#it's still a slow burn story
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finally able to write the Yearning from the ROs side finally beating the "nobody likes MC" allegations finally giving MC a break and having the ROs be the ones that are Down Bad this is what it's all about folks
#rambling#Amy is writing chapter 3#it's still a slow burn story#so no marriage on the horizon lol#but it's still nice to sprinkle it in there
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Just some random, stupid idea I had during the middle of the night... so I started scribbling around...
Oh, dear Rey...
"Webtoon" format after the page break (I guess). You choose your fav.
(if the quality feels bad, it's because I started drawing this with a height of 1080 pixels in landscape format *cries*)
I am still debating whether or not to include this in my fanfiction. There are some shots missing, just to illustrate how anxious and hopelessly in love he is. Well, we'll see. I may or may not continue this.
The context? Do you even need it? Spoilers in the hashtags.
#bensolo.exe has stopped working#they are stuck together#for days; no; weeks#on a cold planet#you know where this is going#because we love this trope#is it one of the most popular tropes in this fandom or is my absence from ao3 showing?#slow burn#the costumes still need some work#I'm not there in the story yet#I need more time for that#reylo#fanart#kylo ren#ben solo#rey nobody#pride and prejudice#csp#clip studio paint#comic#sketch
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more art from my gf DeathRay (Grumpy Bear is both our favorite)
She also made her own Care Bear Cousin- Gloomheart Bat! Specifically nocturnal, she's rarely seen by the other cousins with the exception of Brightheart who's also nocturnal.
She stands for the importance of patience, and listening to others without interrupting while they share their feelings.
#Ray and I have like 10 episodes worth of lore for our redesigns#including a season finale lol we're calling it the No Heart arc#the care bear mains each have their own lessons to learn#and the care bear cousins are important to the plot too! same with beastly and shreeky#it includes a slow burn redemption arc for some special someones#grumpy bear and good luck bear have a crucial role in that and so does gloomheart#we have plans for Prof Coldheart and Frostbite too#but I don't have time to write a story for it#maybe I'll share it all in outline word vomit#care bears#grumpy bear#care bear oc#oh yeah good luck bear still has his irish accent obs
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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirty-Three
It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.
However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.
Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F
AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 33
[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] [Part Thirty-Five]
Violins played a lively tune as your and your new husband danced for the first time as a married couple.
Your focus had been intense for the first round of dancing as you were by yourselves in front of the entire wedding luncheon, but luckily by the second other couples were invited to join. Marigold and her husband were the first to come onto the floor, with plenty of others on their heels. You finally felt as if you had the chance to stop watching yourself so closely and perhaps truly look at Dale.
He looked splendid in his navy suit, the gold trimming that would look heavy-handed on others merely looked elegant with how easily he wore it. Despite the dancing—you felt your carefully styled curls, the ones framing your face, starting to lose their sleek definition and could see the evidence of movement whenever they flew in your vision—Dale’s hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Was it silly to hope the cause was something inhuman so that you could feel better about your own inability to maintain such perfect composure?
His black hair was neatly contained by its low tie, a golden ribbon that complimented his suit. His breath was controlled too—deep but not panting as yours was. His hands weren’t sweaty where they held onto you, at your waist and your own hand as the dance instructed. It was leaving you feel rather self-conscious about your appearance.
If he was nervous about the crowd as you were, he’d not shown it. Although perhaps you’d been distracting yourself with anxiety over the crowd so none could build at the way his eyes hadn’t left you, his gaze more intense and focused than usual. You couldn’t afford the liability getting lost in his blue eyes would incur, at least you couldn’t when you were alone with him on the dance floor.
The first couple fast paced dances gave way to slower waltzes and you found your focus drawing tighter and tighter onto Dale and Dale alone. His confident steps, his large hands on you, his strength supporting you. His unwavering gaze—the affection and warm regard you still didn’t quite expect to see on Dale’s face, let alone directed at yourself.
The dance slowed further with no more twists or jumps, no more parting only to come back together for brief seconds. You were pressed against him, your skirts no match for Dale’s competent steps and hold. He wasn’t as warm as he should be, but even that was welcome and spoke to how wonderfully unwavering he felt at the moment. As if nothing could stand against him and win—and you at his side.
He pulled you closer still and you could feel the soft velvet of his jacket brush your cheek before you remember your audience, only enough not to give in to that final indulgence of resting your head on his shoulder, no matter how tempting it seemed.
“Are you enjoying yourself, sana?” Dale murmured, inclining his head closer to be heard over the music.
“Yes,” you replied, not seeing any reason to keep the easy answer to yourself. “I am.” You allowed him to steer the primary dramatic turn this dance has, spinning out and back to be caught in his arms in a move that heightened the intimacy of being held so close by contrasting it with the seconds you were apart. “Are you?”
“Yes,” he answered immediately, re-securing his grip on you. “I’m glad we don’t have to worry so much about managing other dance partners today. I’d prefer to only dance with you.”
“There are more talented dancers out there,” you couldn’t help but point out. You were always worried he had to slow himself down to keep up with you, who got winded so much faster than he did. “Even in here. Why—”
Dale shook his head. “But they aren’t you. You suit me best and I’m enjoying having you all to myself.”
Heat rose in your cheeks as you resisted the urge to hide your face against his chest. It was hard not to follow that line of thinking, let alone rebuff it or tease him back. Not on when he’s your husband. Not when you get him all to yourself tonight. His dancing skills easily morph into what other talents he might have, physically and in how he complements and anticipates you.
You heard your name on his lips, questioning, but teasing. Trying to draw your eyes back to his instead of at his shoulder.
The next murmur of your name is accompanied by a jolt that’s out of place with the dance. Slowly, you realize that Dale isn’t in front of you, but to your side and that you’re sitting down. Sitting down in a carriage.
You blearily blink your eyes open, adjusting easily to the low afternoon light. You are comfortable and warm and so almost immediately close your eyes once more. The cushions of the carriage are plush and Dale is a solid comfort at your side, supporting your head so your neck isn’t even sore—the usual consequence that befell you if you sleep sitting upright. Instead you’re so relaxed you don’t want to move from your spot.
“We’re only a quarter of an hour from our destination,” Dale says, his voice low and quiet. “I thought you might want to be awoken before we arrived.”
“Thank you,” you reply, your hand coming up to your mouth to cover a yawn because he is correct. You’ve no desire to be jolted awake and out of the carriage in a hurry.
While you get your bearings, you see Dale pop the last bit of a pasty into his mouth. Your own mouth floods with saliva, not only because you realize you’re hungry. You get distracted from the thought of sustenance by the sight of Dale licking his fingers clean. You wonder if the privacy the two of you are currently enjoying is why the red of his tongue seems more vibrant and its length seems longer than you remember.
Dale must notice your preoccupation because he gives you a sheepish smile, hiding his teeth and tongue behind soft lips to say, “Help yourself to what remains. I’m afraid that I ate the majority of the offerings.” He reaches forward, careful, you realize, not to jostle his right arm which you’re still clutching to your chest as he picks up the basket. He offers it to you. “I left you the mushroom pasty.”
