Palestinians Are No Longer Asking Us To Help Stop The Bombing.

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

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

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

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

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

Like, "what else is new?" 😂😂😂

Beautiful work!!!! @moonshine-nightlight

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not that oblivious!”

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

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

“He thought you cursed me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What y'all Spotify Wrapped lookin like?👀

Sana: I prefer you as you are too

Dale:

They're so cute together 😭 Another great chapter 🩷

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Four

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong With Dale Chapter 24

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] Part Twenty-Four

Grandfather is quick to spring into motion. Apparently, since the maid who’d come to get him had only known you were in distress and that you’d been with Grandmother for longer than expected, he’d brought a doctor with him. They thought she might have fallen, not that you’d been attacked, for all they had taken guards just in case. 

You two were immediately ushered to Grandmother’s rooms where you were pushed aside for the far more learned medical professional to take over. Instead, the captain of the guard began interrogating you over what had happened. You told him all you could, hopefully without giving away anything regarding Dale’s inhumanity. They’d seemed satisfied enough about your short, blunt answers and soon left to spread that information around. The last you heard from the captain was him ordering a thorough search of the entire property for any more conspirators and to see if anyone had been able to catch up with Dale and Two.

Resigned and exhausted, you’ve collapsed in the wingback chair in Grandmother’s sitting room.  You watch a maid bring something into Grandmother’s bedroom, the sound of voices—the doctor’s and Grandfather’s are the only ones you can identify, not that their words are intelligible—from the other room is somewhat soothing as at least no one is shouting. You thought she was going to be fine, but what did you truly know? They’d been in there for what felt like hours, though you have no real notion of the passing of time. 

Your eyes search out a clock and when you finally spot one, despite having no idea what the time could be, you’re still surprised to learn its two hours past midnight. Like trying to reach back a far distance, you try to remember what time it had been when you left the ballroom. Before midnight, surely.

Oh. Had this attack been ‘secrets' referred to in the astrologer’s calendar? You let out a small sound that might be a laugh because, brightness, you hope so. You’re not sure you can handle anything else happening today, especially anything with secrets of any kind.

You fidget in the chair a moment longer before you find yourself walking to the side table on instinct. You hang the teakettle over the fire with surprisingly steady hands. You’re boiling water for tea primarily out of a desire to do something other than sit around waiting for news on Grandmother or Dale. 

You ignore the pouches of headache and insomnia tea in your pockets to fuss with the options the Governor put in Grandmother and Grandfather’s rooms for them. You watch the fire more diligently than you need to, trying not to think about anything at all. Right now your thoughts are too full of worries for listening to them to be at all helpful. 

The water boils quicker than you expect, so you set the kettle on the thick pad to keep while you set the green tea leaves into the steeper. The motions of fixing your cup help settle your nerves, as does holding the warm cup in your hands once you’re done. 

You blow on it carefully as your thoughts start to flow once more. How much longer until someone sees fit to inform you on Grandmother’s condition? When will Dale return? Did you skirt the truth correctly while talking to the captain? You can’t even truly remember what you said. You know that you leaned heavily on the idea that you were hiding and confused.

“My lady,” you turn at the sound of your maid’s voice. She’s standing with Grandfather, having just entered the sitting room from the bedroom. They both look tired and worried. Worn out.

Your heart stutters in your chest and your grip tightens around the handle of your teacup so you don’t drop it. “How is Grandmother? Has her conditioned worsened?”

“What?” Grandfather reflexively glances back at the door as he frowns. “No, no,” he’s quick to reassure you, crossing the room towards you. “She’s gone to sleep, but she was alert and able enough to argue with the physician before that.” His mouth curves a small, but genuine smile with the telling. “Dr. Mull complimented your bandaging. She has no doubt Deidre will make a full recovery.”

You nearly sit down in relief. “Oh, thank the light. When I saw you, you looked...” You trail off not sure you want to tell him that he looked older, more tired, than you’ve seen him previously. Instead, you focus on the good news, on the worry you can put down. “I’m so glad to hear she shall be alright.”

Grandfather continues to look odd though, almost cautious in some manner. Did he want to interrogate you about the fight or where Dale went as well? He takes another step closer and reaches out towards you before he evidently thinks better of it. “Speaking of healing, do you not think perhaps now it is time to allow the doctor to do an examination of yourself, my dear?”

