#on the second date daisy and amanda could have stayed home. it would change nothing

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about dream daddy again and god brian makes me so mad

[betsyandmaxwellandduchessohmy]

can we get headcanons/reactions for a dadsona who's like, The Ernest Whisperer? they get along pretty famously, dadsona is really good at making ernest make better choices without being condescending about it. it's not perfect, but "dude, if you're gonna set fire to that trash can, you need a fuse or you'll blow your eyebrows off" is better than shutting him down or ignoring it altogether. like the mom in mean girls, steerin regina towards the Safer choice.

((I feel like I should say right off the bat; this is not part of the Lemon Boy continuity. There's two more parts to that but this isn't one of them. So Ernest is getting a bunch of love and I adore it. Honestly, Ernest is gonna be doing stupid, dangerous shit anyway, we might as well make sure he’s at least being safe about it. Also I love Ernest channeling his angst through artistic pursuits, so I’m adding it here.))

~~~

Summer had arrived. Amanda had graduated, and the kids of the cul-de-sac were free to their adventures. Which, of course, meant the troublemakers were free to their trouble.

You’d become something of an expert at dealing with the troublemakers, seeing as your daughter could be considered such by certain people, and you yourself had been considered such in your younger years by other certain people who were… probably dead by now, honestly. 

You’d gotten to know all the neighborhood kids pretty well since moving in, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have favorites. All the kids seemed to like you well enough - Craig’s girls invited you to their games from time to time, Joseph’s oldest seemed to have taken an interest in your garden for some reason, and Daisy and Carmensita might favor Amanda over you on any given day, but they were polite and sweet and complimented your cooking, so you weren’t too sore about it. But hands down, you got on with Ernest and Lucien the best. You remembered what it was like to be that age, and you were proud to say you’d managed to get through where others said was impassable. You could tell the boys liked you, even if they refused to admit it. Maybe they could tell that you’d been like them, once upon a time. Trouble begets trouble, after all. It felt like they’d made an unspoken bet to see who could push you further. Who could get you to agree to or help with the most outlandish thing. 

Lucien made you tag along while he did graffiti on the underside of the bridge by the dam. You lent him your spare respirator mask and kept an eye out for police and neighborhood watch.

Ernest found an abandoned factory a little ways from the cul-de-sac, and insisted on going there to fuck around. You managed to casually ask Hugo if Ernest was up to date on his tetanus shots and managed to convince Ernest not to swing from rafters or mess around with any old blades.

Lucien convinced you to give him and his friends a ride to a concert in the next city over. You paid for a last minute ticket and tagged along to make sure they’d be okay, and even managed to get a guy kicked out when you saw him slip something in one of Lucien’s friend’s drinks. 

Ernest roped you into a paintball war in the more wooded area of the park. You supplied face shields and forced disposable rain ponchos over his and his friend’s heads. They didn’t help very much or last very long, but there was slightly less paint on them than there would have been, so it was a win. As was getting the paint stains out of Ernest’s favorite hoodie.

But beyond that - beyond the bet and the games and the stupid dangerous shit you tried to buffer them from, you knew that they trusted you. By this point, Hugo and Damien knew that their kids saw you as someone safe to lean on, and while Damien was simply glad, Hugo was more than a little baffled. You offered him what advice you could, but you knew that sometimes, your dad just felt too close. Hugo was getting the hang of it, but it was easier for you.

When Damien went out of town for the weekend, it was you that Lucien called when he started feeling unsafe at the house party he’d gone to.

When Ernest’s friends ditched him when they ran from the cops, he called you to come get him from the alley he’d hidden himself in.

Every time, you made sure they weren’t hurt. You made sure they weren’t scared. You promised not to tell their dads. You took them out for ice cream or greasy all-night diner food. And you brought them home.