You reluctantly let go of his hand to accept the offered pasty. You smile at his thoughtfulness: meat would have been far more likely to upset your stomach, especially in a pasty. “Thank you.” You keep your other arm still entwined with his, holding it to your side. It’s nice that it's been warmed from how you’ve been holding it.
Dale makes no effort to reclaim his arm from your possession. Instead he fills the silence with easy conversation as he had been when you must have drifted off. He tells you about the part of the journey you slept through—where there was trouble, which road he noticed should be next on your list for improvements, and how often they stopped to water the horses.
From all this, you gather you’ve made pretty good time. The sun’s only just beginning to set. Dale doesn’t press you to wake up faster or try to get you to contribute more to the conversation. It makes you think of what a morning might be like with Dale, him talking about your plans for the day while you can wake up at your own pace.
Of course you don’t even know if you’ll be sharing chambers or have separate ones—you’d not had the nerve to ask and no one else brought it up. It varied quite a lot among couples to your understanding—noble ones that is.
Sometimes it came down to space if it was possible—certain city houses with their limited space chose to prioritize rooms for entertaining or children over separate master and mistress chambers. Other times it was about practical comfort. Some sleep in the same bed but also maintain separate chambers for dressing and other personal matters.
Callalily swears if she had to sleep in the same room as her husband every night she’d murder him due to the snoring alone. But Asher and his wife never sleep apart. Marigold says it depends on what else is going on, their moods—how hot it is.
You just added this to the list of matters you’ve never had the privacy to discuss with Dale. At least this would be decided to some degree tonight since you would be going to sleep somewhere. Although your nap had refreshed you. And tomorrow, and ideally the rest of the week, you’d be able to sequester yourself away with Dale and talk through everything else while you settle into your new marriage. After everything that happened, you aren’t going to let any more time go by without doing so. It’s tonight that’s still in question.
You take the time while listening and thinking to check your hair and clothes, getting them back in order from being rumbled by your nap. Even these little worries are starting to feel less daunting and more exciting, as you remember your dances, as you sit pressed against Dale in comfort, as you now know you and he are on the same page.
The carriage jolts to a stop, propelling you out of your thoughts and into the present. Dale reluctantly pulls out of your grip and you fight the urge not to let him. To hold on tight instead. No matter how ridiculous it would make leaving the carriage. You are a newly wed couple, surely some amount of foolishness is expected.
Still, it’s clear Dale’s intent on playing up his role as lord and husband, alighting from the carriage to offer his hand to help you down while a footman holds the doors open. Carefully you get to your feet, legs stiff after having been seated for such a long journey.
A small number of servants are lined up awaiting your arrival, including those you know and the ones who must be local to this lodge. You still feel rather sleepy and tired from all the socializing. It’s as if your mouth and mind know no more is officially required of them and so they’ve given up. You let Dale take the lead and had reclaim your hold on his arm as soon as you are able to.
He looks startled but indulgent, which you are more than willing to accept.
You listen and do greet the housekeeper, but otherwise you allow yourself to be taken for the tour without much input or effort. It’s a lovely house, secluded and far smaller than a typical estate, obviously meant for only a few main guests or to be a wayhouse on longer journeys. It’s older, but well maintained. The traditional style is why the servants are housed separately.
You feel as though the first floor tour goes by fast, but you start to feel some alertness, some anticipation, start to edge out the sleepy contentment that’d been lapping at your veins, when you go upstairs. It has well furnished studies, including a detailed map of the grounds the housekeeper goes over with you, in case you wish to ride or hunt. She doesn’t spend too long on it though, a twinkle in her eyes that makes you more self-conscious of your newly married status even more than some of the jokes made at the wedding luncheon.
The fact that she goes next to the bedrooms does not help you regain hold of your composure. She opens a door down the hall and allows you and Dale to enter first. “Here is the mistress’s room,” the housekeeper informs you. “Given the size of the house, the traditional dressing and sleeping rooms are combined.”
“They’re very nice,” you say for lack of anything better coming to mind. Your heart sank when she opened the door. You’d been hoping for a combined suite as it would take care of some of the awkwardness. Although perhaps it is only you who feels that way. Dale certainly is showing nothing of the sort. He’s only spoken with the housekeeper during the entire tour, though he’s glanced at you at times.
Now he just nods, allowing you to take the lead as she shows you the various accommodations and where certain trunks of yours had been placed. Dale’s focus is entirely on you and you can nearly feel his scrutiny like a tangible thing. It’s enough to let you know not to meet his eyes or you’ll become ensnared by his gaze, as you always do when he gets like this.
As it is, you manage to make all the appropriate affirmative noises and agreements, answering the housekeeper’s minimal questions. Before you know it she’s shown you the entire room. Just as you’re wondering what will happen next—will you stay here or follow her and Dale to his chambers—when she puts a hand on a door you realize she’s not opened.
“Your shared sitting room is through here,” she explains, opening said door and leading the way through to a very nice, spacious sitting room. You listen with one ear to her talk of the furnishings and history but your focus is on the door opposite the one you came through.
The housekeep doesn’t spend too much time here before she’s saying. “… and finally, the master’s chamber.”
She gave a similar tour of his rooms while you try not to overthink your grip on his arm nor stare at the bed, with its fresh and luxurious looking bed linens. The sheets are white but the covers are blue. You don’t know why you’re fixated on such inconsequential details. Maybe they’re just the most innocent aspects of the bed you can distract yourself with.
The housekeeper is briefer with her explanation for this room as it’s a mirror of the mistress’ chambers. Soon enough she guides you both back to the sitting room to wrap up. “Would you like anything, my lord, my lady? Vitals to keep up your health, preparing the beds, your body servants?”
You look up at Dale, who, as he sometimes does, seems taller than he had even back in the carriage. Since you just had some food in the carriage, you are satisfied. He’s the one with the big appetite.
He smiles down at you before looking back at the housekeeper. “We ate before arrival and on our journey. Tomorrow morning will be sufficient.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“It has been such a long day,” Dale continues. “I believe we’ll retire for the evening. Tell Mr. Murray I will send for him in the morning, if need be.”
“Please do send Miss Adir to me,” you ask, knowing your dress is harder to get out of than Dale’s attire. Perhaps on a more ordinary day you’d be able to manage on your own, but for tonight with such a fancy gown, you need the help. If you were sharing a room, perhaps you might have asked Dale, but as it stands now, you haven’t the courage to ask–especially not in front of the housekeeper.
“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper leaves to fetch your maid while you and Dale stay behind in the sitting room.
“It’s a charming house,” you say, feeling the need to fill the silence in a manner you haven’t since you’ve woken up.
“Indeed. How are you feeling?” Dale asks, a little more nervous and a little more sincere now that you’re alone together. “Still tired from the journey?”
