#melonposting

[smile-files]

your friend, your servant

(a short hurt/comfort fic with henry and dalston, not long after the events of miracle mask)

...

a gentle knock on the door.

how unusual, thought alphonse dalston. nobody ever visited. well, aside from those couple times dandy old hershel showed up during the masked gentleman investigation, but that was weeks ago. he sat up and paused, wondering he if he was just hearing things; with a shrug, he settled back down.

another knock.

with a groan, dalston begrudgingly hauled himself off of the couch, where he'd been oh-so-comfortably reading a book, which he closed and placed on the side table. "i'm comin', i'm comin'," he called as he made for the door, straightening out his shirt on the way.

upon swinging the door open, he found the last man he'd ever thought he'd see standing in front of him.

"good morning, mr dalston," greeted henry ledore, in his typical flat affect.

"what the hell are you doing here, ledore?" dalston asked loudly, standing in the doorway. really, what the hell WAS he doing there? ledore, of all people…

henry cleared his throat. "i understand you own a large property and only enlist the help of one servant. i can help maintain your estate."

dalston was left agape. "…what?"

"i can repeat myself, if you wish." eternally patient henry. damn him. "i apologize if my language was unclear…"

"no, i understand what you said, ledore," dalston snapped, "i just don't understand why you said it. why on earth would someone of your stature be crawling to me for work? as a servant, no less?"

henry laughed lightly. "you forget, mr dalston, that all of my wealth belongs to master randall."

"yes, right…" dalston's voice tapered off in thought. henry ledore, his financial competitor for the past 18 years, didn't even want any of the massive fortune he'd built - that which dalston had been so long trying to exceed. their rivalry was entirely one-sided. "but that doesn't make you a servant," dalston continued. "again."

"i never stopped being a servant," henry said. "my 'stature', if you'd like to call it that, was always master randall's."

"then why aren't you licking bratscot's boots right now?" dalston asked with a smirk. "i mean, since you have been so obsessively dedicated to the boy all this time, i'd think you'd be chomping at the bit to be working for him again."

a sigh. "he wasn't so keen on the idea of my resuming work as his servant. that is why i've come to you, mr dalston." henry's gaze was intense, determined.

dalston shook his head, baffled. "and if i turned you down too, would you go to some other rich sap and ask them the same?"

"i'm afraid they all regard me too highly to ever allow me a position beneath them, no matter how illogical that may seem."

"illogical, eh…?" dalston paused. "…hey, then why'd you think i'd accept? because i've sullied your good name in public, repeatedly? ha!" with a laugh, and a hearty pat on henry's back, dalston finally let him into the house.

dalston resumed his seat on the couch, leaving henry standing awkwardly in the entryway. he picked up his book and began leafing through it.

"y'know, it is kinda infuriating," he mused, smiling, "that you upstaged me at literally everything then revealed you weren't even doing it on purpose. there i was, thinking i had some fighting chance of beating you and rubbing it in your face, but now i know you never even cared about what i was doing. all you cared about was your 'master randall'."

"my apologies for seeming aloof," henry replied. "you are correct, mr dalston: preparing for master randall's return was my top priority. unfortunately, i could pay little mind to other affairs."

"including your old friend dalston?" dalston grinned. "was i too far beneath your lofty, noble goals?"

henry gave a start. "i did not realize you saw us as friends. i apologize for not treating you with more warmth."

"of course we're friends, ledore! what on earth are you talking about?" dalston shut his book and put it down. "come, sit. stop standing there like a piece of furniture."

obeying, henry came around to sit next to dalston on the couch. it was, indeed, a comfortable couch; henry smiled to himself.

"i admit," dalston said, "for a while i did think you were a slimy, greedy little bastard. i saw you building a fortune off of those ruins bratscot wouldn't shut up about, with his girl as your wife no less… i mean, you never told me why you were doing any of this! really, can you expect me not to call you a snake?"

"the most important thing was for me to help master randall," henry replied, unhelpfully. "though you, too, were romantically interested in angela, were you not? i understand our 'marriage' may have upset you on a more personal level."

dalston continued, ignoring henry's apology. "and y'know, as kids, i'd always talk about making it big in the hospitality business… but there you were, with your chain of luxury hotels, bringing in the bills! getting rich off of my dream! why, so i started my own hotel chain here in monte d'or too, and i started being massively successful, just like you - except you never batted an eye. mr ledore was too big for me now. and then you accused me of destroying monte d'or? ha! you really shouldn't be surprised i hated your guts. because you never explained a damn thing…"

henry opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"and what's it all for now? heh, i'm getting pissy with a saint." dalston laughed. "at least now i know i was wrong to hate you. that's nice, at least, so we can go back to being chums. no hard feelings, eh?" he nudged henry with his elbow.

"i harbor no ill-will towards you, mr dalston," henry stated. "your reaction to my behavior was due and deserved. i hope i can be a better friend to you in future, now that i am not so preoccupied."

dalston grunted, but spoke not a word. they sat in silence.

"y'know," dalston said at length, "i was glad when mr bratscot kicked you out. and i was glad you became independent. he'd shut you up in that house for hours, only sending you out to do chores… i was hoping that with all of that out of the way we'd finally get to see you again."

dalston was staring in the middle distance, and henry did the same, not knowing what to say.

"but then you shut yourself up in those ruins," dalston went on, "and then in the reunion inn, or in your study, doing to yourself what was done to you… except i thought you were being the cruel master over yourself like mr bratscot. selfish. choosing money over the rest of us."

henry bit his lip.