You’d already been trying to muster the right words to say to him about the events that his question’s topic throws you off-balance. You blink at him. “Me? I am fine.”

This time it’s your maid, Miss Adir, who speaks up. “My lady,” her voice has far more of the artificial calm pragmatism than it usually does when speaking to you. The maid you grew up with, who you had grown quiet close to, pointed it out to you once when your brother’s valet used the tone. Douglas had been insisting on joining a hunt despite having rode straight home from the capital for days straight and was dead on his feet. She said all servants had them for when nobles were being particularly hard-headed. Miss Adir hasn’t even said anything specific and you are already beginning to feel foolish. “You’ve multiple injuries, which surely with your experience, you know should be either attended to by a professional or at the very least properly bandaged.”

Reflexively, you adjust how you’re holding your arm, the cut stinging anew. With your attention drawn to it, the material of your makeshift bandage itches. You can see the sense in what she’s proposing, however, it feels as though you’re still waiting, as if the fight and the danger must still be present because Dale has not returned yet. It feels wrong to leave this room, to do something that feels as final as tending to your injuries when the events of tonight have not yet concluded. 

Grandfather must read some of your hesitance on your face and he adds, “Deidre gave explicit instructions to have your own injuries sorted before I went to sleep for the night, my lady.” 

It’s heavy-handed to use Grandmother against you like this, but now you can also see that his current worry is at least partially regarding you. Does that mean his suspicion over you is truly gone now? Is this all that had to happen? For you to be attacked by assassins? You should have led with that evidently. You find the thought funny enough you have to resist the urge to let out a laugh. You’re fairly certain it would not have come out right. “Very well.”

“Thank you,” Grandfather says, looking relieved that you're not arguing further. “Do you wish to wait for the doctor?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes. “That is not necessary. All of my injuries are only to the flesh. My head was unharmed and no bones have been broken. If my estimation of any of my injuries were incorrect, I shall inform Dr. Mull myself.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says, though not without a glance towards Grandmother’s room. You know you’re holding yourself stiffly due to tension and worry and yes, your lingering injuries, but you hope it only comes off as the former two. It must because he nods. “Yes, and I shall remain alert for Dale’s return.”

You nod and gesture with the hand still holding your teacup to the tea table. “Please, help yourself to some green tea. I freshly boiled the water only a few minutes ago.” When Grandfather stares at the pot with mild distrust, you add, “No special blends, just the green tea provided by the Governor. I was merely thirsty.”

Grandfather blinks back at you before smiling sheepishly. “Lovely. Thank you.”

You nod. “You are welcome,” you murmur as you let Miss Adir usher you into Grandmother’s dressing room.

“I’ve had some fresh clothes brought for you and I've got your medical bag,” Miss Adir says as she guides you into a chair. “Why don’t you finish your tea while I set it all out, hm?”

You nod, feeling like it’s all you’ve done for the past few minutes but helpless to think of what to do or say instead. Quietly, you sip your tea as the candles in the room are lit. It looks similar enough to your own dressing room here in the governor’s house, but larger. None of the details seem to stick in your mind and you find it easier to look down at the cup in your hands. 

In what feels like only a few seconds, you realize the cup is empty and Miss Adir’s hands are carefully taking it from you. “Let’s stand you up, my lady, so we can get you out of this tarnished ensemble. Oh, how do you want to do this, my lady? Should you change first or bandage yourself first? Or should I?”

The confusion and concern in her voice finally snaps you more fully to the present. You push up out of the chair and finally take a good look in the mirror, needing to better assess the situation in order to answer her questions. 

“Oh,” you say as you stare at yourself. You’re not sure if you expected to look worse or better, but it’s still a surprise to see the evidence of the night’s events on your person. 

Your hair looks mussed, almost as if you’ve slept on it, and your cheeks still have the faint evidence of tear tracks on them. Your eyes too are red at the edges, pupils still wider than even the dim lighting should require. The rest of you, well your dress as a whole looks like you’ve taken a tumble down a hill except instead of streaks of greenery, there are streaks of gray rock dust. Your makeshift bandage stands out as obviously as the large tear from where it had come from on your dress, exposing the cream of your stays. 

