Dale Nem's Comeback Is Starting Off With A Bang

Dale nem's comeback is starting off with a bang 😭

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Twenty-One

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

You barely contain a sigh of relief as you sit down next to Grandmother.

Perhaps yesterday’s gala’s events were more mentally taxing as you tried to keep Dale’s hands out of sight long enough for the detection colors from Dr. Louisa’s gloves to fade—not to mention the conversation preceding that mess—but today was tiring in an entirely different manner. You’ve been kept on your feet nearly the entire day and you are exhausted. Between inspecting various buildings all over the city for hours to start with and an evening spent dancing, you want nothing more than to be still.

Some of that sentiment must still be evident from your facial expression as Grandmother reaches over to pat your hand. “Have you been enjoying the dancing, dear?”

“Yes, Grandmother, but I believe I am finished for the night,” you reply and she smiles.

“I am glad you have been taking advantage of the vigors of youth while you have them,” Grandmother says. She looks over to where Grandfather is sitting and talking to a musician across the room. “Would that we were able to still dance as you do. Alas, all we have to show for our years are aching joints and lovely children.” She winks at you.

You smile back and gratefully accept the water glass your maid pours for you with a murmured thanks. While you rest, Grandmother bids good night to a number of said children and grandchildren, leaving you longing to follow them. Yours and Dale’s roles as the guests of honor make it unclear when exactly it is socially acceptable for you to depart. You’ve often been staying at least as long as Grandmother and Grandfather, if not an hour beyond them so as to ensure you spoke to all guests and showed your hosts proper respect.

You truly hope that will not be the case tonight because you’re not sure you’ll make it that late.

Dale joins you with Francesca and Charles, his cousins, who then depart themselves having sent their children up with a maid hours ago. Dale sits next to you but talks primarily with Grandmother, chatting about the others he’s been speaking to while you resist the urge to fall asleep in your chair.

A few moments later Dale says your name, rousing you. Straightening, you find you’ve indeed ended up leaning quite heavily against the back and side of your chair closest to him. Heat warms your face at practically falling asleep against Dale at a gala. “Yes?”

“Do you wish to retire for the evening?” Dale asks, his expression kind and nonjudgmental. You can hear the offer to retire as well and are grateful for it.

“I know that it is not as late as some nights have been,” you say, unable to keep from feeling somewhat defensive—after all it wasn’t even midnight yet, though it was close. “But it has been a long day. I am ready for sleep.”

“I agree,” Dale replies easily, he reaches down and squeezes your hand where it sits on the arm rest closest to him. “And we have plenty of errands to run tomorrow.”

He’s right. There are no balls or galas tomorrow. Instead you’ll be taking advantage of the time in the city to inspect the progress on the completion of various wedding clothing, decorations, food and so on to be sent on ahead to the estate. In fact, the only social event is a small dinner at the mayor’s home in the evening which is fine with you.

Besides, there’s another reason you want to be well rested for tomorrow. That had been the day marked “SECRETS” on the astrologer’s calendar. You still have no notion as to what that could mean, however, you do expect that you should be well rested for whatever it turns out to be.

“If you young ones are all already turning in, then I shall too,” Grandmother announces. “Dale, your aid, my boy.”

Dale is nearly already standing up to walk over to his Grandmother’s side, picking up her cane along with his own. You try to perk up enough to be helpful, finishing off your drink and supporting Grandmother’s other arm as she gets to her feet.

Grandmother’s maid is sent ahead to prepare her rooms, while the three of you, in addition to your own maid, begin to make your way to the guest quarters you’ve occupied this week in the Governor’s home. You’re grateful he’s allowed you to have an entire, if smaller, wing to yourselves. Such privacy means that any continuing festivities don’t upset your sleep, which given how busy these days have been, is critical.