You shake your head. “No, I feel rather rejuvenated from my nap.” You shift where you stand as you resist the urge to fuss with your dress—it had dug in in certain places while you slept and is far past beginning to feel uncomfortable. The lace in particular at your neck is becoming itchy.
“But you wish to change,” Dale guesses.
“Yes.”
“Of course, I agree,” Dale says and shifts his shoulders in his jacket. “Would you like to join me in my room when you’ve refreshed?”
“Yes,” you reply, eyes on the door where Miss Adir is entering. “I shall rejoin you shortly.”
Dale nods, his expression polite, but his eyes stormy. Not that you can ever truly tell what his eyes are telling you–all the signs to read are off for him. You’ll need time to study him better. Which you now have because he’s your husband. You’ve no notion of his experience, but perhaps he’s nervous about everything as well. Or maybe there are additional considerations for tonight given his nature you can’t even fathom.
You turn and head for your rooms, not enjoying how performative everything is starting to feel, especially with another person present.
Miss Adir quietly chatters about her trip. She points out where certain of your items were put away and what is still packed while she helps you out of your overgown and skirts.
You make affirmative noises and give quiet answers to her questions about your own trip. Soon enough, you’re left in your shift alone. “Thank you, Miss Adir. That will be all for tonight.”
“Of course.” Miss Adir looks as if she would like to say something further but instead she just curtsies. “Good night, my lady.”
You finger the wine colored silk ribbon that is woven into the lace trim on your chemise while you listen for the door to shut, occupying yourself with brushing your hands along the skirt to ensure it falls correctly. Even after you’re alone, you waste more time, fussing with your hair and clothes until you can delay no longer.
Once it’s making you more tense to stay here, delaying, you leave your chambers, cross the sitting room, and walk through Dale’s open door.
You shut it quietly behind you, eyes searching for Dale. You frown at the sight of him, only his jacket removed and his waistcoat unbuttoned, sitting on the corner of his bed. He looks still remarkably dressed, as you might find him in his private study. Not how you’d expect to see him in his bed chambers on the night of your wedding. “Dale?”
Dale looks up and stares at you like he’s never seen you before despite the fact that he also looks as if he’s waiting for you. He blinks and gets to his feet. Your eyes dart to the lamp on the wall—it's not really dark enough to need one, but the shadows guttered with his movement in a manner that betrayed his nerves. When your eyes go back to his, he looks chagrined and the shadows still. “Apologies.”
You’re not sure what to say since you feel so throw off your own expectations. He’s acting as if there are still more secrets to spill and it’s got your nerves twanging. “It’s fine. Is everything alright?” Dale doesn’t look nervous as a person might on their wedding night. He looks nervous like a man on trial would.
“Yes, of course,” he replies. “Would you like to take a seat?”
“I…sure.” You hesitantly walk over to where he’s gesturing and seat yourself on the corner of the bed. “Yes.”
He paces in front of you and just as you’re about to ask again about what might have happened since you left him less than half an hour ago, he says, “So… I suppose you want to talk.”
He puts a lot of emphasis on “talk” that you don’t completely understand. You blink and repeat slowly, “Talk?”
“Yes, since you know I haven’t always been Dale and that I am a demon,” Dale elaborates. You still feel some surprise at him finally speaking plainly after so long of talking around the subject even after this morning. “I expect you have a lot of questions.”
“Oh!” You’d expected to ask such things tomorrow, not tonight. Not on your wedding night. It's obvious now that Dale’s given no thought to traditional wedding night activities. He’s obviously as focused on reassuring you as he had been back in his study. And you want to know more. You want to know everything, of course you do. You’d only thought…but no. He’s right. “I mean, I do.” Best to resolve all this now so he can start to trust in your acceptance. Best to get it all out in the open, in your new privacy, before something else got in the way. “Yes.”
“Well, we finally have some privacy,” Dale says, echoing your own thoughts so closely you almost smile, “and I don’t want you to be nervous or unsure about me.”
“I am sure of you,” you feel the need to say. You stand up because while you’d had other ideas for tonight, reassuring your husband you trust him certainly seems more important. “However, honest conversation is never bad and is overdue. I’ll brew some tea.”
Still, it’s harder than you think to swallow your disappointment. You take advantage of the distraction and familiarity preparing tea provides–the way it allows you to look away from and ensure your face isn’t giving away your chagrin.
Of course Dale would value a conversation about his nature and his experiences and clarifying with you over something so, so human. He’d said something about a mate, but who knew what that truly meant to him. You had no real idea if demons even had sex. He must know what humans did on their wedding nights, but it's clearly not on his mind now.
He pauses every now and then in his circuit of the room to hover a bit over you and the tea table, before backing off in a manner that makes it clear he’s not sure of his welcome still.
But what about that kiss? You mind wonders with some frustration. Was that just something he thought humans did? Did he think it was expected and complied, but hadn’t truly want to? Or maybe he simply didn’t care about this sort of physical affection? You begin to feel rather shallow and base in your preoccupation.
As you finally pour the tea into a cup for each of you, you tell yourself that you can only manage one thing at a time. For now, your focus has to be on understanding Dale and what he wants. You can figure the rest out later. He’s your husband now. You’ve got plenty of time.
You sit back down on the bed, cup clutched in your hand, while Dale takes his gratefully. To your mounting disappointment, he sits at the vanity instead of next to you.
“So,” he says, after a sip of tea, “where would you like to begin?”
[Part Thirty-Four]
#my writing#story part#story: nothing's wrong with dale#nothing's wrong with dale#monster romance#terato#exophilia#osha compliant#monster bf#arranged marriage#slow burn#reader#life got super busy and then i think i was sick this past weekend#at the very least i felt shitty and slept through most of it#but i'm better now and work is still a lot#but we're getting through it#anyway#you all wanted them to talk right?#thats what everyone's been waiting#the talking#nothing more important on the wedding night than a lore dump#sana's the only one who was thirsty af#right?
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[CLONE HIGH: BURNT BEACH AU]
Burnt Beach is a JFKonfucius-centric Clone High AU fanfiction that takes place directly after the ending of S3. The story follows a burn-scarred and traumatized Confucius who unexplainably survived the tragedy. To be his main source of comfort and support is not the person he thought it would be... Some aspects of this fic, such as the chapter titles, are vaguely inspired by The First Glass Beach Album. More info in tags. Click below to start reading!
CLICK HERE
#clone high burnt beach au#clone high#clone high au#jfkonfucius#slow burn#angst#fluff#self-indulgent#script style#not very faithful to the unserious nature of source media#but i still try to make it consistent with the established story#internalized homophobia#will get kinda dark at times#teenage drama#if you want an update out faster attention is a great motivator so leave ur thoughts or something LOL#JFK is a major character here so suggestive jokes and language are inevitable but it never goes in depth cuz thats uncomfortable 4 me#bromance#portrayal of self-sabotaging symptoms of mental illness#fanart will make me extremely joyous and crazy
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Meanwhile, Xavier, Rafayel, & Zayne: I'm sensing a disturbance...