Your injured hand automatically goes to cover the hole and you feel a pang of pain at the movement. The aches and bruising you know must be under everything don’t show beyond the general disarray your clothing is in. Then there are the splatters of red, dried to a darker, rustier color, which are not from your own injuries which stand out starkly on the light green fabric. “Oh my.”

Miss Adir comes closer, hovering with her hands clasped tightly. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather the doctor see to you?”

You shake your head, but feel more present having truly seen what state you’re in. “No, she would not tell me anything I cannot tell myself. We should take all of this off, clean and bandage what can be, and then re-dress.”

“Yes, my lady,” Miss Adir seems dubious but grateful you’ve decided on a course of action. 

She carefully helps you out of the dress, though you fight the urge to remind her that it's likely destined for scrap. Even if the dress could be salvaged, you doubt you’d want to wear it again. After she loosens your stays, you fiddle with the busk to pull out the sheath and dagger. You set that aside separately so it can be strung along a leather thong. You’ve no desire to be without it anytime soon. You might sleep with it nearby.

Soon enough from your stockings to your shift, all has been carefully peeled away, leaving only the bandage left. Your front mostly looks normal, although there’s a bruise forming on your hip and another on one of your thighs you don’t remember getting. It’s your arms that have the most obvious damage, your wrists from the spear and then the cut on your arm. None of the other scratches and nicks you’ve picked up warrant bandaging.

Miss Adir hisses in sympathy as she comes over with some cloths and a basin of water. “Oh, your back.”

You turn to examine it in the mirror and wince. There’s a large knot where Vi had used the butt of her spear that’s already quite dark and angry looking. You feel an unexpected thrum of satisfaction at the sight of it, as though how much it hurts is now justified by the sight of the damage. “Yes, well, nothing much to do about bruising.” You reach back with your uninjured hand to run your fingers over the damage, checking as gingerly as you can for anything more that the sight might be disguising. “Nothing’s broken. I shall simply have to be careful of how I sit.”

“We can add a pad under the stays to keep from pressing on it too harshly,” Miss Adir says. “My mother did so after she was knocked into a fence post.”

“Yes, no stays tonight though.” The Governor had ordered your wing into a lockdown: no one in or out except guards and the servants already there. With no guests and the late hour, you were not getting any more dressed than you had to.

“No, no,” Miss Adir agreed. “Your bandages are here—I believe they are the correct ones, but your bag is over there if you require something else.”

“Thank you,” you say, reaching to check she had the right of it before taking a cloth and dipping it in the warm water. As you begin to unwind the makeshift bandage, she begins to help clean off the rest of you. It’s nicer than you expect to have the feeling of sweat cooling washed away until she does so.

The bandage sticks to your skin and you have to be careful not to leave any loose threads in the cut. You narrow your focus to cleaning the cut and making sure you don’t need stitches because that task seems like something you can manage.

The slash is longer than you initially thought, but not as deep as you’d worried, no matter how it hurts. Miss Adir helps hold the end of the bandage in place while you wrap it up. 

Accomplishing even something as simple as that, in this quiet room that feels separate and safe from the rest of the world has helped to resettle you, though you can feel exhaustion begin to nip at your heels. You try to shake it off, resolving to get another cup of tea soon. 

Some renewed urgency floods your veins with the only true injury you can treat handled. Feeling cleaner helps too as you put on the fresh shift and drawers. You sit back down to put on your stockings and when you do, you notice Miss Adir biting her lip. “What is it? Is something else wrong?”

“No, no,” she’s quick to reassure you, before biting her lip again. “Only, are you really okay? I can’t believe something like this happened here. What if myself or Miss Nila had been with you and Lady Deidre? Suppose Lord Dale—”

“Miss Adir,” you say, placing a hand over hers which you’ve only just realized are trembling. “I am fine. You heard Dr. Mull say Lady Deidre will recover, yes?”

She nods, looking up at you with wide eyes. You’re reminded that, while you always feel young, she is a couple years younger than even yourself. Before this wedding and your arrival, she’d primarily been a general maid, not assigned directly to any of the Northridges. She must feel even more in over her head than you do. “Lord Dale did arrive in time and the guards were summoned timely as well.” Something occurs to you. “Were you the one who discovered Grandmother and I were not where we were supposed to be?”

