#hope you enjoyed the chapter!
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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 [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]
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 isn'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 concession 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.”
[Part Thirty-One]
#my writing#story: nothing's wrong with dale#story part#nothing's wrong with dale#monster romance#monster bf#exophilia#terato#osha compliant#slow burn#arranged marriage#reader#idk where today went#literally all i did was work on this and go to a bridal shower#and the day is gone#the anticipation just for myself for this chapter has been ridiculous#so i'm rly glad to hav finally gotten here and finished it!#hope you enjoyed the chapter!#let me know what you think!
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Pain is a great motivator…
Part 26 || First || Previous || Next
—Full Series—
Meanwhile Toriel:
(Loud noises don't wake her up usually.)
Artist note: I’m so proud of this :))) I know it’s a lot of dialogue and reading, but dialogue is grueling work for me. I’m glad with the art and for the amount of pages I made in such a relatively short time span -w- page 5 was super fun to work on. A lot of blood, sweat, and hours here... :) The backgrounds were a big bore tbh, but I finished them! Yippie!
#CHARA WTF DO YOU MEAN “COMPUTER”????#lol i hope you guys dont hate me for what im doing in the next update.#IS THAT A MAC OS???#Yes......owo''#Kris and the Gang are LITTLE now. I've pixelated them and turned them into little game characters!#FINALLY!!#I never thought I would be going so far in the story to explain WHY Kris pulls out their SOUL and opens Darkfountains even when they killed#Berdly in Chapter 2. Pain can make people do horrible things.#Uhhhhhhhhh anyways. :3 I hope you liked it! I made this post a little too long for my liking and didnt get it out when i wanted too-#but thats okay! As long as people enjoy it :)#bread#art#deltarune chara timeline#deltarune chara timeline comic#seriously though#long post#man am I glad I switched over to the limited color palet! It helps me feel alot more relaxed uwu#This is....way over 16 hours of work q-q#chara#asriel#susie#kris#asriel dreemurr#kris dreemurr#kris deltarune#susie deltarune#deltarune#comic#my art
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S-M-I-L-E every day !
I’ve been playing Poppy Playtime chapter 3 and I love the Smiling Critters, so I had to draw them !~
#poppy playtime#poppy playtime chapter 3#smiling critters#catnap#dogday#craftycorn#kickinchicken#bobby bearhug#bubba bubbaphant#hoppy hopscotch#pickypiggy#my art#hope you guys enjoy
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Did I send an anon so I could submit a cute picture? Perhaps 😋
#submission#Sneaky sneaky you#Though I'm very very happy you did#Honestly I think you may have started a new chapter of this blog#Occasional tasks and maybe even themed days for submissions#Oh the ideas are flowing#You look lovely as always little one and I hope you enjoyed yourself in taking this for me#I know I'm enjoying looking at it
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Ghost's Love Language.
Physical Touch
SLIGHTLY NSFW | MINORS DNI 🔞
At first he's so hesitant about touching you because he's not sure if you'll like it. He wants you to be comfortable with him.
It starts with a gentle hand on the small of your back as he leans around you to reach for things, or a soft brush of your hands as he passes by; not even looking at you when he does it.
At first you think you're just imagining things sometimes.
Overtime though, he gets bolder. His hands lingering; occasionally sliding up your arms, maybe a touch or two to the neck.
(He loves touching your neck, loves how it fits perfectly in his hands.)
When you hug it's like being enveloped by him entirely, the entire line of his body against yours. His arms are basically a cage, his mask pulled up so he can breathe you in.
He likes slipping a thigh between yours, likes the power it gives him when you can only hold yourself up on him.
When he's at his most comfortable and boldest, he'll grip your hips, slides his hands roughly over you, almost bruising you sometimes; he kisses the marks when he does.
When you're in bed together he can't not be touching you, and you're almost always his little spoon. He'll run his fingers over the dip in your waist when he thinks you're asleep. He'll bury his face in the nape of your neck.
In summary bro needs a hug
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#cod mw ghost#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x you#ghost cod#love languages#i definitely wrote this because i have my fanfic on my brain but not enough energy to actually start writing the next chapter#this will do lmfao#hope you enjoy lol#my writing
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playing for keeps – chapter one
alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader
status: ongoing
(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two]
word count: 2.9k
The darkness lurched and a sensation of falling brought you back to your senses. There was a momentary confusion–as was the case after leaving the half-conscious state–but it didn’t take you long to piece the world back together. A shudder disturbed the panel beneath your feet and you felt the running tremor that followed accompanied by a low rumble you could barely hear through the stressing pressure in your ears. You blinked your eyes open and there was a rawness to them that made you squint, taking in a familiar scene that greeted you past the window as you did.
A deep purple tint veiled the brilliance of the sun, casting the world into the cool calm of dusk, as the remainder of the day streaked the horizon with its fading light. You recognised the sloping silhouettes of the mountains that stood tall in the distance, seeming all the more greater against the early evening sky, comfortingly familiar and inviting in their grand stillness.
The intercom played a three-tone melody followed by a voice that filtered through the static.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Barcelona. The local time is six hours ahead of the Newark area, and it is currently approaching six in the evening. Please remain seated with your seatbelts on until the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ sign has been switched off. It has been our pleasure to serve you on this flight. Thank you, and a very good evening.”
In the moments that followed, chatter erupted all around you. Tearing your gaze away from the window, finally, you unbuckled your seatbelt but made no move to get up, opting instead to rest your cheek on your hand.
The thing that made window seats great–apart from the view, of course–was the fact that people who were in no rush to get off the plane wouldn’t feel compelled to move to avoid obstructing other passengers. And you, who was normally eager to stretch your legs after a particularly long flight such as this one, very much needed another moment to gather yourself. So you watched on as the other passengers stood and shuffled about, opening and closing the overhead bins to retrieve their luggage.