You’ve made it halfway across the room when Grandfather walks over to you at a pace too quick for how tiring a day this has been, even if he hasn’t danced as much as you have. “Dale, there you are,” he looks triumphant as he continues, “Marquis Tiffin has finally stopped occupying Duke Yoral’s sole attention. You wished to speak to him, did you not?”

Dale’s eyes light up—only metaphorically—before he turns to you and Grandmother. “I did, however…”

“If you wish to stay, dear, do not let us steal you away too soon,” Grandmother says. “You’re a good lad, wanting to accompany me back to my rooms, but your fiance will be help enough. Enjoy yourself.”

“Yes,” you encourage him. “I know you had been attempting to talk to him all evening.” This Duke was the brother of a friend of his from abroad and he wanted to discuss sourcing certain ingredients for more foreign meals with him, in addition to comparing general travel stories as he had helped Dale’s group plan their trip.

“Thank you,” Dale replies with a grin at you both. After resettling Grandmother’s hold to your arm instead of his, he turns to Grandfather, “Are you sure you want to join us? Perhaps even the discussion of certain spices might cause your cough to come back.”

Grandfather elbows Dale in response to his teasing, “Impudent lad. Introduce me to your friend with all due respect and perhaps I shall refrain from sharing tales of your foolish youth.”

They leave in a cheery mood while Grandmother smiles after them. “I am so pleased to have Dale home where he belongs. He went through such a trying adolescence after being away at the capital.”

You hum noncommittally, but Grandmother needs no real prompting to continue to reminisce as you make your way through the quieter and cooler halls away from the main ballrooms. She only interrupts herself when you reach a large branching path before your wing. “Miss Adir, could you please go to the kitchens and see if there are any pasties that can be sent up to my granddaughter’s rooms?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

“My eyesight might be going, but I can still make observations. You never eat enough at these events, she fusses. “We shall have to have your measurements checked at the final fitting tomorrow.”

“The food at these events are so rich,” you protest. “Surely there hasn’t been such a difference in only a few weeks.”

“And still we shall verify the truth,” Grandmother insists. “Dale as well, though for the opposite eventuality. I informed those tailors of his ill state, reminding them to leave room for him to return to his healthier weight. I shall be interested in seeing if they listened.

“If there is anything else that needs doing, we must ensure that it is done tomorrow or our next free day in two days time. This is our last week in Connton before we return to the Northridge estate for your wedding,” Grandmother reminded you unnecessarily. “Only two more galas here. A pity, these have been so invigorating.”

You can’t help but shake your head silently to yourself, unable to find these events anything but exhausting, even if you enjoy aspects of them. Grandmother is an entirely different sort, seeming to be rejuvenated by so much activity and people.

Even now, she seems far more awake than you are, easily chatting while you feel as though you’ve used up all your words an hour ago.

You roll your shoulders, trying to dissipate the tension in them from so much activity—the danger of hosting a ball and inviting a dance troupe and their sponsors. The fewer candles and torches in this area of the house leave the light sparser and make you feel sleepier, makes the promise of slumber whisper more convincingly in your ears.

Still, you remember exactly what tips you off that something is wrong. 

Habit from these last few weeks has you watching every shadow and steering others away if they move oddly, in case Dale has a lapse in control. You’re only reacting on instinct when you see the candlelight flicker dramatically, the shadows pool unnaturally on Grandmother’s right. You pull Grandmother closer to you and quicken your step abruptly, wanting to get out of the way, not wanting her to notice.

 It’s the clash of metal the next second, the force and crack of something whizzing by both of you and into the opposite wall that makes you jump, heart hammering in your chest. Your mind catches up with your actions because Dale is nowhere in sight. Who is causing these things to happen? Are you under attack?

“Guards!” Grandmother calls out. Her voice rings through the space with all the command of a general on a battlefield and causes one of the people who are in fact attacking you to curse. 

There isn’t any way for you to tell if someone heard your call for help even as she repeats it. Without thinking about what to do next, you hitch up your skirts with your free hand and start to run down the hall with her in tow. More figures come after you from behind and out of the corners of your eyes. 

