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dazais-guardian-angel · 1 year

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Chapter 110 is 13 pages long welcome to hell!!! so in a lot of ways this is just more fuel for a theory that I've had for a few weeks now, that's only gotten stronger with each recent season 5 episode, which is that the last episode of the season is gonna end on 110, and that Asagiri/Harukawa and Bones have been collaborating to make this happen, specifically because it's a major turning point that would be the only good place to end the season on.

When we started getting especially long chapters again (like from 25-35ish pages, with the exception of 107.5, the last two being some of the longest we've ever had), at first I just assumed that Asagiri/Harukawa got freed up from some other obligations they'd been having to cause the extremely short/half chapters, like promotional stuff for the anime/Beast movie, or working on light novels. But then 109 happened, with the "supposed" death of Dazai, and heavy emphasis at the end on how literally everyone is at their lowest point right now, and I got to thinking. 11 episodes is a strangely specific number for an anime season -- why not 12, or 13, or even 10, like you'd usually see? Why have we gotten suddenly gotten two 35 page chapters out of nowhere, that's almost unheard of at this point? They're both beautiful chapters, don't get me wrong (as always), and maybe A/H simply just didn't want to cut them in halves because they felt like the full emotional impact wouldn't hit/that there were no good cutoff points in them, but you can't deny that it's surprising, after all the shorter chapters we've been getting. Why has the anime been going at such insanely breakneck pacing for the most part ever since around the Sunday Tragedy chapters, even more so than it has in the past? So much so that it feels dangerously close to overtaking the manga?

Well, maybe, just maybe, it's because..... Asagiri decided a long time ago that whatever happens in 110 is the only point that feels "season finale"-worthy enough, in an arc that still isn't anywhere close to being completely wrapped up, and so both the manga and the anime have been specifically coordinated to reach that part within 2 and a half weeks of each other?

I've seen a lot of people now think season 5 will end with 109, and as much as my sadistic side would find that hilarious, I honestly don't think they'd do that and realistically don't want it to happen; it'd be so cruel to cliffhanger the anime for years like that, and just doesn't feel like a season cliffhanger BSD would do, a series that is ultimately hopeful and uplifting. Seasons 2 and 3 had a positive, conclusive ending; the only reasons seasons 1 and 4 didn't was because they're technically not really full seasons of their own, and are more like the first cour of another "season" that also came out that same year (seasons 1 and 2 both aired in 2016, so they're more like one big season, and seasons 4 and 5 have both aired this year, so they're also more like one big season, again taking into account how episodes 12 and 50 are not satisfying finales like episodes 24, 37, and hypothetically, 61, are). I really can't see season 5 ending with Dazai and Fukuzawa's supposed deaths, Sigma being unconscious and maybe close to death, Atsushi being vulnerable and limbless again, everyone we love still vampires, and the entire world being basically doomed; that's just too depressing and not like BSD at all. However, having said that, if it doesn't end there, there really isn't any good place to end the season before that, either, that feels in any way satisfying or like a finale at all. And so, to me, that only leaves after 109: chapter 110.

I think things are really gonna turn around next chapter. Like I said, everyone is at their lowest point right now, it cannot possibly get any worse, the framing of Dazai, Fukuzawa, and sskk at the end of 109 is telling us that; this is the time for the heroes to finally start winning again, with Aya being so close to pulling out the sword, and for all the thematic reasons other people have talked about to death that I don't need to go into here again. This upcoming chapter being so short again makes a part of me wary of 110 being "the one", so to speak, I won't lie, but at the same time, it's very possible that it needs to be that short because that's all the final episode of the season will be able to reasonably fit in, since it's already gonna be VERY close if they do make it all the way to 109. And at the end of the day, I don't doubt at all that Asagiri and Harukawa can make these the most monumental and game-changing mere 13 pages ever if they wanted to; a chapter does not at all need to be extremely long in order to be an important and impactful one, even if short ones we've gotten in the past haven't felt the most important.

An additional thought I've had, though this is much more crack territory than all this already is, is that since we know from Anime Expo that a Stormbringer movie at some point is highly likely (judging from Asagiri's reaction when someone brought it up), it's possible that chapter 110 and thus the final episode will involve the long-anticipated return of Verlaine and/or Adam, or at least some other major reference to Stormbringer, that would naturally and smoothly lead into a Stormbringer movie to explain things to people who haven't read the novel. It would make a lot of sense, especially since the s4 OP has the Old World sign behind Chuuya, which might be a hint that this has been in the works ever since seasons 4/5 were first in planning with Asagiri. We also know that Dazai and Chuuya's voice actors apparently struggled to record their lines together this season, which probably relates to 101 and possibly 109, but it could be 110 too.... I could be very wrong, as I'm no expert on this kind of thing, but I kinda doubt they would bring Chuuya's actor in for just the vampire growls, and Asagiri placing heavy emphasis on Chuuya's importance this season in that one interview gives me the impression that he's talking about much more than just 101/109. But that's the least solid evidence I have, that's just mostly based on vibes I get.

