#more suffering for macaroni

[kiynania]

Let me just.

AU where LBD twists and manipulates Macaque's mind after resurrecting him

Here he's completely on LBD's side and helps her willingly(at least that's what he thinks) to create a world without pain

LBD's ability to twist his mind gets stronger as her power grows

When she first resurrects Macaque, she's really only able to heavily influence his emotions since she's locked away. After she's freed and releases her mech, she's actually able to erase and add fake memories in Macaque's mind, along with his emotions. By the time LBD(somewhat) possesses Wukong, she can completely erase who Macaque is and import a whole new person into him, and in a way, 'break Wukong's hold over him'

The process of this is actually really painful for Macaque, so to keep him calm, LBD hums a lullaby that Wukong also hummed to Macaque back then(she knows it as it was the same lullaby she heard Macaque humming back in the Diyu)

Macaque eventually grows more and more confused as to what's really happening to him, but it really doesn't matter as the mayor's there to keep him in line

No one besides LBD and the mayor is aware of this until much later on

If you wanna know more, asks are open :3

[asbestieos]

why is my stomach growling so loud like she hadnt eaten. girl you had so much food last night wtf

[tittyinfinity]

This Thanksgiving, there are people who will be very thankful for your help.

HELP OMAR KEEP HIS FAMILY ALIVE

*Remaking because I was incorrect about some of the info on my last post*

Omar not only has to raise the money to escape the genocide, he also has to pay for daily medical costs for his father and brother, which costs him $150 or more per day. His brother, who is currently in the ICU, already lost his wife, and has kids that need him to stay alive. His father is suffering from an enlarged liver that requires surgery. A single day without donations could mean it's their last day.

YOU can be someone to be thankful for. Every donation, no matter how small, is a step towards saving lives. Every reblog makes a difference.

Verified by 90-ghost

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Elden Ring Guide: Children of Marika

Elden Ring's DLC is out and with it come more hard to remember names. Luckily, you can remember Marika's godly offspring with a simple mnemonic: "MMMMMMM." This stands for:

Miquella the Unalloyed

Miquella has not been blended with tin, thus he is called "The Unalloyed." He has mind control powers and three and a half arms.

Melania, Blade of Miquella

Melania fights for Miquella and is thus called his blade. She is also the goddess of rot, which means she has wings made of butterflies.

Margot, Star of Barbeeh

Margot is the king of Leyndell, the capital city of a land with no remaining living beings. Thus it is very hard for him to collect taxes.

Mileena, Really Mean Lady

Mileena is a bit of a bully. She is known to break the thumbs of those who attempt to enter her needlessly complex fatality codes.

Marlene, the Blue Angel

Seductive and smart, Marlene is like a siren whose singing abilities can seduce even the most stalwart professors and leave them alone.

Margerie, Annihilator of Universes

This goddess has suffered for decades from the maniacal and demented family she married into, hence her infinite HP pool.

Macaroni, the Pasta Reborn

A horrifying monster of carbs and cheese, this unthinkable being can inflict thousands of calories per serving and cause atherosclerosis.

[thesoftestmess]

The beauty of Furina and Neuvillette to me is this:

It's about two people who spent 500 years by each other's side, watched generations of citizens they governed together live and die, watched art and fashion trends and historical eras come and go, worked together and lived in close proximity the entire time and without knowing it, grew into a package deal out of circumstance.

Furina, in all of her isolation, could always count on Neuvillette to have her back, be her guidance when dealing with politics and complex archon duties. And Neuvillette, in all his struggle to fit into human society, found meaning in being her right hand and maybe found comfort in Furina's weirdness. In how people wouldn't rarely say "she's overly dramatic and a bit strange, but she's our goddess no less". At some point he stopped noticing he brings her up in every conversation he's having. It's just part of his job, of his life.

For 500 years it's just that. Coexistence and a mutual comfort out of circumstance.

Then the world comes crashing down.

Literally, but even more so figuratively. Everything changes over night, everything Neuvillette thought he knew about his Lady Furina, about the people he swore to protect, gets drowned out by a new reality.

He gets his full powers back and loses the ground beneath his feet all the same. Loses Furina to her freedom. Because it dawns on him that he spent 500 years by her side, not realizing she wasn't free. And how does one apologise for that? For so much more?

Over night, Furina can finally be what she's always longed for: human again. No longer forced to smile through her suffering, no longer forced to repeat the same painful routines, keep up whatever mannerisms it takes to play her role. No longer a puppet for the greater good.

And she finds that freedom tastes like cheap instant macaroni and a new sauce once a week, and looks like staring at the looming front door of her small apartment, which she hasn't stepped out of in a week or two.

What if someone on the street asks her to explain everything? Neuvillette used to shield her from troublesome encounters like that.

The beauty of neuvifuri to me is two people taking 500 years by each other's side for granted, and being so completely entirely lost when they're thrust into a new reality. Without each other.

[bullet-prooflove]

Terry Silver + paper clip, padlock, rainy dawn. 🤗🌹

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @eddieslut69 @mia1653 @kimbergoldess

Companion piece to:

Sick Day

Love Story

You sleep though the rest of the night. Terry sits there at your bedside watching the rise and fall of your chest as the rainy dawn filters through the blinds of your hospital room. As he holds your hand he thinks about what would have happened if he hadn’t been there, what the doctors have told him could have happened.

You would have asphyxiated. It would have been slow, agonising and the thought of that, it makes his eyes sting, because a world without you, it simply isn’t worth living in.

The ridiculous thing is that all of this could have been prevented if you just had access to the proper health care, but you had no insurance and you couldn’t afford a doctor’s visit so you’d suffered in silence. Terry would gladly have given you the money but you’re a proud woman, you would never have asked.

After you’d returned from Europe you’d returned to your modest living, picking up a part time job at an art gallery. It’s a foot in the door to the career you want, one that your happy to work for no matter how many times Terry may offer up his contacts. You subsidise your income with ad hoc catering jobs, ones that require you to dress in black and deliver canapés to men like him at charity functions. The food at these events costs more that your wages.

It isn’t until tonight that he realises that your worlds are eons apart.

You haven’t told him how you struggle to make rent every month, that you’re dining on boxed macaroni and noodle cups because you can barely afford to make ends meet. Terry finds that out for himself when he starts to investigate your lack of health insurance.

It’s five am when his lawyer Reenie Greene shows up, she hands Terry the documentation he’s requested, all of it held together with a paperclip. Terry flicks through it studying the terms before he signs it, handing it back to her.

“That’s it?” Terry asks her and she nods her head as she tucks the paperwork back inside her three thousand dollar leather satchel.

“All you need to do is transfer the funds and the trust is set up for her. Any medical expenses she may incur in the future with be deducted from it automatically.” Reenie tells him, before she hoists the bag onto her shoulder and says goodbye.

Terry waits until he hears the clack of her heels retreat down the hall before he picks up his tablet and presses on the padlock, waiting for the device to acknowledge his biometrics. He pulls up one of his accounts before making a generous transfer to the healthcare account he’s set up for you. The one that should see you through the rest of your days.

There’s a relief in his chest as he watches the money disappear before it gets to the place it needs to go. He can breathe easy now, knowing you’re taken care of, that you’ll always be taken care of, with him or without him.

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[putuponpercy]

Repost because I'm a dumbass and forgot the HCs

Spent most of his life suffering respiratory issues

Didn't let that stop him achieving his goal of working on the railway

He paid a lot of money for a private doctor who was more interested in squeezing every penny he could out of Henry rather than actually helping him

Scars on his face/neck/back are from the Kipper accident

He also lost the bottom half of his left leg during the accident and now wears a prosthetic

Doctors were able to figure out and fix Henry's respiratory issues during his hospital stay

Could not pay his rent while in hospital and was unfortunately evicted after he came home

Gordon had a spare room available and gave him a one-time don't-ask-again offer which was supposed to be temporary but Henry (& later James) ended up staying there for over 10 years.

Was incredibly skinny before his accident but started working out and bulked up once he was fully recovered

People are surprised at how muscular he is since his baggy clothes hide it

Is an inch taller than Gordon but tends to slouch

Last name is Stanier

Lactose intolerant but that won't stop him cooking large batches of macaroni & cheese (usually at 3am his sleep schedule is horrible)

Currently clocked at 42, making him the oldest of the strike trio

[steviewashere]

Please Don't Go Away (Is This How It's Supposed To Be?)

Rating: General CW: Death of A Pet, Animal Death, Original Animal Character Death, Cancer in a Pet Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Grieving Steve Harrington, Dog Owner Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Senior Dog, Grieving Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, The Lord of The Rings References Title from "Upside Down" by Jack Johnson. Something something, you can't save people, you can only love them. For @steddieangstyaugust Day 3: "The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?"

🦮—————🦮 Steve Harrington has a heart too big for this world. It beats with love and passion. He cares too much about any living thing he comes across. Seen in his friendships with everybody in the party, with his platonic soulmate relationship with Robin, his polite kindness to Nancy, and his deep and all-encompassing infatuating love for Eddie.

Then, a newcomer is added to his roster.

A golden retriever. It’s a senior dog, roughly eight years old. Shaggy yellow fur that’s half-white. Dark brown eyes, almost like Eddie’s. He likes to prance around, play fetch from dawn to dusk, swim in the pool, and get cuddles between Steve and Eddie in bed. He loves sitting outside with them as they smoke cigarettes. Loves being a part of their day to day lives. Sitting on the porch of their two bedroom apartment, gazing at the sky, as the sun dips low and lower. He rests his heavy head on Eddie���s bare foot and huffs in his sleep, drools onto the wood of the porch, and when he wakes up from his little nap—he always gazes at the stars, too.

His name is Sammy—Samwise, otherwise. And he’s Steve’s best pet friend. The first pet Steve has ever had. The one that earns all of his love.

——— “Eds?” Steve calls out, voice soft, near empty.

They’re sitting at their dining table. Eating from the same pot of macaroni and cheese. Both their faces the pure definition of melancholy.

Sammy’s got a tumor, the vet had said just a few hours ago. It’s cancerous. It’s aggressive.

It’s terminal.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Eddie speaks just as quietly. His throat hurts from the cigarettes he just suckled down not too long ago. Pinched inside from the little amount of talking he’s done today. He was driving the car back home, Steve in the passenger seat crying, and himself holding back tears—he had to see the road.

Steve sniffles. His fork is stirring around in the macaroni. He hasn’t had a bite of it yet. “Do you think…” He stops moving his fork. Eyes clouding, glistening as they look down at the dinged up surface of the table. Swallows, the saliva clicking. “Should I just give him one more good day and then…send him home?”

Eddie reaches for him at that. Taking Steve’s right hand in his. The skin he touches is cold, rough, and clammy. His thumb scoots to the pulse point on Steve’s wrist, it beats slow against him. “That’s up to you, baby. He’s more your dog than mine. I can’t make that decision.”

“But I…Eds, I love him so much,” Steve states, warbling, “he’s my baby. I don’t want him to suffer, but I don’t want to let him go.”

He quickly drops his own fork in the pot of food. Slower, though, he rakes his hand over the top of Steve’s head, fingers idly tangling in his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, “look at me.” Steve does, raising his heavy head, eyes miserable and dark and red, shoulders hunched to his ears, and that frown of his low to his chin. Eddie hates this. “I’ve lost plenty of pets before,” he explains, voice low in his chest, “some of them passed with old age. Some of them escaped through the door and I never saw them again. But I’ve had two that died because they were sick; one of them I had put to sleep.

“And let me tell you, honey, in a case like Sammy’s, he’s only going to break your heart everyday. Sometimes you’ll think your Samwise is better and ready to play. Then, the next morning, he’ll be back to laying down all day, barely eating, mostly sleeping.

“I love him, too; to bits and pieces, to crumbs, to atoms. But you love him more, Stevie. You love him so much, I see that. I know you do. Listen to me, though.

“You can only love him, Steve. He’s terminal, sweetheart. You can’t save him from this. I think, in this case, it’s best to love him as hard as you can, give him the paradise of his dreams, and then let him…send him home.”

Steve’s face isn’t dark anymore. Just morose. Eyes heavy and exhausted. Tears glistening down his cheeks. Face splotchy red and warm when Eddie brushes his knuckles over it. His lips and chin are wobbling. Eddie hates this.

He cups the back of Steve’s head and brings it to his shoulder. And feels more than sees the way Steve weeps and sobs and gags into his neck. His back is bouncing up and down, choppy with each of his shaking breaths. And on the bare skin of his shin, Eddie feels Sammy brush against him. He blearily reaches down and pets the dog’s back, grounding himself for the last few days to come.

——— They’ve got the van set up for the day. Sammy’s dog bed set up in the back, where the seats usually would be. Pillows upon pillows, the comforter from their bed, and a few of their sweatshirts cushioning Sammy on all sides. There’s a greasy paper bag from the diner in the front seat, a cheeseburger without all the fixings, and a small French fry waiting for their buddy. Windows rolled down for fresh air to hit Sammy’s fur. His face is of pure contentment, eyes wide and giddy, panting heavily. Eddie wonders if this is what he’d look like as a puppy, without the grey fur.