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#lnds spoilers#i am sorry but this is funny to me how physical mc has been with sylus in just two chapters#(he had her on his lap in one of their first encounters)#(she's been in his bedroom while he was showering)#(she's seen nearly all of him)#and meanwhile the other three we're still nowhere near an actual relationship in the main story#the other three feels like a slow burn#if they knew what's been happening with mc and sylus their brains will explode#(and um mc's k1nky dream 😭)#(pls girlie's been so unhinged lately i love her so much)
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People have chastised me for not getting the main couple together in a fic I wrote by chapter seven when it's over thirty chapters long.
I have been reading the same WrightWorth fan fic for four. days. and there has been absolutely no smooching whatsoever outside of a single dream sequence.
There is slow burn, and then there's making me feel like I'm in Boston on January 15, 1919!
#i have sunk so much time into reading this that if they don't get to smooching before the unfinished final part of this story i might cry#this is not an actual complaint fyi i wouldn't still be reading this if i wasn't also enjoying it#wrightworth#fan fiction#narumitsu#slow burn#obviously i have not been reading this nonstop for four days#but i have had more time than usual to read because i was on vacation and/or traveling#this is a reaaaaallllllly long fic
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i absolutely eat it UP that one of the reasons wwx is so hesitant to believe lwj has feelings for him is that he can't tell if lwj treats him with so much goodness and kindness because he's simply that good of a person or if there's ~something more to it~
and!! here's what gets me: he's 100% right to question that. because from all we know, lan wangji would still have protected and done everything he did even if he wasn't in love with wwx. it all comes down to his beliefs, and standing up to them by protecting him. wwx is afraid to jump to conclusions because his fears are genuinely very well based!
#seriously take a shot everytime wwx muses about how good of a person lwj is#even at their worst moments wwx still held a tremendous amount of respect for him#he's under the belief that lwj is doing this not bc he's in love but because he believes in him#and he's not wrong! lwj's love isnt shown through the grand gestures! but through the small quiet ones#would lwj still protect wwx if he didn't have feelings for him? yes#would lwj have drank alcohol and eaten spicy food and kept the rabbits he gave him? nope#and wwx slowly comes to realize this!! it just takes him time and getting to know lwj better!!!#AND IT'S SO GOOD AUGHHHH i just love their love story#i love the grandiose acts among the many quiet ''i love you's''#anyways y'all know it already but this is a ''wwx is oblivious to lwj's feelings'' hatehouse#he's not oblivious fandom just hates a well written slow-burn love story#modao#lace speaks
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saw a post questioning shipping Senua and Thórgestr and started to reblog it with a tag novel-- felt weird about doing that since this is lengthy and potentially derailing, so making my own post instead. Spitballing under the cut:
First off, any time someone is like, "the real reason people ship this is because they find the dude attractive," this is SO funny to me as someone who doesn't find men attractive IRL and has fiercely loved Senua since I played the first game, like-- actually I find the dynamic between those two characters to be compelling and interesting precisely because of all the baggage between them re: their backgrounds, the rough (put mildly!) beginning of their relationship, all the things they don't talk about, and them finding a common enemy/common ground to work with. The explicit parallels between them stated in-game scratched an itch in my brain. The minute they pointed out the dark rot on his arm, it was like, "oh! hello there! NOW I'm interested in whatever your whole deal is" for me. Also, idk man, I too would follow Senua around after she knocked me into the dirt and then showed me a way to fight the giants that I very much wanted to fight instead of appease.
The idea that Thórgestr was part of the Orkney Raid that killed and mutilated Dillion is VERY interesting food for thought, even if I don't personally have that headcanon (surely there are more viking raiding groups than just the Bjorg). I think the Furies or the Shadow said something similar about Fargrimr (his kin murdered yours, you shouldn't save him, etc.) so I completely get that line of thought, but I think the game left it ambiguous enough that it's up for interpretation. Would I read fic with that premise? Yeah, I'd check that out. Could Senua forgive Thorgestr if his people were involved? Sounds fun to explore.
If (ha, when?) I write fic, I'd have to think more about it especially wrt timelines, like when did the Bjorg start specifically raiding for slaves for giant food sacrifices vs. killing people for resources and wealth? How far off are we from the old gods "dying" and the volcano erupting? Was it indeed a different group of raiders who made a deal with Zynbel, attacked Senua's home, and made the sacrifice at that time to Hela?
At the very least, I think there's a time jump between the end of Hellblade I and the beginning of Hellblade II since Senua wasn't alone on that slave ship and at least one of the (brief) survivors knew her by name. I wouldn't mind exploring that gap of time, too.
In any case I do agree that it would take a VERY long time for Senua to consciously catch feelings for anyone let alone Thorgestr with all their collective baggage. The idea of them having a relationship beyond friendship in the far off future of an AU where he survives is the only one that can make sense in my brain, personally. It would take time! Time they didn't get in the game! But I think there are a lot of different roads that could take, and some of them might be healthier than others. Shipping them certainly isn't forgetting or excusing what happened to Dillion-- or even mutually exclusive from still shipping Senua and Dillion. Or, frankly, also shipping Senua and Astridr, because I can see that ship too.
One of the nice things about all the details Ninja Theory didn't expand upon and that they left that ending so open is that the sky's the limit. I'm VERY interested in seeing fandom tackle this game as we get farther from the initial release.
#kate plays hellblade#senua x thorgestr#a friend did laugh at me recently and say there's always a weird guy i latch onto and i laughed back and said i'm a boy in my brain#i think i've felt that way forever and it's still true. i DO gravitate toward male characters#especially ones who are a bit starry-eyed over their female counterparts#anyway that's not what this post is about#it's more of me throwing thoughts out into the ether because i don't have the energy or time to write fic yet#but i am Thinking About It#what happens after the story left off? what if we changed ONE THING and gave them more time#i stopped using accent marks midway through this sorry i'm typing on a computer. my phone would catch them but alas.#i can't remember my video games tag#senua#thorgestr#hellblade#senua's saga#i'm really just excited to talk fannish things about this one#the first game was so neat and tied up that i felt no fannish inclinations beyond loving the game#but there's SO MUCH ROOM HERE with this second one#delightful#i'll read all the AUs even the sad ones#when it comes to thorgestr and senua i think thorgestr fell first and pretty hard but he doesn't talk about it until senua starts opening u#i really think those two are made for a glacially slow burn#maybe not if she becomes the tyrant seer. loved and feared.#could be quick and very unhealthy. ALSO compelling to me!#senua's saga spoilers#to be safe#these tags are about as long as the post. i'd better quit while i'm ahead.#hertan writing tag
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anyone else notice that bertie becomes a bit more assertive in mid series 3?