Miss Adir nods, some tears in her eyes. “When I got back up here with your pastries and Miss Nila said you still hadn’t gotten back, she went to tell Lord Archibald and Lord Dale while I alerted the captain. He did not seem to think much was amiss, but I convinced him to at least check with his other guards in the wing. I’ve heard such tales from the other servants since we’ve come to Connton. He’d just discovered some were not at their posts when Miss Nila came to tell him of your shouting and Lord Dale rushing into a fight!”

You smile at her, relieved that notice had been spreading as you’d hoped. “Then you did exactly what you should have.”

“Shouldn’t I have done something more? When I think back on how slow we were to fetch anyone or how long it took to discuss matters, I can only think at how frightened you or Lady Deidre must have been while we took our time.”

You shake your head. “We were frightened because of the actions of the attackers, not your own. And you had no reason to think anything grave was amiss. Neither Grandmother nor I would place any blame at your feet.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Now,” you stand back up. “Help me into my petticoats and dressing gown so we can rejoin the others.”

“Yes, my lady,” she replies with a lightness in her step that you feel yourself. Strange how reassuring her had helped you center yourself. What is done is done and everyone did the best they could, including yourself. It did not however, help alleviate your worry over Dale, who was still in the fight, perhaps even literally.

When you and Miss Adir emerge from the dressing room, you see Grandfather look over to you and some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “You look much better, my lady,” he says as he gestures you into your former seat. Miss Adir leaves to take your previous garments away and you see a guard peel off from the wall to accompany her.

You thank Grandfather for the tea he pours you, but you can see an eager, but reluctant look in his eyes that tells you that, since he has been reassured of your state, he too wishes to ask you for details on what happened.

What follows is a near identical set of questions as you’d fielded from the captain and you’re relieved to find that your previous answers do come back to you. It is only when he starts to repeat himself, obviously frustrated that you cannot provide more information, that you begin to grow weary once again. You know he is not truly angry with you, at least you do not think so, but it is a tiring exercise to walk the line between what information to reveal and what not to.

“I’ve told you,” you finally say, cutting off another question about what had happened to the leader, Clen. “I spent near as much as I could hidden after being assaulted by Lasky and then the other. I don’t know when in the fight he even died. I could see nothing.”

“The room is a mess of destruction,” Grandfather says, having gotten up to begin pacing. “Far more than would come of an ordinary fight, even with ones so brutal.”

“They had enhancements from the Depths,” you remind him. “Not the woman, but the others.”

“Yes, so the Captain said too.” Talking through everything seems to be how Grandfather is processing everything, you simply wish it did not feel quite so much like he was trying to catch you out in a lie. Unlike the days before, you can tell he isn’t actually suspicious of you. “There was only one that left alive at the end, yes?”

“Yes,” you reply. You debate telling him anything more about two, but likely the captain will anyway. Still you don’t want to upset him further so you cautiously add, “However… I do not think the one had enhancements.”

“Oh,” Grandfather stops pacing to stare at you. “Not what I would have suspected.” He relaxes,  “That is a good thing, they should be easier to apprehend.”

“You misunderstand,” you say, shaking your head. There is no point in delaying the information. “I believe that one to be possessed.”

Grandfather pales at your words. “Caverns below, true possession? Did you alert the captain to your suspicion?”

You nod. “Of course.” Now you wonder if the captain had kept that to himself until Dale’s return so as not to worry Grandmother or Grandfather. Had he reported while Grandmother was present? Regardless, it’s too late now and you want Grandfather braced for the information. “I could hear very little—they kept to the edges of the fight initially and I was hidden as best I could, but at the end… They spoke in voices. Multiple voices. Not to mention the strength they displayed and their interaction with the physical world beyond that of a human.”

Grandfather looks truly shaken and you begin to regret letting him know. “I cannot think on the damage one such as them might wreak.” You resist the urge to point out he’s already seen it. “To think someone hired such a horrible monster in order to attack our family. Dale mentioned being able to combat such lower tactics and evidently he held his own, but I now more greatly understand your concern on his going after them.”

“He had a blade that seemed able to damage even those from the Depths,” you say, wanting to give Grandfather some reassurance, but obviously unable to say that Dale is in fact on even footing with Two.

“That is good to know. Perhaps I should acquire something similar. Too many tools that can be used against those from the Depths are from the Depths and therefore, too great a risk to have in one’s possession. That is why we banned them,” Grandfather says, half to himself as he slowly begins pacing once more. “What manner of influence did the possessed one have access to?”