Steve’s quiet in the passenger seat. Head looking over his left shoulder, between the seats. His hands twisted in his lap. Smile small and wobbling and deeply remorseful. Eddie offered to let him pick music; packed up several of Steve’s cassettes, but he didn’t even look at them, didn’t even care. They’re his favorite albums, too. Which makes it worse.

The silence has been one of the worst parts of all this.

After the other day, Eddie had been the one to schedule the euthanasia appointment. For just after sundown. One more sunset before their boy goes.

He drives through backroads, between long stretches of nothing but field, and after some time, he parks at the base of a steep hill. And when he gets out, Steve is already scooting out of the back of the van, Sammy in his arms, curled up tight in a ball, clearly too heavy to be moved like this—if the awkward ambling in Steve’s legs says anything—but he just carries on. One slow step at a time until their little hike ends at the top.

Eddie brought up the dog bed and their comforter, the bag of diner food, and the sweatshirts. He lays it all out. Lets Sammy curl up in the bed, covers him with the blanket, stuffs the hoodies on either of his sides, and then hands the food over to Steve to unwrap and feed. He does it slowly. Tears little chunks off of the cheeseburger. Holds the fries two at a time between his clenched fingers. And when it’s gone, he settles his upper body on Sammy’s back, lays his arm between the dog’s legs, and rubs his cheek atop Sammy’s head.

Then, they watch.

The sky shifts from baby blue. To yellow, like Sammy’s young fur. A muted pink, the color of Steve’s cheeks when he laughs—when he cries. And then a mirage of all of the colors, blending and mixing into one saturated thing. The sun dipping low, just the upper third of it still visible. Stars already poking from their hiding spots.

It’s the best sunset Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. But he looks over to Steve anyway. Watches him pet fur under his hand, twirl it between his fingers into tight twists. His eyes spilling fast, fat tears. Barely making a sound, just the stuttering of his breath. Nasally and sharp through his nose. Lips pinched tight, rolled into his teeth. Eyelashes clumped together and darker than Eddie’s ever seen them. He lays his right hand on the back of Steve’s head and pets him, too.

Steve clears his throat. Rough and raw and probably painful. “The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think, Sammy?” He asks quietly, burrowing his head further into the fur. The only response he gets is a snuffle, to which he chuckles at. It’s short lived and terribly bittersweet. “What about you, Eds?” Steve whispers.

He digs his fingers deeper into Steve’s hair, running them all the way down to the ends and then back up. It’s all sorts of tangled from not brushing it this morning, all in his haste to make this a good day. Eddie heaves a small sigh through his nose. “I think it’s the best one I’ve seen,” he answers honestly, the words crackling.

A dissonate grunt.

Steve shifts his head again, his fingers making circles over Sammy’s heart. “How much time do we have?”

His watch is three minutes behind, 8pm, it reads.

“Roughly fifty-seven minutes. But they told me as long as it’s before ten, they’ll be able to do it.”

“And we can be there with him?”

“They said we can be there if we want. From the moment they do it to the moment he closes his eyes. Told me we could stay for a little while after, too. For us to really say…y’know.”

His fingers shift as Steve nods. Heart breaking at the sound of Steve’s stifled small cries. In a strained, quiet voice, Steve admits, “I don’t want another one after him, I think.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Another, though less stifled, sniffle. “You’ll cuddle me tonight, right?”

“Don’t even have to ask,” Eddie breathes.

“I’m gonna miss him.”

“I know,” he whispers, “I will, too.”

Sammy snuffles deeper again. The sky dark and stars endless. It’s quiet, really.

Until, Steve half-sobs, turns his head, and looks up to Eddie. His eyes wide and deep like abysses. Shiny. Blurry with the tears. “Will you read The Fellowship of The Ring tonight?” He asks in this heartbreaking, tiny, wet voice.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees immediately. Because he can’t take this, but he isn’t running.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, tears spilling over again, “I wanna know what Samwise does next. Where he goes.”

Eddie gives a soft smile. A small one. “I think you’ll like where he ends up.”

Steve mirrors his expression, however miserable he is. “Good,” he whispers. He closes his eyes, swallows deep. “I think I’m ready to go. Are you okay to leave?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “and Steve?” He traces his fingers on Steve’s hairline, down the side of his face, mapping carefully over his cheek, brushing under his eye. Taking in this calmer moment before the true storm tonight.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat, it’s tight and aching. Then, quietly, “Sammy understands, okay? He loves you. And I love you. And whatever comes of this tonight, just know that it’s not your fault tomorrow. You loved him, you’ll always love him, and that’s all you can do.”

Steve exhales slow through his nose and swallows hard again. His eyebrows furrow very briefly before he relaxes. “I love you so much,” he breathes, “thank you.”

“None of that. Now…” He stands up from his spot, knees aching and back pinched, he offers a hand down for Steve to take and hefts him up, too when he grabs on. “Let’s go, love. I’ll be right here the entire time.”

And he is. Holds Steve’s hand. Pets Sammy’s head.

And he wraps his arms around Steve when he breaks down in their bed later, holding the tagged collar to his chest, wailing straight into Eddie’s heart. But Eddie’s got him, he loves him. It’s all he can do.

🦮—————🦮

[amphibious-thing]

This is maybe a dumb question, but looking at the portraits of Hervey, I have a hard time noticing anything about how he's dressing that seems out of the ordinary or especially more 'feminine' for the time period (barring that one where he just has his coat buttoned super low and his whole shirt out?). Am I missing some obvious detail (material they were made out of maybe?) or was the his effeminacy/the perception of him as effeminate just more based on behavior than 'presentation'?

Not a dumb question at all. It was combination of his sexuality, his diet, his androgyny as well as his clothes & makeup. While Hervey's femininity was almost certainly exaggerated in satire written by his enemies there was some basis to this satire.

Sexuality

In the 18th century there was an association between effeminacy and sodomy. I don't think we can discount the role the rumours surrounding Hervey's sexuality played in the public's perception of him. William Pulteney's 1731 pamphlet A Proper Reply to a Late Scurrilous Libel satirises Hervey as Mr. Fainlove. Pulteney describes Fainlove as a "delicate Hermophrodite", a "pretty, little, Master-Miss" and insinuates that he's a pathick who "enjoys every Moment and Fruits of his Guilt". The 1739 pamphlet The State of Rome, Under Nero and Domitian satirises Hervey as Sporus (an allusion to Pope's satire of Hervey) describing him as a "Male-female Thing," who is "Fit only for the Pathicks loathsome Trade".

Pope's choice to satirise Hervey as Sporus in An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735) was itself a comment on Hervey's sexuality. Sporus being the boy that Nero is said to have castrated and taken as a wife.

Diet

Hervey was epileptic and suffered from a chronic colic. He details his medical history in An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness. At the recommendation of his doctor's George Cheyne he adopted a milk and vegetable diet. Cheyne believed that such a diet was "absolutely necessary for the total Cure of the Epilepsy” and also prescribed milk and vegetable diets in cases of “extreme Nervous Cholicts”. (The English Malady, p167 & 254) Hervey ate no meet for three years before reintroducing white meet. This diet was seen as effeminate by his contemporaries. Lady Louisa Stuart cites his refusal to eat beef as an example of the “extreme to which Lord Hervey carried his effeminate nicety”. (Stuart wrote this anonymously in the introductory anecdotes included in the 1837 edition of The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.)

Hervey also drank "ass’s milk with powder of crab’s eyes and oyster-shells" for his heath. This is mocked in the poem The Lord H-r--y's First Speech in the House of Lords (1733-4) that calls him "a perfect curd of ass's milk." Alexander Pope included a similar line in An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735) describing him as a "mere white Curd of Ass's milk".

[Certain City Macaronies drinking Asses Milk, print, c.1772, via The British Museum.]

The association between effeminacy and asses milk features in the satirical dialogue The City Macaronies drinking Asses-milk, at the Lacteum, in St. George's-fields published in the November 1772 edition of the Oxford Magazine which was accompanied by the above illustration. The dialogue mocks macaroni for drinking asses-milk as a treatment for "nervous cases" and "hysterics" claiming that it's "delicate men" such as the macaroni "whose fine feelings are sensible of the slightest pressure, that are acquainted with hysterics". The son of the milk woman wonders aloud whether the macaroni are men or women. His mother tells him "they're neither, they are a kind of half and half breed."

Androgyny

With his slim figure and a bit of a baby-face Hervey was considered to be naturally androgynous. When Lady Deloraine said to him and Miss Fitzwilliams that "in her opinion a woman could never look too much like a woman, nor a man too much like a man" Hervey admitted that "considering the two people she said this to, it was certainly well said; and I can forgive her having bragged of it to every creature she has seen since" (Hervey to Stephen Fox, 18 September 1731)

Satirical descriptions of Hervey liken him to a cherub or a fairy describing him as pretty, little, soft, dainty, delicate.

In A Proper Reply to a Late Scurrilous Libel (1731) Pulteney satirises Hervey as "pretty Mr. Fainlove" who he describes as a "delicate Hermophrodite", a "pretty, little, Master-Miss", a "pretty, little Scribbler", and comments that he shouldn't "sully those pretty Fingers with Ink" that "a Fan would become them much better than a Pen."

The Lord H-r--y's First Speech in the House of Lords (1733-4) describes him as "the softest, prettiest thing". In An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735) Pope describes him as having a "cherub's face". Tell-tale Cupids (1735) satirises him as the "pretty baby fac'd Lord Dapper".*

In A Fairy Tale (1743) by Horace Walpole depicts Hervey as a literal fairy describing him as a "Dainty little Figure", "most delicately Fair and light" who "would have been vastly Pretty if it’s cherry-lips had ‘nclos’d any Teeth".

*quoted in Lord Hervey: Eighteenth-Century Courtier by Robert Halsband

Clothes & Makeup

Pope didn't describe Sporus as a "bug with gilded wings" and a "Fop at the toilet" because of Hervey's natural androgyny, clothing & makeup absolutely played a role in the public perception of him.

The Duchess of Marlborough described Hervey as a having "a painted face, and not a tooth in his head". Pope described him as "painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings". And the The Court Garland refers to him as "Thou powder-puff, thou painted toy". (see The Opinions of Sarah Duchess-Dowager of Marlborough p42, An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot & Lord Hervey: Eighteenth-Century Courtier by Robert Halsband p138)

The fashionable look of the period required pale clear skin, flushed red cheeks and dark eyebrows. While washes and creams were used to achieve clear pale skin, white cosmetic paint could also be used to lighten and smooth the skin. Rouge was used to give colour to the cheeks. Burnt cloves could be used to darken the eyebrows. While some of these cosmetics contained lead or mercury not all of them did.

[Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1741–1742, by Jean-Baptiste van Loo, via Art UK.]

It's hard to know how reliable the accounts of Hervey's makeup use are however his portraits do depict him with this fashionable look (in particular the rosy cheeks of the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits and the Enoch Seeman portrait). While modern depictions of 18th century fops will sometimes exaggerate makeup depicting men with pure white faces and almost perfectly round red circles on their cheeks, Hervey's portraits are more accurate to the look these cosmetics were trying to achieve.

The use of cosmetics are highlighted in satirical depictions of effeminate men throughout the 18th century century. As early as 1691 Mundus Foppensis: or, the Fop Display’d was mocking men for the "wanton use" of "Spanish Red, and white Ceruse". In 1773 The Old Beau in an Extasy depicts a "Fop at Sixty two" who uses "Chinese Paint for Artificial Bloom". In 1812 Regency A la Mode depicts the Prince Regent applying rouge to his cheeks while he gets laced into stays. The Court Garland's satire of Hervey is just another example of a satirical depiction of a fop in makeup:

Thou powder-puff, thou painted toy, Thou talking trifle, H----y; Thou doubtful he, she, je ne sçai quoy, By G-d, the K--g shall starve ye.

[Left: The Old Beau in an Extasy, print, c.1773, by John Dixon, via Lewis Walpole Library.

Right: 1812, or, Regency A la Mode, print, c.1812, by William Heath, via Lewis Walpole Library]

As for clothing I have to admit I'm better at late-18th century menswear. That being said material and colour seem to have played a role in what was considered effeminate.

A letter to the Read's Weekly Journal or British Gazetteer published on the 8th of May 1731 complains; "Rich and coloured Silks are in themselves effeminate, and unbecoming a Man; as are in short, all Things that discover Dress to have been his Study- 'Tis in vain for a Fop of Quality, to think his Title will protect him." In particular the article criticises poke sleeves and green waistcoats. While poke sleeves are absent from Hervey's portraits the Seeman portrait depicts him wearing a green waistcoat.