So basically, I think a lot of factors -- the unusual episode count, how close the anime is to catching up to the manga with three whole episodes left, the seemingly arbitrary recent chapter lengths, and the climactic events of 109 -- can tell us that 110 might be a very, VERY big deal. Again, there's of course no way this arc is anywhere near close to being finished, with so much left to address and resolve, but since it is currently incomplete in the manga, unlike the previously adapted arcs, if the anime was going to adapt it at all, they'd have to find a place that feels satisfying enough to end this season, knowing there won't be more anime for a long time after this, and so I think they specifically planned for that, from both Bones' and A/H's sides. 10 episodes might not have been enough to reach that point, but 12 or 13 might have been too many it wouldn't have been if Bones actually decided to slow down and let the story breathe the way it needs to, but this post isn't meant to criticize the anime, so maybe 11 was just right. And maybe Asagiri and Harukawa specifically pushed to make recent chapters longer than usual, in order to make sure that the manga reached the story content in 110 the monthly release right before season 5 was to end.

Is this just copium? Absolutely. Am I going to look like an absolute clown in two days when this post ages like milk? Probably. But the evidence is There, so let me just enjoy my delusions until Sunday, okay 🥂🫡

#bungou stray dogs #seriously call me a clown and point and laugh at me if I'm proven wrong all you want #but I really feel like there's solid evidence for this #either s5 isn't gonna reach 109 at all (but I seriously cannot fathom where you would want to stop before then) or they'll go beyond it #if they really do end it with 109....... well i'll give Bones kudos for having the balls to do that ig lol #maybe i'm underestimating (overestimating???) them idk #also just to clarify I don't wanna make it sound like I think Asagiri let the anime/Bones dictate the manga's pacing #like I'm sure these were his/their (him and Harukawa's) own decisions first and foremost #not that (if this theory is true) the anime had a major impact on how the chapters were split and that it-#-would have been extremely different otherwise #i'm pretty confident in that Asagiri does not do anything with BSD he isn't comfortable with #and he doesn't let anyone tell him how to write his story #I just feel like he worked with Bones to make this near-simultaneous release happen #BUT if this is the case I don't feel like it had any major effect on the writing/final product that is the manga #like the last handful of chapters have been so incredible #so I at least am still perfectly happy lol #(i mean i'm devastated and a nervous wreck but u know 🫡 in a good way lmao)#anyway 110 in two days please let this theory be true because I need some fucking hope already #please let Oda show up as Dazai's guardian angel to help (see what I did there-)#it would be the perfect way to end the collective season that is 4/5 with s4 beginning with Oda and now ending with Oda #Asagiri are you reading me are you picking up what I'm putting down please please a ghost Oda is long overdue please-#Oda Verlaine Adam just GIVE ME SOMEONE ALREADY 😭😭😭#MAYBE EVEN A TASTE OF THE FYODOR BACKSTORY TO TIE INTO HIM BEING IN ANIME UNTOLD ORIGINS. THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS

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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Seven

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 27

[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 received some respite from the seemingly endless talking this particular gala is focused on with the first round of dancing, but it didn't last long.

You hope no one noticed that you weren’t actually eating much during the main dinner course, especially your parents. You’ve since managed to edge away from them with this return to finger foods by staying with your siblings instead, the eldest of which were more available now that all children were sent up to bed, no matter how they pleaded. Asher in particular is looking relieved since he’s here without his wife, who is at home managing Portsmith, but even Callalily and her husband seemed less tired at the prospect of a party without children to mind. You are grateful you were not part of the river journey to Connton when they had all been packed together, even though you’re sure your family’s boat had been as spacious as any could be.

Still, even they are beginning to wear on your nerves, as is the volume of the gathering, which seems to only have increased exponentially as the night has worn on. A contradiction since you know multiple groups have gone home—you’ve said goodbye to nearly all of them personally. Shouldn’t it be quieter? Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?

An increase in chatter in your immediate vicinity causes you to notice a group of artists, including Breighton, have joined your smaller group. They’ve clearly been enjoying the wine and their enthusiasm is grating. The desire for air and space is suddenly overwhelming. Unfortunately, Marigold and Callalily have you boxed in on either side and Asher’ll be no help–he’s looking for his own exit. You watch as he spots a knight his own age he must know and quickly walks off with him. He’ll likely be able to bid good night to him soon enough and without the notice of your family. He doesn’t even have the courtesy to send an apologetic look your way.

Where had Dale gotten to? Maybe he’ll be your way out. If you recall, he’d been pulled away by his grandparents to speak with some local nobles. You scan the room, trying to ignore the way Marigold’s emphatic gestures are in danger of spilling wine onto your arm, if not your dress. You know that usually, you’d be pleased she’s enjoying herself as much as she obviously is. Even a few hours ago, you’d be happy with how well this ball is reflecting on you and the Northridges as hosts. A betrothal feast for your wedding, with nearly all of your family present and reveling in a good time. But your tolerance for socializing is used up. You desperately need a breath of fresh air and a moment to yourself. Please.

You finally spot Dale talking with a small group, the rich blue ribbon in his dark hair catching your eye. Abruptly you’re reminded of when you met him for the first time, how intimidating and handsome that stranger had seemed to you. Speaking with that stranger then had not helped matters. Even these days, you still find him intimidating at times, but in the way the future is, not the way an obstacle is. So much possibility. You’re not sure if it is helpful or not, that you only find him more attractive these days. The way he can hold your attention is unlike anyone else you’ve come across. His bright eyes, the way he styled his hair, the mischievous look he could get when the mood suited him are all so compelling. Is that something demonic? Or merely a reflection of getting to know the new person in his place, even if they by definition looked the same?