“Stonework,” you reply, knowing you are likely encouraging Grandfather’s fear, but unable to keep your fears in any longer. “They seemed to partially turn to stone, but that might have been a trick of the light. I did not get a good look. They treated the entire fight, those they had been working with, Dale and myself, as if… we didn’t matter to them, not as people. At least, that is how it seemed to me.” 

That is what, looking back on everything, unsettles you the most. How they didn’t care that their companions had been killed. They did not enter the fight until it was just them and Dale. Even that they seemed to see as an entertaining challenge, more than a fight with lives at stake. The demon in Two had seemed far less, for lack of a better word, human than this Dale was. It had been extremely disconcerting and frightening, bringing back old fears that maybe this demon Dale was only a good actor. But to what end? 

You force yourself to focus on Two and the problem at hand, as always feeling as if Grandfather might somehow be able to read your worries and thoughts on Dale on your face. “The others were more obviously there because they were paid well. Two seemed to have an entirely different agenda and was far more dangerous because of it, not to mention his abilities, which were far greater than those with mere enhancements.” You shudder at the memory of the cruel menace in his voice, which only seems to grow worse to your mind now that there are fewer things to focus on. It had physically discomforted you to hear, but now it seemed to suggest they had personally inflicted harm to others the likes of which you could not imagine.  “I never want him near me again.”

“Yes, the machinations of those demons from below are incomprehensible except to spread chaos and destruction,” Grandfather replies, scowling fiercely. “If I ever run into one of those demons, I—”

Whatever threat he was hoping to make is cut off by the door opening. You both turn, Grandfather’s hand to his sword hilt and yours to the dagger lying on the table beside you. 

Dale is in the doorway, looking worn but whole as he walks in.

“Dale!” you and Grandfather say at the same time. Grandfather has put his hands on his grandson’s shoulders, looking him over, before you can even get to your feet.

“Are you alright?” he demands. “What happened? How could you go off on your own like that after someone so dangerous?

Dale carefully places a hand on Grandfather’s arm, pulling it off his shoulder. “I am alright. I’m sure you’ve been informed of those who attacked us. The other had to be stopped. I ensured they will no longer harm our family,” Dale replies, his voice blunt and tired.

You try your best to assess Dale for injuries or other signs that might give him away in his exhausted state. Similar to you, you expect the majority of his injuries are bruisings, but nothing appears obviously broken, nor is he bleeding profusely from anywhere in particular. Relief finally floods you at this confirmation that he is going to be alright. You can’t help but let out a breath of relief which brings his gaze to you. You try to offer him a smile, but he still seems on his guard, which must mean it was a poor attempt on your part. 

He looks back at Grandfather. “How is Grandmother?”

“She is recovering well,” Grandfather says, beginning to herd Dale towards her room. “Come, you must let Dr. Mull assess your injuries.”

“There is no need,” Dale attempts to protest.

“Of course there is,” Grandfather retorts, not slowing down his pace in the slightest. Dale turns pleading eyes to you.

“Let him look you over,” you say, “And so long as he approves with it, I can provide the rest of the supplies or aid with any bandaging.”

Dale glances from you to Grandfather before he slumps, realizing he’s outnumbered. “Yes, sana.”

With that, the pair disappears into Grandmother’s bedroom. 

You set about readying the dressing room to tend to Dale, or for the doctor to do so herself. You only hope if it comes to that, Dale has himself under control. Not to mention that if Dale is injured severely enough for the doctor to wish to do so would be very worrying indeed. 

Miss Adir is sent for more water and cloths while Dale’s valet goes to fetch him fresh clothes, though you hope Dale can just go to bed rather than be kept up even later being interrogated. 

You’re checking on your supplies, making sure you have enough bandages when you hear the door push open further behind you. 

“Sana?” You turn to see Dale in the doorway.

“Dale, how are you? How is Grandmother? They said they didn’t want too many people in her rooms,” you ask, following him into the room and taking a closer look at the slashes that pepper his clothing.

“As I’ve said,'' Dale still sounds tired, but also less stiff. As if he too is finally feeling the release of some tension generated by the fight. He takes off his jacket, clearly knowing you need a closer look to help care for his wounds. “I am alright. So is Grandmother. She was sleeping easily and the Doctor said there will be no lasting damage. She said similarly for me, if not for a few scars. One of my ribs is broken, but nothing else is. She agreed that your training would be plenty to help with the other cuts, though with a similar warning to let her know if anything requires stitches.”

