#poor Project and Vin

[marvelousmagicalaura]

Reviewing the Terris Prophecies (pt. 1)

One of the best things about the Mistborn trilogy was the way Sanderson wrote the tropes of prophecy and the Chosen One. And I have a lot to say about. Future sight, prophecy and Shards manipulating mortals have been my hyperfixations with Mistborn's plot. That's one reason this project exists. The other reason is the Terris Prophecies' history and intentions are shrouded in ambiguity.

Why are the Terris Prophecies so vague?

We know Ruin was altering them so Alendi (and later Vin) could release him from his chains of impotence. However, Ruin claims he was imprisoned for several thousand years. As such he would've been altering the prophecies for just as long. So the altered and "unaltered" prophecies of the First Generation, Rashek, Alendi and Kwaan's time would've unfortunately been successors to millennia of already-warped prophecies.

Then there are Preservation's actions. Before Ruin was imprisoned millennia ago, he created the original and unaltered Terris Prophecies. He used future sight that stretched out thousands of years into the future, used those predictions as the basis of prophecies, and gave prophecies to the original Terris people through an unknown method. I believe his intentions with the original Terris Prophecies were similar to those of the Mistsnapping's sign of sixteen. Mistsnapping happened around every 1024 years, and hid clues to the ultimate outcome of destroying Ruin's body.

I think when Preservation created the original prophecies, he made them intentionally vague. He intended for Scadrians to use them as a guideline that described the desired traits of each cycle's Ascendant. But that guide hid layers to trick Scadrians and Ruin's relatively poor future sight, for it hid the ultimate purpose of the true Hero of Ages. I believe each Ascendant was positioned by Preservation (mixed with tricking Ruin), so they achieve certain things that would make it easier for Pres to nudge towards the true Hero of Ages. For example, we know from SH he positioned Rashek. Rashek's role might've been to cause an apocalypse, officially reveal the existence of Allomancy, and hide atium. So that Leras could create the circumstances for his immediate successor, the atium Misting army, and a Terris rebel. I think even if Leras no longer remembered the plan by the time of SH, Vin's true role was to release Ruin, Ascend to Vessel, and make the way for Sazed.

Though with all this said, something I need to keep in mind is that even Preservation's future sight would've been more unreliable than initially thought - infinite web of layers upon layers of possibilities, probabilities of a possibility occurring, exact cause of death is cloudy to foresee, rippled by Ruin's future sight, can be wrong, doesn't always know the "whys" of a possibility.

What is this review about?

In my opinion the Terris Prophecies contained traits that were seen in people besides Sazed, Vin, or Alendi. Traits that could've made each of them the true Hero of Ages. If their experiences, personalities, and Connections were different from the story we followed.

I will be reviewing each known excerpt of the Terris Prophecies, and see how they could correspond to these characters - Alendi, Rashek, Kwaan, Vin, and Sazed. The first part - this post - will cover the excerpts from The Hero of Ages.

The second part will cover the excerpts from The Final Empire. The third part will be for The Well of Ascension.

Throughout this analysis, I will be keeping in mind possible reasons for why the prophecies exist:

There was never an ultimate Hero of Ages, and the plan was just to delay Ruin's escape as long as possible. IMO this was definitely not the plan.

Either the Ascendant or a Terrisman in each cycle could've been the true Hero of Ages. Reasonable but unlikely imo.

The Ascendants - false Heroes of their Ages - were steps towards the true Hero of Ages. IMO this was the plan, even if Leras no longer remembered it by the time of SH. Especially since he was facilitating people like Rashek, Kelsier, Vin, Elend, and possibly Sazed.

Excerpts from book 3

Sazed shook his head. "I believe that she is. These prophecies still refer to her—even the unaltered ones that you have told me. They talk of one who is separate from the Terris people, a king of men, a rebel caught between two worlds. Ruin just emphasized that Vin was the one, since he wanted her to come and free him."' HoA Chapter 71 -Sazed and the Firsts speaking of Vin's altered prophecies, and the "unaltered" ancient prophecies known by the Firsts.

Alendi - Alendi was not of the Terris people, in a literal sense. He was from an unimportant village, then became the king of Khlennium. He was a king of men, as he united several nations (including Terris) under the banner of Khlennium. Throughout the epigraphs of The Final Empire, we learned about the emotional and literal conflicts he faced during his time as Khlennium's king. I think those conflicts were what made people believe him to be a "rebel caught between two worlds."

Rashek - Rashek was of the Terris people, but not of their mentality. Most of the Terrismen that Alendi knew were content with using Feruchemy for scholarly and agricultural needs. Rashek loved his people. But Alendi believed Rashek represented a growing faction of rowdy, violent Terris youth who thought the Teris people could do greater things with Feruchemy. Whereas most Terris and nations accepted Alendi as the Hero of Ages / Rabzeen / the Anamnesor, Rashek disliked Alendi and saw him as an oppressor. Interestingly, even Kwaan admitted Alendi was an oppressor.

Rashek was a king of men in the "greatest" way possible. He created an empire that ruled over a continent for 1000 years and crushed all forms of resistance.  But he was a person who clearly loved the Terris people and Feruchemy. He ultimately knew the world's safety and stability took priority, and so did so many awful things to the Terris people. It definitely caused him much pain, but he thought it was the best thing to do. Rashek was a rebel of the Terris people caught between the two worlds of passion/love and duty. He might've even been a rebel to non-Terris people caught between the two worlds of hatred and protection. He wanted to protect humanity from Ruin's escape, but there was definitely a lingering sense of hatred towards Terris' oppressors or more advanced nations.

Kwaan - Much like Rashek he was of the Terris people, but not of mentality. Kwaan studied nature and the Cognitive aspect of trees, whereas other Worldbringers studied religion. Kwaan was initially the first Worldbringer to believe Alendi was the Hero of Ages, while the others scorned him. He was the Announcer, the prophet who identified Alendi as the Hero of Ages. And as such, he received much renown among the Worldbringers. So while he wasn't a king of men, he was probably near that level of recognition on the world's greater scale. And I'd imagine he was the main advisor to Alendi.

Vin - Vin wasn't a Terrisperson and didn't interact with Terrispeople often. But in a way, she was a king of men. Her actions during the siege of Luthadel was the catalyst for why Elend became the emperor of the New Empire, while Vin became its empress. The two worlds refer to her skaa urchin side VS noblewoman side.

Sazed - Sazed was the only Keeper to openly rebel against the Lord Ruler, whereas the others stayed in their secret organization. A king of men because he was the Chief Ambassador of the Final Empire, and would've been emperor in the event of Vin and Elend's deaths. A rebel who experienced struggles with rebellion, acceptance, masculinity, and faith.

Sazed as a Vessel - Harmony is not bonded to just the Terris people; he's bonded to all humans. He's the King of Mankind - creator of all present and future humans. The essence of his component Shards created all past humans. The Vessel Sazed is a rebel caught between the worlds of stagnation and decay. Sazed wants to act, but his actions are forced to be an exact balance of stagnation and decay. Could that change with Discord?

HoA Chapter 71 - “We always assumed that the Hero would be a man,” Haddek said in his wheezing voice. “So did everyone else,” Sazed said. “But, you said yourself that all the prophecies use gender-neutral pronouns. That had to be intentional—one does not use such language in old Terris by accident. The neutral case was chosen so that we wouldn’t know whether the Hero was male or female.” Sazed before Ascending - The prophecies always used the gender-neutral, he thought. So that they could refer to either a man or a woman, we assumed. Or… perhaps because they referred to a Hero who wasn’t really either one? Sazed writing the Words of Founding - “...And who decided to use the neutral pronoun, so that we wouldn’t know if the Hero was a woman or a man?

The First Generation of kandra told Sazed their era’s prophecies used gender-neutral pronouns. Sazed in the same conversation assumed the gender-neutral was used so humanity wouldn’t know if the Hero was male or female. Sazed right before he takes up the Shards and taps his copperminds, he wonders if the gender-neutral referred to a Hero who "wasn't really either one." As while Sazed identified as a man and didn't identify as a woman, he had doubts about his masculinity.

As Sazed wrote the Words of Founding he made the same conclusion as when he was conversing with the Firsts. The entire epigraph seems to be about Sazed not yet knowing Preservation created the original prophecies, or from questioning the identities of the original Terris people to whom Preservation gifted the prophecies. Or perhaps he was being humble and didn't want to jump to conclusions about their history.

But he did come to understand certain intentions tied to the prophecies. I think while Preservation was hiding layers about the gender of an Ascendant or the true Hero, he did so for when his future sight eventually showed the true Hero's gender. I doubt he foresaw it all the way back then.

HoA Chapter 75 - “Yes,” Haddek said. “But that is not Preservation, just an image—a remnant. Now that Ruin has escaped, I think we can assume that even it has been destroyed.” “I think it is more,” another began. “We could—” Sazed held up his hands, getting their attention. “If Preservation has not returned, then has, perhaps, someone else taken up his power to use in this fight? Is that not what your teachings say will happen? That which has been sundered must again begin to find its whole.”

Alendi - Unless it turns out Khlennium was once a massive empire way before Alendi's time, I have no comment. Scadrial lore is way too underdeveloped.

Rashek - Now that! Is! Ironyyy! Rashek did more sundering than he did uniting things. He ripped apart every kingdom, religion, culture, and societal group on the continent. Compartmentalized his continent's population into nobles, skaa, and Terris people. Moved all Scadrial's crust to a different latitude, and Isolated the Southern Scadrians from the rest of the world. The only unification he did was bring all humanity under one empire. And even then, well, he did it through so much division.

Vin - For the first time since Ruin's imprisonment, the Shard of Preservation was used by a Vessel with a whole mind and presence in all three Realms. Not even Kelsier's Ascension meant the Shard found its "whole," for he lacked presence in the Physical Realm.

Sazed - Adonalsium's essence was sundered during the Shattering, splitting into 16 Shards. So when Sazed took up Ruin and Preservation, it was the first time since that Shards were in their "whole." The first time they were united in a singular essence.

Sazed as a Vessel - I believe Sazed has a plan to permanently defeat Bavadin and take the Shard of Autonomy. Making it so a Shard of Adonalsium mixes with another, yet again. This comes from a quote in the Bands of Mourning where Wax asks Sazed if he's omnipotent, and implies "parts of me could be omnipotent if I make it do so." If he takes up Autonomy, his essence would be stretched all across the cosmere via Autonomy's territories, Avatars, and perpendicularities. He would gain the knowledge, memories, thoughts, and plans of an extremely competent, long-term thinking Vessel who seems to wield fantastic future sight. Sazed wouldn't literally become omnipotent, but getting Autonomy would be the closest thing. I think.

HoA chapter 82 - The Hero would be rejected of his people, Sazed thought. Yet, he would save them. Not a warrior, though he would fight. Not born a king, but would become one anyway.

Alendi - Alendi was the son of a blacksmith in an unimportant town. Saw himself as a very unremarkable but mischievous kid. Started out as Kwaan's assistant, and most didn't believe he was the Hero of Ages. Even when most people believed him, Terrismen like Rashek or the Firsts hated him. But he lived a life full of death, war, and betrayal to save the world from the Deepness. He wasn't raised to be a warrior or king, but became the king of Khlennium that would fight to save all nations.

Rashek - Except for the monarchs he bribed with lerasium, all of humanity rejected Rashek's crusade. Yet, his actions saved humanity. Using the Well prevented Ruin's escape, hiding the atium set into motion a final phase of Preservation's plan, and building the storage caverns protected humanity from Ruin's apocalypse, He was the nephew of a Worldbringer raised in a nation of herdsmen and scholars. Wasn't raised to use Feruchemy for combat, but learned to do so. Wasn't born a king, but became emperor.

Kwaan - He was a scholar not taken seriously by his peers, then scorned, accepted, and finally exiled. His investigations of the prophecies brought Rashek into action. Kwaan's knowledge of Ruin's blindness was the catalyst of Rashek's knowledge, which prevented Ruin from getting the hidden atium. Kwaan saved the world, and he fought to expose Ruin's manipulation.

Vin - The nobility and Yomen rejected Vin's accomplishments. Yet, she saved the world and made it a better place. She was never a warrior, but fought to protect. She was never a royal member, but became empress.

Sazed - Sazed's rebellion was rejected by the Terris people, but he helped save them from the Lord Ruler's tyranny. Was a humble scholar, but would fight the Final Empire and monsters. Wasn't a king, noble, or member of the Synod. But he would Ascend to become the King of Mankind.

[exhibit-of-the-century]

Article Critique of: The Role of Women in the Iconography of Art Nouveau, Jan Thompson, Art Journal, 1971-72

Masterlist

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Thank you @nasalnozzle !! Without your guidance and help, I would not be where I am - you've truly helped me in so many ways and I'm eternally grateful.

The Role of Women in the Iconography of Art Nouveau, 1971-72, is an Art Journal by Jan Thompson. She presents a critical analysis of the Art Nouveau movement, the role, and the influence of women. Thompson puts forward that women were used as decoration and lacked agency. Her analyses of the role of women within the movement is flawed and here I will challenge some of her points.

The Art Nouveau movement, roughly through the years of 1890-1914, was a decorative art movement combining themes of the natural world with the man-made. Through mediums of fine art, graphic art, architecture and decorative arts, this movement was heavily influenced by Japanese art prints, which became accessible in Europe from 1850 onwards.

The overarching problem with Thompson’s analysis is a misuse of context: she ignores it and misinterprets it where she sees fit, leading to the misinterpretation of women’s roles in the artworks.

Thompson uses advertisements of Jules Cheret and Alphonse Mucha, to claim that there are “two distinct types” of women created by male artists. “This early pin-up girl was either bubbly, carefree and gay, as in Jules Cheret’s light-hearted, light-headed posters, or terribly seductive in the manner of Mucha’s cigarette-smoking ladies.”

Vin Mariani, Jules Cheret, 1896 – 1900, Colour Lithograph, Poster

Job, Alphonse Mucha, 1896, Colour Lithograph, Poster

She fails to acknowledge the main purpose of adverts. An advertisement exists to promote an item, and so the context surrounding the product in the advert needs to fulfil that role. Cheret’s poster displays a woman holding wine, a party item, hence the “light-hearted, light-headed” aspect of the poster. Thompson merely classifies the woman as “bubbly” but does not explore why an advert for wine might portray a “carefree and gay” character.

Thompson chooses a poor example to demonstrate the “terribly seductive” archetype in Mucha’s poster, once again ignoring the context of the cigarette. For many a cigarettes function is to provide relief and relaxation. Furthermore, the company JOB (a well-known brand of rolling paper for cigarettes) commissioned Mucha for several designs, so it is difficult to say that it was Mucha’s intention to present the woman’s character as “terribly seductive”.