A wordless cry has you stumbling to the side as a person overshoots past you and through a doorway. Multiple people, at least three, dressed in dark clothing have come as suddenly as if they had materialized from nothing—all heading after you.

You dodge another projectile and turn the corner, flattening against the far wall. Frantically you try to remember where exactly you are in this stranger’s house and you realize you missed the turn back towards the more inhabited portion of the building in your haste. 

You don’t know what to do, paralyzed with fear and indecision, until the wall at your back falls away causing you to take a surprised step backwards. “Hurry,” Grandmother says, having realized you were backed against a door and gotten it open while your mind had still been trying to understand what was happening.

You turn and both go through, slamming the door behind you as you try to gain your bearings. You can barely take stock of the study you find yourself in before continuing forward as fast as you are able to. Your shoes are thin and pretty and so you feel the stone floor in this room harshly as you race across it. Your palm is sweaty from where it’s clutching Grandmother’s as you steer you both, her having lost her cane at some point and relying on you for that speed of movement you’re desperately trying to gain.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, every instinct attempting to help you to survive, for all the good it's doing. Your mind races wildly, thoughts of escape and who these people could be flickering through. Why are they attacking you? What do they want? Where can you go to get away?

Then all you can think of besides ‘get away’ is the ache in your arm, the burning in your lungs, the soreness in your feet.

Unfortunately, there was no way to lock the door you came through and so soon it’s quickly kicked back open. The sound of it hitting the wall makes you run faster, trying to get through this suite of rooms to the courtyard entrance you spot on the other side, where you can feel the cooling breeze beckoning you to escape—or get somewhere someone would be able to hear you.

Two arrows fly by your head and another causes Grandmother to yelp and falter, nearly tripping as she suddenly leans much heavier on you. You can’t check to see if the arrow grazed her, too focused on trying to get to the other door, when the shadows darken in those billowing curtains. At the last second you turn to the right, propelling Grandmother that way too. As you do so, you see the thinner of these, these assassins appear, daggers drawn and ready to impale you exactly where you’d been running too.

Not that you’re convinced you’ve managed to end up in a better position. You steered the two of you to the other side of the room, hopping for another door out, but the one you pull open in the end is only a closet. You whirl around to see four figures in black, fanned out and blocking any possible escape route. Panting, you brace Grandmother, who you haven’t looked to but sounds to be in worse shape given her age and possible injury. Her heavy breathing has a wheeze to it you don’t like. So does the fact that she’s not speaking up any more.

“Well now ladies,” the tallest man speaks, his voice low and condescending. He’s smug too, like the cat that got the mouse, as he steps forward twirling a dagger. “You don’t seem to have our prize stallion with you as we expected, but I’m certain his filly and granny will make perfect bait.”

So...about this

Y'all might have to wait a while for this...cuz I was gonna make it all lovey dovey cuz that's the type of mood I was in. But the universe seems to think I'm her strongest soldier and I AIN'T 😭😭

So unless y'all want an angsty poem/diary entry about why the reader can't have nare none of the women listed...then y'all gon be waitin💀 I'm sorry😭

Now...if I made a poem style fic about Izogie, Riri, or Shuri...would y'all want to read it?👀

I'm kind of bad at story fics, so a poem is all I got 😭

Y'all best go read this, it's so GOOD (especially if you love Princess!Readers)

The writing is so beautiful 😭

(Part 1)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: hints of anxiety, you're awkward af, & heavily self-insert/indulgent fanfic.

Kikongo translations: Mindele = white people

The rhythmic gallop of the horses would have lulled you to sleep if you weren't afraid of falling off. Keeping your left hand around your rider’s waist, you wiped the creeping fatigue from your eyes with the other.

‘Time to look alive.’ You thought, putting on your royal face before you would greet your cousin’s kingdom, Dahomey. Your new temporary home. 