A restlessness crept over you. It erupted from somewhere deep down your gut to your limbs, and the feeling had you longing to jump out of your seat–to run–but you stayed put. There you waited, drumming a rhythm with your fingers against your thigh as your other leg bounced to the same chaotic pace. And without any bidding, the scenes you’d thought of before you sank into the nap you’d just woken up from flashed through your mind, relentless in their effort to tear you apart again.
You craned your neck to the side to see through the window. Somewhere at the far side of the airport, a yellow light flashed from a parked plane. It reminded you of fireflies and–
No.
You halted the memory and instead resorted to counting the number of times it blinked to keep your mind occupied.
“Excuse me, is everything okay?”
You blinked.
Turning away from the window to the direction of the voice, you saw an attendant looking at you with a curious expression.
“Yes,” you stuttered out.
Behind her you noticed that all of the seats were empty, and probably for quite some time now, so you gave her a quick apology when you stood to gather your belongings. You began for the exit after closing the overhead cabin but the stewardess stopped you again with another question.
“You’re a professional footballer?”
You looked at her over your shoulder. Your surprise at her question must have been clear on your face because she looked down at your duffel bag and then back at you with just a hint of amusement by the way her brow was lifted.
Oh. You forgot about that.
You hefted your Barça bag over your shoulder as you replied, “Uh, yeah. Are you much of a fan?”
“I love it. Love watching and playing it whenever I can. I’m more of a Madridista, though.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes at your dry humor but without any hint of offense.
The both of you continued to the exit.
“What position do you play?”
“Keeper.”
“Very cute. How long have you been playing for Barça?”
“I’m just newly transferred, actually.”
By this point, the both of you had arrived at the plane’s open door.
“Oh, really? Well, I wish you all the best for your season. And I hope this doesn’t come across as unprofessional but is it okay if I asked you for a picture?”
“Thank you. And no, not at all.”
After you posed for the photo, she thanked you. You felt her fingers brush over yours as she took back her phone before she sent you a playful wink. Her beauty attracted you, yes, and years ago such blatant advances from a fine woman would’ve been received warmly by you but not anymore–especially not today. So instead, you gave her a polite, almost apologetic, nod and parted ways with a small smile as you shuffled out of the plane.
It was a haze, your journey through the gates, the baggage reclaim zone, and the checkpoints. The lights and images melted together in one big blur, the noises coalesced to a low drone, before the world focused again when your phone screen lit up.
‘I’m in the arrival hall,’ it said.
Despite yourself, your heartbeat picked up upon seeing it and a familiar restlessness made you shiver. You shook your head, rolling your luggage towards the arrival hall, tapping your thumb against the handle of your roller, the strap of your duffel bag clutched tightly in your other hand.
With every step, your heart jumped in anticipation.
You turned the corner and your chest stilled.
And at the sight you beheld, you were gone. It was like you were seventeen all over again.
To you, it was as if the world became brighter, the colors and shapes now sharper, and she was the light that made everything that much clearer.
A thought rang clear in your mind, Oh, god, she’s right there. And she’s so beautiful.
She was leaning back against one of the columns that lined the terminal, the darkness of her outfit a stark contrast against the white paint which made her all the more easier to spot. Her eyes were trained on her phone as she tapped away at it with a small, soft smile adorning her face; that, for some reason, made your heart ache. A few locks of her hair escaped the hold of her ear and they framed her face in such a way that made her look inviting and at the same time accentuated that air of untouchability that seemed to be always present around her. Some people recognised her as they walked past, their heads turning and fingers pointing, but none of them seemed to be inclined to disturb her, which you were grateful for.
Just one more minute, one more moment. You wanted to take her in as she was for just that bit longer.
It was as if she sensed you because, not a second later, she looked up to scan the crowd briefly, and then you were locked in her gaze. There was still quite a distance left between the two of you but even from where you stood, you saw her face lit up to a beaming grin as she met your eyes. She tucked her phone into her back pocket and gingerly pushed off from the column to approach you, sidestepping the people in her way with ease.
The next thing you knew, the familiar scent of wintergreen and mint, mixed with the faint sweetness of cinnamon and vanilla, washed over your senses. And the warm weight of her arms and body was all you could think about–could feel. Then a peck branded your cheek that left them feeling heated despite the dampness of her hair against your skin there.
Squinting through the sudden rawness of your eyes, you wrapped your arms around the strength of her, looping them around her waist as your hands found purchase on the small of her back. You hid your face in the safety of her neck, just like you’d done many times over the years. Like this, it was as if the two of you were still best of friends. Like you still knew each other like you used to.
“Hello, pretty girl,” she breathed against your ear. “Welcome back.”
As she said this, you knew in your mind–believed–that you were finally home. And the thought was enough to steal and return your breath to you.
You whispered.
“It’s good to be home, Alexia.”
———
The car ride was silent. It had started to drizzle not long ago and it had grown heavy enough that Alexia needed to turn the windshield wipers on. The wipers made a steady rhythm when they met the hood of the car and made a slight squeaking noise as they moved up and down the windshield–two of the few sounds that made the air in the car bearable.
The world outside the passenger side’s window had devolved to blobs and blurs from the droplets that clung to the glass. Still, you kept your gaze there as guilt gnawed at your gut the same way you worked your lower lip between your teeth.
The thing was, the walk to the car wasn’t bad at all. The both of you had chatted while Alexia led you to where she parked her car, your duffel bag hoisted casually over her shoulder despite your protests. But the moment the doors of her car slammed shut, so did you–it was as if all the weight of the past few months–exacerbated by the restless plane ride, finally hit you.
And to Alexia’s credit, she’d done everything she could to remove the silence. She asked you about your flight (again) and when that didn’t work, she began to talk football. She asked you about your last season, about how you won your league and wondered about how that must’ve felt like for you. Alexia briefly turned the topic to Barça and sprinkled in some funny stories she hadn’t told you over the sparse messages you’d exchanged that you reacted to. You were just about to settle into the conversation when she inquired about your negotiations with the club and how you felt about returning to Barça; she solicited the reason that made you inclined to come back. At that, you clammed up again. Alexia didn’t seem to notice because she began to mention things you used to do or like–things she didn’t know you didn’t do nor like now–in the quest to get you talking.