There’s a more nuanced idea to these adverts. They feature women participating in these activities because women are the new target audience, independent thanks to their new self-made income. This isn’t a point Thompson ignores. She openly acknowledges it in her introduction: “for women in terms of employment outside the house.” Even going further back to her first main paragraph, on the topic of the artworks: “it is the woman who is featured, almost to the total exclusion of the male. Men are cast in roles subordinate to women”, reinforcing how women take centre stage. Despite this reaffirming, in some way, that it is women who are most important, Thompson sees it as a negative and uses this point to criticise the male artists for their inability to acknowledge women’s autonomy. She even claims that “It was an era in which women were kept as virtual pets, set up on marble pedestals and made to feel helpless and therefore desirable.” Thompson makes this observation on the lack of agency, specifically with her choice of calling the real-life women “virtual pets”, and her other classifications and generalisations.

Thompson proceeds to project these ideas onto every artwork within Art Nouveau, and unfortunately for her argument, she cites Alphonse Mucha and his work with “Sarah Bernhardt […] the woman most remembered today for her contribution to the arts at the turn of the century”. By acknowledging Bernhardt, and even citing that she “contracted Mucha to design costumes, props and future posters for her productions for the next six years”, Thompson can no longer generalise the portrayal of women’s lack of agency, as this is a clear example of a woman who has a job, an income, and even hires an artist to present her in the style of Art Nouveau. Although Bernhardt may not have had total control of how Mucha portrayed her in the artworks, it is fair to say that as the employer, she had some input. One may argue that it is through their partnership that she is remembered today.

Thompson’s choice to condemn all of Art Nouveau as objectifying women to be decorative is misplaced, as looking at the wider context challenges her interpretations. Thompson chooses to see seduction in Mucha’s Job, to see advertisements featuring women as decorative, not consider why they feature them, and opts to ignore and separate Bernhardt’s role in Mucha’s life from his works of her. Thompson even concludes that the movement “seems to have gone overboard in one last hedonistic fling at the same time that suffragettes were changing themselves to public buildings and an increasing number of women were awakening to the idea of their own individuality”. She’s inferring a causation; she gives her own inference of history that the Art Nouveau period was focused on portraying women “as decorative object […] as a last-ditch anxiety-ridden attempt to keep women in their traditional places”. While Thompson doesn’t ignore the wider context, she does not necessarily lend it enough weight when presenting her argument. It is precisely the wider historical context of some of these works that changes their interpretations and the role these women take within the artworks.

[cntrl-cntre]

And with one eye I worship you

As a general rule, blood is not supposed to be outside of the body.

It’s not meant to coagulate and cool on grimy floors under massive mansions, it’s not meant to trip you over your own feet; blood is supposed to be flowing through your veins and keeping you alive—not seeping out in gushing rivulets and trickling over your fingers in thick rivers. The ferrous scent tickled Tooru’s nose and fanned flames that should have been extinguished long ago. Ifraft struggled to stay in his grasp while Abksol dragged along the wall, a prop to an actor, and actor on a stage.

A stage to an audience.

The ghoul that did this was long gone, under the hot pursuit of Urie it had no other choice. She fucked them all up big-time. A chunk the size of a pear was taken out of Saiko’s arm, Urie barely got out of the way before glass-thin sharks of kagune rained down on them and still managed to get one stuck in his shoulder. Then there was the behemoth of a wound that he'd been gifted.

Jagged bite marks and the acidic bubbling where ghoul saliva met humanesque skin were still seeping blood. The ghoul hadn’t said a word since she ambushed them, but the relentless attack on himself and Saiko put the words where they needed to be. Saiko herself wasn’t in much better condition; the spot on her arm moving to the beat of her heart much the way Tooru's abdomen did. The accelerated healing takes longer from the accrued animosity, because—much like blood—saliva entrails and bone are supposed to be on the inside.

The blood just kept coming. The hole wouldn’t heal and Tooru's head fell just so, his eyepatch loosening bit by bit, minute by minute. Abksol slipped off the wall and the dull spine dragged along the exposed sinew of his right side, aggravating the wound even further. It knocked against something hard and small, sending it clattering to the blood-drenched floor.

A tooth.

At this moment Tooru was shaking too much to stand properly, the grey walls fuzzy in his vision and the feel of his clothes flattened and wet against his skin too much. When the floor held his face in her hands, Tooru saw the tooth fill the space between him and the door where Saiko lay just beyond. The enamel was cracked where the sharp incisor had scraped along his rib, but gleaming white and flecked red it stood. It stood in the pool of gossamer Vin Rouge and emanated a stale essence of the ghoul that left it behind. Trepidation coursed through the veins of the poor man’s ichor and closed Tooru’s throat from the inside. The ringing in his ears kept time with the looming of the tooth as steps thundered and the dirty floor fanned around them both.

The black shoe resting behind it contrasted with the same red and white of the flesh’s renderer; the flayer of fine lives. The pristine distinction in vertical evolution caved and fell back under the same black shoe that offset it so perfectly—even things of splendour had to fall to the mundane of the world.

The world goes blank.

The blankness is the same colour as the sky in a stormy countryside. There is a tooth on the floor, not that there is a floor. If there were a floor, the tooth would be the only thing on its broad expanse; white and blinding like a beam straight from heaven to burn the word Heathen unto the skin of the damnable. The blankness is as inky as fresh wine from the richest of grapes, smooth and welcoming.  There is a tooth in the expanse, a beacon in the midst of serene silence. The shrill pitch of its presence coated his ears and wrenched forth a fresh torrent of blood-rich feeling. The blankness is sweet and calm, the ocean in the night before a typhoon.

The tooth pulls him close like a grotesque icon of beauty and grace; solemn and quiet and radiant.

A hand reaches out to it and it belongs to him. No, it doesn’t. It’s his arm that falls away, but it’s not. Mutsuki Tooru watches as his finger caresses the porcelain of a white surface, but that finger doesn’t belong to him. Nothing here belongs to him.

Not the hand holding a precious pearl of a tooth. Not the kakugan contrasting the olive and envy and chalet of the other eye staring at it. Not the pillow of warm, tanned flesh that holds the perfect sliver of emptiness. Not the faded green that grows paler the hungrier his tongue gets for skin-meat-bone-flesh. Nothing here belongs to him.

All in due time Tooru will wake, and then Sassan will look down at him from the side of his hospital bed. He will have dragged along Urie, the man barely sparing Tooru even a glance. Saiko will be in the chair, holding onto his hand with hers still wrapped in pale bandages.

But that is due time. Now. Now, he shakes and watches himself eye the tooth. He examines his own, unstable hand as the tooth rattles around in his palm and wells up with a fear he has only known in the face of his family when he’s hungry.

[warystares]

dark eyes that have been watching the detective with a curious & cat - like precision suddenly crease at the corners in something akin to disbelief ― or is it AMUSEMENT ? the grin that twitches at mika's lips suggests the latter. ❝ has the dementia gotten to you already, mate ? that's actually EXACTLY what that means. ❞ their nose wrinkles at vinny as they lean folded arms against the counter. ❝ you are older than me. by definition, that makes me less old than you. that's just comparative adjectives. basic grammar. ❞ a curious gaze flickers toward the zippo in vincent's hand ; a quick squint identifies the particular device and, despite his often VOCAL disdain of the other man's surprise visits, mika cannot bite his tongue long enough to keep back a few more INTERESTING details of the lighter. hands lift from the counter to twist and curl around each other excitedly, teeth burrowing into the soft flesh of a lower lip in a PISS-POOR attempt at keeping the words inside. ❝ that engraving there, it's all hand-etched ! that particular model, it's got half a century on either of us. you want to talk about old, vin, well you're looking at it ! oi, you ever heard of trench art ? ❞

any DISTRACTION the zippo provided mika from the detective's judgment is short-lived ; their face falls slightly, disappointment masked by a ROLL of expressive eyes. ❝ it IS true. i'm not a hoarder, nolan ! these things, they have ― they have history they're not junk. ❞ before you say anything, no, they're not PROJECTING or anything, okay ? they have a perfectly normal relationship with their trinkets. ( just like their perfectly normal relationship with the detective currently sauntering up to his counter. ) mika scoffs, arms crossing over a PUFFED chest. ❝ no ! but even if i were ― what're you gonna do about it, vinny ? huh ? ❞ NOTHING, and mika knows this ; it's what keeps the shop keep so confident when they speak. but vinny steps forward and the way he LOOKS at them, so smug, it's no wonder they get RILED up sometimes ! ❝ as luck would have it, i've got NO plans for you to ruin. my day's open. plan on sticking around a while ? ❞

"didn't say i wasn't old, but that does not mean you're less of an old man than me, bud." he was fiddling with some old zippo lighter that he peeked up from when mika appeared. sadly, he could agree that the other wore it much better. vinny wasn't aging like fine wine. each divorce ( was it three or four now? he lost track ) only aged him that much more. not to mention the more secrets he uncovered in his leadership position, the more tired and disappointed he became. BITTER , some may say. looking over at mika then, he clicked his tongue but didn't dare agree with him. nor mention that this little cat and mouse game they had going on is SADLY vinny's longest standing relationship with another person.

"yous keep tellin' yourself that, mika, some day it may even come true." vinny chuckled with disbelief and shook his head. just because the stuff was put into a store for sale, did not make it less of a problem. even vinny couldn't get to knowing half of what was in the cabinet of curiosities. "you flirting with me now mika?" vinny moved towards them then, stopping when it was just the counter between them. he pushed the aviator sunglasses to the top of his head and plucked the chewed up stir stick from his morning coffee out of his mouth. he replaced it with a grin. "just thought i'd stop by to say hi, i was in the neighborhood. why? am i ruining your plans?"

[novirp13]

Based from this

I seriously have to create this after I saw that particular pose :’D

Project belongs to @scarredlove

Vin belongs to @ask-messengertale

Source belongs to @kailuxart

Fashion belongs to himself (cuz nobody can claim him~)

Meme pose belongs to @ mamafrankee

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Friendship Bracelets

Very random. Fluffy scenario pre-relationship

Vin Jin taps his pen impatiently, willing inspiration to strike.

Stupid fucking Duke and his stupid fucking talent. Vin needs to remind everyone how much better he is, and he needs new material.

You haven't been much help with his music, fiddling with some silly piece of string and beads most of tonight. Tongue poking out in concentration, and brows knitted as you continue whatever the fuck it is you're doing.

In fact, you have been a hindrance more than anything. Numerous times Vin had wanted to write something about you - your words and looks and company becoming his muse. Then he remembers how cringe and weird that would be, so he's back to square one.

And now you've fallen asleep, hand still holding your little craft project. It's not an uncommon occurrence, you and Mary and Vin often spending evenings together, leading to an inpromptu sleepover.

Vin pulls a spare blanket over you and resists the urge to ruffle your hair.

.

.

In the morning, you tie the friendship bracelet around his wrist.

So this was what you were working on? This stupid thing took you all night?

Vin thinks it looks pretty ugly. A black knotted cord thread with tacky white beads, reading '♡VIN♡'. The bastard didn't hesitate to say so, which you brush off with a forced smile.

The shitty thing clashes with his aesthetics, and he's half tempted to cut it off right then and there.

But it's a gift from you, he can't do that. If only to spare your feelings - that's absolutely the only reason. He doesn't care about the stupid thing.

Not at all.

.

.

Fiddling with it becomes a habit.

The bracelet becomes a reminder of you that night, the hours that you spent on this. (Seriously, how did this pathetic thing take so long?)

Not even Mary has one, which Vin is quietly smug about. It's completely unique. One of a kind. Just for him.

He likes to think it brings him good luck when he notices it dangling from his wrist. Even the ugliness has its own endearing charm.

The first time he misplaces it, he tears his room apart.

.

.

A couple week later, you receive a small box thrown at your head, signed with just 'V'.

No prizes for guessing who your assailant is. You notice Vin barely managing to duck behind a corner as you frown in his direction.

Smooth.

.

.

"This is fucking bullshit," Vin had cursed the day before, frustration building as he sits alone in his room.

How the fuck did something so simple take so much time and still end up being so hideous. He looks at his exceptionally poor handiwork. It was somehow even worse than yours, and that's saying something.

What a waste of fucking time, he thinks, as he angrily grabs his jacket and sunglasses and makes his way to the shopping mall.

There's no way Vin could give you his homemade attempt. This would have to do.

At the jewellery store, he flushes in mortification when the store assistant asks him what his girlfriend would like. Nevertheless, as soon as his eyes land on this, he knows it is exactly your taste.

.

.

A silver bracelet with a heart pendant hangs prettily from your wrist.

Vin feels a rush of joy when he notices you wearing it. He keeps the smile off his face, wills his pulse to stay normal, and the heat on his face to subside.

You shake your wrist at him, the jewellery flashing in the sunlight, and give him a small smile like you're sharing a secret.

Vin calls you a loser, even as his hand absentmindedly comes up to touch his own bracelet.

He thinks of them as a matching set.

[dadsbongos]

skipping through a john hughes' movie

8.3K words

warnings - reader has major anxiety (but it’s the 80s so people just call you insane), speedrun friends to enemies to lovers, allusions to children-having but no actual kids or anything

summary - Your Home Economics teacher assigns a project - take care of an egg for a full week and present your report on it. You assumed it would be a solo project, so imagine the surprise when your golden-girl cheerleading ass was paired with Eddie “the freak” Munson. At least your best friend, Chrissy, seems excited for you. ~~

There was one bright side to Ms. Vin’s painfully boring sixth period Home Ec. class, you and Chrissy were designated seat partners since the beginning of the year. Meaning every project - every quilt, dish, quiz, and assignment in the books - was done as a top-tier team. This one, despite being what you’ll assume is a solo project, is no different.

“So, how’re you gonna decorate your egg?” Chrissy grins, setting her chin into her palm, “I was thinking Barbie meets Madonna but on, like, a really bad bender.”

“I dunno, I might just draw whatever I want on it until time’s up,” you pick up one of Chrissy’s sparkly pens, “Mind if I borrow this?”

She shakes her head and beams at you, “Take whatever you want - my pens are your pens, doll face.”

You glare and she giggles.

“Ick,” you uncap the pen and lean back into your chair, taking the violently shiny pink pigment to your skin and doodling a flower over your thumb, “Ick, I say, Chris.”

Meanwhile, Eddie is busy braiding a section of his bangs while Gareth draws on their shared table.

“Honestly, I don’t even think I should do it,” Gareth murmurs.

“Do what?” Eddie pauses, finally realizing his poor friend had actually been talking to him.