Regardless of how struck you are by your soon-to-be husband’s attractiveness, you want to seize the opportunity to utilize him to flee far more than you want to admire him. At least, in this moment. You’re note sure what you say to your siblings, you think you claims he motioned you over to him, but it’s a bit of blur. They easily et you go to your betrothed, already half-swept up in some debate about the large painting they’ve been contemplating. You don’t even spare it glance as you seize this opportunity.

You head in his direction, hoping it doesn’t look like the escape it is and hoping Dale will go along with the actual plan to take the time away from everyone. You don’t want to be trapped in another, different conversation either, but you know you cannot wander the garden unescorted at such an event.

Luckily, you don’t have to find a way to get Dale’s attention in order to break into the small circle of people he’s speaking with. He seems to sense your approach, turning once you’re within a few feet with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges when they land on you. At least this circle is only three other people and farther from the musicians so no one’s shouting can be heard over more than the general sound of the crowd.

“My lady,” he greets, holding out his left arm. You gratefully loop yours through his, always appreciative how supported it makes you feel. “While I believe you’ve met Lord Nicolo and Lady Elain, I do believe you’ve not met my other companion,” Dale says, naming one of the neighboring fiefs to Northridge. You do recognize the other lord and lady, both a decade older than yourselves, who’s lands border Northridge and Connton respectively. You’ve met them at previous gala’s and find them pleasant enough company under usual circumstances. Tonight, you can’t help but wish they’d suddenly take their leave.

Dale turns to the striking blonde woman in purple to his immediate right that you correctly do not think you’ve ever seen before. “Allow me to introduce Lady Lorraine of Hillibrght.” The first thing that strikes you about her is that she’s beautiful. Her long hair is woven with ribbon in a style you recognize from some of the newest fashion plates from the capital you’d been presented with for your wedding. Her eyes are bright and her figure is shapely in her light blue dress. She holds herself with the sort of effortless confidence that you’d have remembered being envious of. That feeling is a noticeable ache right now, when you already feel so harried and out of place. She looks the exact opposite of how you feel and you can’t help but resent her for it. “Please meet my betrothed.” She murmurs a polite greeting with a curtsy you mirror while Dale explains, “Lady Lorraine has only just returned from abroad.”

“Yes, we were comparing in what manner our journey’s diverged after the Lurean,” she elaborates, her voice low and melodic. The Lurean is an institute in the west, famous for its music. You believe Dale visited there early in his years abroad, but can’t recall anything more than that. “That is when we decided to split. My group went south, while the ones Dale was with went North. A pity, Dale was always the most interesting to debate, though of course we still managed to amuse ourselves without him or the others who went North.”

Lorraine is acting perfectly polite: you appreciate her catching you up to what they were discussing. And yet, you don’t like the way she looks at Dale, nor how she says his name without his title. If she is a neighbor, they must have known each other since childhood, you know many of your peers and siblings who do the same. You still don’t like it.

“I see,” you say politely because of course she had also been traveling as Dale had. She had even been part of that lucky and worldly group. While you were sat at home, trying to convince your mother that you should be allowed to come with her to the seamstress’ shop in the city. You resist the urge to frown at yourself for such a thought. You truly are not fit for company at the moment. “And you have not seen each other since?”

“No, not since we parted ways nearly two years ago,” Lorraine confirms and you don’t like how she says that either. As if it were more than two acquaintances with differing travel plans. You’re embarrassed when you realize how irrational you’re being, that your first instinct is to try to find a reason to justify the dislike rather than ignore it as the nonsense it is. “We had thought to meet up again, all of us, however the timing nor the location was ever quite right.”

“Terrible luck,” Dale replies with a smirk that makes you think luck had nothing to do with it. There’s an answering shrewd look in her eyes that implies she knows that too. That she knew Dale well enough to be able to read even this Dale.

“Which reminds me, since we had expected to see each other again, you had loaned Hilary a particular book.” You don’t understand the weight of her gaze on Dale nor the implication in her words. Your eyes dart to Dale and given his frown, you’re not sure he does either. This Dale occasionally needs more time to catch up to certain nuances and you’re petty in your pleasure at that. Lorraine continues, “She bade me to return it to you, since she knew I’d see you again. It's in my carriage.”

“Oh yes.” Some recognition blooms in Dale’s eyes. “I had thought to ask you if she’d returned home so I might send her a missive regarding it, but this is far easier.”

“Would it be an imposition to do so now?” Lorraine asks and you blink at her in surprise. “I would have it sent to you, only I’m afraid it shall get lost in the confusion or that I shall forget. I believe I left if secure in my carriage”

You do not like how Lorraine appears to be trying to get Dale on his own. In an impulsive fit, you tighten your hand on his arm. “I’m afraid Dale promised me one last walk in the garden tonight. We have to leave so early in the morning, we won’t get the chance then. Would it be possible to bring this book to the Northridge estate instead?”

“Of course,” Dale agrees, smiling down at you and not noticing the surprise that flashes across Lorraine’s face. “I was beginning to wonder if we would be able to do so after all.” He looks back at Lorraine with politeness, not noticing or not wanting to acknowledge the confusion on her face at his refusal. “Another time, Lorraine. You shall be attending the festivities in Northridge, yes?”

“Yes, my family is delighted to celebrate with you,” Lorraine replies with a smile, no surprise or annoyance in her expression any longer. If this change of plans disrupts her own, she’s not showing it now. Except her eyes. Her eyes are intense as they study Dale’s face, as they drift over to your own, before back to Dale’s. “Thinking back on matters, I’m not sure if it is in my carriage after all. Perhaps it was packed and brought into my townhouse after all. I can locate it shortly regardless. We can speak further at a later time.”