For each question she asked, you’d given her back the same kind of nothing: a yes, a no, a hum. The simple drizzle had turned to steady rain pattering against the roof, and the calming sound did nothing to ease the growing tension in the car. Despite the desire to engage in a conversation with Alexia, it was as if all of your thoughts–or at least the capacity to string them together–were hiding behind the dark curtain of your mind, the heavy veil tailored from the same fabric that weighed in your chest. Weariness pervaded your bones and your soul, and it exhausted you past the point of exchanging pleasantries and niceness, a task now seemingly impossible.
So you excused yourself from the conversation. You told her it was jet lag. Alexia nodded in understanding, but the light in her eyes had dimmed, and she trained them on the road with deliberate focus, her lips tightening to a line fit for silence.
Despite not having spent time with her like you used to the last two years you’d been away, the language of her face and body was still familiar to you–and how could they not when they’d carve themselves into the tissues of your mind?–enough to know that she wasn’t convinced at all with what you said. Because maybe, just maybe, you were to her as she was to you: familiar.
The thought provided little comfort, and the guilt felt heavier, another stone dropped into the pitcher.
And the feeling gave way to another thought, unpleasant in the way it told you what you already knew. Alexia took time to drive you to your apartment instead of resting for tomorrow’s practice, and this was how you treat her? How nice.
Then another.
Just like how you treated Olivia, right?
Your eyes closed from the sting that followed, a stitch torn from a newly-sewn wound. And you tried to prevent yourself from crying, but the darkness only served to rub salt to the cut as it made the fleeting images clearer and the words ever louder.
“I’m so stupid! So stupid…”
“Go. Please, just go. You won’t find happiness here.”
A touch to your arm startled you back to the present. The jostle from the gasp you let out was enough to make a tear fall, and you turned to Alexia who already had her eyes on you; her face graced with concern and a question.
The car had stopped, and now parked outside of your apartment complex.
“What’s wrong?” Came the gentle question.
Your heart lurched at the look she laid upon you, followed by an ache, a longing for the old times–back when you used to tell each other everything. But how could you tell her about this? About what led to this? When the fire from that night remained, glowing patiently as an ember in the dark, waiting for the wind to call her name again–to set her aflame again?
Another tear escaped your eye before you could turn away, which you brushed off with the back of your hand before you met Alexia’s gaze again.
“Nothing. I’m just–I’m sorry for being a bitch.” You said with a small, apologetic smile.
Alexia traced some invisible path along your face, regarding you with a pensive look. The moment took long enough that you considered she’d press you for information. Instead, she teased softly with a half-smile, “Don’t worry about it. What else is new?”
Your shoulders eased down a bit.
“Still a smart-mouth, I see,” you laughed with more than a bit of air, “Indeed, what else is new?”
At that, Alexia chuckled with you but the pressing silence returned.
Then Alexia sighed.
“How long has it been since we’ve played together?”
Her brows knitted together at her own question as she leaned back against her seat, putting her hands behind her head which pulled the sleeves of her shirt up just enough to reveal the tattoo on the underside of her arm.
You casted your eyes aside, your gaze fleeting to the unlit window of your apartment.
A memory intruded your mind again.
“I’m not sure,” you half-whispered.
“Two years.” Something in her tone told that she knew that you knew, but she didn’t call you out on it. But it seemed she was more inclined to call you out on something you said a long time ago. “I hope you’ve made peace with whatever made you leave all the way to the States of all places.”
You looked at her. Alexia’s brow was raised in silent expectation. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on.”
“‘Come on’, what?”
“You were offered a place in Lyon–in Bayern. Bayern! When I heard you were leaving, I went, ‘That’s it. Bayern has her’. Imagine my surprise when you said you were going to America.” Alexia scoffed as she gestured in the air with her hands for emphasis. A pause before she continued, “Now, tell me why you really went away.”
“I already told you.”
“Yeah. What was it you said? ‘I’ve always wanted to see what the competition is like there’? For someone who talked about Neuer and Bayern all the time second to Barça, it always made me think how and when the NWSL crossed your mind.”
Guess you don’t know me that well then.
You bit your tongue before you could say it. Instead, you shrugged and sighed, hunching forward so you could rest your elbows on your knees, fingers clasping together as you twiddled your thumbs. “If you don’t want to believe what I said, that’s up to you. I stand by it.”
Alexia regarded you with that same deciphering look she’d been giving you the whole night. And as if she finally understood that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with you, she shook her head and sank back down in her seat.
“Indulge me, then. Tell me, what’s the verdict?” Alexia drawled, dripping with thinly-veiled sarcasm.
It wasn’t like home.
“Really appreciate the judgment all over your tone, Alexia.” You replied drily then added, “And it was great, thank you very much.”
Alexia tilted her chin up to release a laugh. A strand of her hair fell out of place and she brushed it back with a finger.
“Well, you should tell me more about how you enjoyed yourself, then. I’m sure you have a lot of stories to tell.” You heard the unspoken words, ‘Stories you never bothered to tell me through the phone or during the instances we’d met during the time you were away.’
I would’ve enjoyed it better if you were there.
“Where do you want me to begin?” If Alexia heard the weary sigh in your tone, she made no indication she did.
“I don’t know. Where do you want to start?”
I went away because of you.
“At this point, we’ll be here all night.” You laughed.
Alexia chuckled, and then softly she said, “Just tell me anything then.”
Distance didn’t work. My heart is still yours.
You hummed, thinking of a story, as you finally eased back on your seat and then you began.