Green waistcoats are also mentioned in a story published in the Universal Spectator and Weekly Journal on the 18th of October 1729 describing and effeminate man's clothing as follows:

He had a flower’d pink-colour Silk Coat, with a Green-Sattin Waistcoat lac’d with Silver. Velvet Breeches, Clock’d Stockings the Colour of his Coat, Red-heel’d Pumps, a Blue Ribbon at the Collar of his Shirt, and his Sword-Hilt he embrac’d under the Elbow of his Left Arm,

This green waistcoat is laced with silver. In the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits you can see a embroidered silver waistcoat peeking out from beneath Hervey's coat.

[Left: Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1737, by John Fayram, via Art UK.

Right: Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, by Enoch Seeman, via The Collected Verse of John, Lord Hervey]

While the quality of the photo leaves much to be desired I wonder if the coat from the Seeman portrait is supposed to be silver. The coat he wears in the The Hervey Conversation Piece could also be silver but it might simply be grey. Sarah Osborn thought that silver coats looked effeminate. She wrote to Robert Byng on the 2nd of June 1722:

I believe the gentlemen will wear petticoats very soon, for many of their coats were like our mantuas. Lord Essex had a silver tissue coat, and pink color lutestring waistcoat, and several had pink color and pale blue paduasoy coats, which looked prodigiously effeminate.

Hervey wears a "prodigiously effeminate" pale blue, possibly paduasoy, coat (possibly a long sleeved waistcoat?) in the Fayram portrait.

The low buttoned waistcoat is somewhat interesting and consistent throughout his portraits, buttoned particularly low in the Fayram portrait. The effeminate Captain Whiffle from The Adventures of Roderick Random (1748) is described wearing his waistcoat "unbuttoned at the upper part to display a brooch set with garnets" but Hervey is broochless and looking at other portraits from this period the low buttoning doesn't seem to be unusual.

[Left: Detail of The Hervey Conversation Piece, oil on canvas, c.1738-40, by William Hogarth, via Fairfax House.

Right: Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1741, by Jean-Baptiste van Loo, via Art UK.]

Fur-lined suits like that worn by Hervey in the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits were imported from France or Italy and could be very costly. Mary Delany describes Lord Baltimore wearing "light brown and silver, his coat lined quite throughout with ermine" at a ball where "finery was so common it was hardly distinguished". (Mary Delany to Ann Granville, 22 Jan, 1739/40)

Fur-lined suits were somewhat of novelty in England and would become a feature in Grand Tour portraits. Peter McNeil explains in Pretty Gentleman (p123):

The novelty and glamour of new fashion goods generated excited responses to Lyons silk waistcoats, Italian velvets and fur-lined suits. There was a well-established tradition of wealthy men acquiring clothing on the continent and then having themselves painted in them, either in Italy or back in England.

(see Benjamin Lethieullier 1752, Lord Archibald Hamilton 1755-56 & John Scott 1774 all by Pompeo Batoni an artist well know for his Grand Tour portraits)

Hervey's buckles in the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits look to be set with paste (glass) or gems (buckles could even be set with diamonds). While it's impossible to tell what Hervey's buckles are set with these buckles could get very expensive. Later in the century macaroni were mocked for their expensive taste in similar buckles. (see McNeil p90)

[Left: Shoe buckle, metal & paste, 18th century, British via The MET (83.1.103).

Right: Detail of Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1741, by Jean-Baptiste van Loo, via Art UK.]

While Hervey was certainly a fashionably dressed man he doesn't take it to the extent you might imagine of the archetypal fop. Satire exaggerates. Hervey's enemies chose their words deliberately to humiliate him. The amphibious thing of Pope's poetry was in reality a chronically ill queer man with a taste for fashion.

[dreaminginpencil]

Found this in my drafts and had forgotten to post it soooo...

This art is based on a twitter thread drabble I wrote about Steve and his soft toy Bunny and growing up in difficult situations and loving people that are sick the best that you can.

It's also posted in full on AO3 if you wanna support me there ❤️

(CW: depression and neglect of a child) Steve’s mom suffered with poor mental health and Steve didn’t understand. Eddie does too, and maybe Steve understands better now.

When Steve was small, his parents’ door was open a crack most of the time, the sweet grown-up scents of perfume and cologne drifting out. Their bedroom was a treasure trove of wonders, their expansive closet full of clothes that swished and slipped over his little fingers, his mom’s dressing table cluttered with ornate glass bottles of perfume, sweet-smelling waxy lipstick, and delicate compacts of powders, her silver-backed beautiful hairbrush. Sometimes his mom even brushed his hair like hers, til it gleamed, shiny and soft.

When the bedroom door was closed, Steve knew to knock first, knew he should probably wait and ask for their time later.

Sometimes though, sometimes his mother would shut the bedroom door and she would not leave the room for days. His father would sleep on the couch, or make excuses and go away on “business”.

There would be no sweet smells of perfume, only dark and silence. His father told him that his mom was sick, to let her rest. Steve didn’t understand why she didn’t want to see him. When he was sick, he wanted cuddles and toast and hot drinks with honey and his Bunny with one ear loved almost all the way off.

Steve would sit outside her door with his Bunny and wait. He would wait and wait and eventually when he was lonely and tired he would knock quietly and creep into her room.

With the heavy damask curtains drawn, it drowned the room in blue shadows, the looming frame of the four poster and it’s mounds of blankets piled up. Steve felt like he was climbing a mountain to find his mom amongst them all.

“Are you sick? Do you want toast?”

He would offer her his Bunny, cuddle close. She did not smell like perfume, just something stale and forgotten.

“Mommy’s tired Stevie.”

Sometimes she wouldn’t speak at all, just touch his hair. Sometimes she would tell him to leave her.

“Go and play Stevie.”

Steve didn’t know how to explain with her there was nobody to play with and that his father had gone away somewhere and he was hoping she would make him macaroni.

Steve learnt to get to the high up pantry shelves for snacks until his father got home, or til his mom stopped feeling tired.

She seemed more than tired, but what did he know?

The older Steve got, the more often his mom was tired. He learnt not to ask anymore, just to lie down with her, to be patient, to be sweet.

He learnt to bring her food, even if she would not eat it, to make her tea and open the curtains up. He learnt to coax her from bed and to her vanity, so he could brush the dark tangle of her hair until it gleamed and fell like silk down her back. He ran her hot baths and always gave her his Bunny.

When his parents started to go away and not come home, Steve wondered who took care of her. If his father still left her alone.

She would sound far far away when he called her. “I’m tired Stevie, we’ll speak soon.” The dial tone felt heavy.

Steve gets tired too, but there is nobody who will come to check on him, so he cannot sleep through it.

Eddie is like his mother was, sometimes.

After the Upside Down, after Vecna, Eddie is dogged by the shadow of consequence. They won, yes, they won, but Eddie is scarred and scared and sometimes he is very tired.

Steve knows how to take care of Eddie when he’s tired.

He can come to Eddie in his quietness, in his tangled unwashed sheets and his dark bedroom and he can offer, piece by piece, the things he knows.

He can kiss Eddie’s clammy forehead, his tangled hair, curl up with him and pay no heed to the mortification of dirty sheets for a while. He can crack the blinds and bring him his painkillers and water and coffee. He can coax Eddie to a shower, washing the sleep and the sadness from his skin. He can change his sheets, trade them for clean soft cotton and comfort.

When Eddie is clean and so tired again, Steve can brush his long hair until it’s free from tangles and falls long and dark down his back.

Sometimes Eddie needs time to be tired, but Steve can care for him still, with quiet affection and patience.

Eddie may need time, sometimes, but he never entirely closes the door to shut Steve out.

[immortalvalentine]

The Passion of Lovers

Arlecchino x Furina

↠ 🫧 It had been a few days since Arlecchino had visited her former archon. What could happen in just a few days?

↠ 🫧Word Count: 5.7k

↠ 🫧Note: arlecchino is more loving and soft in this fic, but not completely ooc. i love arlecchino being proud and soft with furina bc who wouldn’t? anyways, if this fic is successful i’ll be willing to write more chapters to it. also wouldn’t mind taking requests 🫧

The space around The Knave has always been quiet. The harbinger wasn’t a huge fan of such loud disturbances, for a busy and calculating woman like her, any distractions would immediately be terminated at her request. The silence has always been sort of a comfort. No crying and sobbing children, something that proved to spark annoyance out of her but that was what made children simply such. Arlecchino had just left the House of the Hearth, and the collar of her dress shirt stuck to her neck, glued by the warm droplets of sweat that glazed her flesh. Being a father was a hard job on top of being the fourth fatui harbinger. She was responsible for many orphans, and her duties consisted of making sure each child was well taken care of and comfortable in the house. Of course, those children, wide eyed and perhaps fearful were sure to respect their father. She had rescued and taken them into the House, providing them with what their parents could not offer. Arlecchino was strict, a bit harsh on these children, but it was necessary considering how the world works, and Arlecchino was very well versed in those tales. She was finally away from the House of the Hearth for the night, now she could visit her favorite former archon.

That pretty face she had missed so much. Furina de Fontaine. The same woman who she nearly struck down in a pool of blood one night, now the one person she looks forward to seeing after she had checked off everything on her busy schedule. The former archon had managed to swoon the harbinger over. It was unexpected, completely out of Arlecchino’s character, but after finding out about Furina’s sacrifice for Fontaine, Arlecchino was greatly surprised that the same pathetic excuse of an archon had acted out a role for 500 years just to save Fontaine, despite her suffering in the process. Furina may not have been the archon, but she was godly, absolutely divine in the eyes of The Knave. She had originally received the news from Neuvillette, to which she just gave a small hum at the news. Her goal was the gnosis, a chat with the Iudex was irrelevant to her. Fontaine was saved and Arlecchino had already played her part in evacuating the citizens. To her, she deserved something, and that something was the gnosis.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to visiting Furina. The Knave, excited to see someone? It was laughable, but Arlecchino wasn’t very open about her relationships. That woman hid many secrets, and she was damn good at keeping them. Arlecchino was carrying a box of cake in her arms as she walked through Vasari Passage. Fontaine was quiet during these hours, only a soft tune that seemed to fade in and out resonated through the city. Every visit from The Knave either included Furina’s favorite cake, or bags of groceries since a certain someone decided to live only off macaroni. Arlecchino was well versed in all the sweets that Furina had adored, she too enjoyed desserts, so they often enjoyed such treats together.

That was just how Furina and Arlecchino did things. Furina never expected Arlecchino to stay for too long. Sometimes the harbinger would disappear for days without a word, but she always left something for Furina, whether it be food or whatever trinket that Furina might find interesting. Thankfully it hadn’t been that long since Arlecchino’s last visit. Nearing a week, Arlecchino was sure that the former archon was pining over her, wrapped in her blankets, and hugging her pillows as she waited for Arlecchino to come back to her. Arlecchino could almost feel sorry for her, but Furina was mature enough to handle some time away from her, and Arlecchino wasn’t nearly that soft.

But she had grown used to taking on a softer role whenever it involved Furina. She thought of it as a form of apology for all those nights the poor girl had cried herself to sleep since her near assassination. Her views on Furina had changed drastically, as did her admiration. Not only did it feel sinful not to praise the former archon, but the thought of leaving her without a proper apology felt worse. Arlecchino wasn’t one to regret her actions, everything she did was calculated and perfectly executed, yet that one mission ate away at her.

And so, Arlecchino had promised the former archon her loyalty. The Tsaritsa aside, Furina was truly her archon, and she couldn’t be prouder of the archon of her homeland. It could be said that Arlecchino’s faith in any god could be questionable, not even The Tsaritsa had Arlecchino’s full devotion despite her being the fourth of the harbingers. It was merely a plus for her, Arlecchino did not care for The Tsaritsa’s goals, nor did she pay much attention to her needs wishes other than the retrieval of the gnosis. Furina was the god in Arlecchino’s eyes, and much as Furina denied her position as the archon, Arlecchino insisted that Furina deserved the recognition and title, even if the Furina hated the idea. Arlecchino wholeheartedly believed that hard work should be rewarded.

Arlecchino reached into her pocket and grabbed a key from her pocket. The key to Furina’s apartment to which she had custom made. It wasn’t known until Arlecchino randomly waltzed into the apartment and nearly gave the poor girl a heart attack, and to this day Furina still holds a grudge about that. As Arlecchino walked in the dust particles and still air hit her in the face, not entirely unpleasant but Arlecchino would bring it up to her later. Furina had yet to unpack some things, and the former archon had been putting it aside for too long. Furina’s apartment was by no means awful, but the girl had no idea how to arrange to fix up an apartment. Spoiled one could say, but there’s no doubt that Furina would quickly learn how to live like a normal human. The girl catches on quick, something that Arlecchino adored. Just a little nudge and the apartment would be fixed up and decorated just like her old chambers in the Palais Mermonia. After leaving her shoes by the door, Arlecchino called out gently for Furina, waiting to hear the hurried footsteps of her tumbling down the staircase.