You were accustomed to the boys deciding that doing stupid shit sounded like the best idea in the world. So when you saw Ernest and a few of his friends bumming around the orange-clad kid’s driveway, you kept an eye on them while you went about your business. Stores had been stocking up on firecrackers since April, so you wouldn’t be surprised if the rapscallions had managed to get their hands on a few here and there. You hesitated briefly before turning your back, brushing the last few flecks into place before straightening up again, smiling down at the beautiful thing you’d made. A frown tugged at your face, though, when you went for your pocket and found you’d misplaced your lighter. Poking around the garage for a moment, you spotted it on the little table you’d set up beside the garage door. Reaching for it, you paused, poking your head out into the summer air.

Ernest and his friends had migrated to Joseph’s trash cans. There was laughter - always a good sign - and they were pressed close together to block your view of what they were doing to the poor bin, but you had the feeling it wasn't going to be good.

When you saw one of the boys pull a lighter from his pocket you turned on a dime, marching over and plucking the large cylinder off the top of the trash bags, holding it up over your head and out of reach of any of the little monsters.

“Just what in the Styx do you boys think you’re doing?” you asked. Before anyone could answer, the figures immediately scattered, like the rats in ratatouille. They all ran in different directions, seeming to think that you couldn’t catch all of them. They were right, but you only really needed to catch Ernest, who had stumbled back from the can and was looking up at you with what could only be described as a pout. Slowly lowering the bundle, you gave it a glance. 

Sparklers.

Well, at least it wasn’t bottle rockets or something. 

"I- I feel like I should ask what your thought process was here?" you confessed, looking at the bundle of unlit sparklers. There must have been well over five hundred there, how did they get a hold of that many sparklers??

"Logan saw a video of a guy lighting ten thousand sparklers on fire. They wouldn't sell us that many, but I still think it was pretty impressive."

"What's impressive is that you guys were going to stand here, a foot away from a trashcan filled with sparklers, and expected not to wind up with your faces melted off,” you laughed softly in disbelief. “You’ve lit enough stuff on fire by this point that I feel like you, of all people, should know to use a fuse, if nothing else. Where's your dad, anyway?" 

"The school," Ernest grunted, kicking at a loose pebble on the pavement. "Had some stuff to finish before he's done for summer."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You felt for the poor guy - reigning in reckless teens as a single parent was hard enough working from home, you couldn't imagine the position Hugo was in.

“Listen, I get the interest in firepower better than most - a little destructive force is cool and fun and all, I’m just staying there’s safer ways to go about it,” you insisted, sighing and running a hand over your face. Ernest, for his part, had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked back up at the garage. There was a thought... “Hey. If you’re still in the mood for some fire, I’ve got something you might like,” you offered. Ernest’s brows furrowed in confusion, and you nodded toward your garage, your smile growing just slightly when he fell into step beside you. “Y’know, my dad doesn’t really like me going into shady guy’s garages,” Ernest hummed, stepping past the garage door as if to make a point. “Sound advice. Good thing I’m not that shady,” you chuckled, mimicking Ernest’s skeptical look and throwing it back at him. “We’re neighbors with Robert, arguably the shadiest dude around. I’m comparatively way less shady. No offense to Robert. Now come check this out.” Ernest rolled his eyes, but did as instructed, stepping up to the large slice of walnut set up on sawhorses. The round of wood still had its bark attached to its edges, and black flecks were spread across the piece, shading in the image of a pair of crows perched on a gnarled branch, almost lifelike in their detail. “O… kay. What am I looking at?” he asked, arching a brow. “Like, not that it’s not cool, but… um?” You couldn’t keep the chuckle back, setting the sparkler bomb on your workbench and you pulling your lighter from your pocket. “What you’re looking at, Ernest, is best known as gunpowder painting,” you hummed, tossing up the lighter and catching it in your hand. Ernest’s expression changed from confused boredom to a level of fascination in a flash, his gaze darting up to your face. Tossing up the lighter once more, you caught it and held it out to the kid. “Care to do the honors?”