(series 3, episode 6 • “comrade bingo”)
#he still gets talked into doing all kinds of insane things#but you get what i mean#i have a headcanon explaining why#and by god i’ll write a fic#eventually#said headcanon involves new york and gay awakenings and a slow burn not actually unrequited love story#hugh laurie#jeeves and wooster#jooster#to boost:#house md#hilson#starlightseraph’s brainrot
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amy please I'm beggin you, who said that in that sneak peek?????
I have a important test tomorrow, I can't be distracted thinking of who said that 😭😭😭
guess you’ll just have to wait and see! hehe that's honestly not the most romantic thing I've written in part 2 (to me) Amy is finally writing #real romance lesssgooooo
#inbox#obviously the ROs aren't going to profess their love come chapter 3#we still like slow burn babey#but it's still nice to actually dive in to the story yeah yeah yeah
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Slow burn except I’m extremely impatient so they get together in like 4 chapters
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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Nine
It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.
However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.
Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F
AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 29
[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]
It’s finally arrived: the morning of your wedding.
Only three hours from now. You’ve rehearsed and made all the decisions and socialized with what feels like everyone in the country and several outside of it. You’ll finish getting dressed over the next hour or so, finalize any last minute arrangements and handle any day-of problems with Grandmother or the Steward, and then the wedding ceremony will occur. After that, there will be the final signing of papers for the legal offices. The wedding luncheon will take up several hours, but you’ll be the first expected to leave for once. While your guests continue to socialize, you, Dale, and a small number of servants ride off.
You’re headed for an old hunting lodge a couple hours away. It’s a traditional destination for all Northridge newly married couples, with a separate house for the servants therefore privacy for the new couple. Some only spent a single night there, heading on to more distant destinations, but you and Dale shall spend at least a week there. After you’ll continue on to Riverton, the closest city in Northridge to the hunting lodge, to start your tour of the fief.
A strangely nervous excitement fills you with both anticipation and trepidation. There has been so much build-up to today that it feels surreal to have finally arrived. There will be the days after today where you and Dale will finally have unbridled privacy to talk openly. You are worried about what he might reveal, but if these last few weeks have taught you anything, it’s that not knowing is far, far worse. You cannot help but look forward to the absence of other people you must socialize and make conversation with. There will be no more focus and attention on you which is something you need desperately.
Your family will no longer be constantly around. They’ve been well enough behaved, to be sure, and Callalily has not brought up any further concerns. Your other siblings give no hint that she might have spoken with them on such matters, which you are grateful for. You’re also grateful that Dale has stuck closer to you these past few nights than he had previously. Some of his friends even were carefully integrated into the Northridge and Portsmith conversations with ease, although you did notice a certain few who remained on the other side of the room. Wilhelm was among them. He did apologize to you directly the next day, once he’d gotten over his hangover. He’d been profoundly embarrassed, admitting he’d no true memory of the night.
Dale was still a bit odd, often lost in thought. He maintained a cheerful enough disposition that you don’t think anyone else noticed. His control seemed to have been reasserted as you’ve noticed no suggestions to his true nature in the slightest, which allowed you to relax as well. You know you will both be far less stressed once this fuss is all behind you.
Brisk hands with a plush towel drying your hair pull you out of your thoughts. Freshly clean from a bath, your maid is getting ready to style your hair. Behind you in your dressing room other maids are pressing your clothing and packing your bags for the trip ahead. You’re enjoying the quiet atmosphere as they chat. It helps that everything’s already been decided so no one has to speak with you. You’ve been purposely avoiding thinking about the wedding ceremony itself—even more than all the galas, everyone’s attention will be on you and Dale. It's rather terrifying. You need every second you have to yourself to try to reach some sort of calm.
So far, you're dressed in your lovely wedding chemise, a gift from Marigold, and you distract yourself to admire it in the mirror. The lacework is finer and more intricate than any you’d seen on such a garment with a lovely ribbon of maroon woven through the hem. Marigold insisted that these decorations were a trend among certain nobility, shirts and shifts alike, for special occasions and the like. You had been touched when it arrived near a month ago. You feel retroactively guilty for the mild suspicion you’d pessimistically attributed to her intentions. You’d been both flattered and anxious about being condensed to, as if you were too young or naive to have known of the fad yourself, which of course you had not.
Now you believe she had merely wanted to give you a present and share her more intimate knowledge of fashion trends, with no slight intended. It is her gift to you for the wedding and you greatly appreciate it. Douglas has given you a fine horse and Asher a handwritten booklet, with tips and advice from what he remembers learning as he began to run your home fief. Not to play favorites, but you’ve already begun reading Asher’s, even if the mare is lovely.
No sooner had your mind turned to Callalily’s gift, than there was a knock on the door. Miss Adir opens it to admit Callalily and her maid, who she’s lending to you for styling your hair for the wedding. She has also given you a wonderful book on herbs and medicine, which you didn’t have the heart to tell her was one you’d read before. You remind yourself that it is a more recent edition than the one you’d used in school and that it is nice to have your own copy.
Callalily elects to stay in the room, her outfit and hair already fully taken care of for the day, and lounges on one of your dressing room chairs. “Where is your dress?”
“With the laundress, my lady,” Miss Adir tells her at your questioning look. “They are steaming it. Your underskirts as well. Your stays are ready, if you’d like me to lace them up before we start on the rest of your hair.”
You roll your shoulders as you eye the stays on the rack nearby. They’re freshly cleaned because, unlike your underskirts, you’ve not worn them recently. Your eyes dart to your bed where the stays you’ve been wearing lay. They’ve been cleaned this week, but not yesterday and they’re different enough due to the busk knife sheath that the dress might sit oddly over them given the way they’ve been made.
Reading your look, Miss Adir offers, “We can still switch to the other stays my lady.”
“No, no,” you shake your head. You’ve practically worn no other stays without the sheath knife since the attack, but you know it's foolish. It’s not as though you’ve been alone since then where you would need to rely on it. Still, it’s made you feel safer to have it there. But it’s not as though someone would try to strike you during the ceremony or wedding luncheon and you’ll be with Dale after. “The dress was made with that one in mind,” you state as confidently as you can, “No matter my reluctance.”
“Why are you tempted by this other pair of stays?” Callalily asks, glancing over the assorted freshly laundered undergarments. “Surely they cannot be so different.”
“Oh, they are the ones you gifted to me,” you say, not sure how exactly to broach the subject without worrying her. She’s the one who gave them to you for a purpose. As a diplomat, she’s the sibling most involved in politics—of multiple countries no less. She’s had to deal with her own fair share of such attacks, but you don’t think she ever truly expected you to need to rely on her gift for its intended purpose. “I’d meant to thank you again for them.”
“You did?” Callalily raises an eyebrow at that.
“Yes,” you admit, eyes darting to the maid with her back to you as she packs clothes into your trunks and avoiding Miss Adir’s gaze. You select your words carefully, “I had cause to make use of their unique construction and am very grateful for the gift.”
You watch in the mirror as Callalily’s maid braids your damp hair. Her eyes widen as she pares your allusion. “You… did,” she says slowly, sitting straighter in her chair as she fully absorbs what you're saying. “When? Are you alright?”