“Furina? I’m back with your cake.”

Except this time there were no hurried footsteps, nor was there the wide-eyed shades of blue staring right up at her. Furina was usually always downstairs, sitting in the corner of the room like a child put in timeout. Arlecchino never understood why Furina chose to sit on the cold, dusty tiles instead of a perfectly good bed, but Furina was odd in many ways. Part of that was endearing in a way.

Arlecchino placed the box of cake on the table in the kitchen where she had noticed the pile of dishes in the sink had gotten bigger since her last visit. Does Furina not know how to wash dishes? Arlecchino merely shook her head and sighed. That was something else to bring up later. To be fair, it was not that bad, surely it could have been worse. Furina wasn’t necessarily messy, a bit untidy at the most, but Arlecchino believed that Furina still needed time to adjust to her new life. If it were anyone else, the woman would most certainly scold their lazy and unkept lifestyle, but this was Furina, her darling.

Arlecchino mumbled something underneath her breath as she attempted to tidy up the kitchen a little. She wasn’t a fan of cleaning, she had servants to do the job for her, but she couldn’t ignore the mess that Furina had made. Perhaps that was the father in her coming out. Arlecchino scanned the kitchen before rolling up her sleeves and turning the faucet on to wash the dishes in the sink. How long had it been since she had attempted such a thing? Arlecchino wouldn’t be caught dead doing someone else’s dishes, she didn’t even do hers. She ignored the thought, shrugging it off because it was for Furina.

“That girl...”

A little housework wasn’t too bad, not difficult in the slightest but not something that Arlecchino particularly enjoyed.

She was in the middle of washing a couple dishes and placing a few items in the trash when something soft and wet popped on her face. It was a light feeling, like a bubble had popped right against her cheek. Arlecchino turned her head and noticed a few bubbles coming down the staircase. There’s a few surrounding her as well, wet spheres circulating around the kitchen and living area like a waltz.

It was odd to say the least. Why were there bubbles appearing in Furina’s apartment? Surely Furina was mature enough not to go out and buy bubbles like a child, but Furina was unpredictable in many ways.

Arlecchino dried her hands off with a nearby towel before walking towards the staircase, making sure to lower her head and dodge any bubbles that tried to come in contact with her face. As she reached the top of the staircase she could hear little giggles, the same ones that Furina would let out when she got overly excited by whatever topic she was currently rambling about.

There’s an unreadable look on Arlecchino’s face, somewhere between amusement and a look of surprise as she stood at Furina’s bedroom door. Clearly, she had not captured Furina’s attention, which was obvious by the way Furina held a blue seahorse in her hands, lifting it up in the air as those same bubbles that tried so hard to attack Arlecchino’s face blew around the bedroom. Around Furina were two other strange characters. A crab and an octopus with a top hat? The two other manifestations circled around Furina, moving around happily as Furina giggled and divided her attention between the three mysterious creatures. Arlecchino watched as Furina waltzed around, twirling with the rest of the manifestations in a beautiful but lively manner. Furina was having fun for the first time in perhaps many years.

Arlecchino did not wish to disrupt her, watching Furina enjoy herself was pleasant enough to witness. The many hours Arlecchino spent comforting and wiping away the girl’s tears were reaching numbers that even tested Arlecchino’s limits, yet she never denied her former archon comfort. She had great experience in abolishing the tears from one’s face, the countless number of children she rescued were proof of that. Furina was no different, she was painfully human like most people in Fontaine. She could only handle so much until the dam holding her tears back broke and her worries of 500 years began pouring out of her like the flood that nearly submerged Fontaine.

Genuinely, that look of gleefulness in Furina’s eyes was enough to bring just the slightest smile to The Knave’s lips. The effect that Furina had on Arlecchino was great, partly due to Furina’s charm. She was nothing less than phenomenal, the girl had shaped her act for 500 years, molding herself into a starring character with the greatest stage presence one could ever witness. It was irrelevant which role she played, anything that Furina acted out was simply a sight to behold. Even now, as she danced with the bubbles floating around her room, three manifestations of hydro partaking in a two step with their lead, Furina was truly a woman of great talent.

It didn’t take long for Arlecchino to catch on to what was happening, there was no way such beings could pop out of nowhere and nuzzle so lovingly in the arms of Furina. She detected the power of hydro resonating within the room, light yet very strong, like something was holding back some sort of immense power. It was a hydro vision sitting on the bed, glowing blue just like the seas of Furina’s eyes.

A few days away and Furina had already received a vision? And not only that, but she managed to create something with her power. It was no shocker, Furina was naturally gifted and smart in many ways. It’s no wonder she was able to create these beings in just a short amount of time. “Aren’t you the cutest?” Furina’s face just lights up, somehow brighter than they already were. The seahorse just blasts more bubbles around the room at the praise. “Mm, Furina?” Arlecchino spoke in that usual soft tone that never failed to make Furina’s heart stutter in her own chest. It should be illegal how attractive it sounds whenever she pronounces her name.

Immediately, Furina’s attention was drawn to the sound of a familiar voice she had not heard in a few days, the alluring tone so sweet and captivating, Furina’s own drug that she had been awarding herself since their first friendly encounter. Two mismatched eyes were now focused on the woman pressed against the side of the wall, followed by at least 6 more who stopped their dance immediately to form a circle around Furina. Arlecchino took note of this protective behavior from these manifestations, making sure not to make any sudden moves in case of setting off one of them, perhaps the crab that was buzzing in place, just itching to throw itself right at the intruder.

“Ah, Arlecchino !” Furina sang as she let go of the hydro mimic in her arms, allowing it to float freely in the air. The moment Furina took a step forward, the rest of the mimics followed, acting somewhat as her bodyguards, which they have been proving to be very good at so far. Furina waltzed over to Arlecchino, her small frame now pressed up against her, arms hugging at her waist and closing the space between them. She felt so small compared to Arlecchino, who could probably flatten her petite frame with just a nudge of her finger.

“You’re back.” Those pretty blues were peering up at the woman and a little smile tugged at her lips. It was such an endearing sight, the way Furina’s cheeks would glow a pretty shade of pink, complimenting her already divine features. Furina lost all attention in her hydro mimics, but they did not lose their stance. Instead, they analyzed Arlecchino like some unknown species, debating whether to lunge at her.

“I am.” Arlecchino hummed at the feeling of Furina gluing herself to her body, fitting like the last piece in a puzzle. A blackened arm snuck around Furina’s smaller frame and Furina instinctively rested her head against Arlecchino’s ample bosom, letting out a content sigh as she bathed in the gentle petting. Furina always took advantage of the affection that Arlecchino displayed, partly because the feeling of being taken care of so intimately was foreign to her, and the fact that The Knave of all people was the one giving it to her. The same could be said for Arlecchino as well, the woman was not used to romance or intimacy, yet she knew of it so well, it was natural to her from the moment she first pulled Furina into a hug after their first encounter since the meeting. Arlecchino never failed to make Furina’s heart race, though this time that feeling was purely love and excitement.

“I see you have guests?” Arlecchino’s clawed hands tangled into Furina’s white curls, switching from stroking it gently and twirling the little strands around her finger. Furina only nuzzled her face deeper into the woman’s chest, nearly purring at the gentle caresses. It was comforting to say the least, once she was in Arlecchino’s arms, Furina felt safe. Ironically enough, there was nothing to fear when she was in Arlecchino’s presence. There were no worries, nor was there any room for doubt of their love for each other. Furina trusted Arlecchino perhaps a little too much, but Furina had received her care when she was at her lowest and most vulnerable state. She was alone, lost, and desperate for anyone to be there for her. Furina would have guessed anyone else would be the one person to truly appreciate her efforts and show her even the slightest bit of kindness, but she took whatever she could get. She appreciated everything that Arlecchino had done for her. In a way, Furina felt guilty for having to rely on Arlecchino’s support so much. A burden was the last thing Furina wanted to be labeled as. The poor girl struggled with her own thoughts and insecurities, but every time Arlecchino talked her through any issues she had and held her like a delicate piece of glass, Furina felt comfortable as she was. She could act freely as the real Furina, the gentle yet insecure girl who had been buried somewhere in the realm of Furina’s mind, locked away in a box that not even Furina could pick. The couple of months that they had spent together seemed to go by so fast, especially when the days Furina spent locked away in her abode felt like another half millennium.

“Of course! This is Salon Solitaire, you could say they are my besties!” Furina tore away from Arlecchino for a moment just to grab the seahorse mimic. It did a little spin before blasting some bubbles in Arlecchino’s face, and Furina giggled at the sight of Arlecchino’s blank stare. Arlecchino stood there, face dripping in hydro and her bangs sticking to her forehead. It took a lot of effort not to react negatively to the seahorse’s actions, but once again, this was Furina. Arlecchino’s eyes darted between the seahorse and Furina, both seemed to be nearly buzzing in excitement. There was no way she could get upset at Furina for this. To be honest, it was quite adorable. Arlecchino simply sighed and wiped some of the hydro from her face.

“This is Surintendante Chevalmarin, my housekeeper, and I must say she adores you very much.”

Funny, considering how she and the rest of the mimics were holding back from attacking the harbinger.

“Hopefully the Surintendante starts encouraging you to finally fix the place, Furina. It has been months and there are still boxes scattered around the living area” Arlecchino’s tone wasn’t harsh per se, but it made Furina lower her head a little at the woman’s words. She really needed to start working on the apartment, there were little excuses at this point, she’s had enough time to get around to it.

“Well… um..” Furina trailed off, shuffling her feet, and lifting her hands away from Surintendante Chevalmarin. She wanted to think of an excuse, but she knew nothing could fool Arlecchino. Her eyes peeked up at Arlecchino almost sheepishly, until Furina decided to put on an act to defend herself. “That’s no longer my responsibility now! All the housework falls upon Mademoiselle Crabaletta, my most endearing maid, who right now, has the day off.” Mademoiselle Crabaletta jolted forward to take the spotlight, despite being unable to communicate and express emotions, it was clear that she had relished in Furina’s words. The Salon Solitaire truly takes on Furina’s love of theatrics.

Arlecchino stared at Mademoiselle Crabaletta and let out a small sigh. The mimic was adorable, just as the rest of them were, but it seemed that even Mademoiselle Crabaletta was slacking off on the job. She found it odd that Furina entrusted these creatures as her servants.

“Then you shall tell Made- “

“She has quite the temper though, so please do not try to intimidate her in any way.” Furina added, already aware of what Arlecchino was going to say.

“Noted.”

“Aaaand this is Gentilhomme Usher! My conferencier, who also serves as my dance partner.” Furina stuck her hand out and gently grabbed one of its tentacles. With a small flick of her wrist, Furina twirled Gentilhomme Usher in a circle before taking another tentacle in her free hand, acting out a ballroom dance of sorts. Furina was smooth on her feet, and the hydro mimic was naturally aware of Furina’s choreography. Arlecchino watched, arms crossing over her chest as she observed Furina’s performance. It was cute, adorned by Surintendante Chevalmarin’s bubbles that once again tried to pop against Arlecchino’s face. She was aware this time and simply tilted her head to the side, letting it pop against the wall.

“An interesting use of your vision, Furina. I cannot say that I am surprised but given that you have achieved this in only a couple of days is impressive.” Arlecchino had seen enough of Furina’s little performance, if she had not spoken, she was sure that Furina would carry on without a thought. Since it was so endearing, she wouldn’t mind seeing her play with Salon Solitaire another time.

“Surely you jest! It only took flooding the apartment, losing against a local legend, nearly drowning, and receiving a complaint from the landlord.” Furina’s tone differed from the words she spoke, which should have brought her shame, yet she found humor in her failure. The local legend that she had angered by accident some time in the past was her first form of practice once she had received her vision. In all honesty, Furina did not expect to win, not even stand a chance if she could confess, but once Furina sets her mind to something not much can get in the way of her plans. She was determined to at least attempt it, and when the moment got around, she nearly tumbled down a hill and landed in one of lakes around the northern area of the Court of Fontaine after being washed away by a tide summoned by the Vivianne of The Lake.

Her vision was hydro, she should have known better than to duel pure hydro energy.

“Flooding the apartment and nearly drowning you say?” Arlecchino’s eyes narrowed slightly at the news, a silly confession, but Arlecchino was neither worried nor surprised. This was Furina they were talking about, she was a strong girl, fragile in many ways but Furina could handle a good number of things thrown at her, except washing the dishes of course. “And in that amount of time, have you learned to control your power enough not to make the same mistakes?”

“After that incident I’ve restrained from practicing here in the apartment, so I’ve been going to Elynas to learn to control my vision better. I cannot say that I have come very far…Fighting is not my forte, but I’d rather not ignore this power that has been gifted to me.” Furina spoke honestly, dropping her head to examine the hydro vision sitting upon her person. It was her reward for all her hard work for the past 500 years. If anyone deserved such a thing, it should be Furina. There were still people who failed to recognize the blood, sweat, and tears that Furina poured into her nation all at the cost of her own freedom, it was a difficult conclusion to accept for the former archon, but the past is the past and she cannot change anything that has already been done.