“Were you not listening?” Eddie shakes his head, “Jesus. I was saying that my sister wants my egg when we’re done with this whole thing, but I don’t think I should give it to her. She’s just gonna put it under someone’s pillow or some shit.”

Eddie nods solemnly, watching as Ms. Vic begins handing out eggs, “At least you’ll pass, man. Knowing my luck, it’ll slip right outta my hands the second I grab it,” then he points at the table right in front of them - yours and Chrissy’s table, “Only good thing about this being a solo project is I don’t have to worry about fucking up someone’s grade.”

Since the beginning of your senior year, you’ve felt it. The stares. You’ve heard them - the whispers. And it certainly doesn’t help when people like Eddie Munson don’t shy away from mentioning it.

Chrissy side-eyes Eddie and no matter how much she may enjoy his presence, she can’t excuse him now. She lays a hand to your shoulder, “Hey, he’s, like, the only person who talks about it.”

“But everyone thinks it,” you meet Chrissy’s eyes and don’t notice that Ms. Vic is only leaving one egg per table, “Everyone’s just weird around me.”

Everyone except Chrissy.

You were always quiet in the crowd, and that’s mostly because you hate crowds. But it’s also because of the incident last year - being quieter means less people notice you which means less people talk about you which means eventually the incident stops getting brought up. Unless it’s a group as vindictive as Eddie and his band of freaks.

“So, many of you already know what this project is about, but I just want to go over it again. Just in case,” Ms. Vic stands at the front of the room, an empty carton of eggs in one hand and the other beginning to write on the chalkboard, “This will be a paired project, not a solo like I’ve been hearing!” you and Chrissy smile at one another while Eddie and Gareth share a nod (though with a lot of groaning and mumbling from Eddie), “You’ll have one egg to care for from this point until class next Monday. Then, your team will have to present to the class your method of caretaking, why you decorated your egg the way you did, any mishaps and accidents, and so on and so forth. I will then grade your pair by both presentation and how roughed up your egg is.”

She steps away from the board to reveal a list of names. And there’s something hot in your veins, freezing cold on your skin when you see your name.

You pray to God, but He isn’t there - and part of you now thinks He never was.

“These will be the pairs! Go ahead and move to sit by your partner!”

Your jaw drops and there’s a raucous from behind - Eddie laughing, “No fuckin’ way!”

“Mr. Munson,” Ms. Vic snaps, “we don’t use that language in school! I don’t care if you’re older than the other students.”

Eddie merely mutters under his breath while you put your head in your hands, “That felt uncalled for.”

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

MONDAY

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

Chrissy hisses as though your partner stings her and pats your shoulder, “Sorry, girl. Good luck.”

“Easy for you to say,” you groan.

Chrissy got paired with the chess club captain - Corey Watts. A sweetheart who’s the easiest, most agreeable person to work with since a corpse.

There’s a clang and screech and squeak of metal scratching linoleum, and Eddie has finally slammed himself into the seat beside you.

You straighten up and plaster on a grin, “Hi, Munson.”

“Munson?” he pouts and tilts his head, “Aw, c’mon, I know you’re all pissy about this, but don’t be so cold. We’ve gone to the same school together since we were little, I’d say we’re on a first name basis.”

“I feel more comfortable using ‘Munson’,” you grab the egg and hold it softly, “Unless you prefer Edward?”

He retches, holding his stomach, and you hate how you laugh. It’s a little too loud, you think, but Eddie seems to shine under the sound.

“How do you wanna decorate it?” you hold up the fragile egg.

Eddie holds up a pair of scissors from the table’s tin to his head, “What d’ya think, sweets? Wanna give the little tyke his daddy’s hair?”

You gasp and cradle the egg to your chest, “You will do no such thing! That’d be so weird!”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point,” he sets down the scissors and holds out a hand for the egg, “You can pretend it wouldn’t be fun all you want, I know you would’ve laughed.”

“I would’ve gagged when you made the whole room smell like burnt hair,” you point across the classroom to the counter that holds the hot glue guns.

“Fine, what about James Hetfield?” he suggests, kicking his feet up onto the table.

You swat his shin and furrow your brows, “Who the hell is James Hetfield?”

His big eyes widen impossibly further, “Oh my God,” he looks at you like you said the ocean was neon pink, “you’re so out of the loop it’s fucking insane.”

“If he’s from one of your bands then I’m not out of the loop,” you roll your eyes, “It’s just not my thing.”

“Metallica should be everyone’s thing,” he plucks the egg from your grasp, where it was still pressed gently to your chest, “I’ll show you later. Just say ‘yes’ so we don’t have to fight in front of the baby.”

“Fine, fine, but you’re gonna have to do it yourself, ‘cuz I don’t know who James Hetfield is,” you lean forward, resting your cheek on the table, “And you’re gonna show me what? Metallica?”

“Hell yeah,” he says it like you should already know the answer, “you’re missing out, sweetheart.”

“You’re nuts, Munson.”

If he were just a little more comfortable, he’d call you nuts. But Chrissy is burning a hole into the side of his head and even if he doesn’t feel that close to you, she’s his friend (even if it’s secret) and he doesn’t like hurting his friends. So he lets it slide and passes you the egg with the promise to retrieve a couple googly eyes and a hot glue gun.

He makes you glue the eyes on, not that you really trusted Eddie Munson with such a task - he might actually try gluing his hair on if you did.

But you can feel it - his eyes on you. Not your hands, but your face; your tongue between your teeth - a habit for when you’re trying to focus.��

“Why’re you staring, Munson? Last I checked, I’m not the one who reeks of cigarettes,” your eyes draw to his and you grin sardonically, “Gross, by the way.”

Eddie’s twirling a piece of hair in front of his mouth but you can see the way his lips are pulled high - the way his eyes crinkle with the tellings of a smile, “Your teeth are sharp.”

“Huh?” you rear back, laughing half in earnest and half in shock.

“Your canines,” he nudges his head towards yours, “they’re sharp.”

“Yeah, they’re canines! Obviously, they’re gonna be sharp.”

“But they’re sharp like mine,” he lowers his hair and opens his mouth as if you would inspect his teeth, “Two freaks with stupidly sharp canine teeth.”

A couple of people stare following your outburst, but you can’t bring yourself to care much. Not when Eddie’s hunched over, brows scrunched and tongue out in concentration as he now tries coloring the egg in black marker like it’s wearing clothes.

“You should probably take it home,” Eddie hands you the egg and you reach into the pile of yarn he’d gotten for hair, “I don’t trust myself to not lose it.”

“Sure,” you’re a little surprised at how down-to-earth Eddie seems, considering what all your peers had said about him, “and then switch off between classes? Just so one person isn’t doing all the work.”

Clearing a spot on the table, Eddie lays his head down and nods, “I’m fuckin’ exhausted already.”

He’s right. It’s a little too peaceful. Nothing like your usual crowd (not that you’re all too enamored with the loudmouths of your usual crowd).

“I think you should take the egg during lunch no matter what, though,” you hiss when some hot glue touches the pad of your finger and that sends Eddie sitting straight up, “My table’s riddled with jocks, so I think he’ll survive at yours. Just try not to step on him during your table rants.”

“That was only three times,” he huffs jokingly before taking the hand you burned, “Lemme see.”

“It’s fine,” you’re almost tempted to rip your hand away, but more than that - you want him to keep it. His palm is warm and, despite the calluses, feels nice against yours. Weird. 

“Just don’t want our princess hurt,” he releases your hand, “Looks fine. Shouldn’t scar.”

“Yeah, I figure,” the bell rings and you shoot up from your seat, “Uh, sorry- do you mind taking him now? My next hour is taken up by cheer practice.”

“Thought you guys practiced after school,” he’s whining but he holds his hand out for the egg anyway.

“It’s either more practice or regular gym and the regular gym coach scares me.”

Eddie hates to admit it, but the golden girl, golden cheerleader, golden little smile you shoot him would’ve made him agree no matter what.

TUESDAY

“Fiskle is a good partner,” Gareth, weirdly enough, isn’t complaining about a project as he speaks to the lunch table, “Said she’d take care of the egg the whole time, I just have to write up the presentation.”

“I’m not looking forward to taking care of an egg,” Dustin shakes his head, “Sounds nerve-wracking and boring at the same time.”

“It is,” Gareth nudges his head towards the head of their lunch table - to a suspiciously silent DM, “Eddie got paired with the psycho cheerleader.” 

Mike and Dustin glance at each other, confused, then turn to stare at the cheerleaders. 

“Oh, shit,” Jeff laughs at the freshmen, “you guys don’t know.”

“Know what?” Mike tosses up his hands, a brow quirked, “They all look normal.”

“Bland, even,” Dustin agrees.

“People don’t even talk about it that much,” Grant takes a glance at you from his peripheral.

“But why shouldn’t they?” Gareth’s eyes narrow, “‘Cuz why does she get to go around like that and it’s all good, but we just like a game and we’re nutbag cultists?”

“Well, what the fuck happened?” Mike throws a fry at Gareth, “Stop stalling ‘n’ tell us.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, and finally looks up from your shared egg. He can see a smudge of glittery pink pen over the face, and he hates how it makes him think of you. And he hates that every time he thinks of you, he has to justify it - only to himself and only because he isn’t big enough to admit that he finds a cheerleader pretty. Still.

“You want to know the tale of the nutso cheerleader, young paladin?” Eddie looks at Mike, then Dustin, “It’s a harrowing story, not for the faint of heart. Or children.”

“Get on with it,” Mike jeers, throwing yet another fry.

“Get on with it,” Chrissy teases, pinching your arm, “You’re so adorable when you lie to yourself.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “I’m serious, though. Sure, Munson’s not that bad, but it isn’t like we’re gonna be friends.”

She sets you with a pointed look, “It’s totally possible, though.”

“As if.”

“Well, I think it’s for sure,” Chrissy’s eyes fly past you and an impish grin raises to her lips, “His little minions are staring at you pretty hardcore.”

If you hadn’t turned - oh, if only you hadn’t turned - then nobody else would’ve noticed. Andy wouldn’t have noticed and turned to Patrick who turned to Jason Carver.

Jason is Jason and Jason is an asshole, so he stands from his seat and squares his shoulders like he’s really about to fight a pair of freshmen just for looking at cheerleaders. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

“Jason,” Chrissy whispers, “c’mon, don’t.”

But Jason doesn’t listen well, “What’re you freaks staring at?!”

Immediately, Mike and Dustin go pale - snapping their bodies back into their original position. Eddie’s hands settle on the table, ready to stand.

You reach out and grab Jason by the sleeve, “It’s not a big deal, Carver, just leave them be. They’re kids.”

“They’re old enough to know staring isn’t polite,” Jason’s loud enough for them to hear and you hate seeing how the boys flinch, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’re planning something.”

“They’re- “ you groan and stand, pushing Jason back by the chest, “It’s fine, Jason. Seriously. Leave them alone. Please.”

Jason is an ass, but he always thinks he’s doing what’s right. Sees himself as a knight in shining armor - little does he know, all the joints are rusting and everyone cowers under his fist. His brows draw and he frowns, “What if they hurt you?”

“They’re kids,” you toss up your hands in exasperation, “I’m fine, Jason. You’re just making a scene.”

Chrissy stands as well, her lithe hands settlinh on her boyfriend’s shoulders, “Yeah, just sit back down and enjoy lunch, okay? They didn’t mean anything by it.”

Jason waits. One second. Five seconds. Ten uncomfortable seconds pass before he relents and takes his seat at the table. You watch Eddie settle back into his seat and you don’t get the same opportunity before the bell suddenly rings.

Hellfire files out of the cafeteria quicker than usual and you can assume why. Jason is hot on their tale, Chrissy hot on his. You meet Eddie at his table and wave. 

He takes up his bag and holds out your egg, “Thank you, sweet princess, for extending your neck in the name of a couple freaks.”

You roll your eyes at his sarcastic tone, “Yeah, okay. I think more people should.”

He agrees. He’s only unwilling to thank you sincerely because while he does appreciate it - it’s what you should do, right? Yes, it’s kind, but there’s that undeniable part of him that grows increasingly bitter about how only Chrissy stood up with you. But it’s easier to play up the part of the freak than be vulnerable with someone like you (a stranger, a cheerleader - same difference).

“Wow, you’re a regular Josie, aren’t you?”

You tense and his eyes anxiously fly to your face, but you’re smiling. Big and bright as you hold the egg carefully.

“You good?” he tilts his head, smile nothing if not mocking.

“Sorry, I’m just…” you giggle, fit with nerves and insecurity, “I loved Josie and the Pussycats - I hated that it ended.”

“Aw,” he pouts and the two of you finally exit the cafeteria, “that must’ve been tragic for you.”

“It was. My little 3-year-old self couldn’t get out of bed. And then when I got older and rewatched it, I was just as inconsolable.”

“Oh? And when’s the last time you watched Ms. Josie and her rock band of the ages?”

“Last week.”

You like his laugh. And his smile. It’s sweeter than what the jocks pull - a whole lot sweeter.

The minute bell rings and Eddie decides to swallow his pride - a consolation prize for Josie and the Pussycats ending.

“Thanks again, I really didn’t feel like getting my ass suspended defending those little shits,” Eddie scratches the side of his nose.

You shrug off the gratitude, “‘s no big deal, Eddie,” he hates the giddy in his chest when his name flows from your mouth, “It’s fine, honestly. You know, everyone thinks I’m, like, some superficial bitch. Or whatever.”

Eddie smiles, cat-that-ate-the-canary and snarky, “Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” you grab his arm and gasp, “I thought you were against the system!”

“I am!” a spark flutters through the arm you’re holding, even under the leather jacket, “Until it proves me right.”

You huff and grin and wave him off. Your cheer skirt flutters as you turn and walk down the hall, but your voice echoes through the walls, 

“Dick!”

The bell for class to begin shrills and Eddie just watches you go. He’s ashamed of falling into the stereotype - but then again, he’s a super senior that deals drugs, so that isn’t actually new, is it?

WEDNESDAY

Five minutes. You’re trying not to freak out. You’re five minutes late. 

Sorry, Chrissy mouths, frowning.

Five minutes ago, you were supposed to meet Eddie at his van so you could take your egg home, and cheer practice was nowhere near done. Despite being captain, Chrissy didn’t really call the shots of when to end practice and you can’t blame her.

None of the girls notice you’re anxiously glancing at the clock every other second, and honestly, if they did, you doubt they would care.

Then, the doors slam open - each girl jumps and attention snaps to the jingling chains and clanking rings that storm through. A circus of boos ring around the gym and Chelsea Rivers even throws a pom-pom at poor Eddie.

But in true Munson fashion, he catches it with the hand not holding your egg and holds it above his head - muttering as if in prayer and tossing it back.