“I am fine,” you reply just as carefully. Callalily’s eyes are insistent as she stares at you and you reluctantly elaborate, “There was an incident two weeks or so ago.” That at least is easy enough to tell her. Your mother’s penchant for specific coded language comes in handy. “Incident” means an attack on the family without serious injury or death, for you. It also indicates a private attack otherwise it would have been a ‘commotion’. Neither you, Dale, nor Grandmother were injured enough for a “disturbance” and since Dale took care of the assassins it's not “ongoing”. “The matter has been settled personally by Lord Dale, for now.”
“Two weeks—” Callalily starts to press before she cuts herself off. Her eyes are critical on your form in the mirror. You can see her take note that you have no visible injuries. You’ve no injuries hidden either—all bruising has since resolved. “I see.” You’ve never seen her at such a loss until the other day and to have it happen twice is nothing short of a miracle. She resettles herself in the chair and says, “Well, I’m very glad you had the stays then.” The sincerity in her voice makes you smile. “I can provide you the name of the maker, in case you should like to order more.”
Your smile widens at her offer. You’d asked one of the seamstresses to look into just such a thing, but it would be far easier with her help. “Thank you.”
She can’t seem to stop herself from questioning further, saying, “Did you have occasion to do more than…?” Something in your expression must answer her incomplete question for her. She stands up from the chair and walks over to the stays, pulling out the entire busk sheath.“I see. Then I am grateful indeed that you had this. I can provide a cord and show you how else to wear it, if you’d prefer.”
“Yes, please,” you reply, already feeling more settled at her suggestion. Callalily murmurs to a maid instructions for what to get from her rooms.
Only a few minutes later, the maid returns with the necessary supplies and Marigold in tow. “Apologies for my delay,” Marigold says as she quickly takes Callalily’s place on her chair. “It was more difficult than I expected make my way here without notice or accompaniment.”
Before you can question what she means by that, you’re distracted by Callalily’s maid needing to pin up your braids and set your curls. You do catch a look Callalily and Marigold share and wonder what it could mean as Miss Adir laces up your stays. When two of the maids, including Miss Adir, leave for the laundry room, you are unsurprised when Callalily sends her maid on an errand for some jewelry she’s decided to lend to you.
The final maid has finished with the fireplace and correctly reads the room, taking her leave. You eye your sisters in the mirror and ask, “What is it you wish to discuss?” Marigold tries to adopt an innocent expression, but Callalily doesn’t. She smirks as she inspects the dresses that haven’t been packed yet.
“Mother and Father wanted to be the one to speak with you,” Marigold says, as if she is reassuring you of something. Your eyebrows raise at that and she continues, “but we decided to do so instead.”
You lean back against your vanity in your chemise and stays. You don’t think there is bad news they are wishing to impart or truly news at all. However, you’re not sure what else they would need to tell you in private and in this manner. “What did they wish to speak about?”
Marigold looks extremely amused as Callalily answers, “The wedding night.”
“Oh.” You frown, wondering why they’d want to discuss tonight’s accommodations. As family of the bride, you expect them to stay on the Northridge estate for another week even as other guests might begin to leave as early as tomorrow, depending on how long the gala lasts today. Then something in Marigold’s smirk sparks a connection in your mind. “Oh!” You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you try very hard not to seem too awkward or naive.
They mean your wedding night. Tonight. With Dale. Then you remember the rest of what they said and feel an embarrassed panic fill your veins at the thought of having to discuss anything along those lines with your parents. “By the light, please no.” You’ve no true desire to discuss this with your sisters, although part of you is curious about their general experience as both are married, but your parents? No.
“I did not escape their talk and neither did Asher,” Callalily explains, a teasing twinkle in her eye, “but we were able to save Marigold.”
“And so we shall save you,” Marigold proclaims magnanimously.
Your mind races, not having expected any of them to want to discuss physical affection with you, even in preparation of tonight. You know that is the purpose of a wedding trip, everyone does, but it feels far too personal somehow to discuss anything detailed with them. You hadn’t felt nearly this uncomfortable when you’d have these facts explained to you in the first place. “We already had lessons! In school!” you protest when it becomes clear that by “save” they mean to still speak with you themselves. “Did you not?”
“We did,” Callalily confirms. Her teasing demeanor softens in the face of your discomfort and she explains further, “But Mother in particular still wanted to provide, ehm, additional context and opportunity to ask questions.”
“It’s genuinely rather sweet—in theory,” Marigold says. She’s not wrong exactly, on some level you appreciate the offer, but a larger part of you has never divulged personal information of this nature to anyone in your family or the reverse and you are perfectly content for it to stay that way.
“Yes well,” Callaliy’s voice is exceedingly dry. “I did not need to know anything about their wedding night or continued marital bliss.”
“Please stop,” you say weakly.
“We meant to speak with you far sooner,” Marigold clarifies, “but since we arrived late and with how busy everything was, we were not able to until now.”
“We apologize,” Callalily says, but she continues talking, “but truly, do you have any questions?”
“Or concerns?” Marigold leans in, eyes intent. “Have you—”
“No, of course not,” you reply before you can help yourself. Having a child outside of marriage for a noble was considered a societal taboo of the highest level. It’s seen as diluting your bloodline, evidence of careless stupidity, and disrespectful to nearly everyone involved. Those who did so and were found out were often ostracized from noble society, along with their family. The risk of such an outcome was impressed upon you and the other students–not to mention by your parents. As you knew you’d have a challenging time earning a betrothal as it was, you’d never considered doing so. Not to mention you’ve had enough health concerns and medicine in your body that you’d not wanted to take any chances with certain contraception methods.
But your sisters wouldn’t have had all those concerns. You also knew that it was somewhat common to preempt your wedding vows with your fiance in the weeks before the wedding. Everyone knew that first-borns tended to be born early, which means everyone knew that some did wait for the wedding night, if they felt their marriage was guaranteed strongly enough for that risk. With eyes wide you ask, “Had you?”
“I did not and neither did Asher,” Callalily sniffs in such a pointed manner that you turn to Marigold somewhat incredulously.
“I did,” Marigold confesses boldly. You knew she was always more willing to go against convention, but you’re still surprised. “It is not such a travesty or such a danger and I’m glad for the experience. It seemed ill-advised to me to wait until the wedding night.” You want to ask if she slept with her future husband or someone else. You want to ask how she kept the risk of a child out of wedlock low. Perhaps you will ask later as she does not have any children to this day, but you can’t make yourself ask right now.
You’d purposely not been thinking in too much detail about tonight, let alone engaging in such activity earlier. First, that had been due to who Dale was and then you’d been preoccupied with everything else this Dale is. Now they’re making it hard not to worry. What experience does this Dale have? What does he expect from you? Is what Marigold did far more common than you thought?
Marigold’s eyes narrow as she asks, “Have you had any experience with lust at all?”