“I see. Do not dwell on it, Furina. You cannot expect exceptional results in such a short amount of time, though I am sure that you will excel as you do with everything else. Combat may not be your calling, but there are other positions to master if you wish to do so.” Arlecchino’s tone softened, her slender fingers emerging to tilt Furina’s chin just enough so that the shorter woman to make eye contact with her crimson pupils. Her grip wasn’t as harsh as it had once been, she was mindful of not breaking Furina, the last thing she wanted was to hear those sorrowful cries again. Arlecchino handled Furina carefully, as her own fragile thing that could shatter if she were not careful, but it still held the amount of influence for Furina to not wiggle away.

“If you are serious about honing your skills, then I will happily tutor you, but please remember, I do not like to waste my time. You understand this, right little droplet?’ Furina’s heart raced at the burning caress of Arlecchino’s hand, warm but soothing, those claws of hers were dangerous, just a little nudge and Arlecchino could sink those blades into Furina’s delicate flesh. Furina had mindlessly gotten herself involved with the same woman who attempted to murder her, but by no means was she regretful of her newfound love for the woman. It only added to the excitement. She managed to swoon The Knave, who would rather not admit that she is absolutely head over heels, dedicated and to be frank, Furina’s number one fan. She can be tough on Furina, perhaps cruel in more ways than others, but her harsh actions were out of love. It wasn’t easy for Arlecchino to completely soften her personality, there is no universe where Arlecchino is completely lovey dovey, but she could show a different side to her little droplet.

Furina’s teeth captured her bottom lip as she peered up at the taller woman, her head nodding up and down in agreement. Furina could receive training from anyone else, there were good candidates such as Clorinde or even the Traveler, but even with those two she could feel a sense of embarrassment if she were to fail miserably. There was no doubt that neither of them would deny her their precious time, Furina was close with both of them.

She’d never seen Arlecchino fight or demonstrate any of her abilities, and no, the night at the Palais Mermonia did not count. She’d rather not think of that.

“You’d really train me? What if I mess up too many times? I can’t wield a weapon, and I most definitely cannot strike a blade against a beast and win. What if- “

Arlecchino placed her finger against Furina’s lips to quiet her.

“And how do you think my children grew to become such reliable fatuus, worthy of even my praise? They were once lost and inexperienced as you are now. The only difference is that you, my love, ruled a nation for 500 years. If you can carry the weight of a million on your back for half a millennium, surely you can learn to defend yourself when need be.” Arlecchino was firm, lowering her head just enough to be face to face with Furina. She bore deep into Furina’s gaze, stern but patient in her own attractive and mysterious way. Furina almost fainted, it wasn’t the first time they’d been this close, Celestia no, but perhaps it was the locking of eyes that intimidated her so much.

“Take some time to think of your answer. I am not for- “

“I want you to train me! Please…” Furina interrupted, throwing her body against Arlecchino and staggering her against the wall. Arlecchino was quick to compose herself and stand on her feet, holding onto a clingy Furina, who if it were not for Arlecchino’s quick reflexes, would be tumbling down along with the harbinger. Furina caught herself against Arlecchino’s frame, her hands resting upon the fine material of Arlecchino’s vest. A more refined, yet simple suit compared to her usual harbinger outfit. The white button up accentuated her frame, not too loose and not too tight, just enough to get a good outline of her tall and built frame. The black and gray vest hugged her figure, complimenting the grayscale to which Arlecchino would often adopt.

“If that is what you desire, then I shall oblige.” Arlecchino held Furina by the waist and placed her free hand on the back of Furina’s neck, lowering her face to place a small kiss on top of Furina’s head. It was light, but sweet enough to paint a pink hue onto Furina’s already glowing cheeks. “I trust that you will make me proud, right my love?” Arlecchino’s voice softened, every word streaming from those dangerous lips were enough to force Furina’s heart out of her chest. She swore that if Arlecchino continued then she would end up as a puddle of hydro on the floor.

“Why of course.” Furina hummed as she sunk into those strong arms, the same ones that took her in when she had no one else to confide in. She could feel the pyro energy coursing through Arlecchino’s body, enveloping her like a heated blanket. She’d missed that, her apartment felt so cold without the presence of her lover who was cold yet so warm, a good balance that Furina could not complain of.

“There you go. That’s my sweet girl.”

“Arle! You can’t say things like that” Furina whined into Arlecchino’s chest, shaking her head. Arlecchino only watched amusingly, her clawed hand attaching to Furina’s fluffy hair, gently massaging her scalp in a way that made Furina lean into her touch. Furina loved and hated the effect that Arlecchino had on her, and Arlecchino was aware of this, making it her goal to see just how flustuered Furina could get.

“I just did.”

“Yes, but… ugh whatever! Anyways...” Furina lifted her head and tried shaking off her flustered expression. She’d rather not be teased to death by Arlecchino any longer. Not that she hated it, but the poor girl could not catch a break. “Did you bring me another cake this time?”

“That I did. I left it in the kitchen, before I had to clean up your mess” Arlecchino locked eyes with Furina who had a little sheepish grin on her lips. She’d completely forgotten about her mess of a kitchen, too busy dealing with her vision and playing with Salon Solitaire who had stolen all Furina’s attention and time. Furina let out a sigh and dodged another stroke of her head to gently take Arlecchino’s hand into hers, her gentle fingers grazing over the mix of soft and rough patches on her lover’s gradient limbs.

“Ah... Sorry about that. If I had known that you were returning tonight, then I would have done the cleaning myself” Furina spoke against Arlecchino’s hand before placing a little kiss on it.

“It is quite alright, but I cannot promise that I will do it again.”

Furina looked up at Arlecchino and nodded, locking her index finger with hers, tugging just a little to get her knuckle against her lips once again. Her white hair swooped over her mismatched eyes, fluffy and soft to the touch, she’d been meaning to brush and comb it out, but she forgot about doing that as well. Arlecchino adored that pretty face, bringing her hand to gently push some pieces of hair behind Furina’s ear, she admired every divine feature that was Furina’s face, soft and elegant, her little droplet was truly a sight to behold. It was like Furina had pulled Arlecchino in closer, stopping until she could feel her warm breath on her lips, the pause was heavy, but eventually the two couldn’t handle another second of not sharing a kiss.

The kisses are small, gentle pecks from Furina who was most eager to kiss Arlecchino, trying to get in as many as she could. It wasn’t until when Arlecchino’s firm hands cupped Furina’s soft cheeks, holding her still to place a proper kiss on her lips. Furina felt weak, her pretty eyes closing, and she nearly went limp against Arlecchino’s body, but she caught herself, grabbing onto the woman’s loose tie. One of Arlecchino’s hands fell to Furina’s small waist, placing her hand on it to hold her up while the other lifted her head up enough for a better kiss. Arlecchino was a very attentive lover, she knew exactly how Furina liked to be treated, gentle but handled assertively, firmly enough that she could feel safe and comfortable in Arlecchino’s hold, something that could rip her to shreds in a heartbeat. The two exchanged gazes, Furina’s look of admiration and Arlecchino’s piercing yet loving stare, it was a look that only Furina could understand, there was no other person who had witnessed such a side from Arlecchino. Arlecchino was supposed to be cruel, insane, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but her time with Furina proved that even the most twisted could learn to adapt to new emotions. Not for a second did Arlecchino tear her gaze away from Furina, those blue seas in her eyes were absolutely beautiful, full of emotions and words that had yet to be revealed.

For someone as possessive and protective as Arlecchino, she made sure that Furina was always content. Whether it be giving her the attention she needed, bringing her cakes and pastries, and even going as far as to dispatch the fatui near her apartment at night whenever she couldn’t be with Furina. There was no way that Arlecchino would let anything happen to her. Archons forbid some idiot try to harm her, they’d receive the worst torture of a lifetime, slow and agonizing, she wouldn’t give them an easy death, it’d be a pleasure to watch them suffer and beg for mercy that would not be granted.

Furina’s mind glazed over the nights she spent all alone in her new apartment, somehow lonelier than it was when she had to act as the Hydro Archon for 500 years. Everything had changed after her trial, the good and the bad. There were simple things that she could enjoy, a world that she had not known of- freedom. That freedom was beautiful, but it was also terrifying.

She hated going out in public the days after her trial, the whispers and stares of the people who once adored her now silently judging as she traversed along the streets of Fontaine. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she thought, there was no doubt that people still viewed Furina as a very important figure, but as insecure and sensitive as Furina is, all she could think about was the negative comments that were associated with her name. It was difficult adjusting, her guilt and insecurities ate away at her, but after she had received the praise and loyalty from Arlecchino, she realized that she shouldn’t dwell on the past, especially since she worked so hard for the future of Fontaine.

She was finally happy and content with her life, cared for and adored by her love. Furina deserved a break, she deserved everything after all she’d been through, and Arlecchino was going to make sure of that.

“I love you, Arlecchino.”

“I love you too, my darling Furina.”

[blinddreams24]

Pepper

With Horror

TW: Eating disorders are mentioned in this chapter!

Masterlist

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“How dare you.”

Horror looked over his shoulder at you, pepper in hand. “Hmm?”

You rushed over and looked in the pot of macaroni. There was a small pile of pepper on the top as well as a smaller pile of salt. You groaned. “How dare you!”

“What?” Horror looked confused. “What I do??”

You thrust your hands at the offending pot. “You put pepper in the macaroni!! Why would you do that??”

A smile split his confusion. “Seasoning.” As if that explained his actions.

“It doesn’t need seasoning!! It’s macaroni!!!” You tried to reason with him. “Macaroni is good by itself!!”

“‘s better with pepper.” Horror said. He was enjoying this.

“Well, good luck getting me to eat that.” You commented.

You should not have said that.

Horror’s gaze shot to you. You froze. “I- I’m joking, Horror! I d-didn’t mean i-it!”

Horror’s eyes narrowed. “You will eat.”

“Yes, sir! I w-will!” You promised. “I love your cooking!”

His eye gained a dangerous glint as he smirked. He held up the pepper shaker. “Even with pepper?”

You nodded frantically. “Even with pepper! I’m sure it’s amazing! I’m sorry!”

He nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good. You’ll be here… for lunch.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded anyway. “Yes, sir.”

He shooed you out of the kitchen and you retreated to the living room where Dust was mumbling to himself again. You sat at the other end of the couch and curled your legs against your chest, staring at the blank tv screen. You’d never been good at trying new things. Especially when it came to pepper for some reason. But you knew how Horror was with food and now that he knew he’d probably watch you eat.

“What?”

You startled and looked at Dust. “What?” You echoed. Had you said something?

Dust rolled his eyelights. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” You said too quickly.

He sighed. “Y/N.” You suppressed a flinch at his use of your name. “What happened? You don’t curl up unless you’re anxious.” He pointed out.

You released your legs subconsciously. “It’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb. Talk to me.”

You snorted. “Whatever. Horror’s making macaroni.”

Dust’s eyes narrowed at you and you shrank, Horror’s narrowed eyes still fresh in your memory. “And?” He prodded.

“He put pepper in it. I…” You grabbed at the collar of your shirt. “I’ve never liked pepper. Or been good at trying new things.”

Dust nodded. “Understandable. A lot of people aren’t comfortable with change.”

“That’s not the bad part.”

“There’s a bad part?”

You nodded. “I…” You brought your legs back up. “I… told him… ‘Good luck getting me out eat that.’”

Dust’s eyelights went out.

“Oh. This is serious.”

You shrank further into yourself. “…yeah.”

“Did you backtrack?”

“Yes. But now he’s going to make sure I eat it.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Dust turned towards you. “His macaroni is really good. So at least you won’t be suffering.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Thanks.”

He held his scarf in an echo of you holding your shirt. He turned his head to his shoulder and started whispering. You ignored it and looked away. He did that sometimes. You had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that sometimes he knew about a conversation or event he wasn’t there for. Your current theories were that he had a friend ghost or he talked to the castle. Talking to the castle made more sense despite not making any sense.

He finished whatever conversation he was having and the room fell into silence.

You had no reason to be so scared. It wasn’t like it was a life threatening event. It was just food. And Horror’s cooking was always good. So why did it scare you so much?

Dust finally broke the silence. “You should talk to Nightmare.”

You nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah. Nightmare.” You stood after a moment’s hesitation and set down the hall to Nightmare’s office.

“Enter.” Came Nightmare’s voice before you had even knocked.

You obeyed and stood just inside the doorway. Nightmare tapped his papers into a stack and set them to the side.

“Well? Come in.” Nightmare beckoned. “And shut the door behind you. I don’t want Killer to see the door open and barge in. Not that that stops him.”

You obeyed and sat on one of the stools by the desk.

Nightmare sat leaned back in his chair, waiting for you to speak.