You were the youngest of 6 princesses from the Kingdom of Kongo. Since your dear mother gave birth to all girls, the pressure to marry a man was heavy among you and your sisters, almost suffocating for you.

Suffocating to the point you made up some nonsense lie about wanting to study in Dahomey under your cousin Ghezo’s watch. 

Study for what exactly? Something about the inner workings of running a kingdom; conducting meetings, learning trade and economics, hosting celebrations, and whatever else you aimlessly rambled on about to your parents so they’d be convinced to send you away.

The outer Dahomey homes started to draw near as time slipped by while you were in thought. Your aching back groaned as you straightened up, fighting the winces that threatened to disrupt the grace you were trying to muster.

The citizens of Dahomey watched as you made your graceful, yet quiet entrance into their home. You didn’t go outside of your kingdom much, so you were torn on whether to meet their eyes and smile, or keep your gaze forward to the royal gates of your new home.

‘Am I coming off cold?’ The palms around the chauffeur’s torso started to become sweaty as your nerves were getting to you. 

‘Just give them a smile or something, my gods Y/N.’ You overthought. Turning your head and looking at no one in particular, a small smile tugged awkwardly at your lips.

‘Not like that!’ Heat rose to your cheeks as your own thoughts managed to embarrass you. You decided to keep your eyes locked on the gate until your traveling group reached it.

The guards slowly swung the gates open and you were greeted with the clanging sounds of swords and grunts. Your eyes marveled at the scene in front of you.

It was the Agojie. The whole continent of Africa had heard of this fierce army of women. 

There were mixed opinions, of course. 

Most of the elders believed women had no business wielding a sword. Children thought they were the coolest people alive and wanted to grow up to be as brave as them. The men scoffed whilst being secretly intimidated. The women listened with admiration, but never outwardly expressed it to avoid upsetting their husbands or future prospects.

However, you never hid your awe of the warriors whenever they were brought up in conversation. You were a child of very few words growing up, but when there was something you were passionate about, you couldn’t fight the desire to gush about it to whoever was willing to listen. The passion would bubble in your abdomen like hot hibiscus tea, and threaten to spill messily over the sides of the pot if you didn’t say what you desperately needed to say.

Your gaze bounced around the compound as you tried to take in as much as you possibly could. 

“Holy shit, the stories don’t do them any justice.” You mumbled to yourself, not noticing the way your chauffeur shortly glanced back in shock at your sudden profanity.

A tall Agojie soldier stepped forward as your chauffeur pulled the horse to a halt. The sounds of metal clashing faded and the warriors' attention on their sparring partners now shifted to you, Dahomey's royal guest. 

'Holy shit, now they're looking at me.' Ignoring the anxious heart that started to knock against your chest, you let your rider ease you off the stallion. The woman bowed to you as your feet touched the compact, brown sand.

"Welcome to Dahomey, Princess Y/N. My name is Amenza and I will be escorting you to King Ghezo today." She greeted. You slightly cleared your throat before replying.

"Lovely to meet you, Amenza, and thank you." You greeted back in Fon. Amenza prompted you to follow her back to where your cousin was and you followed, trying your best to ignore the curious eyes on your mahogany skin. 

A certain set of eyes was hard to ignore though. Your gaze felt pulled to your right as you trailed behind Amenza. An Agojie who seemed a few inches taller than you from where she stood had the same curious glint in her eyes that the others held. And a bit of something else as well, but it was hard for you to pinpoint what exactly.

"Princess?" Amenza's voice broke their stare and you turned to her with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry, what was that?" 

"I asked if you had a good journey on the way here, your Highness." Amenza repeated, smiling in amusement at your habit to be in your own world.

"Oh, yes." You glanced back at the woman you locked eyes with, and she was indeed still looking at you. "Just a bit fatigued, is all."