You resist the urge to cross your arms defensively in front of yourself before saying, “Yes, some. Nothing—” you swallow as you try not to sound too defensive or accusatory after what Marigold confessed, “nothing as you seem to have experienced, but more than a kiss, if that is what you are asking.”
“Truly?” Marigold seems genuinely taken aback. You don’t know whether to feel offended she thought you too naive or unwanted to have done so or pleased you’ve managed to surprise her. “When? With who?”
“Does it matter?” you ask, the heat rushing to your face at the memories. You know peasants and other classmates and clearly Marigold herself had more experience than you managed to have. Both of Callalily and Marigold were married so they had far more by now too. You’re sure they’ll view your paltry experience as quite innocent.
“No one took advantage of you, did they?” Callalily’s expression is intent, her hand subconsciously drifting towards her sword as she reads the discomfort in your body language.
“No, of course not,” you reply quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “Just some games at school, in the dormitory.” Dormitories at your school were for four girls in a room, but some nights, more would sneak out after stealing something from the kitchens and all gather together. You’d never been invited to one in another room, but you’d joined in the one or two times everyone had gathered in your own rooms. Nadine’s brother would sometimes send her packages with liquor harder than the watered down wine you’d have with dinner that she would share with the others. Many of the games were silly but some turned to romance and kissing in addition to other daring challenges.
“Oh,” Callalily blinked in surprise before smiling, “Yes, we used to participate in such games. Many of my classmates enjoyed professing it as ‘practice’ without too much unnecessary risk.”
“That is not all, is it?” Marigold says shrewdly, her eyes intent on you.
You jut out your chin stubbornly because she’s correct. “No, I… There was one Spring Equinox festival, soon after graduation.” At their looks of mild confusion, no doubt remembering the family dinners and boring sacred ceremonies, you reluctantly expand further. “One I went to with my maid.” They frown in confusion. “As her cousin.” Their eyebrows raise at that reveal, remembering how different those festivals were from the more staid affairs your parents would host. “In the Garden district.”
Your home city, not the country estate, is where you’d attended this particular festival. That is why you had been able to pretend to be Martina’s cousin—everyone would have recognized you back on the estate, or at least know you weren’t Martina’s cousin, but not in the city. She’d help you dress and coached you on how to talk and act. She had said she wanted you to experience more life than you had received. Your quiet nature had easily fed into the idea of you being her country cousin with no experience in the large city. It had been one of, if not the best nights of your life. You’ve never talked to anyone about it besides Martina.
“You did what?!” Callalily exclaims.
Marigold grins. “I did not think you had it within you to do such a thing. Wonderful! That sounds like a marvelous time.”
“With how much everyone drinks?” Callalily says, still looking shocked. “Especially in the Garden district. Their liquors are dangerous!”
She isn’t wrong. They made delicious drinks without burn or foul taste which could easily lead to someone overindulging. Your contribution of coin had been carefully managed to acquire enough equally delicious street food. Besides, Martina is a good friend and you’ll not let them think she was careless with your well being. “M-She looked out for me. There was no lasting harm from that night. Nothing dangerous happened.” You can’t help but say, “I just wanted to enjoy myself as a real person for once.”
“Oh, honey,” Marigold says.
“I know that you—” Callalily tries to say, obviously not recalling enough from your previous conversation.
“Do you? You do not know,” you say sharply, the words coming easier this time. “And you all insist I must have slept through the first decade and a half of my life, but I did not. I was merely trapped in those rooms, listening to faint music from below, forbidden by Mother and my own body from—” You cut yourself off in a frustrated huff. But once again, at least they’re listening. You try to keep your voice steady so as not to feel like a child complaining about not receiving enough sweets. “It was like I was a doll, put up on a shelf, who could do nothing without another’s permission and manipulation. It was painful, the life all around me that I could not participate in.” You swallow, looking away from them and the pity you knew must be in your eyes. “So if, when I was an adult who could truly live,” you told the floor, “I wanted to drink and pretend to be someone else for the night and, and kiss someone in a barn,” you look back up at them, “then so be it!”
Silence fills the room as you breathe heavily, not having meant to say so much in such a short period of time. Then Marigold throws her arms around you in a fierce hug and Callalily soon joins hers. “My apologies,” Callalily murmurs, “I do not mean to presume so much. I had thought myself better than that.”
“I’d have gone mad, stuck in such a manner,” Marigold confesses. You don’t think saying that it felt like you had for a time would be appreciated but you’re grateful for the acknowledgment. “It was easier to believe you’d slept through it all than think of you in pain the whole time. I’m so happy that you’re here now and that you’ve done all you can to enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, precisely,” Callalily agrees before backing off to give you some space.
Marigold gives you an extra squeeze before she pulls back enough to tease, “How was the barn lad?”
You laugh even as you discretely dab at your eyes and take a sip from the water Callalily’s brought for you. “Sweet, he was a carpenter’s apprentice.” He’d been strong and confident—settled in a way that had greatly attracted you. You’d needed some air after how hot and tightly packed the tavern had gotten and he’d asked to come with you. The memory is still tinted with a pleasant haze. “We were interrupted by the maid who brought me before anything aside from his shirt—” You cut yourself off, rather embarrassed and wanting to keep some of that night to yourself.
Marigold giggles.
Callalily nods and finally stops looking as though she plans to call the guards to find Martina and take her to task. “It’s probably for the best,” she ends up saying. “Barns are not near as romantic as one might hope when it comes to anything that requires the actual removal of clothing.”
“Callalily!”
“My husband misses me when we travel apart,” she says airly. “We cannot wait at times.”
Marigold scrunches up her face. “I’m not sure I required that information.”
“I could instead tell you of Mother’s—” Callalily begins.
“No!” you and Marigold interrupt her at the same time.
Callalily rolls her eyes but seems intent upon bringing the conversation back to where it originally started. “If you do not wish to have further discussion, or you do not have any questions, that is fine. I would like to impress upon you that communication is the heart of a marriage, in all aspects including matters of physical affection.”
“Encourage what you enjoy, put a halt to anything you dislike,” Marigold adds, more serious than she’s been on the subject so far. “As well as listen to him for the same.”
“It should be an enjoyable night,” Callalily says definitively, “and if either of you are not enjoying yourselves, talk to each other. There is always the next night.”
“Do you believe he would pressure you?” Marigold asks with a frown. “Some are very insistent regarding the manner in which a wedding night should progress.”
You shake your head before she’s even finished asking. “No, I don’t. Dale listens to me.” Original Dale would have had expectations and perhaps this Dale does too, but you’ve never received that impression from him. If anything, you’re beginning to wonder if he’ll be interested in the usual trappings of a human wedding night. His recent attitude, his confusing demeanor. It must all just be pressure from the investigation and the wedding and having to perform for so many people. Once the two of you are finally alone, everything will all be so much easier. It has to be.
In truth, it's how his inhuman nature will impact tonight and your future together that you have the most questions and concerns around. What if demons marry differently? What if they express physical affection in a manner you cannot reciprocate? Would that be better than if he’s no interest in you physically at all? The original Dale had proclaimed you passable, did this one agree? It’s not as though you can express all of those twisting thoughts to your sisters.