You didn’t.

He sighed. “Did you know, I could feel your anxiety all the way across the castle. And your disappointment, though I assume that’s directed at yourself with all that guilt.” He tilted his head at you. “What happened?”

You sighed, upset at yourself for being upset. “It’s stupid.”

“That seems to be a common occurrence. Continue.”

You smiled. Him and Dust were the same. You explained the situation to Nightmare who waited patiently for you to finish.

“Hmm.” Nightmare brewed over the information. “Did you have any eating disorders growing up?”

You froze. Yes. Yes, you did.

Nightmare nodded even though you hadn’t answered. “Was there a time where you refused to eat?”

You nodded.

“How long?”

You shook your head. “Not very long. I always got too hungry to starve.”

Nightmare slowly leaned onto the desk. He looked thoughtful. “I think that your experience with that might bleed into how you treat food. And Horror picks up on that. So he’s more strict about you eating than the rest of us. Does that make sense to you?”

You nodded.

“If you want, I can come with you but you need to talk to Horror about feeling forced to eat. You will still have to eat what he prepared but hopefully, in the future, it won’t feel forced.”

“Okay.” You mumbled.

“Y/N.” Nightmare’s tentacle rested on your shoulder and you felt some of your anxiety leave. “No one is forcing you to do anything. If you feel like someone is, you can talk to them about it with or without me. I don’t mind either way.”

You fidgeted. “I… don’t want to be alone…”

Nightmare nodded, standing. “Understood. Let’s get going, shall we? Before Horror serves lunch.”

Horror looked up to call that lunch was ready only to see you and Nightmare in the doorway. He immediately noticed how you kept fidgeting with the collar of your shirt. His eyelight locked with Nightmare’s for a moment, piecing together what was going on.

“Y/N?” Horror asked. “You need… something?”

You hesitated. “I… Horror…” Nightmare set a hand on your shoulder. You straightened a little. “I’m sorry I said I wouldn’t eat your food. I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to eat what you’ve made. But…” You hesitated again. Horror gestured for you to continue. “I’d like it if you didn’t force me to eat things.” You said hurriedly before shrinking as if you expected him to lash out. You might actually expect him to, Horror realized. He hasn’t given you a reason to think he wouldn’t. Especially after he almost hurt you the other day.

Horror nodded and looked at Nightmare who seemed proud of you. There must have been a lot of fear for you to conquer to say that. He glanced at the pot of food. He wondered why you acted weird about food so much. This seemed like a step towards progress. “Okay.” Horror said, slowly. You looked shocked. “I’m sorry… you felt… forced. Can you help… me fix… that?”

Your face lit up with so much hope that Nightmare flinched. “I… uh… y-yeah. Yeah. I can try.”

He glanced at Nightmare who nodded in approval. Horror looked back at you. “Wanna help… set the table?”

You seemed excited. “Sure.” Horror handed you the bowls from the cabinet, not missing the way you sniffed at the macaroni when you thought he wasn’t looking.

The table was set and everyone was halfway done with their food when you took your first bite. Your eyes lit up at the flavor. It was amazing! How had you never tried it before? You glanced up at Dust who sat across from you. His eyes were on his food but you saw the smile on his face.

Unbeknownst to you, as you scarfed down the rest of your food, Horror and Nightmare shared a smirk between them.

[fluffypotatey]

Haha, it sure was! You are such a mood, beautiful reaction. 10/10 clarification too, love it. very solid thoughts, and gosh lol strategically placed calls of macaroni and macandy make your replies so much funner to read. "and ain’t it fascinating how despite how long it’s been since either character have talked or interacted with each other, they still know the ins and outs of their behavior and thoughts." YES FLUFFY its one of the best parts of their dynamic oooh you're so haunted by what you had before, its so easy to slip into and catch you off guard and that's why I bring you episode 2!!

THEY HAVE A CARTOON ABOUT WUKONG PROSECUTING MACAQUE IN COURT IM SHRIEKING! MK is all "gasp, do we need a lawyer? not to worry, I watched every episode about monkey king in court. I'm very familiar with legal dramas." its a REAL thing Fluffy! he's so funny, we joke about MK being Wukong's lawyer in memes but it's legit now. *awkward laugh* "I need a moment to speak with my clients." tfw your cilents are the most problematic ppl around, you're gonna need a darn good lawyer pal. Macaque instantly recognizing the spell and running was so choppy he looked silly 😭 the "stop!" could've been so smooth lol. oh well. Wukong stumbling back too, oh Flying Bark I miss your movements. but thank goodness for the writers. ALSO the fact he instantly goes "we will....all be alright....relax" to comfort MK despite literally just being chained and hurt. oof, "I really don't want to wear this thing anymore. this time, it's stuck on tighter." omg when the eng dub comes out IF THEY MAKE THE PARALLEL TO THE MOUNTAIN SEALING MORE OBVIOUS. "I'm the one whose suffering, so why are you moping?" "Because I wasn't planning to go to jail today." "So you think I planned and wanted all this?" "You think I'm happy we were caught together?" AND THAT LAST BIT. He points all sassy at Mac with his tail with emphasis and bites his lips and stares at his tail (still pointing at Mac) like it committed a crime against him. what is wrong with them...I think you'll enjoy Wukong still teasing Nezha constantly lol. ITS ALSO SO FUNNY WHEN MK ASKS WUKONG TO NARRATE LIKE MR. TANG and he's like, are you serious?!?!? ok fine.

anon, you have no idea how many times i have rewatched ep2 🫠 it haunts me

be haunted. like me :)

*inhales*……..*exhales*

DO YOU KNOW! DO YOU KNOWWWWW!!!!

do you know how unwell i became when i watched these with the subtitles???? do you know how many times i reminded just to watch every minute detail??? do you know how much Macky is placed in corners or in the background but is the most expressive????

these gay ass monkeys 🫠

AND THENNNNNN!!! AND THEN YOU HAVE MK WHO IS REACTING LIKE HE WOULD IN S1 AND 2 BC HE STILL WANTS TO ACT LIKE EVERYTHING IS A-OKAY AND NORMAL AND NO FREAKY MONKEY MAGIC IS MESSING WITH HIS SANITY

MK with his Ace Attorney attire and then how he is talking to Nezha and how he is trying so hard to make light of the situation (which swk plays into until the Li Jing places the circlet)

AND THEN!!! we have this :)

SWK GETS COLLARED AND MK FREAKS THE FUCK OUT

y’all remember s4, right? how Azure brings the gang back from the scroll and MK learns that he was used to free Azure’s friend but never Wukong and flips out? because i do :D

and now he’s watching his mentor/friend in pain and he wants to help but doesn’t know how and he doesn’t trust his powers anymore BUT THEN SWK HOLDS HIS HAND AND CALMS HIM DOWN SO QUICKLYA ND I JUST

so yeah :)

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #152

I went to the good place today with the nice leader! I was thrilled about being able to give him a jar of lilac syrup! But then I immediately felt very silly, because I didn't think to bring a jar for the piano player. That's okay though; I am hoping that sometime this week, I'll be able to invite him and his partner to Eggcellent; I can give them a jar of lilac syrup then!

I was delighted to see that the leader, so enamored with the syrup and how it tasted, started showing it off to the others in the congregation, imploring them to try some on a spoon! The folks seemed surprised both at the fact that lilac syrup is a thing that exists, and at how good it tastes!

…I really wish I could share some with you. You could put it in tea. Or in yogurt. Or in oatmeal. Or stir it into milk. Or bake it into cookies. It's so versatile! And it tastes exactly like how lilacs smell!

There were lots of good snacks at the place today. I took a picture of the ones I got:

One of the ladies there, knowing how much J likes fruit, prepared a giant bowl of fruit salad. People took what they wanted, and J promptly ate all the rest, as he do, ahahaha! They also give him a fresh loaf of bread; one of the folks at the place is a STELLAR baker, and their bread is some of the best I've ever had the privilege of tasting. J is almost as fond of bread as he is of fruit, and so, because the folks love him so much, if there are extra loaves, they give one to him!

…It's a very loving and delightful group of people!! I feel very lucky!

It was Br's birthday recently, and so today I made gluten-free baked mac-and-cheese for her, because she'll get sick if she eats wheat! I used brown rice pasta and gluten-free crackers! The recipe to make this is very simple…

First, you boil a pound of elbow macaroni. Brown rice pasta works really well for this. When the consistency is good, you strain it and put it in a big baking dish. Then you open a 28oz can of diced tomatoes and toss it in with the pasta. And then you add 8oz of cheddar cheese (extra sharp, this time) and 8oz of a different kind of cheddar cheese (seriously sharp, this time). The result should look like this:

And then you mix it up!! And the result of that should look like this!

Then you just layer the top with crushed crackers. Easy peasy. Bake it in the oven at 350F until it's gooey-looking and slightly toasted on the top, and you've got yourself a mighty tasty snack:

Br cut up and sauteed some pork chops to go with it, too!

…And here is the bowl I assembled!

…I wish, more than anything, that I could share all of the things I love with you, so that you can see that life is not wholly full of pain and despair. I mean… it is full of pain and despair much of the time; there's no doubt about that. But that's why you have to keep your boundary skills robust and be selective of the spaces in which you put yourself. The sparkles of joy are everywhere if you know where to look, what to avoid along the way, and who to call upon for help when you inevitably can't avoid all the things that hurt. There are plenty of folks in this world who will lend you empathy and grace. And I know this because I am such a one, and I am very cognizant of the fact that I am not special.

Hey, Sephiroth? Are you taking care of yourself at the Edge of Creation? Are you safe and warm? Are you eating enough? Are you hydrating? Do you get enough sleep? I know I ask these things a lot; sorry about that. But it's not as though you can answer me, so I guess I get worried.

…I guess I'm worried about you pretty much all the time. I know you've made mistakes, but I still don't want you to be suffering alone somewhere. No one deserves that. None of my biological or step family deserves that. Everyone deserves a chance to heal, to change, and to turn themselves around, no matter the mistakes they've made before.

I know some people will think differently, and probably call me stupid and naive or even a bad person because I think this way. But… if the application of more pain to people who cause pain was gonna cause world peace, it would have happened by now, ya know? It's as you say - the cycle of pain, hate, and violence can only be undone by grace and compassion. It can only be undone by teaching people a better way of expressing themselves, and teaching them to judge themselves and others less. It can only be undone by teaching them to stop associating their self-worth with arbitrary and destructive things. It can only be undone by teaching mercy in combination with robust boundaries.

Well. I hope you're okay over where you are. But all the same… please be safe over there, okay? Please.

I'm gonna stop writing before I start rambling. But I'll write again tomorrow. I love you. Please don't disappear.

Your friend, Lumine

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 14 - Missing You

IN THIS CHAPTER: The meaning of flowers, homemade cake, and Maureen and Margaret become friends [6.0k]

WARNINGS: angst, discussions about dead parents (car accident/unspecified terminal illness), survivor's guilt, unprocessed grief - please heed my warnings. i'm currently grieving someone and this is very raw, proceed only if it won't hurt you

A/N: shout out to @duquesademiel and @justahappycloud for teaching me that it is okay to write as a form of therapy, and i'm sorry i keep sending you the sad bits of this fic only. i love you and i can't believe i get to call you my friends. also, big thank you to @boomhauer for letting me use her chosen name for eddie's dad - i admire you greatly and everyone should go and read disjointed as a thank you. we're so very lucky we have you in this fandom <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

You had so much hope for a brighter day Why were you my flower plucked away?

Sunday, May 11th - 1986

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Mother’s Day had always been a weird day for Dottie. When she was a toddler, it was just another calm and quiet Sunday, albeit one where her Dad wanted more cuddles than usual, which, quite frankly, already were a lot. Still, she enjoyed the extra attention and he loved holding his little girl in his arms while she took a nap on his chest so there were no complaints to be heard from either side. When she was in kindergarten, her class spent an entire Friday making gifts for their Moms. Dottie came back home with a hopeful smile and gave her paper mache and macaroni flower to her Dad, asking if he could send it all the way up to Heaven for her. James had neer been happier about the fact that they now had separate bedrooms so she wouldn’t hear him sob clutching her handcraft to his chest while she slept. When she was around 8, she asked her Dad why couldn’t they simply celebrate Mother’s Day like everyone else in her class.

Margaret’s physical absence in her daughter’s life wasn’t an unusual topic in their home; in fact, a lot of teachers commented on it as Dottie grew up, praising James for keeping her memory alive and normalizing a sad situation so his kid wouldn’t suffer. James wasn’t sure why telling his daughter that she had been so very much loved by her dead parent was worthy of being praised, but as a single dad in the ‘70s, he took whatever kind words he could get. He made sure that Dottie understood she had a Mom, that she didn’t suddenly appear from thin air one day to change James’ life forever, that she’d been wanted and dreamed of by both parents. Margaret’s face was in countless pictures around their home, they stayed in her old bedroom whenever they visited her side of the family in Pennsylvania, they talked about what she’d say or what she’d do at all times. Margaret Burke was a constant presence in their lives despite her untimely death, and the fact that they celebrated that every day except during Mother’s Day didn’t feel right to her daughter.