“Well…”
#ap11#alexia putellas#alexia putellas x reader#woso x reader#my writing#a/n: that benfica vs barca match today was definitely something#also not sure when ill be able to post chapter two but i hope you guys enjoy this <3
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youtube
'Scuse me, Ma'am... [ Deltarune Dubbed Animation ]
Animation by:
Twitter or X: https://twitter.com/MellowSharks/status/1560588775054397440
YT: https://www.youtube.com/@mantamori4145/videos
#youtube#comic#deltarune#deltarunecomicdub#voice acting#voiceactress#comic dub#dubbed deltarune comic#paramasquerade#hope you enjoy#Animation Dub#Pie scene Deltarune Chapter 2#deltarune chapter 2#Susie and Kris#so cute!#'scuse me#Pie
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CHAPTER TWO is here!
5.5k words of new content
Meet the pups
Interact with Bela and Raine
Play from Kesha's perspective
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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 01. skip tracer to millionaire pipeline
profiles (2) | masterlist | next
SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.
TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct
#FIRST CHAPTER!!! HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THE RIDE 🥳#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen smut#enhypen smau#jay smut#jay smau#jay imagines#enhypen social media au#jay x reader#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#jay scenarios#jongseong smut#park jongseong#jay park#jay hard hours#enhypen hard hours
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whom the shadows sing for— (and the thief's echoing hymn)
a/n: it's time for some more ✨trauma✨ time to learn ur own backstory tehe <3 feel free to let me know what you think or any future... predictions... you think might be coming...
word count: 3.3k
synopsis: Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss. fem!reader, mulan-esque au
—CHAPTER THREE :: COMPANIONS
There's a girl screaming in the middle of camp.
Anguish, a pure guttural agony, litters her voice. She's shrieking, screaming herself hoarse, tortured cries piercing the air as a piece of her identity is ripped from her forcibly. The scream that you know only follows a wing clipping.
Fear rolls through your body, seizing every nerve til your limbs lock up. Your stomach lurches, nausea swimming and threatening to choke up your throat. The screams dive beneath your very skin and make a home there, unbidden.
The screaming isn't stopping and you acutely notice that you're crying because of it, big fat tears rolling down your face as though you're the one in pain, unable to quieten her suffering, because... because...
Because the girl is you.
The girl is you and they had found out somehow and they had come, they had held you down and taken the knife between your wings and starting slicing through muscle and sinew and it fucking hurts, it hurts so much—
A ragged gasp rips from your throat at the slice down your back.
You wake you with a violent twitch.
Your dagger is in your hand in an instant, stored beneath your pillow, always within reach. The cool leather beneath it is a comfort as your senses search blindly for any threat. The rabbiting sound of your heart looms in your ears and you keenly strain your ears to try listen over it.
A threat? An intruder? You're looking for anything hidden in the darkness, while your senses are still swamped by your nightmare. The effects of it are melting away too slowly. Your breath comes too fast.
Shadows loom. You're not sure what is fear is still lingering from the dream and what is real instinct, kicking in to protect yourself.
Worse is, your suspicions are not at all unwarranted.
Around you, the space is still. Dead air trapped within your shelter.
Outside, the howl of the Mother's Kiss sounds again, the rattling wind against the windows somehow grounding you into your home. You're in your home. You're not out in the middle of camp, not held onto that horrid stained piece of earth where all the clippings take place.
You're tucked away in your space, hidden beneath your secret still.
Your chest heaves rapidly, dregs of panic still running through your system. You force yourself to inhale slowly, blinking slowly and letting your eyes adjust to the night. It's still dark.
It's nighttime and you've had a night terror and you're still safe, still just like any other male in the camp.
Behind you, you give your wings a little shiver, just to check.
Still there, still working in every capacity. The relief that pours through you soothes like a balm, heady and overwhelming. You release a shaky breath and curl your knees up to your chest, wings cocooning around yourself.
The nightmares, this nightmare, has been unrelenting for as many years as you can remember. Well, since...
Since twenty six years ago, when you had made a very difficult choice.
Perhaps the only time you'll ever be thankful for being a bastard in this camps is when it had granted you the privacy to make such a choice. Nobody cares if a bastard child dies, male or otherwise.
It had made you dispensable and therefore, unnoticeable.
Nobody noticed when one more begging child, one more hungry face, went missing. And certainly nobody paid any mind when one more turned up again — hair cut down to the scalp, bleeding in places from the shoddy cut, and a gritty determination in their eyes.
No, in fact, the only time people started noticing you was when you started tasting the mixture of blood and dirt, knocked down in a fight you knew you had no chance of winning.
You had started it. Pushed your way into the group of boys and shoved one, hard. Fought back as best you could with half formed fists that quickly got pushed into the mud and held there as the boy you shoved wailed on you, hit after hit after hit.
By the time he had been pulled off you, your mouth was a river of blood and your face ached in a way you had never felt before.
The very bone of your skull felt bruised. Your nose was definitely broken. You wanted to cry but even scrunching your face up hurt too much. It was impossible to think anything beyond pure pain.
The group of boys were sneering as they left you in a crumpled heap on the ground, kicking mud in your direction and hissing the word bastard.
But not one mention of you being anything other than that.
Just a bastard. No slighted comment at being a female, at not being worthy of a fight for that reason.
In the Illyrian Mountains, being a bastard gave you very little in the manner of food, things, and choices. If you managed to survive past childhood, that is.
If you could scrape around for food to fill a belly that never seemed to stop growling and manage not succumb to icy embrace of the winter in the mountains, there was very little waiting for you. Even less so, if you weren't a male.
Males, at the very least, could fight for a sliver of something better.
And wasn't that just the Illyrian way? If you can fight, if you can beat and claw your way to the top, it's worth something. It's the only way to gain respect. To earn it, even when you came from nothing.
For you? Living past childhood would mean getting your greatest love torn from you.
You had seen half a dozen clippings before the age of ten. It was said that other camps littered throughout Illyria tended to be more gracious. Did it in private. Healers on hand. No excessive force.
But you'd believe that when you saw it — clippings were brutal.
Females having experienced their first blood were dragged out into the middle of camp, some kicking and screaming, others a ghostly quiet. Everybody watched and nobody stepped in, no matter the pleas.
