several intimate pecks and kisses, your lips separated despite your hearts’ protests. You laid your head back down on her chest and sighed dreamily, closing your eyes. The exhaustion from the ebb and flow of your emotions throughout the day quickly caught up with you, lulling you to sleep along with the rhythmic thumping of your companion’s heart.

The slight snores softly woke Izogie up from her slumber. 

‘I woke up before you? That’s a first.’ She thought. As she took her time observing your sleeping face, an idea popped in her head. The events from last night inspired her to do something special for you before you woke up. 

Thankfully, you were a bit of a heavy sleeper, and gently repositioning you to the side went smoothly. She picked up her machete and sheathed it. After placing a light kiss on your temple, causing your form to stir before settling again, she opened the latch to descend to the forest floor. Her agile feet landed and she went searching for flowers. 

‘I won’t go far.’ She promised.

The lovestruck woman eventually found a bed of vibrant flowers that almost measured up to her breathtaking lover. Kneeling in front of the flora, Izogie began plucking and humming. She contemplated whether she should make a flower crown or bracelet.

“I’ll go for both.” She decided. 

Too enthralled in her thoughts of you, she failed to notice the baleful shift in the green environment.

The insects ceased their buzzing. The birds quieted their chirping. The breeze halted its flowing.

The rainforest held its breath.

“ᗰᥲყ ყ𝚘ບ ɦ𝚎Ɩƿ ບઽᕉ” A bone-chilling voice came from behind her. Dropping the flowers and unsheathing her sword, she faced them, only to drop her weapon in shock.

There Ode, Ekhosu, and Oseye stood in front of her. At first, a surge of relief and happiness coursed through Izogie, as she finally found her Agojie sisters. But then that emotion swiftly morphed into confusion as she inspected their demeanors closer. 

Their faces were void of emotion. Skin ashened and pale. Their outfits were made from the jungle, long dark green leaves covering their bareness. Nothing on them signified that they belonged to Dahomey – they seemed one with the forest instead.

Ode spoke again. “ᗰᥲყ ყ𝚘ບ ɦ𝚎Ɩƿ ບઽᕉ” Her voice sounded like she talked with two voices. These weren’t her sisters.

That familiar sinister aura that Izogie desperately ran from the first night here licked at her senses. Breathing became difficult and her hands shot up to her neck. Then it dawned on her. She forgot the fetish necklace you gave to her. The one thing that was supposed to protect her when you weren’t around. 

Her mind started to race, scrambling for an escape that would lead straight to you. The imposters before her remained unmoving, and she scanned for any weaknesses they presented. An object Ode was holding caught her eye.

A bell.

Horror brought Izogie to her knees. 

“No, no, no.” She pleaded. “Ode, please I know you’re in there, don’t do this please!” 

Ode slowly tilted her head to the side, and an inhumane grin creeped on her lips like a spider stalking its prey. 

“ᗯɦ𝚘 ﺄઽ ዐᑯ𝚎ᕉ” The imposter lifted the bell.

ᗠ ェ Ƞ Ꮆ

The haunting tone blurred her vision. Her hearing was muffled. And her consciousness started to slip into a void. 

ᗠ ェ Ƞ Ꮆ

The last words from her last conscious breath was all her energy could muster: Y/N.

You jolted awake with a start and frantically felt around for her. She wasn’t there. Your blood ran cold with fear at her absence. Your clairvoyant senses instantly told you that something was terribly wrong, and the Agojie’s disappearance was confirmation. Not wasting another second, you gathered your things. You froze when your sights landed on the protective necklace she should’ve been wearing on the wooden floor.

Before you could let your despairing thoughts cripple you, you took it up, shoving it in your bag, and exited your place. 

Your left foot didn’t bother waiting for your right to get acquainted with the ground, as it led the way to where your heart tugged you to urgently. Your feet pounded the soil. Your heart banged against your chest. Your eyelids squeezed tears from your vision.

A flower bed came into view and you slowed to a stop. Some flowers were sprawled away from the group, and a familiar radiation emitted from their stems.

‘She was here.’ You inspected the area more and remnants of dark energy lingered near the flowers. Your breath hitched.

“Biloko.” You shuddered. Clenching your staff, you resumed your sprint, following the pair of light and dark auras – belonging to her love and those creatures – that intermingled in the atmosphere and slithered through the trees. 

As the ominous energy grew stronger the closer her senses led her, she slowed to a light jog, not wanting to alert them of her presence and put Izogie in danger. It wasn’t long until she heard their eerie singing.

“ᗯ𝚎 𝚏𝚘ບიᑯ ບઽ ઽ𝚘ന𝚎𝚝ɦﺄიဌ ဌ𝚘𝚘ᑯ 𝚝𝚘 𝚎ᥲ𝚝, 𝚏ⲅ𝚎ઽɦ ന𝚎ᥲ𝚝, 𝚏ⲅ𝚎ઽɦ ന𝚎ᥲ𝚝! 𝘚ບ𝚌ɦ ᥲ ყບനനყ 𝚝ⲅ𝚎ᥲ𝚝, 𝚏ⲅ𝚎ઽɦ ന𝚎ᥲ𝚝, 𝚏ⲅ𝚎ઽɦ ന𝚎ᥲ𝚝!” 