That’s how Dottie found herself establishing little traditions that were still in place that Sunday afternoon when she opened her front door to find one of her best friends holding a small bouquet tied together with a big silver ribbon. Dressed in an all-black ensemble as he usually did, the lilac and white flowers sprinkled with greenery were the only pop of color in the foggy drizzly afternoon. Eddie was smiling wide despite the ugly weather, his dimples perfectly on display for the world to appreciate.

“Hey! This is for you,” Eddie thrust the flowers forward. “Actually, they are for your Mom but… yeah.”

“You bought my Mom flowers?” Dottie said, disbelief present in her tone as her fingers brushed against his chunky rings when she accepted the bouquet, skin bristling at the contact.

“Yeah, you like ‘em? The purple ones are rosemary and the white ones are, uh, bellflowers? The lady at the shop said there are, like, a million white flowers that look like bells so I picked the prettiest ones,” he dropped his backpack on the armchair in the living room and followed her to the kitchen.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you pick these?”

“Well, I kinda… borrowed your flower book?” he admitted, leaning on the kitchen island to watch her fill a glass vase and start arranging the flowers. “The one you and Jeff were talking about at lunch? It’s in my bag.”

“Wait, what? When did you grab it? I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Yesterday, when you left me alone in your room to go get snacks. D’you have any more of those strawberries? They were so good.”

“Yes, but you can’t eat them. We need them for the cake,” Dottie cut a few long stems until she was happy with how her vase looked and tied the silver ribbon that the bouquet had been bound with around the glass. “So if you stole my book, what do these mean?”

“I didn’t steal it, I was gonna give it back!” he said, faking being offended at her accusation before he dropped the act and stared down at his hands. “The, um- the rosemary is remembrance. The bell flowers are gratitude.”

“Gratitude? For my Mom?” she searched for his eyes with her own but he kept looking at his rings.

“Just wanted to thank her, y’know,” he looked up at her after a pause. “For giving me you.”

“Shit, Ed, you can’t say things like that without a warning, you’re gonna make me cry!” she fanned her face with her hand, voice playful but eyes full of very real tears. “Thank you, you’re… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smiled shyly, reaching across the island to grab a flower out of the vase and bump her nose with it.

She giggled, taking the long stem from his fingers and setting it behind her right ear before turning around towards the counter where baking supplies were neatly laid out. She picked up two envelopes: one was the now familiar soft pink rectangle she had been carrying in her backpack all week but the other one was unassuming plain white. She slid the white one across the ceramic countertop; Eddie opened it to find a Garfield themed Mother’s Day card, the orange cat grinning on the front of the glossy paper. A pen entered his line of vision and he looked up to see Dottie nervously staring at him.

“I got you your own card,” she explained, clicking the pen and offering it to him. “Thought maybe you’d like to join my little ritual later.”

“Ritual?”

“I write down the things I want to say to my Mom and then I burn the card. It’s dumb, you know I don’t really believe in, like, the afterlife or whatever but… Dunno. Feels like the words reach her if I burn it.”

“No, I get it,” he reassured her. “So I can write whatever I want?”

“Yeah! I mostly just update mine on how everything’s going. About my Dad, and school, stuff like that. Like leaving a message on her answering machine.”

“Okay, I can do that,” he smiled. “I’ll join your ritual.”

“Yeah? Okay, cool! I’ll… I’ll get started on the cake while you do that then.”

Happy to have a task to focus on instead of staring at him for an hour, Dottie opened a bottom drawer and took out a dark green apron with a tiny lemon pattern, quickly tying it behind her back with a thin bow. Eddie watched her move around her kitchen with ease, measuring ingredients and lining up a cake pan with parchment paper like she’d done it a thousand times. He supposed she’d had; kids with hard childhoods always knew their way around ovens and knives. It was simply a matter of survival: sometimes you were hungry and there weren’t any adults around even if the grownups in your life weren’t neglectful, like Wayne or James. Eddie looked down at Garfield’s large face printed on the paper and began spilling everything that was rattling inside his brain through his pen. He wrote, and wrote, and wrote until the left side of the opened card was full and had no more space to write on, so he continued writing on the backside.

He told his Mom about Wayne while Dottie mixed flour, cornstarch, baking powder, and salt. He promised her he’d graduate this year while hearing the sounds of two eggs being cracked, the overwhelming sweetness of vanilla extract filling the air. He confided that he didn’t feel as lonely as before anymore, that he thought he finally had great friends, a club that looked up to him, a band that made him proud. He asked her not to worry about him anymore when Dottie poured the batter into a round pan and offered him the spoon to lick. And thus, Eddie wrote to her Mom about the girl he had a growing crush on, how he felt like he didn’t have to hide anything from her because she understood him in ways that other people had never understood, and how desperately he hoped she would look at him in the same way he saw her. If he had lifted his head up when he was putting the card back into the envelope, he would have seen Dottie sneaking glances at him while she cut strawberries and realized that he didn’t have to hope for anything anymore; Dottie already looked at him with stars in her eyes even if he didn’t think he was worthy of it yet.

With the cake baking in the oven for the next 30 minutes, all the strawberries cut in half, and the homemade jam finishing its 48 hour setting period in the fridge, both teens sat down on cushy stools at the kitchen island to finish the half-done homework they had abandoned on Saturday after it got dark. They could hear James pottering about upstairs, cleaning the bathroom while listening to the radio. He was singing along to West End Girls by the Pet Shop Boys - “the latest #1 on the Billboard Hot 100” the announcer had said. James didn’t really like the Pet Shop Boys, but he had heard it so much on the radio during the last couple of months that he couldn’t be blamed for knowing the lyrics by heart at that point.

“You done?” Eddie asked, gathering his stuff and shoving everything into his backpack.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m done,” Dottie said, moving to clear her stuff too. “Cake should be done in five, I think.”

“What’s next?”

“Wanna whip the cream while I do the glaze?”

“Sure. You’re gonna have to guide me though,” his face lit up in a mischievous smile. “And I’m gonna need one of those cute little aprons you’ve been hiding from me too.”

“You get plain dark blue,” she said, going through the drawer. “Or… I can offer you a “Kiss the Cook” apron with a big red heart on it?”

“Princess, you already know which one I want,” he batted his eyelashes at her. “Besides, it matches my scrunchie!”

Dottie tried to contain her giggles with no success when he tied his hair up into a bun with the red scrunchie that had found permanent residence in the depths of her empty fruit bowl, twirling around to show off his new hairdo. He bowed his head so she could slip the apron around his neck, leaving the tying up to him and fetching the ingredients for their next tasks. She separated them into two small piles, his ingredients to the right, hers to the left.

“To make whipped cream you put heavy cream in this,” she slid a bowl in front of him. “And you use the mixer to whisk it until it gets a bit bubbly. Then, you add the sugar and the vanilla extract, and you mix until it’s not runny anymore.”

“How much of everything?” he asked, pushing his sleeves to his elbows.

“One tablespoon of sugar and one teaspoon of vanilla extract.”

“The tablespoon is the big one, right?”

“Yes, chef,” she said, juicing a lemon for her glaze.

They worked together in relative silence, the loud sounds of the mixer drowning any words they could say. Eddie found out that he could draw on the cream when it got a bit more stiff, and quickly proceeded to spend the next few minutes drawing penis shape after penis shape into the mixture. He thought it was hilarious until Dottie unplugged the electric appliance, shaking her head at his antics. He got the cake out of the oven while she finished up her glaze, concentrating on not burning her concoction heating up on the stovetop.

“Do you always bake a cake for Mother’s Day?”

“Pretty much, yeah. It was my Mom’s favorite cake, it’s her recipe, so... Dunno, it feels nice. And I get to eat cake in the end so everything works out.”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone make lemon glaze since I lived with my Grandma for three months,” he said, fanning the cake with a takeaway menu to cool it down.

“That sounds fun. How old were you?”

“Eight. Stayed with her the whole summer. She made awful lemon bars, I mean that shit tasted like fuckin’ cardboard,” Dottie snorted at his horrified expression. “But she made the best apple pie I’ve ever had. I think I gained like 10 pounds that summer.”

“Just from apple pie?” she asked, adding the last bit of the lemon juice to the pot.

“And ice cream,” he smiled. “Best summer of my life.”

“Eddie?” she said softly. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“How old were you when you moved in with Wayne?”

“After that summer. Actually,” he snorted bitterly. “The only reason I got to stay with my Grandma all those months was because my Dad got himself locked up and didn’t think it was important to mention he had a kid.”

“What?”

“They found out I existed when the school year started. A teacher asked me about my summer and called Social Services. When they came to see me, they said my Grandma was too old to raise me, so Wayne asked for custody. Been living with him since then.”

“What happened to your Dad?” she turned off the heat and turned to look at him.

“He’s still in prison. Won’t get out until I’m in my thirties as far as I know. He’s an asshole so… I don’t really care about him, and Wayne doesn’t either. Never went to visit him. Shit, I don’t think he even knows where they’ve got him, and that’s his little brother.”

“I mean, you just said he was an asshole so…”

“Yeah, I did,” he let out a wry chuckle.

“What’s his name? It isn’t Edward, right?”

“No, my Mom chose Edward. His name’s Wyatt.”

“Ah, that sucks,” she shook her head, moving past him to cut the cake in half to start assembling. He looked at her questioningly. “Wayne and Wyatt? ‘Cause you like alliteration?”

“Doesn’t ruin it for me. Actually, you might like this - you know what other two names start with the same letter?” he leaned onto the counter next to her. She was still wearing a sprig of rosemary in her hair.

“Bilbo and Baggins?” she joked.

“Maureen and Margaret.”

Dottie stopped cutting, knife halfway into the soft vanilla sponge, and stared at him. Eddie was looking at the two envelopes laying side by side next to the flower vase, right hand twirling the rings on his left hand. She remembered a conversation she’d had with Ms. Kelly early on in February after the excitement of being the new kid had died down and everyone had forgotten about her, going back to their cliques and usual groups of friends without sparing a single glance at her. If you want others to open up to you, you have to be open with them too, Ms. Kelly had said, in that gentle voice she always talked to troubled students with.

As much as Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn’t keen on talking about his past. He rarely offered up pieces of important information about his childhood, choosing to only share the inconsequential parts instead. Everything else was locked up tight in his chest, just like Dottie did with her deepest memories. She wondered if the reason he was being candid with her now was because she’d let him peek behind her curtains first on Friday night at Lover’s Lake. A key exchanged for a key.

“Your mom’s name was Maureen?” Dottie asked, resuming her cutting.

“Yeah. Wayne says everyone called her Mo.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she smiled. “Mo and Maggie. Maybe they would’ve been friends.”

“Yeah. That would’ve been nice. We could have introduced them.”

“I don’t know if I’d be in Hawkins if my Mom was still here, though,” she said, sliding a big spatula under the first layer of cake to move it to a different plate. “Don’t think we would have moved out of New York.”

“Dunno if I’d be here either,” Eddie admitted, watching her spread the whipped cream he had made on the cake. “My Mom wasn’t from Hawkins. I don’t really know where she was from, I asked but Wayne doesn’t know either so… Said she didn’t like talking about it ‘cause her parents kicked her out when they found out she was pregnant.”

“That’s actually so wretched.”

“I know, right? Like, I know my Dad was always a fucking asshole but it wasn’t her fault, she was barely 17.”

“How did she meet your Dad then? If she wasn’t from Hawkins.”

“As far as I know, she worked at a diner my Dad stopped at on his route. Wayne got him a job as a trucker when he turned 18. So he met my Mom there, dated her for like, three months at the most, and then I showed up to ruin everything,” Dottie scoffed at him but he continued. “She dropped out of high school, he brought her to Hawkins and I was born here. They got married when she turned 18 a few months later. Actually, my Grandma kinda forced them to get married. She really liked my Mom and didn’t want people to treat her like shit ‘cause she had a bastard child.”

“God, people sucked back then.”

“It was the ‘60s, The Beatles were the biggest band in the world, everything sucked back then.”

“Say that again and I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she deadpanned and he let out a huge snort, enjoying how easy it was to rile her up. “You were saying, though.”

“Nah, it’s just… If they were married, it didn’t look like I was an unhappy accident, y’know?” Eddie got a bit more serious. “Anyway, Wyatt didn’t really want to be a dad. He would get in his truck and leave for days, and then when he came back he treated my Mom like shit. I don’t remember much but my Grandma told me once that he used to hit her a lot. I mean, I was his own personal punching bag so that shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does but still.”

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed out.

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen him and my Mom died when I was three, that’s why I don’t really remember anything,” he said, but he did. He remembered everything about Wyatt Munson; every hit, every insult, every scream. He cleared his throat. “After that, my Dad quit his job and started working at Brimborn before it closed down.”