Ernest took the lighter, looking at the black flecks, and glancing warily back up at you before flicking the little device. Reaching out with a steady hand, he lit the end of the branch, watching with unbridled delight as the image went up in flames, each fleck of powder burning a small mark into the wood before going out quickly. You silently guided him back a step as the flames got higher, and for half a second, Ernest feared that the two of you might burn your garage down, until he noticed the sheet of metal you’d strung up from the garage rafters, protecting the wood. The kid laughed a little at the sight, and you couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. You knew Hugo had a fair bit of trouble with him, but he really was a good kid. He just needed a guiding hand.

Seconds later, the flames died, and the crows were burnt into the wood, beautiful and visually interesting. “That was so cool!” Ernest grinned brightly, reaching out to run his fingers over the burn marks. “Mind it- it’s still a little hot,” you warned, smiling as you moved to retrieve a container of walnut oil. “It’s a little more precise than a wood burning tool. Unlit gunpowder’s a bit more forgiving.” “Can we do another??” he asked, though his smile dimmed a bit when he saw the apologetic look you wore. “Sorry, kiddo. You’ll have to give me a while - I’m out of powder. But I’ll tell you what - once I get this bad boy to Damien, I’ll get some more powder and a few pieces of wood, and you can make your own piece, how’s that sound?”

“Seriously?”

"Hey, have I ever gone back on my word?" You asked, looking out at the cul-de-sac. The sun had begun it’s descent to the western horizon, and soon the neighborhood would be lit up and golden. “How about we have a fire? Then I can keep an eye on you till your dad gets back, and you can burn some stuff.” “I don’t need a babysitter.” Ernest rolled his eyes, but he didn’t snap the words at you, so you didn’t think he was annoyed enough to stomp off. “But you do like burning things,” you shrugged, moving toward the old fridge you’d pushed up beside the door leading into the house. “You’re welcome to a soda, if you want one.” Plucking up a small plastic cooler, you grabbed a container of kerosine, intending to squirt a little on your fire pit to get it started. When you reached for your lighter, and found it missing, it appeared instead by your face, held out by a kid who looked to be trying desperately to appear as if he wasn’t interested. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took the offered lighter. “Thanks, kiddo.” Ernest shrugged, sitting in one of the lawn chairs before standing and scooting it closer to the fire pit. You noticed a can in his hand and your grin widened. Once the fire was lit, you pulled out a can for yourself and sat in the other chair, sighing softly as you relaxed. 

“Man, you’re so much cooler than Hugo,” Ernest groaned, leaning back on his chair. You winced in sympathy for your neighbor, carding a hand through your hair. “Hey, your dad is very cool,” you insisted, earning a look that clearly asked if you were serious. “I mean it! Just because he’s more reserved and cautious than I am, doesn’t mean that he’s not cool. He’s just… Hugo is more or less the Jamie to my Adam.” Ernest looked at you blankly and you sighed, shaking your head. “Look. Hugo’s your dad. I’m not. Hugo’s the one who has to be responsible for you - It’s not any more fun being the parent that has to be responsible all the time than it is being the kid being told what to do. Your dads have been divorced how long now?”

“... year and a half,” Ernest muttered, looking uncomfortably into his soda can.

“Exactly. That’s not a lot of time to find a proper balance between Fun Supportive Dad and Authoritarian Dad. My spouse died when Amanda was still a kid, so I’ve had most of her life to figure it out and get it right, and I still don’t get it right all the time. 

“Your dad doesn’t like to do anything hastily, and I like to do everything incredibly hastily. So therein you have the dichotomy of our patterns,” you hummed, picking up your soda and taking a swig. “There’s a difference between being a good dad and a good parent. They’re not mutually exclusive, but it’s hard to strike a balance. Good parents make sure you’re eating healthy and getting good grades and learning the right lessons. Good dads… hm. Good dads…"

You trailed off, seeing out of the corner of your eye how Ernest was looking at you. Nervous, but thoughtful. Pensive. You shook your head, deciding to try another explanation.

"Okay, stop me if I start to sound patronizing."

"Kay," he agreed, seeming to brace himself. You took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that you could word this right.