You, no older than eight years old, had stared at the bloody patch left on the ground til your vision had blurred. It was crimson, mixing with the dirt of the earth. Beneath it was this horrid scorched brown colour.
Old blood.
The final straw for you had been Adesi— Lord Mylind's own daughter. You're not sure when or why some part of your had become convinced that she might be spared. That because her father held rank and could bend certain rules, that she might escape the fate you so feared for yourself.
She hadn't. Lord Mylind had done the clipping himself.
And she hadn't cried or fussed. There hadn't been a struggle, just this soft weeping as she kept her eyes on the ground, every pained sound that passed her lips lined with a bitter resignation of knowing this was always coming.
It had stoked a simmering ember within you — a furiously upset flame that burned hotter and hotter, til you were trembling with the force of it. Forced to watch yet another girl stripped of her freedom. Polished up for breeding stock.
If Adesi wouldn't be spared, neither would you. The future, you could see, was growing impossibly bleaker and would continue down that path if nothing radical appeared to change its course.
You had cut your hair that same very night.
It was a shit job. Trying to get it as short as you could manage without a mirror or proper tools to do so proved incredibly difficult. The lack of proper shelter didn't help either.
Bandages you were stock-piling for Mother knows what were used to bind your chest. Then you spent the rest of the night time scouring the mountain-side for those bitter herbs on the mere hope that the rumour that they would keep you from bleeding held an inkling of truth.
The next day had been the day you got into your very first fight.
The first of many. Lord Mylind didn't take kindly to bastards, especially when you paled in comparison to the size of the other novices. You had been refused to be allowed to join training the first time you had tried, his cold eyes narrowed with a cruel curl of his upper lip.
But you had, perhaps, what no one else did.
No other way forward. No other choice.
Every part of you that yearned to keep your beautiful wings, to keep your freedom, your autonomy, was channeled into your intense drive. You would not be so easily dissuaded.
You trained day and night, working up weak muscles til they hardened beneath your skin. Without proper training, it was nowhere near as efficient as it could've been. There was no-one there to soothe the aches of your growing pains, nor the sores that came with hitting the ground time and time again as you honed the balance and fluidity of your body.
A season passed. Your drive did not falter— not when half a dozen more females got clipped in that same period. A wedge drove itself between your ribs, attempting to crack open your chest; a heavy guilt at what they experienced... what you could not yet prevent.
It pushed you to train harder than before.
It took seven whole months of solitary training before Lord Mylind reluctantly allowed you to join the ranks— forced to when you disarmed and wiped the floor with Brudam in the ring to prove yourself.
By that time, the list of clipped females had climbed to nearly fifty. You kept track of every single one, forty-eight notches carved into your soul for every person you failed to protect from a terrible fate.
It killed you having to bide your time.
To train alongside the males of the camp who detested you as they did any such bastard. To hear their uncaring jeers of the clippings as they flaunted their own wings proudly. There was no shortage of things to stoke the fire within you, fury burning through every cell in your body. There was no distraction from the ultimate goal.
But between Lord Mylind's abysmal training, geared specifically at you, the purposeful way other warriors wouldn't hesitate to kick you while you were down, and having nobody else in your corner, you had no other choice.
Routines formed. Train. Eat. Train. Scrounge for ingredients, for knowledge, anything on healing tonics. Fail miserably at making anything. Chew the bitter herbs. Train. Sleep. Wake. Train.
Loneliness became a familiar companion.
Every creak in the dark was a potential threat that came looking to see if they could knock the unwelcome bastard out of the ranks. You learned to not just how to duel, but how to brawl and win. To fight dirty. To come out as unscathed as possible.
Your first bleed did eventually come, bitter leaves be damned.
They had done a decent job. They had given you a few crucial years to establish yourself as a worthy fighter, not to be messed with, and enough time to build the shelter you now called home.
It had been a saving grace. If you had been out and exposed, if any of the males in town came sniffing for a fight and felt entitled enough to challenge you, the lie that kept you safe would've come tumbling down like a house of cards.
All those years turned to ash. Wasted. For nothing.
And the only thing that terrified you more than that was... what you were certain they would inflict upon you if they ever found out.
In some of your worst nightmares, they do much worse than just clip you. They take them from you— saw them from your back, splintering bone and tearing muscle, not caring if you cry or scream — not caring if you die.
Around you, your wings give a shiver as if they could feel the ghost of pain that still lurked from your nightmare. You curl them up tighter around you. A blanket of softness, of warmth, finally breaks the chill on your skin.
Routine was easy. Your terror was manageable based on the familiarity of your life. The fact that you had nobody to lean on meant everything, every pillar of comfort, of tough love, of the extra push when you needed it, came from within.
Slipping away from training to deal with the excruciating agony of your cycle was a necessity, even if it pained you to do so. Avoidance of the Blood Rite was born from that too. It was too great a risk— too much time spent that you couldn't ever be sure wouldn't overlap with your cycle.
Besides, you already had the biggest target on your back — the label of bastard giving you more than your fair share of enemies.
They would hunt you down on the first night. That you had no doubt about. The killing would be slow and merciless. To you, the Blood Rite was just another brand of nightmares.
All this dread had become second-nature, stitched into the fabric of your angry and miserable life which seemed to exist against all odds. You were cursed with an ambition that would not let you rest. A compassion that drove you to keep training, to help others more than just yourself.
You were singular. A lone ranger who relied on nothing but your own instincts to keep getting you through the day.
You were solitary. You were lonely.
And yet, within the last month, something else had barrelling into your life and altered its course.
A Shadowsinger.
A Shadowsinger with hazel eyes that dance with mirth and a rueful smile that comes out far too easily for the battle-hardened soldier you know him to be. He's a conundrum. A mentor and a damn hard-ass when it came to training but also someone you could trust.
Calling him a friend felt too close.
A tenative ally, perhaps. A companion, even.