“What’d you do, freak?” Chelsea jumps away from the pom-pom, it tumbles and the tassels just barely brush her sneaker.

“Just some casual demonic ritual, don’t worry about it!” he cheers, blowing a kiss when Chelsea kicks the pom-pom away.

“He’s fucking with you,” you pick up the pom-pom and hand it to Chelsea, then calling to the rest of the squad, “Chill out, girls, he’s here for me!”

Eddie kneels as you approach, presenting the egg as though it’s a prize on a game show.

“Thanks,” you wring your hands, “Uh, practice should be over soon, but I totally get it if you just wanna leave the egg here ‘n’ go.”

“No, no,” he holds the egg to his chest when you try to grab it and sits back on the bleachers, “I will be patient and celebratory of your cheer duties, as I should be.”

“If you insist,” you bow and that’s how you know you’re starting to spend a little too much time with Eddie for the sake of a project, “then I guess I just have to give a proper show.”

Eddie’s loud as he watches you all. Every stunt - back handspring, round-off, pike, tumble - no matter how repeated, earns you a ‘woo!’ and banging on the bleacher. 

“Eddie,” you wave him off, grinning, “Seriously, you’re being distracting.”

“I’m being supportive,” he points to where the egg is now nestled on his bundled-up leather jacket beside him, “Now stop whining and be the mom he can be proud of.”

You flip him off and he gasps, covering the egg’s googly eyes.

Chelsea leans close and while Eddie can’t hear her whispers, he already knows what she’s saying. He’s been down this road and it always leads to the same dead end. She moves away, eyes flickering between you and Eddie and he can’t help but groan.

You pull back from Chelsea, eyes narrowed, “Huh?”

“I said,” she crosses her arms, “is he making you uncomfortable?”

If it were Jason here for Chrissy, nobody would be saying anything. And you’re perplexed until you remember who Eddie is to these people, and you don’t understand how they can think that until you remember you used to believe it, too. Maybe not to the full extent they do, but it isn’t like you ever approached him in the halls.

You were even initially mortified to be working with him, and now you’re giggling at his jests.

Eddie stands and you watch him until you can find your muscles again. You rush to him without responding to Chelsea and you can hear the questions that the other girls are raising behind you.

Maybe if people see how much you actually enjoy being his project partner, they’ll get over themselves.

But the most cynical part of you doubts it.

“Hey,” your hand wraps around his, your lips tugged in a frown and Eddie has to look away lest he be tempted to fix it, “you don’t have to go, y’know?”

The way you’re pouting at him is dangerous. It reminds him of sick, twisted feelings. Reminds him of the stereotype he is - where the freak falls for the cheerleader that’s nice to him. Reminds him of just how badly he wants to kiss you under the bleachers he hides under during pep rallies (‘cuz of course, who wouldn’t? You’re a cheerleader. A gorgeous, competent, kind cheerleader).

It’s dangerous because it’s unreal and it makes him overthink. If he can’t do so much as get the girl, how will any of his other dreams come to fruition?

So Eddie just laughs, “I’m not very welcomed.”

“Well, what if I want you here?” you look down at your white sneakers while he stares - wide-eyed and sweet - at you, “Hate to admit it, Munson, but maybe your hollering is good for something.”

“In that case…” he glances at the lone egg on the bleachers, to your squad, to you. You, sweet and smart and so, so unattainable, “if I must be a cheerleader’s cheerleader, then how could I ever refuse?”

THURSDAY

Ms. Vic’s sixth hour Home Ec. class has gotten more interesting since Eddie’s been your seat partner. 

“Not a single dick on this desk,” Eddie ‘tsk’s and shakes his head, “Shameful. What the hell do you and Cunningham even do over here?”

“We talk, like friends do,” you rub a thumb over the smooth shell of the egg as Ms. Vic passes out a packet to each pair, “Is that what you and Gareth do? Draw dicks all over the table like children?”

Eddie hums and leans over as if to check, “Yep. And demons. Sometimes both at once.”

“Dick demons?”

There’s a lull as Ms. Vic comes by to set down your team’s packet.

When she’s gone, Eddie nods curtly, “Demons’ dicks.”

“Gross,” you open the packet.

It seems straightforward. One column for mishaps. One for cracks. One for shatters.

Obviously your egg hasn’t shattered.

“Check for cracks, please?” you pass the egg to Eddie.

“Just mark whatever you want, it’s not like she’s actually looking at it.”

“No way, if we don’t properly do this and then later she catches us in a lie, we’re…” you shake your head and wave your hands about, “It’s just not gonna happen. I’m not lying on an assignment, Eddie. Now stop whining and inspect the egg.”

“Fine, here you go, sweetheart,” he makes a show of himself, what else is new? He hums and nods and ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, “Yeah, we’re clear.”

“Har, har,” you take the egg to double-check it.

“Oh my God, do you distrust me that much?”

“Yeah.”

“Cold-blooded!” Eddie rocks his head back, “How could you, sweet princess?”

“Easily.”

Gareth watches in terror, only because he’s known Eddie for a long, long time. He’s seen Eddie get crushes and he can tell that the crush he had on you last year is striking again at full force. He’s seen the way light dies a little in Eddie’s eyes when he sees the guys you hang out with - not out of jealousy, but realization. Eddie always gets his hopes up and then remembers how different you two are. How different your circles are. He’s seen the more bold girls come and fuck with Eddie for free weed, and he’s seen how it hurts the poor bastard (not that said poor bastard would ever admit it).

Chrissy, meanwhile, watches in glee because she can see how much you’re enjoying yourself. She likes that you’ve made another friend - an actual friend - outside the circle jerk of jocks and preps. A friend who isn’t judging you for being the “psycho cheerleader”.

FRIDAY

A regional cheer competition was the talk of Hawkins High. Until seventh period, the cheer squad was gone and everyone who actually cared about where they were was overcome with concerns about if they would win. Hawkins had a reputation of flailing last minute when it came to stuff like this and Coach G was increasingly - visibly - sick of it.

Hellfire never cared for that, or at least they didn’t until Eddie was just staring at the jocks’ lunch table for something other than trying to rile them up.

Eddie finds it unrelentingly bizarre how miserable he feels. He hates the ball of muck and tar that’s collected in his chest - sticky and thick and aching. He knows you’ll be back by the end of the day, but that doesn’t mean his stupid heart doesn’t clench at your current absence any less.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

The other guys have noticed it, too. The table is quieter than usual because nobody’s prodding Eddie and he isn’t leaping for interaction either. It’s weird.

Eddie’s not dumb, though. He knows why he misses you. He knows why it stings to see a you-sized gaping hole at the table.

Gareth knows, too, and that only makes him more nervous.

SATURDAY

“I brought the egg,” you pull the fragile thing from your shirt’s front pocket, “Figured you’d wanna see your son.”

“Aren’t you adorable,” Eddie pushes open his trailer door and takes the egg, “Thanks, Mama.”

“Don’t call me that,” you’re hot in the face and your giggle is nervous. You aren’t dumb enough to not know that he’s why.

“Aw, why?” he leans in close, lips wide and teeth on display.

“‘s intimate,” you whisper it like it’ll burn you to be uttered.

“You’re precious,” Eddie nudges his head further into the trailer, “My room’s down here.”

You see a familiar body in the kitchen of the trailer, though; making coffee for his thermos before heading off to a grueling shift at work.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne!”

He turns and waves and that’s enough from such a naturally stoic guy, “Just Wayne, girl, you know that.”

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Eddie holds open his bedroom door for you, eyes fluttering between you and his uncle, “How’d you meet?”

“We’re not friends,” you shrug, “And we just see each other for volunteer work: cleaning up waste ‘n’ stuff. He usually gets stuck with Chrissy and I because he doesn’t bother getting into other teams and nobody likes working with teenagers.”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get sweeter.”

Your eyes trail after Eddie as he hurriedly picks up scattered items on his floor. His shirt rises from time to time. Sometimes there’s a peek of the course, dark hair on his tummy that leads to his jeans and sometimes there’s a view of his boxers. You just try to be respectful - eyes slamming to the clock he keeps on his nightstand, then the handcuffs right by his bed.

“Volunteer work is, like, completely mandatory for the cheer squad, Eds.”

He shrugs and pretends his heart didn’t clench at the precious nickname on your tongue, “But you could volunteer anywhere, and you choose waste cleanup.”

“It’s not even that big a deal, we aren’t even doing actual work with the waste, we clean up the aftermath of other cleanups. We’re the just-in-case crew.”

“Still,” he insists, “so cute, I could eat you up.”

“Shush, hush,” you swat at Eddie and step over a twisted, tossed shirt left behind in his bedroom’s doorway, “Anyway, handcuffs?”

Eddie immediately grabs the cuffs and throws them into his overstuffed laundry basket, “You’re delusional. You never saw any handcuffs.”

“I think that’s manipulation,” you pluck the egg from his hands and look around the room. It’s still messy, but you don’t think any other room would fit Eddie, and you don’t think you’d want to be in any room that wasn’t Eddie’s.

Then you see it. Right on his desk. Next to the ashtray and dust-ridden sunglasses that look two-sizes too small for his head.

“Uhh,” you pick up the small blue box and shake it by your head, “had big plans for tonight, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide at the box of condoms in your hand. You can see endless possibilities in those baby browns - actions, words, every response he has planned. Irreverent denial, acceptance, laughter, joking insistence. But eventually, he settles to square his jaw and his eyes are back to usual.

He nods curtly and folds his arms, “Yes, princess, I brought you to my trailer after saying we should go to your house and then intentionally parade myself for an ass kicking by hooking up with the state’s golden girl.”

“I am not the state’s golden girl,” your nervous breakdown last year soiled such a title for the rest of your life.

“And why not?”

“As if you don’t know what happened.”

He does but he keeps quiet. Shrugs. Throws himself onto his bed and smiles when you kneel on the mattress next to him.

“Who cares? ‘s not like anybody important even talks about it.”

He’s instantly smacked with guilt, but then again, he’s nobody important - not at all. Not until you’re giggling at him.

“Yeah, whatever,” you lay the egg in your lap and watch it tilt, rock, then balance, “Imagine if this was a real baby, it would not be this well off.”

“I dunno, I’d think baby Munson would love watching you practice your, uh,” he blinks up at the ceiling and waves his arms out wide with flair, loose and flimsy, “jumps and kicks.”

“I think baby Munson would get used for football practice by Jason ‘n’ his goons,” you turn to Eddie as he smiles and it brings one out of you, too. You raise a hand and make it look like you’re palming a football, “His soft spot would look gnarly as hell, though.”

You like the way Eddie laughs at your jokes. Your jokes usually fall flat with your friends. 

You once heard that in order to find someone funny, you first have to find them smart enough to be capable of making a joke. And if Eddie’s enjoying himself this much at a simple jab, then he must think you’re some kind of Einstein. Or perhaps he’s just that willing to freely enjoy himself.

Either way, you like it.

SUNDAY

You know that feeling you get when you’re walking up to a group of people and they instantly stop talking, and you know they were talking about you? 

What’s worse than that?

When they don’t see you coming and don’t stop talking.

You can see it in their faces that you weren’t supposed to hear what they were saying, but they shouldn’t have been saying it in the first place.

In a handful of measly minutes, the week leading up to now was smashed and you can only watch Eddie’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. Then it drops into realization.

A handful of minutes ago, you were first walking into Eddie’s trailer to finish up the presentation you two started yesterday. The door was unlocked and you could hear him and his friends in his room - the door was cracked just enough for you to hear them when you got close. Before you get to open the door, you hear your name.

You freeze and the hum of Eddie’s guitar pauses.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” Gareth tenses, looking between Eddie to Mike and Dustin, “you need to back off your partner,” when all Eddie does is stare like he’d heard the date of his own death, Gareth continues, “I get it, you know, she’s nice and all but come on… you know better than that. She’s a walking hazard sign.”

Eddie looks over to Dustin and Mike - for assurance, support, affirmation, he isn’t completely sure - and they only look away.

Gareth puts up three fingers, “She’s a cheerleader, it’d never work out, your social standings are way too different,” his ring finger goes down, “Even if it did work, you’ll get your ass beat by her family, like, every Tuesday,” his index finger goes down and he’s flipping Eddie off, “She’s completely mental.”

Eddie immediately snaps to attention, body rigid and stiff and hands frozen on his guitar, “She is not mental, Emerson.”

Mike butts in, “I mean… you guys don’t call her the psycho cheerleader for nothing.”

Dustin shrugs, “Not the most intense freakout, but… with all things considered, I don’t know, Eddie.”

He doesn’t know you’re there - silently begging for backup. So he sits back and bites his lip, “Whatever. Fuck you guys.”

Silent defeat.

Silent admission.

His bedroom door creaks as it opens and each head whips around to face you. Egg and papers in one hand, the other wrapped loosely around the knob.

You look defeated, sound defeated, “You what?” your eyes fall to your white sneakers and suddenly the room is just a little too hot, a little too stuffy. Your throat swollen and eyes burning, “I didn’t even think you guys cared about that sort of thing…”

Wasn’t their whole deal about the system being bullshit? 

You could understand when Eddie thought you were like the other cheerleaders before you two actually met, but now it was different. He was still actively using a name that burned you when you thought that you two might actually be able to be friends. Maybe more.

You hate that you ever hoped for more.

You hate that you already miss him.

You kick at the floor of Eddie’s cluttered room, “None of the other cheerleaders even call me that. But yeah, they’re two-faced.”

None of them can gather the courage to so much as look at you, even Eddie - who you thought prided himself on being big and loud and unafraid.

You roll your eyes just to hide the disappointment and tears and you’re trying so hard to sound stern, but there’s no way to keep your voice from shaking, “Here’s the egg. Do the final yourself, and if we fail - it’s your ass, Munson… Might go fuckin’ crazy on you or some shit,” you sniffle and laugh dryly, walking away.

Eddie suddenly finds himself and stands just as he hears you mutter a borderline acidic “stupid dick”.

Not that he can even blame you for saying it. He’s dug his grave and when you’re already driving away and he remembers he doesn’t know where you live - he knows that he must lie in it.

His best option - his only option - is to write a good presentation and apologize like hell at school tomorrow. Maybe you’ll forgive him.

Or maybe he’s doomed.

MONDAY

Eddie managed to catch you right at your locker during zero hour.

“Do you think you can just say whatever you want, Munson?” he rears back, eyes wide. You laugh, bitter and dry and only a little teary-eyed, “You think that just because you’ve been screwed over, that gives you the right to turn your back on someone because they’re a cheerleader. You think we’re all the same and you didn’t bother defending me ‘cuz I’m just another cheerleader to you,” he opens his mouth but you put up a finger to shush him, “I bet the people here aren’t even people in your head, are they? We’re just faceless masses that you lump in with the ones that pick on your friends. It’s bullshit, Eddie.”