You retired to your new room after you caught up with cousin Ghezo and got acquainted with his wives. Thankfully, he decided to give you your own room so that his wives wouldn't "keep you up with their gossiping"; which was a relief to you since that was one of your biggest pet peeves. 

Your studies would start in a few days, so you had some time to rest. What would you do in those few days? You had no clue. The absence of all your sisters' different personalities left you absentmindedly trudging about your room not knowing what to do with yourself. 

Eventually, you decided to go outside into the corridor of the palace and wander. You weaved past some of the king's frolicking children and nodded at some of his conversing wives that hung around in the hallway. Your feet eventually took you to a snug sector of the palace that had windows that faced directly towards the Agojie compound.

You let your curiosity guide you to a window's edge, and you sat like you were an audience member at a performance. 

If the gods allowed you, you would watch them for days. Your sisters would often make tongue-in-cheek remarks about your unusual interest in the Agojie. 

"Wow, she gushes more about the Agojie than any of her suitors! Maybe you should marry one of them instead, hahaha!" They teased one time. That joke alone sent you into a stuttering mess as you tried to defend herself. It didn't work though, it just turned into an inside joke after that. 

Too lost in thought fondly remembering your sisters with your gaze upon the Agojie trainees, you failed to notice someone stepping up behind you.

"Hello, Your Highness." The voice made the hairs on your dark skin stand at attention as you jumped, placing a hand on your thumping heart to prevent it from bursting from your chest. There the woman stood before you, with her palms relaxed over her machete's hilt. 

"Oh shit! I mean- sorry, you scared me!" You exclaimed, wincing at your own profanity. 'My first day here and I'm already not acting princess-like.'

"My apologies, Princess Y/N, I didn't mean to startle you." At first glance she did look apologetic, but one could tell that she was fighting back a smirk. "I saw you looking by the window and was wondering if you were in need of any assistance. My name is Izogie."

'Izogie. That's such a pretty name.'

"Uh, thank you, Princess." Your head tilted in confusion before it dawned on you that you said that out loud. Your cheeks burned and you thanked the gods that you were blessed with dark skin. Because if you were one of those mindele that came to Kongo from time to time, you'd be as red as a yam.

"Oh uh, yeah no, I was just... looking. I don't need anything, thank you for asking." It was strange how nervous you was getting in front of Izogie. You couldn't give yourself an answer. Maybe it's because of your massive admiration for soldiers like her. Maybe it was the confidence that was radiating off of her that you wanted to emulate.

Or maybe the way your heart skipped a beat every time you locked eyes.

"What exactly are you looking at if you don't mind me asking?" Izogie stopped fighting back the smile she held back as she prodded. Your hand, ordained with Kongo's finest jewelry, began to fiddle with your necklace as you tried to pick a scrambled thought that wouldn't make you as awkward as you felt at this moment.

"Well... it's not necessarily what, it's more who..." You trailed off, shooting a quick glance at the trainees. Izogie remained silent and answered with an eyebrow raise, waiting for you to continue.

"I was just watching the trainees. I've heard plenty of stories of you ladies down south growing up." You explained. The warrior asked if she may sit and you readily permitted.

"What do the Kongolese think of us?" She asked as she set her weapon aside so she could sit better, facing you.

"There's mixed opinions, to be honest." You looked off to the side to think, partially for fear that Izogie's undivided attention on you would cause you to stumble on your words. "Some admire, some don't understand, and others don't favor the Agojie much."

"And you?" The pointed question made your eyes widen for a split second. 

'This fierce warrior wants to know what I think?'

"Me? Oh well, I think that... you women are fascinating." You shyly responded, taking more interest in your necklace than the woman in front of you. The compliment made Izogie unconsciously smile wider.

"Why thank you for thinking of us highly. It's an honor." She slightly bowed with a hand across her chest. You weren't sure of how to respond, but before you could, Izogie stood back up.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me or anyone else know. Welcome to Dahomey, Princess Y/N." And with one last bow, you watched as she turned and walked back out through where she came. Not without admiring her muscular back as she walked away.