“Wonderful, until then.” Dale gives her a short bow before leading you out one of the archways which lead towards the garden.

Your focus on putting one foot in front of the other, on keeping your gaze up, but unfocused so as not to catch anyone’s eye and risk being drawn into conversation. You hope Dale is doing the same, but you’ve no energy to check on him. A breeze hits your face as soon as Dale opens the garden doors and you heave a sigh of relief at the sensation. You’re not even particularly hot, but it had begun to feel so stifling in that ballroom, for reasons you still cannot discern when compared to all the other galas.

“Are you alright, sana?” Dale asks. You look up to see him frowning down at you, worry in his eyes. “Do you need to sit down? Or one of your medicines?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, shaking your head in the face of such undue concern. Heat rises in your cheeks at the thought of how dramatic you’re acting or whatever expression must be on your face to worry Dale so. “I only needed some fresh air. My apologies for pulling you away from your conversation, but I…”

Now Dale mostly looks confused. “I am happy to assist you in gaining the space to breathe,” he replies, leading you down the path. He gestures to a bench, but you hear a burst of sound from inside the hall and shake your head, steering you two further into the garden. “You’ve done so for me in the past. And it was no great hardship. I’m relieved these galas are nearly finished because rather than becoming more accustomed to them, I believe I am merely tiring of them.”

You finally get a good look at Dale, feeling more centered away from the crowd, and frown. He seems worn in a way he had not inside. something in the lines on his face, the shadows cast from the lanterns flickers oddly on him. Perhaps it had been so easy to convince him to take this walk because he needed the fresh air nearly as much as you had. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Dale says somewhat impatiently, but given the half-focus in his eyes, you are fairly certain his annoyance rests with himself rather than you. He heaves a sigh of his own. “As I said, while nothing particularly strenuous has happened today and I was in fine spirits only an hour or so ago, I find myself…”

He huffs another annoyed breath at both his inability to put his thoughts to words and at the sound of some others who are also walking the garden. Dale steers the two of you down a new path, avoiding the main path which had a giggling couple occupying one of the benches. The shadows flicker with more than the lantern light should account for, but there’s no purpose to it, merely an offloading of stress. Dale’s pace is steady, the rhythmic footfalls and his cane don’t show anger or impatience with you personally, or so you hope. “I desire to be left alone in a manner I am unaccustomed to. This gala is no different than the others, how is it bothering me? I cannot account for it, which is only making me more frustrated.”

You certainly understand the feeling and gently pull to a stop at a bench, tucked a little farther off the path than the others, where there might be some privacy to be found. “Would you like to take a few minutes to yourself?” You don’t want to contribute to Dale feeling stifled, even if you don’t like the idea of being anywhere on this property in the dark alone after what happened. “I can wait here, if you’d like. I would just ask for you to remain within shouting distance.”

Dale looks startled by the idea, as if going off on his own had never occurred to him. “No,” he shakes his head, his voice plain and unadorned in his automatic refusal. “No. I thank you for the offer, but when I mentioned wanting the others to go, you were not included.” He tilts his head to the side, a crooked smile spreading across his lips. “Have we not already established this?”

You smile remembering your conversation from one of the first dances. “We have. More has happened since then. You are free to change your mind.” You swallow and hope he doesn’t hear your worry that he might do so about more than this.

“I haven’t,” Dale replies just as steadily and you feel warm pleasure spread through you at his answer. His eyes widden. “Unless, of course, you have. I would also—”

“No!” Your hand tightens around his arm. “No, getting away from the others was more than enough for me.” You want to do something more to make Dale feel better because there’s still some tight tension in his shoulders. You seek to reassure him you’re on the same page regarding your weariness from public performance. “There are aspects of this gala that are different, or rather, events surrounding the gala which are. Meeting city officials and giving our opinion on wedding details Grandmother has put together is not the same as dealing with…” You hesitate and you’re fairly certain Dale knows what you're going to say regardless, but you continue, “…the investigation into what happened. Or arguing with Grandmother and Grandfather about it.”

Dale sits down heavily on the bench. You follow to sit next to him, but let him maintain the distance he created when he let go of your arm. “I suppose that’s true enough. The affect on my mood seems inconsistent and not… I am not truly under a high amount strain,” he protests, his eyes brighter and not because of how the lamp light tries to catch them. “These early stages are not particularly mentally taxing, merely setting things into motion, and I’ve certainly been under no physical hardship today. Yet I feel threadbare and stretched thin. But there has been nothing taxing my stores of strength until this. All we have done is eat and talk and enjoy ourselves for weeks!”

Dale goes to run his fingers through his hair only to be stopped by his hair tie. He yanks it out with frustration as you try to find the right words to reassure and comfort Dale. “Firstly,” you begin, “while I am aware that it comes easier to you than me, socializing is taxing. It is work. It takes effort and thought and performance. I’m fairly certain I’d be tired of it all even without what else occurred. Secondly,” you continue before he can interrupt, “I am not sure how the investigation can be anything except stressful, given the events that prompted it.” Cautiously, you reached to lay a hand on his arm, “I believe you are being too hard on yourself, Dale. It’s more than reasonable to feel worn out by everything that is happening. I certainly am and I’m not doing nearly as much as you are. I’m the one who sought you out for this chance to take a moment to ourselves after all.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” he says sincerely, but still tired. “You’re not wrong, I simply… Well, I suppose it’s rather obvious to say I wish the attack had never happened.”