“And what? You’re so special because you’re what?” he shouldn’t be talking like this - he should just grit his teeth and bow his head, but you’ve struck a chord and he’s never been good at backing down, “You’re… the quiet one, right? That’s your little calling card. You’re the nice one that can smile and laugh at the freak’s jokes and that makes you better than the others.”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap.

“You didn’t have to,” Eddie’s face is stone cold and it’s more unnerving than the worst horror movie, “I’m not a fucking idiot. That’s your schtick. Your gimmick. You’re the sweet one that even the losers like because she sticks up for them, but we’re not friends, and we never would’ve been.”

He should shut up. He needs to shut up. But right now there’s a burning ball of anger and hatred and it’s all at himself and the jocks and the school that would end you if you two did become friends.

“We could’ve been friends,” you stand tall, but your voice wavers just a little. Just enough for him to know you’re insecure, “We really could’ve.”

“Your friends would eat me alive and mine would eat you,” Eddie has to look away, lest he’s swayed into begging forgiveness on his knees at the sight of your crestfallen face, “It’s better like this. No little cheerleader has to get hurt, and I’m just a good memory with a bad ending. That’s how it would’ve gone anyway, now we’re just skipping to the finale of a John Hughes’ movie.”

Chrissy doesn’t recognize the boy in front of her. This isn’t the Eddie that always made her feel safe. This isn’t the Eddie that was always going to be a friend after high school was done. This isn’t the Eddie she’s proud to know.

“Fine,” you shake your head. There’s something inside you that’s screaming - shouting that this is wrong. Your Eddie wouldn’t say this. He isn’t like this, “Do you really think that, or are you just being pissy?”

“We both know I’m just being pissy,” he’s quiet. It’s odd. You hate it.

Chrissy shakes her head and tugs on your arm, “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

If you two leave now, you’ll actually be two minutes early, but you have no idea how to carry on and you’re sure Eddie doesn’t either. So you leave with nothing more than a “Talk to me when you get your head out of your ass, Munson.”, and he doesn’t follow.

It’s like that for the rest of the day, too. Between classes, when you’re meant to be trading the egg - he initially tried not taking it, but it hadn’t worked. Not at all.

With Chrissy, concerned and tender, you’d leave. One arm looped with your cheer captain’s and the other carefully carrying your egg. And when he returns the egg, it’s nothing different.

Only when you’re sat by each other during sixth period Home Economics does he finally get the chance to speak.

“Alright, yeah, I know,” Eddie sighs and reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out two slightly torn pieces of loose leaf, “I fucked up, sweets. I know. I’m sorry, really, I’m sorry. What can I do? Just say the word and I’ll do it - whatever you want.”

You take one of the papers he holds and wrinkle your nose at the resounding stench of weed, “Do you keep drugs in there or something, Munson?”

Without hesitation, he nods, “Yeah. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t think you carried it to class!”

“Never know when an emergency will strike.”

You hate the grin that wants to creep over your face, “You’re an idiot, Edward.”

He grimaces, shaking his head so theatrically, his hair flutters around his shoulders, “I’ll literally let you stab me if you just never call me Edward again.”

“So dramatic,” you swat the boy in the arm and shrug, “And maybe I’ll forgive you, if we ace this presentation,” you hold up your paper and shake it about.

“Then thank God I’m the one who wrote it,” he grumbles.

“I believe in you, Eds,” you punch his shoulder and watch his chest puff up - big and proud.

It deflates as soon as your names are called. Ms. Vic gestures to the floor beside her desk and smiles - kindly and ignorant to the teenage angst festering between you and Eddie.

You clutch the presentation - lips pressed and hands clammy. There’s a burning, aching that lies on your heart - guts entwining and sweat breaking over your skin. Sure, you’re a cheerleader and sure, you’re technically popular, but in no way do you actually enjoy being around throngs of people.

You put up with the pep rallies and the games and the parties and the crowded lunch tables because that’s what’s best for your image. And that’s what’s best for Chrissy’s image. And Chrissy is your best friend and you just want her to be happy and you don’t want her to be stuck with you like you’re stuck in these situations.

Eyes scorch at you and you realize how long you’ve been stalling. God, they must all think you’re a freak. Your knees strike straight and you think you can feel your lunch coming up.

“Uh- “ you clear your throat, shake your head, anything to just rid yourself of this feeling, “The- so…”

Air is short and thin and there’s an overwhelming need to run. You’ve felt like this before. You know it. You deeply know it.

You’ve felt it many times - before every rally and game and party and in front of every single crowd - but only one time has it been this severe.

Last year - second semester, fourth quarter, Mr. Perry’s first hour U.S History class. The second week until the end of school, your parents took you out of Hawkins for a family emergency and just your luck - an exam was taken that day. An exam you couldn’t make up no matter how much you begged and an exam that dropped your A to a C.

When you earned the title of school psycho for flipping your lid on Mr. Perry on the last day of your junior year because you got a C+.

But nobody understood, they really didn’t. It was more. It was different. It was so, so different.

And now you’re practically hyperventilating in front of your classmates and now it isn’t even about the stupid fucking presentation. It’s about knowing that tomorrow you’re gonna get those weird stares and miserable glances. It’s about knowing that no matter what you do and no matter how hard you try - you’ll always be nothing more than Chrissy’s neurotic best friend prone to a nervous breakdown at the slightest sign of danger.

It’s about knowing that Eddie will call you crazy with his stupid friends at his stupid lunch table with his stupid smile and those stupid laughs. 

Ms. Vic leans around to see your eyes clenching shut, head turning down, but before she can - Eddie takes a rather obnoxiously large step in front of you.

He beams at Ms. Vic, hands flying to your shoulders, “A moment.”

She nudges her head towards the classroom door and calls the next group.

Once in the hall, you’ve let the tears fall. You’re crumpling the paper in your hand and nearly wailing, “Oh my God, I- I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie squats down so your downturned gaze is forced to lock with his, “Hey, no,” his hands find yours and he squeezes, rings biting at your palm, “it’s alright. You froze up, so what?”

“I could feel them staring at me,” you sniffle and whimper and hiccup, “I don’t wanna go back in there, I can’t look at them. I can’t do this, Eddie. I fucking hate this.”

This overwhelming dread whenever you’re faced with too many faces and too much judgment. This need to cry and hide and run like a child when you’re overwhelmed. This painful, exhausting, languishing need for people to just like you and be proud that they know you. 

“Goddammit,” you rip your hands away and cover your eyes with your arms, “I wanna go home.”

Eddie waits a moment and you’re convinced he left. He’s better off that way; delivering the presentation alone so that Hawkins’ local nutjob can’t fuck up his last chance to graduate. Then you feel a hand on your cheek, tender and affectionate.

“Wanna look at me, sweets?” you shake your head and keep your eyes down, “Alright, hey, don’t worry about them, baby, you got this. You’re a rockstar here, remember?” your brows furrow and you purse your lips, “Don’t let a couple dorks with eggs stop you from killing this presentation.”

“We’re dorks with an egg,” you mutter. You look away, “Do you think I’m crazy? Like your friends do.”

“No,” he shakes his head, then remembers last night, then gently brushes his thumb over your cheek, “I mean, sure, I dunno anybody else who explodes on teachers or anything, but you’re not crazy. You just do crazy shit sometimes, sweetpea, ‘s totally different. Not even that crazy, just a little odd, maybe.”

You shoot him a disbelieving stare.

“Really, honey, you’re completely fine. Got some cold feet, that’s all. We just go back in there and kick ass, right?”

“It’s gonna be so fucking weird, Eds.”

“Just don’t let it be,” he stands and you hold your head up this time, still clutching the presentation he wrote last night, “Really, I didn’t stay up all last night writing this just for my pretty partner to not read it.”

“Fine,” you jam the toe of your sneaker into the linoleum floor, “Okay. Fine.”

Eddie holds his arms out, “Hug, for my brave knightly duties?”

“Hug,” you meet him in the middle and squeeze your arms around his waist, Eddie’s arms looping around your neck - his lips dangerously close to your forehead, “Thanks, Eds.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You two return inside and Ms. Vic moves aside for you. She mouths a quick ‘are you okay?’ and no, no you aren’t, but you nod and swallow the marble in your throat all the same.

“Hi,” you do your best to appeal to the people who would throw you overboard for a misplaced giggle, “sorry.”

Your eyes flutter to Eddie and he winks. You take his hand and he squeezes yours - a loving three times. 

You keep your eyes on the paper, brows furrowing, “‘We decided to model our egg after James Hetfield, the lead singer of Metallica, and that made it all the more important that we don’t crack it’?” you shoot a quizzical look to Eddie, who only nods excitedly, “‘Our main method of egg-watching was to switch between the two of us during each passing period. That way we could both get the real experience of this project and wouldn’t let one person burden the other.”

Some of Eddie’s words don’t quite make sense where they are. Some of his wording is simply too clunky. A lot of it - most of it, in fact, is misspelled. But you’re slowly forgetting that this is being delivered to a room of other people, and you’re having fun. Weirdly enough.

You’ve had a lot of fun, actually.

Maybe forgiving Eddie won’t be quite as hard as you originally thought. 

Chrissy, as usual, cheers you on the loudest. She cups her hands so her clapping can be heard over the mild applause of everyone else - including Ms. Vic’s. Gareth gives you a thumbs up and you start to think that maybe in another universe, this is the final stretch of a cheesy coming of age movie. Written and directed by John Hughes.

Eddie releases your hand and part of you is terribly embarrassed over how much you miss the warmth of his palm on yours.

You two wander back to your seats as Gareth and Sally are called to present. You feel bad for tuning them out, but it’s forgotten in the way sunshine flits through the window and lays kisses to Eddie’s profile.

He grins suddenly, his eyes catching yours and you look away. There’s a chuckle in his throat and you feel his fingers loop with yours once again. You find the courage to stare at him again and he hasn’t looked away from you yet.

You don’t know where this puts you and Eddie, but you do know that tomorrow shouldn't be boring. No day following today will be boring with Eddie Munson.

There’s stars in his eyes as he watches you. His pretty lips whisper, “Wanna go out?”

You squeeze his hand and nod, earnestly bashful.

Because yeah, maybe going out with Eddie Munson will be a form of social suicide, but it isn’t like your standing was all that great in the first place. Besides, you had more fun this week in the sparse moments with Eddie - and your stupid James Hetfield egg - than you think you’ve ever had at Hawkins before.

[mariacallous]

How bracing to wake up yesterday and read that Amazon founder Jeff Bezos had donated $100m to Dolly Parton’s charitable endeavours, at his own “Courage and Civility” event. (Sarcastic airquotes: my own.) The many, many news reports about this act suggested it was a truly incredible sum from the second richest man in the world, who – according to recent estimates – gets richer by about $205m a day.

Anyway, once I’d peeled myself off the ceiling, I got busy on the government’s tax calculator. If you’re on the median average UK salary – and you pay your taxes – your take-home pay is £72 a day. Looked at one way, then, Jeff’s benevolence would be the equivalent of donating £34.56 to charity. Have YOU ever donated thirty-four quid to charity? Do you pay your taxes? If so, you’re actually being more generous than Jeff Bezos, who, famously, avoids almost all of his. And yet, where’s YOUR splashy news write-up in all the fine news outlets of the world? Where’s YOUR fawning TV interview? Why does no one refer to YOU as a “philanthropist”?

We’ll come to the obvious answers to those questions shortly, but for now, let’s look at the stage-managed hoopla around these so-called Courage and Civility awards. And yes, that title does make it sound like Jeff just demanded a warehouse operative bring him two inoffensive abstract nouns that were out of copyright. In fact, Bezos announced the initiative last year, shortly after disembarking his little space rocket, possibly sensing a planetary disdain being levelled at the kind of guy who could put himself in zero gravity for four minutes but couldn’t figure out how to treat his workers properly.

Anyway, the Courage and Civility awards are now an actual thing. And alongside Sunday’s self-effacing ceremony and his attempt to piggyback on the lifelong altruism and extraordinary charitable service of HRH Dolly Parton, Bezos granted an exclusive sit-down with CNN. First impressions? Jeff interviews like a chat tool, and resembles your local area’s most uncompromising and least booked 58-year-old Vin Diesel lookalike. Having long refused to sign the Giving Pledge – a promise by many of the world’s richest individuals to donate most of their wealth to charitable causes – Bezos announced that he intends giving “the majority” of his money away in his lifetime, according to CNN. And yet, does he intend to do this? His answer – “Yeah, I do” – feels somewhat vague and short on specifics.

But taking Jeff at his word, I mean it from the bottom of the heart when I say: BIG FRICKING DEAL. Most people give a significant amount of their money away during their lifetime, via a little something we call the taxation system. I know! Where’s our red-carpet gala? I tell you what, next time our paychecks arrive, why don’t we all get our hair done and put on black tie or a big old dress and graciously twat our way down a red carpet going “You’re MOST welcome!” for the cameras.

According to what Bezos told CNN, philanthropy “is really hard”. It certainly seems to be for him. Do recall he was only dragged kicking and screaming to the giving-a-shit game, having spent years accruing billions before it was finally pointed out to him that not having some kind of philanthropic arm looked fairly abysmal. In 2017 Bezos asked Twitter users for ideas on how to help the world “in the here and now”, before embarking on a truly committed programme of ignoring every single one of them who suggested paying his workers properly and contributing fair tax.

A year later, he actually uttered the words: “The only way that I can see to deploy this much financial resource is by converting my Amazon winnings into space travel.” That was the same year Amazon helped kill a Seattle tax on big firms to alleviate the homelessness crisis, by threatening to pull a huge building project. The business and tech commentator Scott Galloway calls Bezos “the mother of all welfare queens” for the vast benefits he’s drawn from public money and the tax breaks he remorselessly chases and demands.

But of course, Jeff is the kind of widely acclaimed visionary who simply lacks the vision to realise that the first way to help is by paying people a fair wage and forking out your taxes like an ordinary person – and not by turning up to dole out “charity” after the event like some bastard god of the purse strings. Unfortunately, he’s part of that specific billionaire class that believes they should be allowed to hypothecate almost 100% of their own vast riches in whichever direction they wish, because the exchequers of the world are just junior personnel, and they know better than all of them how to spend it.

So yes, for Bezos philanthropy “is really hard”. What he does – fauxlanthropy – is much, much easier. Moving billions to non-profits you control, effectively awarding yourself tax breaks, buying media fawning with one of the lamest possible sleights-of-hand: these things, self-evidently, are a whole lot easier. What’s hard to understand is why on earth we’re still buying into this obvious bullshit from some of the most selfish people in the world. The poor give a far greater proportion of their money to charity than the rich. I don’t mean to be uncivil, but what is courageous about letting Jeff Bezos pretend otherwise?