'Wait, did I just...? Seriously, what's going on with me?' You criticized yourself, blinking rapidly as if it would delete the mental image you took of Izogie's backside. It wouldn't.

A reflective beam of light flashed in your eyes offensively as the sun peaked out from the clouds above. With squinted eyes, you peered down next to you to see the machete that she left behind. 

Your delicate hand grasped the sturdy hilt. The weight of the weapon surprised you, but you quickly adjusted by sliding it towards you to your lap instead. The long curved blade was sharp and sleek, yet there were faint scar-like marks of varying sizes decorated across it. They made you wonder how it got each one, and if Izogie has similar scars on her body.

"Stand up! Are you just waiting to die!?" The shouts of the weapon's owner reminded you that she might need this at some point and you had to return it.

But that little mischievous devil on your shoulder was suggesting to keep it for tonight. 

'It's only one night. It's not like Izogie doesn't have other weapons. Plus, I can probably practice a few swings before I go to bed, then I'll return it first thing in the morning.' You bit her lip, torn between doing the right thing now or later.

'Later.'

"Ah fuck it, I'll give it to her tomorrow." Your itch for mischief was satisfied as you retired back to your room for the rest of the day, only coming out for dinner. 

Throughout the night, you sliced through the air with clumsy strikes in your candle lit bedroom. 

And Izogie softly chuckled to herself in her own bed, wondering when the cute royal guest would return her machete.

Black women and girls killed by the police. Speak their names, see their faces and know their stories

There is this false myth going around that Black women are not victims of law enforcement. I believe the myth exists because quite frankly the media, social justice organizations and we the public tend not to focus on it. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope this post will make all of us change our minds. Here are the stories of some of the Black women and girls killed by law enforcement:

Adaisha Miller, Detroit Woman, Hugged Cop From Behind

LAPD cop charged with assault in death of Alesia Thomas

7-year- old Aiyana Stanley-Jones – Detroit Free Press

17 Year Old Darnesha Harris Dead after Run-In with Breaux

Mackala Ross and Delores Epps

Eleanor Bumpurs

Erica Collins family files lawsuit against Cincy Police

Pleasant Grove crash claims life of second person | AL.com (Heather Parker)

Family grieves after loved one killed in crash with APD (Jacqueline Culp)

Family of victim question police use of deadly force – KWCH (Karen Day)

Kendra James remembered at Portland rally | KOIN.com

Pedestrian Killed on I-95 in Florida (Laporsha Watson)

After Cleveland shooting, cities restrict police chases(Malissa Williams)

Miriam Carey, Capitol Suspect, Suffered Post-Partum Depression

Elderly Woman Shot & Killed By Hearne Police Officer (Pearlie Golden)

Rekia Boyd Settlement: Family Of Unarmed Chicago Woman

Former Pa. trooper pleads guilty in fatal accident (Robin T. Williams)

Shantel Davis Killed By NYPD Cop In Car Chase | News One

Friends: Woman killed by police was nonviolent | Las Vegas (Sharmel Edwards)

Suspected Walmart Shoplifter Shot To Death In Front Of Kids (Shelly Frey)

The NYPD’s Poor Judgment With the Mentally Ill | Village Voice (Shereese Francis)

Harrisburg woman identified as victim in police SUV crash (Shulena S. Weldon)

$2.5M settlement in shooting of Lima woman by police officer (Tarika Wilson)

No Charges in Killing of Tyisha Miller – Los Angeles Times

Texas Police Admit Officer Shot & Killed Unarmed Woman (Yvette Smith)

#nuffsaid

Now...if I made a poem style fic about Izogie, Riri, or Shuri...would y'all want to read it?👀

I'm kind of bad at story fics, so a poem is all I got 😭

hate what people did to the dead dove tag