“A mild understatement,” you say with a smile, “but I agree.” You don’t how you could, but you have to offer, even more plainly than you have before. “If there is anything I might be able to do, to aid you with the investigation, I will.”

“I appreciate that as well,” Dale says, leaning back against the back of the bench. “Truthfully, it’s only a waiting game now. I’ve tapped into my contacts to narrow in on who paid those who attacked us and set them to investigate those we’ve considered for the roles. I have high and low acquaintances who are skilled in such things and we’ve already discussed that you do not.” You reluctantly nod because you’ve no real foot to stand on in this arena. “They responded timely enough. It is not that they were unwilling or that I fear they are not adequately skilled.”

He pauses, but you can tell he has more to say. You wonder if remembering the right people was difficult or if this method of dealing with threats is foreign to him. You assume demons just fight each other directly, no use of proxies or exchange of goods for services, but they also have a reputation for acting in such ways on the surface—of being cunning and secretive. Maybe it was old hat to him after all. You don’t want to pressure him. He’s already such a vice with information and you want him to confide in you so very badly.

“I don’t like how I must act with those I have aiding me in my investigation,” Dale says eventually. You’re surprised such a thing would require acting, and then you’re only surprised that he’s acknowledging how much he must have to do so. Then you furrow your brow, because no, that doesn’t seem to be what he’s saying after all. He must read the confusion on your face because he clarifies, “They expect a certain sort of person, both when I act as Lord Dale or his own agent and I care for neither of them.”

“You are acting as though you are not Lord Dale?” you ask. You had thought there might be some manner of persona to ordering and speaking with the sort of hardened people that would employ such tactics, but you did not think he might take on a new identity for any part of it. The layers of performance are hard to track, but it must be even more confusing to this new Dale who is still learning how to act as the old Dale.

“Some of these…,” Dale searches for the right word before giving, “these people, they would see a Lord as a target or untrustworthy or not one they would work with. I have acted as though I am my own valet, to an extent in order to meet with them more directly.” That’s not too complicated, or so you hope. Can Dale actually change his form? His appearance? Your mind spins with new possibilities. You had thought possession limited the demon to that body, but perhaps…

“As such as respect Mr. Murray’s service,” Dale continues, “this has never been one he could comfortably or competently provide. I value what he does provide and trust no one well enough for them to fulfill the role. Certainly not with our safety on the line, not to mention Grandmother and Grandfather’s.”

You haven’t considered that. You are pleased at how you were included, and that Grandmother and Grandfather were as well. “I appreciate you taking such care,” you say, because you know he does not need to, he did not have the ties to any of you. He’s known you all of a month or so. You want him to know that you value the effort he is putting into all of this. He could easily have faked Dale’s death with the fight and then slipped away to live his own life here. You complain about his slip ups with his form, but you’ve no notion of how hard it is to control such things. You remember the creature he had been forming into during the fight and wonder how strange it would be to go from a being like that to a mere human body.

You want to acknowledge what he is doing, but he doesn’t want to talk about it outright and the distant sounds of the others in the garden dissuade you from saying anything too straightforward. You lower your voice, just in case, and say carefully, “It’s always challenging to pretend you're someone you are not, even if that is simply a more social version of yourself. I imagine it must be difficult, if my estimation of the types of people who can trace mercenaries back to their patrons is close to accurate. Thank you.”

“I.. Of course,” is all he says in the end, but you hope that it isn’t only your imagination that the lines around his eyes have faded somewhat.

“You mentioned a different version of yourself as well,” you continue, with even more caution and hopefully precision in your words, “I expect for those you are asking to look into the patrons from the higher angle. I can only imagine what type of Lord they expect to meet. Likely ones more similar to the patrons. That too, must be a challenge.”

Dale nods slowly before frowning once more. “It is…distasteful. I do not like how I have to be, when I speak with those involved in the investigation. Necessary people, but rather foul. And they only respect those like them. I must be my own representative and the layers of deception are confusing and wearing.” He pauses, not quite short enough to be a hesitation, but you recognize his own way of deliberating. You wait with bated breath to hear what he says next. “Dale of Northridge’s reputation proceeds myself and, in addition to the mannerisms I find it safest to lean into, do not paint a pleasant picture.”

You try to breathe calmly at the third person, at his admittance, but he looks so wooden sitting there, tension riddling his form once more, that you know you need to speak quickly, but genuinely. “I know,” you reply, “I may not have the means at your disposal, but I am not without any, though they differ greatly from your own.” You had done your own research into Dale while the betrothal talks were occurring.

“I see.” His dark eyes fix on you. “What did you find when you compared the information you gathered with what you now know?”

That is such a hard question to answer because you had gotten what you expected, at first. Now… “I could ask you the same question,” you reply, because he had to have looked into you too.

“You could,” he acknowledges, looking discomforted. “Perhaps we should merely move forward from where we are now.”

You’re not sure you want to know what the original Dale’s thoughts on you had been, for all he’d made them relatively plain. And this Dale… “Perhaps. I will say that I am pleased by my current first hand investigation,” you hope he can understand the meaning in your words. You know you both said as much the other night and yet you want to say it again. You want to hear it again. “I hope the results of your own show even half the promise of mine.”