[doom-of-war-writing]

🦋💜 hello! May I please as for nighttime cuddles with Vincent? Dragging him to bed to finally take a break from his projects, cuddling and falling asleep together with Jonesy. 🤗 please and thank you 🙇

Thank you for the request!

Dragging vincent for a break ft. Jonesy!

Characters:vincent, jonesy

Warnings: none

VINCENT

* The day had been dragging on for the three residents of ambrose

* The heat was beating down on the small town

* Bo was in the garage working on his truck

* Lester was off picking up the baking roadkill

* And vincent, vincent had been going around town fixing the poor wax figures who were being assaulted by the southern heat

* Well, not only today, he had been running around the entire week trying to keep all the wax from completely melting off the base

* You had hardly seen him the whole week

* So you knew he hadnt been taken much breaks if any at all cuase you had been hanging out at the house, doing your part in the house with cleaning and the general upkeep of the house

* And you hadnt seen vincent enter the house for anything other than going down to the basement to fix a wax figure

* You had suggested he take a break quite a few times but you realized he just wasnt going to listen

* You were going to have to take things into your own hands now

��Vincent” you called the man as you watched him sitting in front of the figure, he stopped and looked over, tilting his head ”you need to take a break vinny” you pet jonsey as you waited for his response, sitting on the bed in the basement.

He shook his head and gestured to the figure before signing ‘i need to finish this, and then ill take a break’ he turned back, you sighed, he had told you that last time you asked. You walked up behind him, and wrapped your arms around his chest, under his arms. He stopped again and turned his head letting out a small hum

“You need to take a break, vin. Jonesy misses you” you set your chin on his shoulder “i do too.” 

vincent sighed, but nodded grabbing and moving your hands off before standing up. Vincent turned and signed ‘fine, but im not that tired, promise’

“If you say so, vin” you smile and quickly walked back to the bed , jumping on it and rolling to the far side. 

vincent soon followed wrapping his arms around you, you patted vincents side loudly, “jonsey” you called, and soon the aformentioned pit walked over the bed and struggled her way inbetween you and vincent

”haah, jonsey! You dont fit there” you cooed to the dog who just gave a silly little smile as she panted, laying comfortably sandwhiched between you and your wax man.

Vincent smiled to himself, and relaxed, and despite his promise of saying he wasnt tired, he found himself struggling to keep his eye opened, before completely giving in and falling asleep besides his wonderful dog and most loved.

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Title: Just Gotta Stay Calm

Word Count: 3966

Fandom: Gravedale High

Ship/Pairing: Vinnie Stoker/Reggie Moonshroud

Tags: First Dates, Vampire Family, Tradition, Awkward Crush, Vampire Boyfriend, Werewolf Boyfriend, First Kiss, Dorks in Love, Awkward Dates, Boys in Love, Friendship/Love

Warnings: First Works of the fandom, swearing(small), awkward, fluff

Vinnie let in a breath as he examines himself in the special vampire mirror on his bedroom wall. He quietly checks every inch of his face closely before opening his mouth to check his fangs.

Good, He thought with a charming grin to himself. No pimples, no stuff in my teeth, no flaws in sight.  Vinnie went to his dresser and takes out some cologne he bought specifically for today, a scent of calming forest rain, and sprayed some on his neck and a little bit in his shirt. Not a lot just the basic stuff to seem simple and posh.

Vinnie and Reggie are finally getting themselves a date.  A real, really real, true date.  Just the two of them.  And Vinnie could be more happier then this moment!

Vinnie has been meaning to ask his best friend out for quite some time, since the first moment he noticed his feelings were a bit more then platonic bashful moths in his chest and stomach actually.  It took him a total of two full months to completely wrap his head around the fact that he - Vincent "Vinnie" Stoker - was wings over heels in love with the world's one and only Reggie Moonshroud.  However, it took him nearly a YEAR to get up all the courage to ask the boy out. Honestly, if it weren't for his friends this day might've never happened.

The young vampire left his bedroom and hurries down his stairs, only to be stopped by the voice of his old man, "Vincent, can you come here please?" Vinnie let out a silent shutter as he mentally cursed himself.

He slowly turned his body fully towards the older vampire sitting in his velvet chair with a pipe in between his lips, small puffs of the smoke emerging out the ends. The teen slowly walked over. "Y-Yea pops?" His voice rarely stammers when speaking, hasn't since he was in the 6th grade, at least not when he nervous beyond his wits like when he tried to get the chance to ask Reggie out and plan out what to do on said date.

"Are you going to go on your date soon?" Asked Mr. Stoker. Vinnie nods some in reply, his hands fumbling into his jacket's pockets. This was not what he wanted to do.  The older vampire stood up from his chair, pipe still puffing out smoke, his eyes focus out the window of the chilly autumn gray skies. He takes a puff before continuing, "I want to give you some simple advice for your first date Vincent. Vampire to vampire." Vinnie practically shrunk his head down into his coat's collar.

Defiantly not what he wanted to do. . .

"That's okay pops, I got it covered-" He began as he slowly creeped his way to the front door. "The year was 1880. . ."  Vinnie bite back a groan, knowing very well that once his dad starts it's hard to stop him.  "I was simply a beginning apprentice to the one and only Dracula. Mostly paper work and long mornings. I thought I had everything cut out for me, a great job and nice home, until I realized I was missing something important when I first saw your mother wandering through the local cemetery." Mr. Stoker smiles fondly as he light strokes his black beard. "She is my first and only love as I'm sure you know. And it took me decades to ask her on a single date, I feared she might not want a simple vampire apprentice who barely knows how to turn into a bat, but alas she surprise me with a yes."  Vinnie nods, "Yeah yeah I know. And you two spent many years together, got married, had two kids, and lived happily ever after. Dad, I know the story pretty well you know."

He didn't mean to interrupt his father's tale, he just already has his nerves up through the roof and he just want to hurry for the plans.  His father turned and looked at his son right in the eyes as he spoke, "I know you do. I'm just trying to tell you that last night I was certain to give you some advice for your date, a vampire tradition my father gave me as his father gave him and his father so forth. I know you're nervous and it's perfectly natural. Just remember, be courteous. Be engaging. And above all, have a plan." Vinnie nodded. "Don't worry pops, I got it covered. Now can I go and do the date itself?" He asked the older vampire, who nodded to his please. He didn't wait any few seconds to open the front door and flying off with a snap.

This will go well, He thought to himself as he feels the wind go through his black hair. Reggie will enjoy the date I have planned for us. This is a piece of blood orange pie. Vinnie smiled as he spaces out on today's plans. Slowly, though, his brain began to swim to a memory of when he got the nerves to finally make that choice he's been walking back and forth on. . .

~   ~   ~

Vinnie taps the heels of his shoe onto the cold hard floor of the school's classroom as he watches the clock tic away, his eyes going to the clock and to the werewolf just a desk away from him.  Today was the day, Vinnie told himself throughout the hours. Today I'm going to do it.  As if proving his luck, the bell rings out around the school, signalling everyone to grab their stuff and hurry the Hell out of there for the weekend.  Vinnie stood onto his feet, catching Gil and Sid giving him a thumbs up as they run out the classroom, and looks over at Reggie who is still putting his stuff away.

The vampire took a breath in and walked his way over to the red head's desk, his feet feeling kind of heavy as he gets closer. Be cool Vinnie, just do it. "Hey Reg." His voice called out suddenly, the rest of his body slowly just going with the flow.  Reggie turned his head and smiled up at his friend. "Hey there Vinnie. You usually are gone by now, is Mr. Schneider Sir seeing you after class again?" He asked as he puts his books away in his bag. Vinnie smiles warmly, he enjoys Reggie's voice. The way his small lisp happens between the small gap of the front of his teeth.  The way his voice cracks sometimes in the right moments. Just generally how comforting it is...

The vampire quickly shook his head when he finally notices Reggie is standing up and looking at him with cocoa brown eyes that warm up Vinnie's dead chest, "No no. I just wanted to know...if...um...i-if you don't mind me asking...I uh..."  "Yes Vinnie?" Reggie pressed on. Honestly, it's like he knows what he's doing to me. Vinnie took a gulp from his dry mouth before he spoke a retry, "I just wanted to know...if...if...well...if you're free this weekend? Maybe...we could...go out?" He didn't know if he sounded needy or not but he didn't care, he finally said it!

Reggie blinked a few times before replying, "Of course we can hang out Vin. We often times do already."  "No, Reggie, I meant...go out...like a...date...?" Vinnie was so scared to look at Reggie in the face yet he has to in order to watch his reaction.  And boy was it a reaction... His cute wolf ears were perked down in a way his shyness shows, hard to tell but behind that fur his cheeks were very rosey and red, just looking at him gave Vinnie so much heat on his face he for sure thought he was going to die.

~    ~     ~

Vinnie chuckled softly when Reggie's face on that day came to mind.

Well, yeah, the reply was a day late but nevertheless he said yes.  And the day has finally came.

Vinnie soon landed at Reggie's place, a pretty big home of four stories with a even bigger yard surrounded it of 6 aches each side. He knew Reggie's family owned a big home for such a big family but he honestly wasn't expecting something so... human dream life. A white picket fence wrapping around the areas of land, green grass in perfect height, the house painted in a nice paint of soft blue with the windows having a white coat to the edges, a cute porch sticking out from the big dark brown oak made front door, and to fit so perfectly a nice little porch swing with a small coffee table.  In all honesty neither Vinnie nor Reggie been to each others' houses despite being friends for years. Always staying at the dorms the school gave them for half the week.

The vampire slowly made his way to the porch and gently pulled the rope that rings the door bell loudly it echos around him and to the forest not far from the house itself. He tripled checked in his head the plans of the date as he waits a few seconds before the door opened and Reggie's head popped into view. "Hey Vinnie." Reggie said with a smile and opened the door already for him to step out. "Hey there Reg-" Vinnie nearly chocked on his words upon seeing Reggie. He wasn't wearing anything out of his comfort zone but something Vinnie was expecting obviously... Let alone something his heart was ready for.  There standing in front of him with the shine of the afternoon sun glimmering a special effect through the tree leafs Reggie wearing a typical white button-down shirt and well ironed dress pants but wears also a well knitted beige and blood red pattern pullover sweater vest and a black Letterman jacket with a big red R stitched to his chest's right side, his hair combed in a messy side bangs style to the left side of his face. Honestly, Vinnie doesn't know if this was more cute or sexy and he was pretty scared of both.  "I-I could change if you want..." Reggie stated, snapping Vinnie out of his daze to realize he's been staring holes into the poor werewolf. "No no you're okay Reg. Just uh...caught me off guard is all. It's cool." Vinnie spoke up with his hands up in defense.

Reggie giggles some, causes Vinnie's undead heart to for sure jumble in beats like a drum.

The first stop of this little date for the two monsters was a nice little fly over the town to the date's main destination. Reggie clings to Vinnie from behind, his face so close to his their cheeks are barely touching softly, his eyes watching the town below them. "Gee Vinnie, this is beautiful." He whispered but Vinnie heard it very well, his warm breath gently dancing across Vinnie's ear, his cheeks warming up in a soft shade of pink, a smile appearing on the vampire's lips. If anything, if he had a chance to say it, Reggie was the most beautiful thing to Vinnie's eyes. Though as a sad as it had pained him he knew he would crash into something if he doesn't focus.

His eyes scanned around the area before carefully landing in front of a cafe looking place. Reggie looked around the place when he climbed down from the vampire's back as he tucked in his wings. "Um... Vinnie." Reggie mumbled softly as he dragged his feet closer to Vinnie. Vinnie let out a hum, "Yeah Reg?" "Correct me if I'm wrong but this is a human cafe is it not?" Indeed it was.  "Yeah. I figured to have a nice bite here for a change." "True it's just... don't you rather want to go to Ms. White's Diner? It's one of your favorites right?" Vinnie had to fight back the urge of going to his favorite 50's diner and share a monster shake with Reggie, he had a plan and he's sticking to it. He gently takes his paw and said, "This is just as good Reg, promise. Plus they serve your favorite here. Trust me."  Reggie looked at the place and at Vinnie, seemed to be small on numbers of humans... So it could be okay right?

The two monsters entered the cafe and walked it's way to a table right in the center. The place was nice, clean, quiet, cute, and had a nice nature aesthetic with potted plants hanging from the ceiling and the smell of coffee and tea with some sweets filling your sense of smell. "This place is nice." Reggie said, his eyes focused on every little detail around him.  The V-Man couldn't help but smile proudly, the date's going so well so far.

A waiter walks over to their table with a notepad and spoke to the two teenage monsters, "Afternoon gentlemen. What can I get you for drinks?" Vinnie opened the menu.  "I'd like a black coffee with a side of milk creamer."  The waiter nodded and looked at Reggie waiting for his answer.  The werewolf quietly looked through the menu, his eyes widening like space saucers. "O-Oh my...Um...w-water would be fine..."  The waiter wrote the orders down before hurrying to the back.  Reggie looked at Vinnie with a raised brow, "This place is expensive Vinnie. They don't even serve your favorite drinks here. And I think you need it, you look ill..."

Vinnie knew Reggie was worried, he can hear it in his voice, but he can't simply explain it... Since the night before last he hasn't had a drop of blood to nibble a sip from due to how stressed and nervous he was getting over asking Reggie out and planning out this perfect date. Black coffee was the best he could get to that bitter goodness. And if not, the creamer would do the trick.  Still, he knew he can't say all that to Reggie, not to seem not cool in front of his crush but also because he doesn't want the werewolf to feel bad or blame himself. Instead he just smiles his traditional smile and leaned back in his chair as he coats his voice with soothing calmness, "It's fine Reg. Everything fine actually. I just... had a big batch during breakfast and need the coffee here is good as I'm told. Plus, the money, don't worry. I got it covered." He finishes with a wink and another smile which caused Reggie's shoulders to calm down slightly.