You peered through the shrub as the three biloko pranced and danced around their bonfire. Eyes scanning the area, you spotted a figure laying still on the ground a few feet away from them. It was Izogie. Focusing your energy on her, a warm glow radiated off of her, signifying she was alive and well. And a breath of relief left you.

Your eyelids narrowed into infuriated slits as your focus shifted to the trio. 

‘They don’t look like regular biloko.’ You inwardly noted. That would mean that these were humans that were in transition to becoming the grotesque creatures. When you connected the dots of how these three tricked a sharp witted warrior like Izogie into capture, you came to the conclusion that these were her sisters. Your next course of action became simple.

You rose from the bushes, whispering an incantation into your divining staff. The glow that emitted immediately caught their attention, whipping their heads to you. One started to hiss at you and you scoffed.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” You casted your spell over them in a swift, expert motion, causing their knees to give out from under them and heads thump the dirt into a magic-induced slumber. You scurried to Izogie’s form and slipped the necklace over her head.

She awoke with a desperate gasp and clasped onto you, frantically searching for threats. Whispers of reassurance coaxed her into calmness, slowing her racing heart when she realized you were by her side again. You enveloped each other in a yearning hug, grateful that the other was unharmed.

Izogie hesitantly pulled away and glanced at her fellow warriors on the ground. You glimpsed over your shoulder, then turned back to her.

“Don’t worry, I can turn them back to normal. I brought their clothes.” She nodded in relief and you helped her to her feet.

You both changed her sisters into their original tunics, then you hovered your staff over their unconscious bodies. The paleness gradually drained from their skin, and it was replaced with their original rich dark hues of brown. A few moments of waiting passed, and their eyes – now filled with emotion and character – slowly opened. 

An alleviating cry of rejoice escaped Izogie as she embraced the puzzled soldiers. Your heart grew full at the heartwarming scene before you. You gave them the space to catch up and stood off to the side until Izogie mentioned you, averting their attention to you.

You waved shyly and suggested that you all start walking to the village like you planned. They readily agreed and followed you. 

Thankfully, the trek was a short one, and the distant noises of village bustle could be heard as you etched closer to the boundary that you were familiar with. The Agojie trudged past you as your legs froze in front of the line where the forest ended and village territory began, as if an invisible wall blocked you from going forward. Izogie glanced back when she noticed you weren’t following. Her face fell.

Eyes fixated on the ground, your jaw clenched. ‘It’s happening again.’ You lamented. A soft caress on your cheek tore your attention from the barrier. Your eyes met the softness in hers, easing the anxiety that bubbled inside of you.

“Come with me.” She grasped your hands. “Come back to Dahomey with me. You can work as a shaman there and I’ll make sure you are paid handsomely. I have a senior named Amenza and I’m positive you two will get along gre–” You interrupted her rambling with your lips, and smooched her into silence. Arms pulled you closer to her, dragging you over to the plane of organized society that you once knew. You two pulled away for air, puffing breathlessly as you rested your foreheads together.

“I would love to.” You grinned. She gleefully chuckled and you started to walk with her, arm in arm. Then you remembered something.

“Oh, wait! I forgot something!” You exclaimed. She looked at your retreating back in confusion and watched you stop and stare into the jungle. You took a large inhale.

“GOODBYE MOKELE-MBEMBE! GOODBYE INDOMBE!” You screamed between the trees, hoping your farewell would travel to the nearest spirit, animal, or plant that was kind enough to relay the message. 

You strolled back to her, satisfied that your chapter in the forest was coming to a close and you were going to start a new one with Izogie, the one that melted the frost around your heart. 

The one that you could come home to.

What fanfic writers say vs what they mean. Btw.

A/N: Alright, y'all, the long-awaited poem is HERE. It took a while because I had finals and needed to prepare for move-out, but I did it!

CW: Reader was written in mind as a Black woman, HOWEVER, given that I didn't mention any pronouns or genitals, this is GENDER NEUTRAL <3

Venus, Have Mercy On Me

Riri Williams x Black!Reader

I like you

I like you a lot.

Whenever I look at you

My world starts to spin

My heart drops into my stomach like a slice of pie.

Your presence gently invades my surroundings, filling up my head with thoughts of you and I.

Your beautiful grin makes my heart stop beating

Again and again.

Your captivating brown eyes pull me in

Making me feel like we're the only ones in the room.

Everytime I hear that beautiful voice of yours

My stomach fills with crickets

The rubbing of their legs making my stomach cramp and churn with anxiety and nerves.

Your smooth skin reflects off the sun like a mirror

Smelling like Shea butter and freshly printed paper.

Your hair is braided into neat cornrows that fall down your back

They sway back and forth when you walk

Reminding me of silk curtains on a canopy bed.

When you walk out the room I grow sad

I'd do almost anything to bask in your reverence for a little bit longer.

At night I pray

I pray to the Roman goddess of love to give me guidance and the courage to talk to you.

I say:

"Venus, have mercy on me"

The end! The title was inspired by Venus Versus Mars by Dreamer Isioma, I recommend their music 👩🏾‍🍳💋. But anyway, I hoped y'all liked it! Have a good evening <3

P.S. can someone please tell me how to center paragraphs on this damn app😭 this format is actually pissing me off so bad 🧍🏾‍♀️

Taglist: @vampzxi @cjariot @riptidezzzz @si-gh-cosis @bellaallebbella1 @unkindn3ss-of-rav3ns @glassdovescene *some of y'all I couldn't tag, apologies*