Dale still looks uncomfortable, but he smiles at that. “I find you very promising indeed.” Heat rushes to your face and rushes through your veins at the look in his eyes. Then he blinks, and the moment ends.

“On the question of my true investigation into the events of the other night, we shall have to wait and see if we can identify the patrons before another event occurs.” Dale’s more solemn as he contemplates the attack and its conspirators and you feel yourself sobering. “The Knight is still the only patron I feel confident about. Grandmother and Grandfather’s advice regarding the Duke is helpful, but still only a guess. It doesn’t even take into account if the group was mistaken about what his exact title was.”

“That is what we have to work with,” you say. “None of the searches for them will be successful if those short names were not based on actual stations.”

“At least from the contacts I have working from that position. I do have some attempting to trace who paid the mercenaries from that angle too. Of course, the hope is that these two groups will arrive at the same confirmed names, but if not…”

“I think with the titles and both angles we have a more than decent chance at cornering them,” you point out. “We even have two out of the three names we are fairly confident on, which is very promising.”

“The Heiress is still a mystery,” Dale replies, obviously still rather determinedly pessimistic. “I spent the most time with those I traveled with, so i suspect it shall be one of that group. However, over half my companions were inheriting and half of those were women. None do I remember a standout offense or other event, such as with the Duke or the Knight, that might lead to one bankrolling something of this nature.”

“You mentioned some of them to me,” you reply, Dale having listed with a brief history those who seemed to have been on good terms with Eastmont in particular. “who were with you during your entire trip, but what of others who split previously?”

“The ones who went South?” Dale blinks and then frowns, “I suppose that’s a possibility, but I haven’t spoken with any in two years, not besides a letter or two. Although, Eastmont met up with that group, so it’s possible the Heiress became involved with him then. But he is not engaged or even rumored to be courting anyone.”

Dale fails to make the connection you were leading him towards and so you must decide to speak candidly or to keep your own counsel. You swallow and continue, “I do not know most of those you journeyed with, however, Lorraine shall be Lady of Hillbright, yes?”

“Yes, in two years time,” Dale confirms, still lost in thought himself. He blinks back to the present and elaborates when you continue to look at him. “On her birthday or when she gives birth to her first child as is their family tradition. Her birthday is most likely as she is not yet betrothed. Why?”

“That makes her an heiress,” you finally say in even clearer terms. “One you parted on poor terms with, who has a great deal of knowledge of Northridge, due to your status as neighbors and childhood friends.”

“I would not say we were ever friends, precisely,” he corrects absently. Then his eyes narrow and he turns to look at you sharply, “You think she might be our missing conspirator.”

Some of your bravado fails in the face of such a fierce look. Still, you don’t retract your suggestion. “It is only a thought. I cannot give any other recommendations as my knowledge of the suspects is limited. However, I do not think that means the suggestion is unwarranted.”

“We have always been at odds, but it used to be…” he seems to search for a word but you can’t think of anything to prompt him with since you don’t understand their relationship. “…different. I’m afraid the falling out we had midway through my years of travel was rather severe and possibly prompted the entire group's split. I don’t think she would escalate our disagreement to such a height. If anything I expected the time to have cooled the argument for both of us. I had thought perhaps she would want to reconcile.”

“Perhaps,” you allow.

“You don’t think so.”

“I don’t know her or the situation,” you admit.

“And yet?”

“And yet you are not speaking of the terms of your disagreement, which implies to me it was no trivial matter.” Dale looks guilty and opens his mouth to say something, but you shake your head. “You do not need to inform me of the matter itself, but obviously it was serious. I will say that and she appeared very cordial so mayhap she does want to reconcile. However, she attempted to have you accompany her alone even this night with paper thin reasoning. It is only a thought, but I do not think she should be ruled out.”

“You’re correct,” Dale agrees, looking thoughtful, “and she was on my long list for the Heiress merely because she fit the minimal criteria. She had not stood out to me then, but I suppose just because I have moved past or argument and consider it history does not mean she does. I shall move her up the list.”

You nod, whatever motivated you to make sure you were heard even though you only have your own instincts to rely on regarding your suspicions has vanished, leaving you feeling rather foolish. Although, not enough to take it back. You wish you could be more consistent with making your opinion heard, but so often you don’t feel the need or know attempting to force an issue will only make things more difficult later on. No matter what Callalily thought.

You lean back against the bench, purposely focusing on your family to avoid thinking about the assassins any longer. Your father had been supportive, but silent as always. You’ve never been more grateful that being in public keeps your mother’s tendency to overmanage your health when it suits her at a minimum. Unfortunately, she obviously is in the mood for now. Callalily has always told you to make her leave you be more, to somehow stop her fussing and worrying, as if that was in your power and you simply chose not to exercise it.

Asher was better at letting you simply be yourself. You used to seek refuge to his office and quietly occupy yourself while he worked, so as not to be alone. You appreciated it so much at the time, and you still do, only you wish you had talked to him more, wished you’d taken advantage of the opportunity instead of being intimidated or worried the privilege would be revoked. Now it leaves you feeling comfortable around him, but without any idea of what to actually say to him.

Douglas and Marigold, though closer in age to you, were also younger and therefore away at school or other events while you were older enough to remember. They always felt distant from you, only remembering you at holidays and awkward with how to treat you. Marigold now glosses over any such awkwardness, but more than half the time it merely feels as though she forgets you’re even there. That seems different this time at least, for all her and Callalily still talked over you more than they spoke to you.