And the fact you can trust him — the fact that you do trust him — is perhaps the biggest change of them all.
All of your routines have been suddenly altered.
Because now, unlike ever before, there's someone there in the morning. Someone to notice your absences. To come looking when it takes longer to drag yourself out of fitful sleep. To comment on the circles under your eyes and roll back the punches accordingly.
He brings the things you need, a sudden plentiful stash of ingredients you wouldn't have dreamed of affording. The good stuff that makes a difference in the potency of a healing tonic. In turn, your feeble attempts at concocting have begun to produce far more useful results.
He brings food too.
No point in all this training if you look like your bones will snap. He had said, almost dismissively as he summoned the abundance of food from within that pocket in the shadow realm. You had been too startled by that alone to question how much he had brought with him.
A fucking feast. Enough food to last you at least half the year, if you stretched it.
Some withered, bitter part of you had shriveled up when you saw it. Your mouth watered and your stomach ached and yet still, you couldn't help how you snapped at him.
I don't want your pity.
Azriel had leveled you with a stare, his shadows roaming about his shoulders like wisps of smoke. He tilted his head to the side an inch, as if trying to pick apart the reasoning for you being so standoffish.
It's not a handout. It's part of our deal. Like I said, there's no point training you if you're starving all the while.
You bristled as his tone, even if there wasn't a hint of condescension to it. It was strong and sure.
When you still hadn't moved, Azriel had spoken once more. It's okay. To eat. I understand that generosity is not something you are familiar with but not eating will not help any of them. Getting stronger will.
He had spoken as if he knew that exact reservation on your mind — the sheer unfairness of having a platter served up to gorge yourself sick on, when so many others... So many others had nothing.
Eat. Azriel had murmured, turning for the door. He had paused just like he had on that first ever night, one scarred hand on the door. Please.
A particularly loud whirl of the Mother's Kiss outside shakes you from the memory.
You blink hard. Your wings twitch and curl in even closer as you realise you've been looking at the door. Looking at where he had stood all those nights ago.
That conversation had been in the first week of knowing Azriel. Back when you were still so wary it was impossible to not raise your hackles when he came knocking at your door, no matter how friendly he had seemed. Friendly, but not harmless you knew.
It took time to stop being constantly on guard around him. But if your lack of trust and general frostiness bothered Azriel, he never let you know.
And now... now you've known him for nearly a month.
A month of routine with him in it. With sparring in the morning, tiring yet rewarding drills beneath the winter sun, and quiet conversations in the evenings, his hazel eyes competing with the crackling fire with how they set your heart ablaze. A month of companionship.
A month, the first month in years, not spent entirely alone.
In the cool night air, knees pulled to your chest, something tugs at your throat at the knowledge he won't be back in the morning.
Last night, after an evening spent in comfortable company where you finally heard him laugh for the first time ever and nearly melted at the sound, he had told you he would be returning to Velaris.
Temporarily, he added on hastily at the flash of surprise in your eyes.
Business with the High Lord. Reports and assessments to deliver. I's to dot and t's to cross.
He assured you he would be back in a day or two, certainly no more than three. He had left ample food and generous tonic ingredients, with all the assurances to continue practicing during the evening.
With no Azriel, you had no reason to avoid training with the rest of camp.
Maybe that was why this particular nightmare had plagued you tonight. Something curdled up in your gut at the thought of returning to your old routine— another part relishes in how you will get to stand your ground as a better, hardier warrior now. To prove yourself worthy of the specialty training you were receiving.
You huff out a small sigh in the dark.
There's no telling what time it is. You force yourself to sit back, easing back into your bed gently til you're lying back under the makeshift duvet you have. It's moth-eaten and seen better days. You snuggle beneath it anyway.
It's been a long time since you've missed anyone, you think forlornly.
The thought surprises you. Staring at the ceiling, your brows furrow and you close your eyes but the truth of it rings clear throughout your very being. Undeniable.
The Shadowsinger has somehow wiggled into your life, burrowed into your routine and has begun to mean something to you. And when he's gone, you... miss him.
Your eyes flash back open, glaring up at the ceiling, and you huff as if that will change that fact.
Rolling over, you pull the duvet in closer, your arms tucking into your chest snugly. Your bed is a bit too small for someone with wings and they ache because of it. Sleep trickles back into your system, dragging your lids down.
As you fall into sleep, some part of you realises, faintly, that you haven't had anyone to miss in a long, long, time.
This time when you dream, it’s of hazel eyes.
—
tags below!
@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa
#i hope that even tho there's no interactions this chapter u still enjoy it!!! well there is but they're all in the past#just think.... at some point all this horrible backstory... is gonna have to come out#im vibrating in my seat thinking about writing the scene where he figures it out#GAWSH im so excited for it!!#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel shadowsinger#azriel shadowsinger x reader#azriel shadowsinger x you#azriel acotar#azriel fic#azriel fanfiction#acotar fanfiction#acotar#azriel fanfic
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...Unfortunately, no. I don't doubt that you hear something, but we can't hear anything on our end. What does it sound like?
(If you’re going to help out, it’d great to also add something to distract him :-) )
#Youre being asked for help. Dont fuck up this opportunity. Or do. I cant control you. :-)#[you've got mail!]#spamton#spamton g spamton#deltarune#deltarune spamton#deltarune chapter 2#teehee hope youre enjoying the aftermath recovery of what you causseeeddd#ill fix the gif looping when i get homeeee because for whatever reason my phone wont let me have stopping gifs???#not animating the static for this one because the file size is huggeeeee and also thats a lot of damn work for how many frames there are#thank you anon so much for playing along AND giving a great ask!!! very well worded i appreciate it#WAAAGGHHH WAGGHHHH YOURE MAKIBGVME FEEL BAD#:-(
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Please don't shake the cat
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 13]
<< Prev | Next >>
Part 1
Ao3
---
Private chat nicknames:
RedHood = Jason
Danny = Danny
---
Private chat
RedHood: *picture*
RedHood: this yours???