“Brimborn… That’s the abandoned warehouse on Cherry Lane, right?”

“Cherry Oak Drive.”

“There’s like three different roads with “cherry” in their names in Hawkins, it’s so dumb.”

“Nobody said we were very original around here,” he chuckled.

Dottie moved around the kitchen to go find the strawberry jam she’d made a few days prior and found him still staring at the cards when she turned. He wasn’t crying at the memories, he didn’t even look sad. Just… resigned. Like he’d gotten used to things being shit all the time so it was a waste of time to get upset about them anymore. She left the jar on the counter and wrapped her arms around Eddie’s waist, her chest colliding with his back, her face buried between his shoulder blades.

“I’m so happy Wayne was there for you. He’s a great man.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft, hands curling around hers. “Sometimes… sometimes I used to wish he was my real Dad, y’know?”

“He is.”

They stayed like that in the middle of Dottie’s kitchen, a million different things running through their heads: the dead mothers that shared the first letter of their names, the men that had raised them, and the people who had cared for them along the way. There was love to be found here in this kitchen, they both knew it. Only time would tell what it could turn into - what it would turn into - but for now, this friendship that only seemed to grow stronger every day was more than they had dreamed of when they first met in that dark props room thanks to the one and only Dustin Henderson. Maybe a Thank You note was in order.

Eddie thought it was very fitting that there wasn’t a bit of sunshine to be found as they stepped out into the backyard to begin what Dottie kept calling her “little ritual”. He held their envelopes carefully, one on each hand, while he watched her shove bits of craft paper and small branches into an empty bucket of paint, a box of matches resting on the floor next to her sneakers. She grabbed one and lit it on fire, throwing it into the can that had been scrubbed clean of any traces of paint ages ago and was now used as a regular bucket of water to douse the embers whenever James felt like using the grill. Wordlessly, she took her envelope from him and knelt in front of the can with her eyes closed, pressing the paper to her chest for a few seconds before lifting it up to her lips for a quick kiss, letting it fall onto the flames. She watched how the fire consumed her written words for a moment and went back to stand next to her friend.

She didn’t give him any indications as to what to do, simply choosing to let her hands fall in front of her, right hand twirling the ring on her left middle finger, eyes never leaving the flames. Eddie took her solemn silence as permission to approach the metallic can, kneeling on one knee and dropping his card inside. It was a strange feeling, he reckoned, to be sharing such an intimate and private moment with Dottie, and yet knowing that his words would never be read by her or any other person. Whatever he’d said in his letter was between him and the wind that he hoped would reach his Mom’s ears. I guess that’s the point of the ritual, he thought, moving back to his spot next to the pensive girl.

“It’s my fault,” she mumbled, gaze still stuck to the orange dancing in front of them and yet so far away from what she was actually seeing. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows meeting in the middle. Eddie had never seen her look so defeated. He wondered how he’d never noticed it before: the weight of the guilt she was carrying on her shoulders, the deep seated shame in the pit of her stomach that felt all too familiar to him, the vacant space within her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror that he’d been trying to ignore for so long. He reached out to her, his right hand wrapping around her left, rings brushing against each other’s, and squeezed tightly.

“She knew she was sick while she was pregnant and delayed her treatment for me. I killed her.”

“Dot, you know that’s not right.”

“Isn’t it? She knew it was me or her, and she chose me,” she held on tighter to his hand. “Sometimes… god, sometimes I wish she’d chosen herself instead. And it’s not that I want to be dead, I swear it’s not about that, but… it wasn’t fair. Not to her, not to my Dad. And it wasn’t fair to me either.”

“It’s my fault my Mom’s dead,” Eddie said, moving his fingers to intertwine with hers. She turned to him, both sets of wet brown eyes finding each others’ in the backyard. “It was the last day of preschool before the Winter holidays and I wanted pizza, so she went out to go get it. A drunk guy ran her over. She never saw it coming. My Dad wasn’t even in town. She died alone on the side of the road and with a fucking 2x1 pizza coupon in her coat pocket.”

“Eddie, you couldn’t have known. That wasn’t your fault-”

“It wasn’t yours either but you’re still gonna blame yourself for the rest of your life, aren’t you?” his lower lip trembled and they both squeezed tighter. The skin stretching over their knuckles was as white as the bellflowers in the kitchen. “They were adults, they made their own choices but you’re always gonna think about what you could have done differently, even if you didn’t know how to wipe your own ass yet.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she insisted. “That drunk asshole should be to blame, not you.”

“It wasn’t your fault either,” he said, matching her intensity. “You didn’t make her sick, that just happens sometimes and it’s no one’s fault.”

“It is! It’s my fault she didn’t get the treatment she should have gotten!”

“And it’s my fault my Mom was out there that night because I wanted pizza,” he lifted the hand that wasn’t holding onto hers and cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing away an angry tear. “If you’re not gonna stop blaming yourself, then I won’t stop either. You can’t have it both ways, Dot. Either we both move on, or we stay here together because fuck if I know who else to talk about this shit with.”

“It’s not fair,” she pouted, head falling forward until it hit his chest, his hand sliding into her hair.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, taking a deep breath.

There was nothing else to be said, nothing left to clarify or explain. There were no words to soothe the pain, because it was so embedded into who they were as people that no amount of comfort would ever patch up the wounds that had healed badly and left deep scars that would never completely disappear. Margaret and Maureen were no longer there, and Eddie and Dottie had to move on. They weren’t sure how, and by God if they hadn’t tried  to do so all these years, but it felt a lot easier to forgive yourself when someone else was walking down that road with you.

Dottie sobbed quietly against Eddie’s chest, head bowed with his right hand tangling into her curls, cupping the back of her head. Eddie let his own tears fall, his cheek pressed onto her crown, thumb brushing the exposed skin behind her ear. In the silence filled with paper and wood crackling inside the paint bucket, they thought about how much they longed for something they couldn’t even remember having, and how their rusty padlocks were starting to fall limp at their feet. How even when their brains were miles away from their bodies, they still anchored each other down, hearts beating in sync and hands holding hands, Eddie’s thick mood ring on his right hand clashing against Dottie’s only dainty band; her Mom’s engagement ring glinting on her left middle finger.

Suddenly, she startled him by laughing softly through her tears, bringing their joined hands between their chests. He peered at her face curiously, waiting for her to speak.

“She would have fucking loved you,” she said, looking up at him with a big smile and shining eyes.

“Yeah?” he smiled back.

“I told my Auntie Rachel about you, and she said that she wants to meet you. That you remind her of my Mom.”

“I do?”

“It’s because she was the glue. She was the one that introduced everyone in the group, they are all friends because of her. And that’s what you do for us with Hellfire. You’re our glue.”

“You know,” he stopped his sentence to chuckle. “Wayne said something like that about you too.”

“Yeah?”

“He said that you boss me around like my Mom did with him,” he laughed. “And that you always tidy up his coffee table like she did.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” she laughed with him.

“I think Wayne likes you more than he likes me,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But I know my Mom would have loved you too.”

“Eddie? If I wanted to get a tattoo to honor my Mom-”

“I’m taking you to get it when you turn 21. It’ll be your birthday present, I promise. Just… wait until you’re 21 so I can take you to a nice shop, because mine look really awesome but it’s honestly a miracle I’m not dead,” she snorted loudly. “I’m serious! I don’t think the guy washed his hands since he came back from Vietnam.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll wait. But you gotta promise we’ll still be friends in three years.”

“Oh, princess, I’m a ride or die. No getting rid of me now, sorry.”

“Good. Didn’t want to get rid of you anyways.”

While Dottie was inside setting up the TV to watch The Wizard of Oz, Eddie excused himself to the backyard for a smoke. He ran through everything that had happened between them that week, starting with their argument about his moldy ceiling all the way until the last ten minutes when she was still buried in his arms. Being vulnerable wasn’t something that came easy to Eddie; he was way too used to covering everything up in leather and sarcasm, but now that he’d started shedding the layers, it was surprisingly liberating to keep going, especially when he kept being rewarded by Dottie letting down her barriers too. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize James had slipped out into the backyard too and was walking towards him, glancing at the pile of ashes at the bottom of the metallic can.

“She got you to join her ritual?” James asked, coming to a stop next to the younger man who was smoking under the patio roof.

“It was interesting. I enjoyed it,” he said, the right corner of his lips twitching upwards into a soft smile. He offered his pack of cigs to James, who shook his head, hands in his pockets.

“No, thank you. Haven’t smoked in years.”

“I should probably stop smoking but it’s hard when my Uncle does it too.”

“I know what you mean, my parents are smokers,” James said, nodding. “I only stopped because Maggie got pregnant and she hated the smell on my clothes. Said it made her want to throw up.”

“Dot hates it too,” Eddie chuckled. “She’s always wrinkling her nose when we smoke near her.”

“She does it to my mother too, don’t take it personal.”

Eddie didn’t really know what else to say so he stayed quiet, busying himself with his cigarette. He knew Dottie hated the fact that he and Donny smoked, but despite that, she’d never told them to not do it. Instead, she moved around them to stand next to Gareth or Jeff, away from the wind that blew the smoke into her space until they were done indulging in their vices. She had never complained about the smell either; the only time they’d heard her say anything negative about it was when she said that her Grandma liked smoking inside her kitchen while sitting next to an opened window and that the smoke made her cough, so Eddie tried not to smoke in the van when he was driving her around. He tapped the butt to the sole of his boot and saved it in the little cardboard box, fully intending on throwing it in the trash when he came back inside when James cleared his throat.

“Eddie, do you mind if we have a talk? Man to man,” he said, his tone friendly but firm.

“Y-yeah, of course. Is there a problem, sir?” Eddie’s palms were sweating. He had seen this coming but didn’t think it would happen so soon.

“No, actually I wanted to thank you,” James began. “Dottie told me what you did for her on Friday, that was… very thoughtful of you.”

“Oh,” he was surprised. “I… You don’t have to thank me. I don’t know if she told you but… I haven’t been a very good friend lately and I wanted to apologize to her. That’s all.”

“Well, either way, thank you. Proms and school dances are… a touchy subject for her, you know? Not a lot of good memories. Just- thank you for making her senior prom special.”

“Of course,” Eddie said, scratching the skin under his watch. “We’ll make sure she has a good prom. And if- if you want us to bring her back at, like, a certain hour, we- we can totally do that too. We’ll look out for her.”

“I know,” the older man smiled at him, noticing how nervous he looked. Eddie might be almost 20 but he was still a little boy trying to impress the father of the girl he liked; James supposed he’d looked the same when he’d started dating Maggie. “You’re good kids, all of you. And Dottie’s never really had good friends before so… if she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“I’m glad. That’s she’s happy, I mean,” he hurried to say. “Not that she had bad friends before. That part sucks, she’s… she’s great and I’m glad I- glad we got to meet her and… stuff.”

“You all mean a lot to her, but you… You’re very important to her. You know that, don’t you, Eddie?” James said, and Eddie felt very much like he was being tested.

“She’s important to me too, sir.”

James smiled, satisfied with the boy’s answer. He understood now the glee his father-in-law felt whenever he made him squirm, it was very enjoyable. It was in good faith though, Roger had never outright disrespected him, and James didn’t intend on doing it to Eddie either, but he supposed it was his God given right to mess with the kid a little bit as the father of a teenage daughter. Maybe one day Eddie would understand it too.

“Everything alright?” Dottie said, popping her head out of the kitchen backdoor and looking at the two men standing on the grass with curiosity.

“Yeah, just two guys having a manly talk. You know, about sports and stuff,” James said.

“You only watch sports when the Olympics are on.”

“I also watch the Super Bowl,” he argued.

“You never watch the rest of the season, what’s the point?”

“It’s fun,” he said, turning to Eddie. “Right, Ed?”

“Only reason I watch is because Wayne makes the best spicy wings in Hawkins,” he grinned. “Sorry, sir.”

“You two are missing out,” James shook his head, jesting. “Gonna watch The Wizard of Oz?”

“Yeah, wanna join?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go lay down for a bit. I’ll take a piece of cake though.”

Later that day, when they were hanging out on the couch stuffing their faces full with vanilla sponge and strawberry jam while watching Judy Garland and her merry gang of new friends walk down the yellow brick road, Dottie eyed Eddie suspiciously until he turned to her, whipped cream staining his upper lip.

“Okay, spill.”

“Wha’?” he asked, cheeks full of cake.

“What were you and my Dad talking about outside?”

“Manly stuff,” he swallowed quickly. “Can’t tell you. If you knew, I’d have to kill you, it’s the law.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she giggled, stealing a strawberry from his plate.

He gasped in horror but still let her do it, because she was important to him and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face, including tearing down the walls he’d carefully built around himself all throughout his life. And hopefully, by shedding that weight, she’d be able to get rid of hers too, and Mo and Maggie could be proud of them for finally moving on.

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