“Oh good, yes,” you say, your hand clasps around his wrist as you turn his arm to better see the longest cut on it. The red staining his shirt looks dark, but human and you hate how much of it there is. Perhaps you should have left the bandaging to the doctor. What if you do not have the right training after all?

He leans closer to you, causing you to look up. There is caution in his face as he says, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” The more people asked you the worse you were starting to feel. With Dale finally back here and whole, if not uninjured, everything finally seems to have fully caught up with you. “I just…” you can’t find the words for what you're feeling and trail off. Your frown deepens, frustrated with yourself, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I... I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“It would be understandable, if you were not,” Dale murmurs. Your fingers hesitantly brush the edge of his torn sleeve. “Sana—”

He gently pulls you by your forearm closer to him. Without giving it any further thought, you collapse into him. Wrapping your arms around him and fisting your hands in the back of his shirt in an effort to stop from shaking. 

You bury your face against his chest. He’s solid and firm beneath you. The scent of dark spice with the hint of woodsmoke envelops you. He’s not warm, but that’s alright, your face feels warm enough with the effort of holding in nonsensical tears and with embarrassment at how you’re reacting. You can’t bring yourself to let go of him though, not when you finally feel rooted to the ground again.

One of his large hands spans your back while the other rests on your head, with enough weight that you feel him, but no hold, no pressure. You’re sure if you tried to push away, he’d let you. 

You press closer instead, mumbling another ‘I’m sorry’ through closed eyes.

“Hush,” he says, and there’s no judgment in his tone, only something you think might be fondness as he adjusts his hold on you. “You did so well, handling everything, I was beginning to worry about what else you might have faced in your past to prepare you to handle such an event. For a second, I nearly wondered if you were entirely human.”

That pulls a startled laugh from you. “That does seem to be a popular theory.” First Grandfather and now even Dale, if only in jest. You could hear the mild irony in his tone and enjoy the inside joke, for all it doesn’t help dissipate the surreal feeling of this night. You loosen your hold on the back of his shirt, but the thought that perhaps Dale would prefer if you were more than you are makes your hands spasm. He had said you’d done well, but what if that was only with the caveat that you are human? What if he wants someone more like him? “So sorry to disappoint, but I’m definitely only human.” 

If he notices how desperately you are clutching at him once again, he doesn’t show it. “Nonsense,” he intones and, as always, his words are so self-assured that you are already half-way to believing whatever he is going to say next. “I would only be disappointed if you were anyone other than who you already are.”

A wry smile crosses your face because you think that’s a compliment. In fact, you think it might be the highest compliment you’ve ever received. Pulling back a little, you tentatively look up and meet his dark, endless gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkle and there’s a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you.” You give him a squeeze and start to pull away. “I prefer you as you are too.”

His eyes widen slightly and a surprisingly vulnerable expression crosses his face. “Is that so?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you reply, hoping he can hear how certain you are. “It is.”

He grins down at you, a strangely boyish pride on his face, and you flush, finally letting go of him. His own hands fall from you and to distract yourself from their loss, you fuss with your hair and clothes. When your eyes dart back to his own, he’s watching you with an indulgent smile. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” you admit because you truly do. 

“Good.”

“How are you?” you ask, looking into his eyes to better assess his answer, to try to communicate you don’t just mean physically. Perhaps he faced all sorts of events like today in the Depths, but you don’t think so. He hadn’t panicked, but he had not been unfazed either.

He frowns, as if he hadn’t thought to take stock of how he felt until you asked. “Concerned and angry, but no longer as unsettled as I felt even moments ago.”

You nod because that honestly sounds like your feelings exactly. “Will you be able to find who did this?”

“Oh, yes,” his entire being seems to darken, the shadows around him that much deeper than they were seconds ago, the air that much colder. “The responsible parties will be found and punished accordingly, as I told Grandfather. Make no mistake about that.”

“Good.” 

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

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

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

WEVEW8DBDJDEJSISBDSJWKWDBSKSMS DDBEJJEBEBS

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

THIS IS NOT FALL WEATHER, WHAT THE FUCK😭😭