---
Seeing the picture of Ellie clamped onto Red Hood’s arm Danny lets out a sigh while rubbing his forehead. He takes a few seconds to look at the picture while deciding on how to reply.
---
Private chat
Danny: you don’t happen to be in Mexico right now by any chance, do you?
RedHood: No.
RedHood: I was out patrolling when I was suddenly bitten by her.
RedHood: Thought it might have been a criminal or stray cat or something like that at first.
RedHood: I was not expecting a feral teenager, but I can’t say this is the first time it’s happened.
Danny: damn, she was supposed to be in Mexico 😕😥
Danny: I guess this is what she was trying to tell me with that cryptic message she sent me huh
Danny: and the stray cat analogy isn’t too far off to be perfectly honest 🤔
RedHood: So you know her?
RedHood: Can you help me get her off? I’ve tried prying but she’s got some sick ass jaw strength.
RedHood: Which would have been pretty cool any other time, but it’s currently not really working in my favor.
Danny: I’m so sorry about her 😓 😓
Danny: we’ve been trying to teach her to ask for consent first
Danny: but it’s still a work in progress 😅
Danny: of course I'll help you get her off!! 😊🙃
RedHood: Great! You’re at your apartment, right?
RedHood: I’ll be there in two shakes.
Danny: please don’t shake the cat 😰
Danny: she’ll get grumpy and might latch on even tighter
Danny: I’ll come to you instead 🙃
Danny: you said you were patrolling, so crime alley, right? 🤔🤔
RedHood: Well, yes, but I doubt you’ll be able to get up where I am right now.
RedHood: Let me at least come down to the ground first and I’ll tell you how to get here.
RedHood: Danny?
---
Jason looks down at his unread messages with a slight frown. He puts his phone away and looks back at the teenager on his arm.
He gives his arm a small shake, causing her to growl at him which immediately makes him stop.
Right… No shaking the cat.
Jason lets out a weary sigh before looking down over the edge of the building to the ground below. He’s trying to think of the best way to get down with only one functional arm when a voice breaks him out of his reverie.
“Hey, Hood. I’m here!”
He turns around, slightly alarmed that there’s a second person who managed to sneak up on him tonight.
Damn, he’s getting rusty
Though from anyone whom he had been expecting to see, he had not been expecting to see the guy he messaged a minute ago standing behind him on the roof.
“How did you get here so quickly? And for that matter, how did you even get up here?” Jason asks confused.
“Oh, I flew” is Danny’s casual response, which gives Jason more questions than have been answered. But before he can decide whether he should bother asking for clarification Danny already moves on to the next topic.
“Anyway, let’s see what we can do about this,” he says, approaching Jason’s arm and the girl that’s hanging off of it.
“Good luck,” Jason says, holding out his arm a little better and watching bemused as Danny and the teen have a stare-down.
“Ellie, what did we say about biting others?”
The teen, Ellie, narrows her eyes and growls at him. Danny just crosses his arms and gives her an unimpressed stare.
“Nah-ah, you have to let him go. We ask before we bite someone. It’s called consent. Don’t make me get Jazz to give you another lecture”
It’s clear to Jason that Danny’s attempt at talking to her isn’t working when the teen proceeds to glance at Jason calculatingly before giving Danny a challenging look and biting down harder.
Apparently, it’s clear to Danny as well, as the next thing he does is let out a put-upon sigh before declaring “Well, I gave you a chance. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way”
Danny then grabs a hold of her and tries pulling her off of him.
What is his life? Jason thinks as he’s standing there while Danny tries to physically pull the teenage girl, who decided his arm looked like a nice snack, off of him.
Though luckily for him, it seems to work as not a few seconds later Danny has pulled her off of his arm and is now holding the teenage girl with a bloody mouth up by her armpits.
Danny sets her down with a sigh but before he can speak up, the teen crosses her arms and levels Jason with a sharp look that makes him straighten up.
“Thou winneth this round, Red-Helmed Knight of the Night. Though thou should be prepareth, as the upcoming trials will be even more toilsome” Ellie declares while pointing at him, uncaring of the blood on her face.
“And I,” She points a finger back at herself for emphasis, ”Sir Ellie of the Infinite Realms, will—” she gets cut off when a fly enters her mouth.
Danny moves to help her but she holds up a hand to stop him, using her other hand to thump on her chest a few times.
She spits the dislodged fly out onto the floor and glares at it.
“Curse you! Foiling my monologuing once again!” she yells after the fly as it flies off.
Right…
Jason turns to Danny.
“So is she your sister?” he asks curiously. And totally not trying to fish for more information about Danny and his family.
Instead of Danny answering the question though, Ellie cuts him off.
“I’m his love child with the mayor of our town.”
Danny gives her a disgusted look.
“Ellie—”
She looks back at Danny with a shit-eating grin on her face.
Yeah, definitely siblings.
“I love my dads!” she says proudly, her eyes still on Danny.
Danny gives her a deadpan look in response before it changes to a more mischievous one.
“Oh, I’m sure Vlad would love to hear all about how you reclaimed him as a father figure—”
“Oh Ancients, no. Don’t even joke about that” She fake gags at him before turning back to Jason.
“Can I change my answer? I’m his bodyguard” She says, pointing her thumb at Danny.
That makes both Danny and Jason raise an eyebrow at her, though Jason’s can’t be seen through the helmet. They speak up at the same time.
“A bodyguard, huh?”
“No, you’re not, that’s Frighty”
Danny’s statement makes Jason pause and turn to look at him.
He’s got a bodyguard?
Ellie shakes her head happily.
“Nope! I took over the position. My knightly title isn’t just for show, y’know? I earned it fair and square!”
“When did this even happen? And why was I not told?” Danny asks, bewilderment covering his face.
Jason stays silent as he tries to make sense of the conversation.
“About…” Ellie takes a moment to think about it “3 months ago? I think it was when you were dealing with some time chores. And I thought it’d be a nice surprise, so… Surprise!” she exclaims, doing some jazz hands at the end of the sentence.