"why did you never explain anything? i know i would tease you when we were kids, but…" dalston paused, his expression softening. "why, do you not think we're friends, ledore? is that why you were confused earlier? …is that why you never told me about anything?"

a brief silence. "i assure you, my inability to justify my actions to you was not meant to be a personal slight. and… i am pleased that you think we're friends. but i was not expecting you to say so."

dalston smiled sadly. "but do you want me to think we're friends? do you want to be friends, ledore?"

"it is your decision, mr dalston."

"if i said we weren't, i don't think you'd get upset and disagree with me."

"i apologize."

dalston sighed. here he was, getting pissy with a saint again…

they sat in silence for a moment, uncomfortable with each others' sadness.

suddenly, dalston met henry's gaze. "you were my friend before anything else. you could never be my servant."

in turn, henry stood up with a sigh. "then i must bid you good day, mr dalston. i apologize for bothering you."

dalston grabbed his hand with both of his and pulled henry back down onto the couch.

"do you seriously not know how to be friends with someone without being their inferior?" dalston asked, incredulous, henry now forced to make eye contact. "you don't have to leave my house just because you're not working for me. what, is that why you left yours?"

henry's hand was still in dalston's grasp. he'd been startled by the whole motion, by dalston begging for his company with his hands. eyes wide, henry didn't know what to say. his mind was on the feeling of being wanted there, on that couch. of his hand in dalston's grasp.

"you're very good at saying nothing." dalston exhaled and released henry, expecting him to stand up again. he closed his eyes, expecting henry to be gone when he opened them.

"master randall has always been my closest friend. he's always treated me like his brother, and yet he was always still my master."

"hm?" dalston opened an eyelid, curious.

indeed, henry's gaze had travelled to the door… but he'd stayed, perching himself uncomfortably on the edge of the couch; though he still faced away from dalston. "the two have always been the same to me," he continued in a soft voice.

dalston sat up and listened to him, eyes fully open.

henry bit his lip and continued. "do you think master randall and i would've been real brothers if he weren't my master? if he were just… randall?"

"he's always seen you as his real brother."

henry said nothing for a moment.

so dalston waited.

"it is true," henry murmured after a while, "if you said we weren't friends, i wouldn't disagree with you."

"oh yeah?" dalston replied quietly.

"yes. though i would still be sad." he smiled unhappily. "though i suppose that wouldn't mean anything, if i never explained it?"

"i'd think you hated me."

"and i wouldn't blame you."

suddenly, dalston pulled henry to his side and hugged him tight, arms wrapped around his thin form. henry was initially frozen like a deer in headlights, just as he was when dalston had grabbed him before…

henry's mind raced. he is holding me. he wants me to stay. i am in his house. i am on his property. i am doing something wrong. i should leave. he is holding me. he wants me stay. i am wanted here. i am wanted here. i am wanted here. i am wanted here.

…henry let himself sink into the warmth of being wanted. he became nearly limp with relief, as if his loneliness were an old, cramped exoskeleton dalston had gently slit into and helped him shed, letting the vulnerable, delicate animal within finally feel the heat of the sun, so similar to the heat which had always pulsed in his heart… he felt so weak, yet so alive, within dalston's embrace… and so tired… it took a lot out of him, letting himself be loved, instead of hiding himself away…

dalston was amused to find henry fallen asleep, but smiled to himself. he let me hold him, he thought. he wants to be here. and look… now he gets to dream again…

he gently laid henry down on the couch, shifting over to make room. he settled in with his book again, just as he was before henry had ever arrived… except now someone got to be comfortable on the couch with him. he was glad henry had visited.

[yoshikunes]

Harmony Melons 😭❤️❤️❤️

OC belongs to @xenogiri

[ksodirty]

[staypuff]

melon man. he spotty like seeds.

[soda-peep]

I got a little silly, here’s a irl basil watermelon fusion

[smile-files]

I'M GOING NUTS

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headcanon that after randall fully settles back in after the events of miracle mask he realizes how much henry still calls him "master randall" and finds it equal parts awkward and disturbing... but henry's like it feels weird to say your name without a title i'm afraid. so randall's like... better make it "brother randall" then :) and henry's content with that :)

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a bunch of clover ships :)

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it's endlessly fascinating how steve cobs talks about the show just like walkie talkie. he sees all this potential in it as a concept, all the ways it would be better without mephone in the picture, while neglecting the fact that it only exists in any capacity because of mephone. he's treating ii as an abstract entity, even though it's really something mephone created by hand

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hey guys do you like my house

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i am in awe of their tism

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eddie...

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this is terrifying??? what the hell??????

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something interesting i realized while on the vessel-making screen in the deltarune introduction is that it's physically impossible to make kris: there is no hair that perfectly matches theirs (none have the cowlick or the right jagged shape on the bottom), and there is no sweater that perfectly matches theirs (none have a single stripe). this is fascinating, as it perhaps suggest that, if we (the player) had a choice, we *wouldn't* make kris. they aren't something we want, or are even capable of wanting, rather something we're stuck with.

and i suppose the fact that they can't be *created* as a vessel is telling, because we didn't create kris -- they weren't made for us, they're not a player avatar. they're a pre-existing person we just happen to gain possession of.

we weren't made for each other; they don't want us, and we don't seem to want them either (if the inability to choose to create someone like them says anything); funny, then, that in a way we're "soulmates"...

(both pictures are from the deltarune wiki!)

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luke is so small and sweet... see him climbing up onto the professor's desk to let a bird in from the rain... he's like a little bug or rodent

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this line with layton's smiling face is utterly hysterical to me