"Hugo is a single parent now. He's so emotionally invested in, and drained by, raising you right, that he doesn't have the energy to do the fun stuff that you get to do with your other dad. 

"Your other dad? He's probably more like me. But he gets to see you on the weekends. Hugo has you all week during the school year. He's the one who has to… to make sure you get up on time, to make sure you get your homework done. And because Hugo does that, your other dad doesn't have to worry about it, so he can focus on taking you fun places and doing cool stuff with you, the way I do. There's no doubt in my mind that Hugo would love to encourage a safe level of pyromania, or go to events with you, but he's busy making sure you have the capacity to be a functional adult when the time comes.”

"Okay, I… I see your point. But it's not like I'm asking him to spend time with me and my friends, or- or go to a concert with me,” he didn’t emphasize the point, but you still caught the jab. You hadn’t been able to convince Hugo to let him come to that concert with you and Lucien, and you had been worried that he was a little bitter about it. “I mean - that stuff might be nice if he wasn’t so lame. I just want him to let me do stuff with my friends. Like, trust me once in a while, y’know?” “Okay. I know how this is gonna sound, but… you gotta prove he can trust you. Kiddo, you’re a pyro in the making, and that can be scary for a parent. You gotta show him that you’re smart enough to be trusted with safety stuff. Same with school stuff, same with friend stuff. The more good decisions you make, the more he’ll trust you to make more good decisions.” Ernest sighed. Not exactly exasperated, but not exactly resigned either. “I know it’s not easy, but you don’t have to get it right away,” you assured gently, taking another swig of your soda. “And you can still do stupid dangerous shit sometimes, because stupid dangerous shit is fun and ridiculous and I know you’re never gonna fully stop.”

Your talk with Ernest lasted a lot longer than you expected, the western sky had dulled from cool blue to a soft violet once the sun sank below the horizon, and stars began to fleck the sky. You weren’t sure when the kid dozed off, but when you looked over at him, his face had gone slack and peaceful. You silently thanked the powers that be that he’d put his can in the cupholder. A flash of movement caught your eye, and you craned your neck to the side of the house, spotting a familiar figure poking his head around the corner.

“Hugo, hey,” you greeted, waving him over. The teacher tentatively made his way across the lawn, standing just behind your chair to the side opposite Ernest. “I was just coming by to ask if you’d seen him,” he confessed awkwardly, looking at his son. “He’s been here since about noon, when I stopped him from blowing up Joseph’s bins,” you grinned. Hugo gave a soft groan, rubbing his face in exasperation. “MC, I’m so sorry-” “No, don’t be! We had a great time,” you assured, giving him a grin. “I showed him my new piece, and we had a chat.” Hugo frowned curiously, but nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. You offered him a soda and he took it, seemingly without thinking “Once I get the supplies, I told him we could do some gunpowder painting. You should join us.” Hugo very nearly choked on his soda.

“Relax, it’s all very safe,” you promised, laughing softly as he recovered. “I showed him the piece I was making for Damien and he seemed interested. Might be a good outlet for the firestarter tendency.” “I see. I don’t know if I…” “Just give it a shot? It might be something fun for you guys to do together.”

Hugo gave pause, looking between you two, and you smiled when he nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll… I'll think about it,” he agreed. Smiling, you leaned over, gently shaking Ernest’s arm. “Kiddo. C’mon, time for you to head home.” Ernest grunted, half asleep even as he pushed out of his chair. Hugo moved to place a hand on his back, and either from sheer tiredness or some shade of incredible wakefulness, he didn’t push out of Hugo’s grip. “Thank you, MC.” “Anytime. I’ll let you know when I get more powder, kay, Ernest?”

The teen nodded, allowing Hugo to guide him back out of the yard. You really hoped you hadn’t gone too far today. You wanted good things for your neighbors, and you wanted to help them however you could. Hopefully you could do that without overstepping. You sighed softly, looking up at the stars spattered across the night sky and the cinders that rose from the fire. Hopefully you could help without anyone getting burned.