After a few more seconds the waiter returned with their drinks and a notepad still in hand, "Here is your black coffee with a side of milk creamer and your glass of water sirs. May I interest you into something to eat?" Vinnie glances at the man's meaty neck and silently licked his fang out of sights, his brain wracking him inside his skull to try and not accept the urge to chomp down onto that neck and drink up. His hand quickly grabbed the coffee cup as soon as it was set and took a big gulp of it. Bitter. Not as bitter but still helps a little. He thought, feeling his nerves calm down a bit more.  He glances over at Reggie and smiles, "Why don't you order first? I'll follow after."  Reggie fixes his glasses and looked over the menu, a few times his eyes peeking at Vinnie as if asking for his help. "G-Gee...there's a lot of good options... Um..." He pondered out loud, Vinnie could see the human tapping his pen in a annoyance type manner. He bite down on his bottom lip some to fight back his new urge to range his neck.  Before the urge could happen for real, Reggie's voice rang out to Vinnie's ears, "I-I guess I can have the Pea & Carrot Soup with the Greek Salad as the side?"  "And you sir?" Vinnie had to remember how to talk before he took a quick glance at the menu before blurting out his order, "I'd like a French Onion Soup." And like before the man walked away after writing the orders down.

Vinnie noticed Reggie seemed more awkward and fidgety then his usual form.  "Everything alright Reg?" Vinnie asked, his voice truly worried. He truly is worried for Reggie. Maybe he caught that waiter's rudeness towards them because of their race? Maybe it's the fact it's clearly two boys out doing things beyond friends? The vampire's head is just about to explode over the thoughts on what could be wrong with his Reggie- My Reggie? Vinnie thought of having Reggie of his very own before... I mean it did sound nice to him but would Reggie be down to being...

Reggie softly shook his head with a mumbled, "It's nothing, really..." But Vinnie knew something's been bothering his pal. Maybe... Vinnie felt sick thinking this, Maybe he's not comfortable being on a date with me... Before he knew it the food had arrived but the two didn't seem in the mood to enjoy it... Vinnie gulped down the rest of his coffee and stared down at his dish.

Great, my nerves are all over the place now and Reggie ain't having a good time... He thought as he watched Reggie gently nibble on his soup and salad, the two barely having one or two small conversations. This date is going terrible...

The two left the cafe quietly and quickly after paying for the bill. The two were still pretty silent. Reggie broke this awkward pause in the air with a smile, "The food was pretty good Vinnie." Vinnie doesn't reply. "Vinnie..?" Suddenly, the second monster on this date let out a groan like sigh before slumping his body down a grass area in the side walk, "That stupid waiter! 50 bucks and all he had to do is make it nice!"

Reggie tilt his head at this and quietly asked, "What do you mean...?"  There was a pause when Vinnie looked away with no answer, causing it to click to the smarter of the two.  "Vinnie Stoker, did you pay a human waiter for our date?"  Vinnie sighed, "Not just paid Reggie, I paid the guy $50 to hold off any other reservations so it can be just us... I know you don't like really crowded places but that guy ruined it. I wasted 50 from my allowance just to have a guy be rude to you." Vinnie covered his face with his palms. "I'm sorry Reg...I really am..." Surprising Vinnie, Reggie grabbed his hand and pulls him up before guiding him somewhere.

"Hey Reg, where we going?" He asked, but his question fell on deaf ears as the werewolf still guided him silently.  Suddenly the vampire began to feel a new kind of nervous. Was Reggie mad? Was he going to yell at him for bribing a human? Does he know he hasn't been drinking his daily sips of blood?  He felt sick at the ideas of any of those being true and he blew this date... His one chance... And he blew it major time... There might not even be a second chance in this... "Look Reg..." Vinnie started, hanging his head low in shame. Reggie stopped him, "You didn't have to do any of that Vinnie. I would be perfectly fine going to any place we usual go."  Vinnie did not want this date to be ruined. He did not want his friendship to be tainted. All Vinnie wanted to do was do what he planned, even if it was sudden...

"I like you Reggie!"

Reggie stopped suddenly and whipped his head around so fast he must've felt dizzy.  No turning back now huh? Vinnie thought, taking a deep breath in, "I've always liked you Reg... And I mean really like you... Like...Like... I always get happy in the mornings because I get a chance to be near you at school, it's the only reason why I don't ditch as often. And when you're not there I feel sad...so sad I feel sick... I often re-read the messages we send back and forth after school because I miss talking to you that much... A-And that time when I was running for School President and you were helping me... Reggie, I felt so happy just being around you...seeing you so happy at what you were doing... I know this isn't stuff you want to hear instead of a apology...but I swear to you it's truer then true Reggie... I really like you... I've liked you for so long...I don't know when but I know when I figured it out... when you were fallin from the sky and I was running to you... All that's been runnin' around my head was "I can't let him go"... Reggie... you matter to me so much the idea of you not here with me is killing me..."

Vinnie was so scared to look up at his friend, scared he made it worst... "I just...I know this date ended up bad... but I-" Vinnie's words were cut short when he lifted his head to finally face his nerves, quickly his lips were covered by the soft fur of Reggie's lips.  The teen vampire felt his undead heart beat for miles and miles as every second slowly passes by between them, his eyes widen more then the usual wide but slowly his body began to melt by the warmth of Reggie's lips and they slowly blinked to a close while his lips push pressure back into the kiss.

The kiss lasted about a extra minute before the two pulled away, Vinnie's ears catching a soft small puppy like whine coming from deep back within Reggie's neck. "You like my lips that much Reg?" Vinne asked with a tease in his voice, smiling more when see that same expression of bashfulness Vinnie witness when he asked Reggie out in the first place. "Okay, I'm sorry... does...this mean you like me too...?" He asked, hopeful of his words being a positive. Reggie giggles softly, "Of course it means I like you Vinnie... Why else would I agree to go on a date and kiss you?" Vinnie felt stupid asking such a obvious question.  "And...why else would I do this?" After Reggie said that, he guided Vinnie again towards a secret spot. A nice little isolated hill spot overlooking the entire town and beach. Reggie...planned this? The vampire looked at Reggie in disbelief, now noticing the blush fur on his cheeks. "I... I like you too Vinnie... A lot... I've always had felt it too but that day when you risked everything just for me was when I realize it was more then a simple crush... And I wanted to show you how I felt since then...but I was too chicken to even bring it up in conversation... So, when you asked me out, I was nervous that I might miss my shot...so..." "So you ended up setting this up?"  Reggie nodded some, his bangs sweeping over his warm brown eyes in a cute shy manner.

Vinnie smiles softly and wrapped his arms around Reggie's frame, his lips lightly touching a small peck on his cheek. Sure, this wasn't the date I had planned... Reggie giggles and gently sat on the grass, Vinnie following after. The sun was just about going darker as the stars began to appear above them like candles they used to have lit from their old fears of the unknown... Vinnie could help but smile when seeing Reggie's happy face when he cuddles into him.  But I honestly couldn't ask for anything better.

[scarlettrhettelizabethrichard]

Chapter 7. Neighbours & Mills Associates, my GWTW fanfiction

To read all the chapters of my GWTW fanfiction The Boutique Robillard, check my blog  https://alarecherchedutempsperdu.over-blog.com/tag/the%20robillard%20boutique/

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Chronology : 1865 : Duncan returns to Paris, creates La Mode Duncan - 1873, December, divorce - 1874, January, Rhett visits Paris - 1875, january : Duncan returns to Charleston ; he buys Magnolias' Mansion ; Duncan "builds" the Vayton & Harvey Mills factory - 1875, February 5th : Rhett meets Duncan at Magnolias' Mansion - 1876, February : Grand Father Robillard died, Scarlett inherits, discovers La Mode Duncan' shop in Savanah - 1876, May : Scarlett opens her fashion shop in Atlanta - 1876, May : Charleston's event for Duncan.

Here is a long chapter. First, Duncan must buy his spinning factory for the textiles he is going to use. On the second part of this chapter comes the tough part : THE meeting Rhett x Duncan. Not really tough because our - their - dear Scarlett is not between yet...

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Charleston, 1875, January

The management of his family legacy eventually secure, the young couturier could now set up the American branch of "La Mode Duncan". No time was to be wasted, for the task was going to be tough.

First and foremost, a telegram had to be sent to Lille, France. "Blanche - stop - Need you - stop - Emigrate to America - stop - Take your children with you - stop – I send certificate of employment - stop - Letter follows - stop. » Blanche would be surprised by this terse text, but she would soon understand the situation by reading his letter to her. He explained what he wanted from her, and enclosed certificates guaranteeing her a job and a place to live when she arrived in Charleston. Duncan had no doubt that the loyal Blanche would immediately leave her family, her former life, to take her chances and emigrate to North America at the request of the owner of "La Mode Duncan" France. He would arranged the immigration formalities for her so that she would not have to worry about them and booked a place on the ship in the port of Le Havre. He didn't forget to send another telegram to his partner Roger Dax so that he could give one of his best workers a subsequent bonus. If all went well, Blanche Augustine Bonsart would be there in time for the creation of the new "La Mode Duncan" workshop in Charleston. ***

 In the meantime, it took all his energy to select a textile factory capable of producing his own fabrics. There was no question of importing yards of fabric from France because he wanted to take advantage of the craze for local products, which was strong in the 1870s. Duncan had seen this when he visited the gigantic H. B. Claftin and C° shop in New York, which specialised in American-made textiles*. His first dilemma was to locate his spinning mill. The majority of them were located in the Northern states. The small factories in the South processed only a negligible amount of bales while, paradoxically, the South was the Master of cotton production. In keeping with his values, he wanted to set up in one of the former Confederate states. He was pleased to find that several mills had been established in South Carolina along the rivers, because of the abundant forests providing cheap resin to power the steam-powered machines. In early January he chose the best woolen mills owned by Jerry Harvey, and offered him a partnership. "Vayton & Son Ltd would buy 60% of the shares to take over management control. The textile entrepreneur thus ensured that he had full control over production methods, because the real problem facing Duncan was the quality of the final product. "Mr Harvey, we have to face an unpleasant reality. As you know, the textiles that come out of our Southern mills are 'low grade'. You produce mainly canvas, which is bought mostly by poor blacks, and cretonnes, such as shirting and drills, which are sold in the West*, but « La Mode Duncan » targets a wealthy clientele. It therefore had to use only the best-quality fabrics, comparable to those woven in France, in Roubaix, Mulhouse or Lyon. » "I am aware of that, Sir. Vayton & Harvey Woolen Mill Ltd will, no doubt, be able to rise to the challenge with the investment you are making available." "It's true, Mr. Harvey, the project is ambitious but necessary to master the quality at all stages. Our objective is, in the short or medium term, to dominate the high quality textile market, at least for South Carolina, Georgia and Louisiana. The sales potential is promising as it meets the aspirations of the upper class ladies and the nouveau riche. My tailor shop will of course be the first customer for "high-end" fabrics. We'll build a loyal following of Southern tailors and dressmakers who are frustrated that they can't buy better textiles locally. » Jerry Harvey adds: "I understand that you want our factory to be like the most modern textile mills in the North, managing all stages of production from the intake of cellulose bales, through spinning, weaving, dyeing and printing, to the transformation of the finished product." The owner of the French spinning mill Vayton & Dax said: "Yes, we must be inspired by the modernity of the North for the automation of tasks allowing a better output, use machines for certain stages such as the handling of the cellulose bags by winch and not by hand, etc..  The labour we save will be wisely transferred to other stages of production, such as dyeing and printing. » Jerry Harvey was impressed by his technical knowledge of the American market, despite the fact that he had just spent ten years in France. "What is your idea of influencing these steps? » The strength of the North American spinning mills is their modernity, speed of manufacture and large quantity produced. It is also their weakness. Compare, for example, the number of looms managed by each worker: here in the North, a single weaver is in charge of five machines, with the added requirement of speed. In France, as in my spinning mill in Roubaix, the worker is only in charge of two looms at a time*. You can understand that, in these conditions, even fabrics of common quality have many manufacturing defects. This is why Vayton & Harvey Woolen Mills Ltd will reduce the number of looms run by one worker to two." "That's an excellent suggestion. It will be expensive, of course, but it will pay off in the end," reassured Jerry Harvey. "Dyeing is my concern because I would like to use indigo. I know that its use is becoming scarce, but let's rely on the authenticity of local products. In the same spirit, we need to hire skilled chemists to ensure the consistency of the colours of the print. » "In conclusion, in order to get closer to French quality, we will have to increase the number of staff and systematically check for defects at every stage. » Duncan was satisfied that he had reached the end of his argument. "Yes, Mr Harvey, you and I are about to embark on a great adventure. This week I will contact an architect to modernise the warehouses. My contacts in the North have sent me the manufacturer's catalogue so that I can order the new looms and the more efficient printing machines. I am determined that production can start within three months. » Enthusiastically, Jerry Harvey proposed to his new partner: "I will submit to you within the week a projection of the number of employees to be hired, for each stage of transformation, by position. We can keep the American quota of two-thirds women in the spinning mill for jobs that don't require the use of too much force,* because they too need to work to overcome the economic depression. We will need more women spoolers, carders, and defect workers. »

Jerry Harvey's head was spinning. He felt an immense relief: the family spinning mill created by his father was saved! What's more, its fame would soon spread throughout the Deep South! For Duncan, all that remained was to set up his high fashion studio "La Mode Duncan" in Charleston. The hardest part was yet to come! *****

Charleston, 1875, Wednesday 5 February, at the Butler's "Rhett! I would really like you to come with us in the late afternoon with our new neighbours. The reception is not formal. It's just a « vin d’honneur » to celebrate the Vaytons' move to Magnolias' Mansion. » Rhett looked at Eleonor Butler with an amused expression: "Mother, your son is 48 years old. I think you can do without my presence to go and have tea with your friends. » "It's in your best interest. Three years ago, when you came back from Atlanta, didn't you tell me that you wanted to regain your place among our good Charleston society? I admit that you have made great efforts with your charity work. But what better support could you gain than from Charleston's oldest and most respected family? Especially since this friendship could also benefit your business, as the heir to Vayton Ltd is one of the richest men in the United States of America! » Faced with this avalanche of arguments, Rhett had only one solution: to accept the invitation to the Vaytons. *****