“Is anything else on your mind?”

You jump when Dale’s voice interrupts your thoughts. You look over to see Dale looking at you, tentative at the topic change but sincere. You sigh. “My family. It is… surprisingly strange to see them again, even my parents who I saw all of two months ago. I’ve been away at school for longer and yet it feels like a far more significant span of time. Although, I admit that when I returned home after graduating a year ago is when it truly felt strange—this is just an extension of that, I believe. My siblings I only see at holidays when they come home, Asher aside. But he’s so busy taking over the fief and with his own family so it feels like a long time for them too.”

“What part is strange?”

“It’s as though they are trying to help me put on clothes that no longer fit or see me as I was years ago, rather than as I am now. Not that I’ve changed so dramatically,” you hasten to add, “but I am older, I am different. They are different too, but they always treat me as if I do not change as they do. Or so it feels.” You sigh. “Perhaps it’s all in my mind.”

“How so?” Dale frowned, seemingly not displeased with what you were saying, but seemingly just wanting to understand.

It gave you enough confidence to confess, “I worry that I’m interpreting their actions and words disingenuously. That I am too used to their condescension that I still see it even when it’s no longer there. What if my worries are keeping us in the past, rather than their attitudes? Except for Mother’s fussing,” you can’t help but caveat. “That I am certain is still occurring. And then I am certain all over again that it is them who are holding us back. I suppose the most reasonable explanation is that it is us all.”

“Most likely,” Dale agreed, watching you with a far more serious look on his face than the conversation allowed. “Is there anything I might do?”

“I would appreciate your being at my side?” you ask, tentative but hopeful at the thought of an ally. You’ve always dealt with them on your own. “They will be less obviously overbearing with you around, especially before the wedding.”

“They will?”

“Yes, they wouldn’t want you to change your mind,” you admit with a half smile.

Dale’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “Surely they do not think that is a possibility at this stage of the proceedings.”

“I think it will be a possibility until the wedding is over, as far as they are concerned. I’ve been better for years and they still look at me as though I might—” You cut yourself off before you say something you regret, even if its only Dale. You could have died when you were younger. It was the more likely outcome for half your life. “My apologies. I should not be so frustrated with their concern, I just wish it extended to more than my health. Or so it feels to me. Even my siblings are more likely to tell me to sit down rather than enjoy myself. I do not like being the subject of such worry, when it feels to border paranoia or almost suspicion. It’s strangling.”

Something like recognition blooms in Dale’s eyes as he stares at you, you can almost see the thoughts tumbling around in his mind. Does he find your petty worries relatable in some way? Some way more than just the echoes of the original Dale’s human memories? Once more you feel on the precipice of learning something concrete from him. Something more tangible than the honesty of his actions beneath his veneer of the original.

Dale’s eyes don’t unfocus as your own might when recalling a memory or even his own when recalling something the original Dale has said, they grow more intent. Like a microscope focusing rather than a telescope. It’s fascinating to watch and you feel yourself drawn in closer to him.

“Yes, my parents—I.” Whatever words Dale was going to say, he cuts himself off abruptly and you lean back in surprise. Something in his eyes is hard as he hums to himself. “Hm.” He shakes his head as he seems to grow distant despite continuing to sit next to you. “I suppose they were dead, weren’t they?”

You try not to let your interest in learning anything about Dale’s true history. Perhaps demons truly do have parents after all. When it becomes clear he isn’t going to say anything more, you carefully venture to prompt him, “If you wanted to talk about them, I would be happy to listen.”

There’s another long pause, broken only by the sound of music from the ballroom. Dale shakes his head. He finally looks back at you, but his expression is a blank mask. “What is there to say?” he asks flatly. “I can’t remember them.” You’re taken aback by the shift in his mood, having thought you’d distracted him from his earlier melancholy, and you’re hurt, perhaps irrationally so, that he still won’t confide in you anything real.

Dale blinks and sighs, running a hand through his hair. He scowls when it gets messy and carefully redoes the tie that had been holding it back. When he looks back at you, he seems tired, but no longer so far away. Cautiously, he offers, “I suppose my grandparents were overprotective for many years. It was a caging feeling.”

You don’t know what to say, what you can say. Should you be insisting he confide in you? Should you try to force this conversation about the truth? Or is he right and this is not the place for such sensitive talks? Or maybe he just doesn’t trust you enough yet? Either way, you resign yourself to accepting his peace offering of a conversational segue.

“Yes. My parents were similar, my siblings followed their example,” you elaborate, thinking back to tonight and how you felt with them. “I felt as though they treated me like I was far younger than I was for so long. And if not younger, breakable in the very least. It didn’t help that for so many years I was in such a delicate state. I almost can’t blame them for their attitude. I just wish it changed as the years passed and I recovered. I don’t like the reminder.”

“Regardless, while I do not know them well, I do not see them as acting overly condescending,” Dale says. “I have no siblings either, but it wasn’t the impression I received. They probably simply don’t know how to act around you either. Their experience might leave them with presumptions, but I’m sure once they see more of you as you are now, they will be able to overwrite such instinctive reactions in their minds.”

“I want that,” you agree. “I hope it can be done as you say. I too must adjust to interacting with those who know longer know me and must adjust to who I am. Perhaps I need to hold all of us to a more reasonable standard.”

“Perhaps.”