“What did you even do?”
“I snuck up on him and threw a Fenton Wii remote at his head which knocked him out cold. It counted as a win so I earned the position by right of conquest and gained my knighthood” She says with a shrug.
“Huh… think that would’ve worked for Pariah Dark as well? Would’ve made things so much easier…”
Ellie gives another careless shrug as Danny lets out a small reminiscent sigh. Meanwhile, Jason stands awkwardly to the side.
“Well, either way, I’m proud of you. Do you have a video?”
“Tucker filmed it for me, yeah”
“Nice”
They high-five with grins on their faces. At this point, Jason lets out a small cough which has the Fenton siblings turn around startled and proceed to then give him identical sheepish smiles.
They really look like they could be twins…
“Ah, sorry Red Hood. And again, I’m sorry for Ellie.” Danny says, rubbing the back of his neck with a small blush on his face.
“I’ll take her back home. And uhh… see you next time?”
Jason gives him a smile from under his helmet.
“Sure, if you’re still up for that next date?” Jason trails off with some hope.
His words make Danny’s blush darken.
“Ah uh, yeah! Yeah, of course! The next date! Uhmm, I’ll text you! Or you can text me. That’s fine too!”
Next to him, Ellie rolls her eyes and makes some fake gagging motions. She then grabs Danny by his arm and starts dragging him away.
“Come on, Loverboy. You can and your paramour can flirt later. When I’m not there… and after he’s passed my trials” she says, muttering the latter part low enough that Jason can’t hear. But, judging by the way Danny’s head snaps back to her and how his brows furrow, he did hear.
Just as Jason goes to reply, giving them a thank you and a goodbye of his own, perhaps even an offering to help them get down from the roof, he picks up on movement behind him.
Quickly turning around has him regretting not leaving the rooftop earlier, as he watches the Bats (and birds) land.
Fuck.
---
Taglist:
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm
#dp x dc#dp x dc fic#dpxdc#dcxdp#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#dead on main#dead on main ship#jason realising danny has fangs + pointy ears + has a way to fly + is pretty cold: :0 vampire!#at this rate jason's gonna think he's the bella swan in this story#gonna be living out his main character in a supernatural ya romance novel dreams#the supernatural part for this 'dream' is new but ehh he doesn't mind#big thansk to sami_the_simple on ao3 for the please don't shake the cat line lol#they said something like that in a comment and i loved it#anyway hopefully i'll be able to update some more soon#but in the meantime i hope you enjoy this chapter :)
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los angeles wasn't built in a day
buck/eddie | rated m | chapter 1/5 | 10k (this chapter) | getting together, fake dating (in a sense)
“We’re not going to pretend to be divorced just so Chris can get into a summer camp, Buck,” Eddie says, trying to sound convincing even as he starts to feel his resolution crumbling inside of him.
“Why not?” Buck asks, sounding genuinely baffled, like he can’t understand Eddie’s refusal at all.
And how does Eddie begin to explain the irrationality of his rational denial?
He can’t tell Buck the real reason he can’t go through with it. He can’t tell him without having to reach into his chest, clawing out his heart, setting it down at Buck’s feet still beating, and saying, “Because the only thing worse than loving you knowing I can’t have you would be having to pretend like I didn’t love you enough to keep you with me forever.”
(or the fake ex husbands to fake husbands to husbands fic.)
(read on ao3)
#buddie#buddie fic#911fic#911 fic#911#911 on abc#fics i write#well well well you thought you'd seen the last of me huh?!?#jokes on you cause i am back and worse than ever!!!#this fic has been in the works for almost 2 years now and it's not even finished but i need to push myself to just fucking finish it#so i'm hoping that by posting is as a multi-chaptered story i will both get the inspiration and the motivation to write and post as i go#hope y'all enjoy it babes <3333#fake ex husbands fic
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Ghost in the Machine
Chapter 14 - The Dog
In which there is toast, boardgames and a very good hot chocolate.
#this chapter is huge and damn near killed me#hope you enjoy <3#gitm au#ghost in the machine au#ghost in the machine#dca fandom#fool eclipse#misuta moon#fnaf dca#fnaf daycare attendant#qwillewrites
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Wait hear me out please!!
But imagine being the teachers favorite and having all eight of them surround you like a protective barrier during the hour of Joy. So you don't get hurt and even though their Perpetual grins on their faces slightly (okay well alot) scare the shit out of you, their super sweet and even one of them is kind enough to distract you from the Horrors outside by giving you cute little fun facts about Anatomy and how many blood vessels are in your body!! 😁
Totally didn't get inspired by the one clip where there's like all eight of them chasing that dude lmao
#I had to I have this little idea stuck in my head I hope you all enjoy#miss delight#miss delight x reader#poppy playtime#poppy playtime chapter 3#imagine#scenarios
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Come on, (Dance With Me) by @tigers1o1
Because Gillion Tidestrider was attractive, and an incredible dancer, and Chip had been attending Jack&Jill dances like these for years, and not once had they been paired together. He’d dreamed of it, maybe. Not that it was something he’d ever admit aloud. He’d seen the way Gillion glides across the floor and twirls his partners. There's a sort of effortless energy about him, and it's electric. Chip had simply wanted to dance with the man for months now. Maybe even years, he wasn’t sure.
OR
Chip and Gillion get paired at a dance event, and over the course of a year, Chip learns how fond he is for the domestic sort of life he finds himself settling into with Gillion and his daughter, Pretzel.
Art by @s0up1ta
Beta'd by @justa-moth
Morale: @here-there-be-drag0ns
#submission#we're all genuinely so insane about this au#hope you all enjoy it as much as we have been :)#also more art for this will be released as the chapters are updated teehee#jrwi#jrwi riptide#jrwi fanart#jrwi au#chip jrwi#jrwi chip#gillion tidestrider#jay ferin#pretzel jrwi#jrwi pretzel#jrwibang
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