“As he should.” Callalily nods decisively and questions you no further on your assessment of Dale, which you’re grateful for.
“You,” Marigold stares at you, head tilted to the side, as if a new thought had just occurred to her. “You are happy to be marrying, aren’t you?”
Despite all your worries, you smile shyly back at her. “Yes, I am.”
She grins back. “Then that is what truly matters.” Marigold glances at the clock and frowns. “As it is, we had best be on our way to rescue him from Mother.” At your frown, she explains, “He’d agreed to stay with her in the garden and entertain.” You take that to mean ‘allow Mother to play matchmaker for him’. You’re surprisingly touched by the sacrifice. “However, we are already approaching the hour and he shall wish for his deliverance from her shortly.”
“Luckily Asher is occupying Father,” Callalily says. “And is unlikely to want for rescue. If anything we shall have to pry them away from a riveting board game of some kind to attend the wedding in the first place.”
“We can let Mother deal with them,” Marigold waves off Callalily’s concern.
“Thank you,” you cut in to say. “I truly do appreciate it.”
“You are most welcome,” Marigold replies.
“If you require anything at all, do not hesitate to contact us, any of us, yes?” Callalily adds.
“Yes,” you answer and you think you actually will, if you need to.
After they leave, you sit down, suddenly unaware of what to do with yourself. Your eyes catch on the various wedding accessories spread out on your vanity. You run your fingers over the garter’s lace detail as your mind drifts to tonight and how Dale might–
The door opens behind you and you hope your expression doesn’t give the direction your thoughts had been drifting away. “Did you forget something, sister?” Your eyes land on a maid instead of your sisters. “Oh, my apologies.”
“My lady.” She looks surprised to see you, which is odd considering these are your rooms. Her eyes dart around as if looking for someone else, but there’s only you. If anything, you’d say she has the look of a woman who just learned some piece of tantalizing gossip and instead of finding a room full of her fellow servants, has found a superior instead. When you were still young and bedridden, it was one of the few times you were grateful you never counted fully as one such superior. It was always so interesting to listen to the stories they shared. Now, in a bittersweet way, it seems you’ve finally moved to the latter group. “I…”
Still, as she begins to look more worried than disappointed, when she hasn’t made an excuse about being confused about which room she’s in and left, you frown. “What is it?” you ask.
“Lord Dale has…” she trails off when the other maids return from the laundry with your clean clothes for packing, your corded underskirts pressed and bleached to pure whiteness.
The maid who’d burst in seems to be attempting to act casual, but even the other maids notice something is amiss as their eyes keep darting to her with interest even as they return to their places. Then it appears she is going to slip out of the room. You can’t have that. “Miss? You were sharing news?” you remind her, hoping how tightly strung her words have left isn’t obvious.
“There might be a mild issue,” she says hastily, taking another step towards the door. “I’m sure it shall be dealt with quickly. If it were more serious, you would have been informed by a person far more appropriate than me. There is no point in worrying you.”
You swallow, each word increasing the panic shooting through you. “Be that as it may, you are here now. Tell me, what is your understanding of the situation?”
“I truly should not trouble you, my lady,” she tries to insist. “Lord Archibald is handling it.”
“What is wrong with Lord Dale?” you repeat, as clearly as you can because whether they know it or not, you are the best person to handle whatever might be wrong. Did someone try to give him willowbark again? Did someone involved in the assassination attempt attack? Is there some new danger you cannot even fathom?
“I overheard,” she says haltingly, “there was a lot of shouting, you see. They’re still arguing about it I believe, but… well…from what I heard, which was not terribly clear you must understand, it sounded as if…” You try your best to prompt her with your expression, the whole room gone silent waiting for her final words. “Lord Dale, he’s called off the wedding.”
[Part Thirty]
#my writing#story: nothing's wrong with dale#story part#nothing's wrong with dale#dale#slow burn#monster bf#monster romance#exophilia#osha compliant#terato#arranged marriage#reader#ik her hair should probably be lik powdered and shit but i didnt want to so i didnt#this is not historical so everythings anachronistic on purpose and its fine#also its cool if u discuss stuff lik this with ur family members but i do not and this is my story lol#also obviously some of these opinions are of the fake time period and do not represent my opinions in real life#ended up trimming one part of the scene but i think it still works#oh#you want to talk about the end?#this has been planned since day one - i hav the text message receipts to prove it lmao#its why the next chapter is a Big Deal#might b the most important chapter to b honest#look#the drama is real#it'd all been going too smoothly again#dont you think?#sorry not sorry
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i feel nothing but neverending sympathy for basically everyone involved with Homestuck Beyond Canon. if you put me in a situation where a major, controversial plot point of my story was revealed through a fan-contest YEARS before it was actually going to be put into motion, and then i had to deal with people whinging and whining and complaining about it non-stop for YEARS despite the fact that it hasn't actually happened yet and they have no idea what i'm actually going to do with that plot point, i'd kill everyone in the room and then myself.
it's one thing to not like where the story's gone thus far, to be disinterested in post-canon, etc etc etc. totally fair. but holy shit can Homestuck fans realize that complaining about plot beats that HAVEN'T HAPPENED YET is fucking stupid??? you have no idea what's going to happen! you don't! you don't know how this story is going to go! you have your headcanons and theories and your wish-list of shit but you don't know the future and acting like you do is fucking stupid!!!! either let the story be told and save your bitching for when you actually HAVE something to bitch about, or just stop reading and posting about the comic you don't like!!!!!!!!
#text.post#homestuck#homestuck beyond canon#june egbert#this was specifically written about june but like#all of HS:BC in general has this issue with its fans#fuckin. we have no idea how any of these things are going to pay off#that's why we wait and see how they pay off#if your complaint is that it's poorly-paced and the comic so far JUST feels like set-up? that's totally fair!#but you're still complaining about an actively-updating story not being finished#“oh bluh bluh they made rose super cruel and selfish” YEAH THAT'S THE POINT#THAT'S THE STORY THEY ARE TELLING. AND THEY ARE NOT DONE TELLING IT YET.#zero-conflict weekly-update slow-burn fanfic where all the characters know fluent therapy-speak has rotted so many minds
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40,000+ hits in 365 days.... I guess Time and Other Necessities isn’t too bad of a love story
#thank you guys i really mean it xx#jason todd#jason todd fic#batfam fanart#bee's art#marceline mathews#you'll love her i promise#Time and other necessities#its a love story its a slow burn its a lets spend time with the batfam lets help damian with his homework#It's a let's build a better relationship with Bruce#it's a let's mourn his death while he is still breathing
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Fic writing on AO3 be like
#why do I even bother pretending I can write a shorty story#A Court of Twisted Fate#Might wind up being even longer than Golden Doe#still a slow burn tho#elriel fic writers#ao3#ao3 writer
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