A tentatively comfortable silence fell as you both enjoyed the quiet respite from heat the night brought along with the break from the gala inside. You keep an eye on Dale from the corner of your eye, unable to help it given his more melancholic mood this evening. You want to move closer to him, you want to ask more direct questions. Every time you start to open your mouth you second guess yourself when the sound of the party or the music or another guest walking a nearby path—or the one your bench is on—causes you to feel too exposed to do so. It’d be silly to spend all this time trying to cover up for Dale in public only for him to be revealed because you were indiscreet.

A dip in music causes you to realize how long you two must have been out here and you catch Dale’s eye to find a mildly sheepish look that tells you he’s likely thinking the same thing. He picks up his cane from where it had been resting nearby, levering himself up to his feet. He holds a hand down to you. “My Lady?”

“Thank you,” you reply as you let him help you to your feet.

“Do you feel better?” he asks as you begin to make your way back into the hall.

“I do,” you say because ultimately you do feel more centered and less on the edge of frustration than you did before. Even if you are still concerned and not particularly eager at the thought of rejoining the gala. It no longer feels oppressive at least. “Do you?”

“Yes, thank you, sana,” he says, that same boyish smile spreading across his face—the one you never saw until he was this Dale. The one that always makes you want to smile back at him. “This was a good idea.” You hold open the door given his hands are full with you and his cane. He winks. “Back into the fray.”

You can tell it's more of a mask now, similar to the one you wear in most social gatherings, but it doesn’t seem to be causing nearly the strain it had been. And the same can be said for you.

“There you are,” Callalily says when you and Dale get close enough to where your sisters are. “Have a treat so we can ignore Mari in solidarity.”

You accept the plate of desserts she hands you with surprise but not displeasure. You continue to appreciate your sisters’ easy inclusion of you tonight. Perhaps Dale is right and they do see you better than they used to. Marigold pouts, but you feel confident enough to ask Callalily, “Why are we ignoring Marigold?”

“Because she wishes to continue dancing and I am tired.”

“You are not so old nor is the night so late,” Marigold protests. “I do not see why you are being so stubborn.”

You pick one pastry at random while you try to catch up with the current conversation only for Dale to pluck it from your fingers and pop it into his mouth. You frown at him but then he swallows to clarify, “Strawberry jam, sana.”

“Oh!” You must be disorientated to have forgotten to examine the desserts more closely. “Thank you, Dale.”

Callalily looks stricken as her eyes widen in realization. “I’m so sorry, I forgot!”

You’re surprised she was even able to figure out what Dale was even referring to. Mother simply never had strawberries in the house, similar to sesame seeds for Douglas’ allergy. It’s not as though Callalily is the one who is charged with your health. It was your own fault. “It’s okay,” you say and try to move away from this topic, the guilt in your oldest sister’s eyes making you uncomfortable. You try to push the uncharitable thought aside that of course one of the only things she can remember about your preferences is what causes you a health problem. “What is this debate about?”

Marigold seems to have missed the allergy mistake, but she hears this part of the conversation clearly. “Callalily refuses to join me to dance the octdriel,” Marigold explains, her eyes fixing a mock glare on her older sister. “But you know I can’t join without a partner.”

“Just dance with your husband,” Callalily gestures to the man in question, currently choosing a spun sugar decoration and obvious to his sister-in-law’s volunteering of him. To be honest, he likely wouldn’t mind. He’s always willing to indulge Marigold, even if dancing causes him to loose his breath rather quickly.

Marigold gives Callalily a look. “You are aware that dance is not for couples.”

“I thought you did not care for the rules of polite society,” Callalily says loftily.

“I do not. However I do have only the utmost respect for the rules of dance,” Marigold bats back. “Please.” She pouts at Callalily in a manner you’ve seen her do dozens of times, you’re grateful your time outside has once more rendered your feelings nostalgic rather than annoyed.

Before Callalily answers, Dale turns to you and asks, “Why don’t you join her?”

You blink up at him, surprised and unable to bring yourself to reiterate the obvious that she didn’t ask you.

Marigold blinks at you in surprise, as if not having considered such a possibility. “Surely, you’re too tired,” Marigold says, somewhat unsure.

“I, well, no,” you shake your head, a bit bewildered. “I am not too tired for a dance.”

“My fiance is nearly always ready for a dance,” Dale adds, eyes twinkling with mirth, likely at the calculating look forming in Margold’s eyes. “I regret I cannot join you for this one, given the dance’s stipulations.”

“It’s fine—” you make to reassure him, it not having mattered to you.

“Wonderful,” Marigold proclaims, grinning widely as she links her arm with yours. “We shall dance and have a marvelous time without you, most boring of sisters.” She turns to you still smiling. You’ve always been the boring one, it's strange to hear her declare it to be Callalily this time. “I’m so excited, I’ve never gotten to dance this with you.” She tugs on your arm, somehow more excited than when she had been asking Callalily. Is she actually seeing you as a viable partner in your own right, not just a replacement for Callalily? “Come on, everyone’s lining up.”

You blink back at Callalily, who only raises her glass in a toast at you both, and Dale, who takes the plate of desserts from you. “Enjoy yourself,” he says, his smile soft.

You smile back as your sister whisks you away.

[Part Twenty-Eight]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #story part #nothing's wrong with dale #dale #slow burn #monster romance #terato #exophilia #monster bf #reader #osha compliant #arranged marriage #idk what happened the last month #but it did and so this is way later than i planned #but its also extra long #so i hope that helps lol

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