Charleston, 1875, Wednesday 5 February, at the Vayton home Melina had learned her lesson well by leaving the "hospitality" door to the porch open to let the Butler neighbours know that they were eagerly awaited. Barnabee, the butler, opened the inner door to the piazza. Mrs. Vayton came to greet them warmly and directed them on their right to the drawing room. Eleonor Butler and her daughter had had many opportunities to be received by the previous owners, the Hopkins. Nevertheless, they were amazed by the new interior design. Mrs. Vayton introduced her daughter to the Butlers. Rhett paid his respects to Cathleen and Melina with an elegant hand kiss. They were charmed. The lady of the house apologised to her guests: "My son is in his office. He had to write an urgent letter to France. He will join us in a few minutes. » The four women settled into comfortable chairs and happily began to exchange stories about the Battery. Rhett took the opportunity to cast his art-loving eye over the impressively large reception room. Everything was a harmony of forms, styles and materials. The room occupied the entire width of the façade. The light, that radiated from the five front windows and the two French windows overlooking the piazza, accentuated the grandiose aspect of this room reserved for prestigious guests and receptions among friends. The aesthete appreciated the conscious choice to contrast the curves of the architecture with the straight lines of the furniture. The sinuosity of the wall of the three bowed-windows stretched like a serpentine on either side of the other two windows. These curved lines echoed the moulded stucco frieze around the ceiling and the arch over the door. What an aesthetic success! The osmosis between the curves, the glitter of light, the walls partially painted in pale yellow, while the ceiling, the base and the windows were of a brilliant white, instilled an atmosphere of tranquillity. The softness of the whole was accentuated by the pale yellow lustrous silk of the upholstered seats. The contrast with the rigorous Empire style of the French furnishings Duncan bought in New York was all the more striking. Straight, clean lines, sharp-edged ornaments. The same antagonism of colours struck the visitor, between the mahogany and gold bronzes of the furniture as if lifted by the blond oak floor. Rhett was fascinated. Of course, he knew the French style that Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte had initiated: originally furniture dedicated the military men, a martial style, straight seats that allowed soldiers, such as General Bonaparte, to keep their swords in a seated position without embarrassment. A spartan and severe spirit that was called the Directoire style**. When Napoleon was crowned Emperor, with the pomp of the Court, the furniture became a pretext to testify to the power and wealth of the Empire. The flamed mahogany veneer was decorated with luxurious ornaments in gilded bronze, like the magnificent sphinxes enthroned under the armrests of the armchairs in the Vayton salon or the caryatids placed on either side of the overmantel. This large pier-mirror topped a black marble fireplace in the American Federal style that the first owner of the house had installed. Meanwhile, Barnabee had made his entrance. Three large silver trays generously garnished with fine food had been placed on the round side tables protected by beautiful embroidered tablecloths. The cook, Netty, had taken particular care in preparing the small canapés and other croustades. This was the very first invitation from the Vayton family. Even though it was not a dinner party, it was important to honour the closest neighbours of the Magnolias' Mansion. Barnabee was now dexterously serving refreshments. Rhett politely accepted a canapé with scallop terrine, and then resumed his admiring inspection of the place, while the four women were absorbed in discovering common interests. While admiring the finesse of the "Return from Egypt" sculptures,** Rhett the businessman recalled a conversation he had had with some English entrepreneurs in London. An idea came to him. It seemed obvious. At last he would find the excitement of embarking on a great adventure... The elegance and luxury of the place definitely appealed to him. Suddenly a regret assailed Rhett: "If only I had helped Scarlett refine her tastes, instead of leaving her without advice and mocking her disastrous decorative choices, I'm sure she would have loved the abundance of golden bronzes and the warmth of mahogany." The Old Guard would have been jealous of his wife, that's for sure, because of the display of so much luxury. But at least they would not have reproached her for a lapse in taste. "How I regret, Scarlett..." Rhett shook his head to get rid of the flush of weakness that once again overtook him. "Damn it! Why can't I put her out of my mind? Even a year after our divorce - no! It's been fifteen months since our divorce, sixteen months since we saw each other, Scarlett - and you still torment me! Will there be no end to this? » The entrance of the master of the house interrupted his depressing thoughts and he stood up to greet the young man who was holding out his hand. After Cathleen introduced their neighbours to Duncan Vayton, he sat down opposite the Butlers' eldest son. In a fraction of a second, the two gentlemen looked at each other. Rhett thought to himself that the young Vayton exuded sympathy with his frank smile and keen eye. "His good looks must please the ladies! Old Ashley would be jealous of his blonde hair. "He chuckled under his breath, still eager to belittle Scarlett's former blond knight, now quite grey. Duncan, for his part, was impressed by Mr Butler's bearing. The man wore his age elegantly, and his impeccable dress showed an undeniable accuracy of taste. Both men identified the other as belonging to the caste of well-born and refined gentlemen. "May I offer you a glass? In your honour, I have selected an excellent Cote Chateau Lafite Rothschild, from the 1870 vintage. This bottle is part of the reserve that I brought back from France when I returned here in January. I am sure you are a great connoisseur yourself, and I will be happy, another day, to show you around my wine cellar. » Then addressing the ladies present: "Ladies, would you like to try this excellent wine? The four women gently refused. They did not want to disturb the cordial understanding that seemed to have developed between the two men. "Cathleen, ever since we arrived, I have been admiring these lovely tablecloths on the pedestal tables. The fabric is of such beautiful quality and the embroidery designs are exquisitely difficult! » Duncan's mother smiled broadly, "Dear Friend, I am proud to say that they are made in the French mill owned by my son. "Then, turning to the young man, she said, "Duncan, could you ask your partner to send Mrs. Butler several sets of tea towels to complement the large embroidered doilies?» Mrs. Butler politely declined at first, but was delighted with the gift to come. Rhett thought that the man in front of him was definitely resourceful. "Duncan - I think we can call each other by our first names. What do you think? "The other nodded. "I'd love to, Rhett! » He continued: "I am in awe of your Empire period furniture. At West Point, when we were taught the military strategy of the French Emperor, we sometimes made a foray into the study of Napoleon Bonaparte-influenced lifestyles and decorating style." Duncan was amazed at the similarities between them. "It was my love for this great character that made me decide to decorate Magnolias' Mansion with an Empire feel, particularly influenced by the battles fought by General Bonaparte in the Egyptian Campaign**. Young Vayton added: "And I too began to admire Napoleon at West Point! What a happy coincidence, Rhett! We have the same artistic tastes, we're avid oenophiles and we've had similar training. I think we'll get along just fine! "Duncan gave Rhett his friendliest smile.

He continued: "Which regiment did you lead during the war? Perhaps we have crossed paths? » Rhett suddenly found himself on a ridge. To admit that he had only joined the Confederacy at the end when the South was about to lose - that famous night when he had abandoned Scarlett on the road to Rough and Ready? It might not look good for this new 'white knight in shining armour'. But he didn't care.  Goodness gracious! The great Rhett Butler was proud of his past, and he would impress the impetuous young man! "I was a blockade breaker. One of the best, I must humbly confess! "he assured them in a drawl so charming that the four women stopped their casual conversation to listen to his story. "I was in command of one of the largest steam-powered sidewheelers, the SS Lynx. It had a steel hull and  was 220 feet long***. But I changed a year later to a smaller, more malleable and much faster steamer, capable of dodging the Federal Navy. I was probably one of the first to be awarded the "letter of marque" signed by President Jefferson Davis, which attested to my service to the Confederacy. "Rhett gave his mother a mischievous smile. "A paper that would not have protected me from hanging if I had been captured by Federal forces. » Mrs Butler shuddered in retrospect. "Her dear daredevil of a son! » "The Yankee naval army had set up the "Anaconda Plan", a blockade belt encircling the Confederate states. The front line looked like a snake, running from Maryland up the Missouri River.*** And it was indeed an anaconda that strangled the Confederate states by preventing them from obtaining arms, getting supplies from Northern factories, receiving cargo from British ships, and being able to export their cotton production. »     Rhett the seducer was now mostly talking to Melina for the sake of impressing her. "What were you carrying? "asked the young Vayton, amazed to have an adventurous hero as a neighbour. "Mostly weapons for our Confederate Army, gunpowder, bullets for rifles, and mail too: in our own way, we were in the front line of the fighting! » "We would have to sail along the coast at night, using indians tricks to get into the harbour and fool the Union ships! "Rhett's eyes glistened at the excitement and fear that gripped the entire crew as they approached the danger. Cathleen Vayton also found herself transported by the exploits of the former blockade breaker: "How many times have you managed to get through the lines? » "Thirty-three times! My first arrival in Nassau was on 5 December 1861. We were loading cargoes from England, filled with guns, lead, meat, saltpetre, shoes, blankets, coffee, and also the more luxurious items of clothing and sewing, necessary for your daily life, dear ladies! » "The transfer points, between the ships coming from England and us taking over the cargo, were from Nassau. Then we sailed to the ports of Wilmington, Charleston and Savannah. On the return trip to Nassau, the planters would entrust us with their cotton production, which would then make the crossing in English freighters. »

"The hull of my little steamer was painted grey to make it as inconspicuous as possible offshore. Duncan, did you know that when we were approaching the coast we used to feed the boiler with anthracite coal instead of coal so that the smoke would be white and dissolve on the horizon? I have even used cotton soaked in turpentine to raise the heat and substantially increase the speed. Rhett's eye twitched as he thought of these anecdotes. "We had to use indians tricks, I tell you! » Duncan looked at his quiet neighbour in a new light. "I met some brave men, who were not afraid of anything. You've probably heard of the famous Josiah Gorgas, who also graduated from West Point. He was my friend. » Duncan admired Rhett Butler's valour. "It is true! The Cause has paid tribute to those brave blockade-breakers who braved machine-gun fire and the beaching of their ships to relieve us of Yankee asphyxiation. However, it is regrettable that some took advantage of this to enrich themselves by not giving priority to supplying our troops. I remember a certain Butler - one of your namesakes,  Rhett - with whom I was in business to repatriate a shipment of military jackets and trousers made at my expense in my French factory. His transport prices were prohibitive. I had tried to make him understand by special mail that these uniforms would be used to protect our soldiers from the rigours of the rain and the cold, but nothing was could change his mind! He shamelessly told me that I had to accept his price because the cargo space available on his ship was very coveted. » Duncan gave a disillusioned pout at the memory. Rhett got up from his seat. He looked straight at the former Lieutenant-Colonel: "It was me, Captain Rhett Butler! »     Startled eyes stared at him. "You? You’re disappointing me, Mr Butler. I thought we shared the same values. After this revelation, I'm not so sure..." Rhett was not disconcerted by this sudden reversal of cordial understanding. "Times were tough. One third of the available space on our ships was legally reserved for the transport of cotton, so that the economy would not collapse*** - which it did. I had to feed my crew and make a profit from these expeditions where our lives were threatened at every moment. I do not regret my choices. I take responsibility for them. » Chin up, his imposing stature extended, Rhett stared defiantly at Duncan. The former benefactor of the Cause just didn't know how to respond. The ladies present became aware of the sudden change in atmosphere. The tension between the two men had become tangible. To distract and inject some levity, Melina brought up her favourite subject: "This place is a real paradise, but for our dear Mum's joy to be complete, we need something more. » Cathleen wondered, "What are you thinking, girl? » "To children's laughter, of course! "The young Vayton was pleased with her effect. "Isn't it your dream to see your grandchildren running around the paths of our beautiful garden?" "Children's laughter..." Rhett felt a twinge of sadness. "No, he mustn't imagine his beloved Bonnie sharing the games of other children here. Or else he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face until the end of this reception. Mrs Vayton exchanged a knowing smile with Mrs Butler. "I hope this dream will soon become a reality thanks to our children! "Then her gaze fell on Duncan. He was still confused by his neighbour's revelation. "Why are you looking at me, Mother? I'm leaving it to Melina to ensure the Vayton descendants. When will you take a husband, my dear sister?" Melina blushed: "When I find my Prince Charming. "Then she jumped in: "You're the oldest. It's up to you to get married first. Are you ready to introduce us to the woman of your dreams? » Duncan was taken aback by his sister's questioning. "The woman of my dreams? A concept that never crossed my mind, I confess. "He chuckled. "In fact, I doubt very much if she exists! "In any case," he added, giving his sister a sly smile, "you'd be the first to know if I ever came across her. Let me tell you, I'm not about to introduce you to her! » Melina insisted, cuddling. "Make an effort, Big Brother. How will you recognize her? » He remained silent for a few moments, in deep introspection. Surprised by his own train of thought, he finally said in a hesitant voice:     "If she existed, I think I would know it immediately. Within the first few minutes. She would have a fiery temperament, a panther ready to purr or claw, soft skin..." Duncan paused abruptly, embarrassed by his indecent confidence, an admission of weakness made all the more awkward by the fact that it had been dropped in the presence of a man as impavid as Rhett Butler. Rhett, who had approached the piazza, froze. A succession of images assailed him: a library, a green muslin, a pearly shoulder, a broken vase, two emeralds, sparkles of anger... He closed his eyes to chase away the hallucinations that haunted him every night. In rage, he shoved his fists into his pockets. Melina looked at her brother in amazement: "Oh, you the hardened bachelor, are you in fact a passionate man ? You didn't accustom me and Mum to such lyricism!" She burst out laughing. The young man did not know what to say. For the first time, without his noticing it, he had put words to a fantasy that had never been consciously thought of before. "Don't get too excited, dear sister. In any case, this woman does not exist. » Melina then turned to the eldest son of the Butler family. "What about you, Rhett? Would you describe the woman of your dreams to me? Who knows, maybe your sister and I could find her among our friends .... What do you think Rosemary?" Her laughing eyes met the embarrassed faces of both the Butler women and her mother. "Melina, this is unseemly of you. "Cathleen sternly rebuked her, outraged that Rhett Butler's chaotic marital situation could be so cavalierly invoked. Then she turned to Rhett: "Mr Butler, I apologise for my daughter's indiscretion. Melina is as giddy as a child. In her defence, I must say she is an incorrigible romantic. » Her daughter then realised her blunder. She was clearly missing a piece of information that those present had. Eleonor Butler was silent, fearing a sarcastic reaction from her son. Duncan had lost interest in the subject and was enjoying his glass of wine. The heated argument of a few minutes ago was still bothering him. So he told himself he didn't give a damn about Rhett Butler's "dream woman. With that drawl he liked to use before he was about to make a hurtful remark, Rhett replied to Cathleen: "I see no offence in your dear daughter's innocent question. » Then, with a smirk that looked more like a sneer, he amused himself by staring at the young woman who was now blushing with confusion. "The dream woman? You should know, Miss Melina, that sometimes we have to take control of our dreams, to give up those that are futile. "Then his gaze drowned in the direction of the porch. His intonation froze the other four guests. The awkwardness that had crept in over the last quarter of an hour became overwhelming. It was time to end the tension. "Cathleen, I'm sure you're exhausted from moving in. It is now time for us to take our leave and for you to rest. The warm welcome you have given us in your beautiful mansion is very special to me. We shall both see you next week. Good evening to you, my dear Eleonor, your lovely daughter and the talented Duncan! » That evening, two neighbours who could have been friends were not sad to part... ****

Endnotes to Chapter 7 *My sources of information on the cotton economy and textile mills in the USA in 1870 are based on Louis Reybaud's thesis published in 1870, "L'Industrie et les Ouvriers du Coton aux États-Unis depuis la guerre de secession", Revue des Deux Mondes, 2nd period, volume 90, 1870. **Directoire, 1795-1799: government that succeeded the period of the French Revolution. The Directoire style of furniture extends to 1803. - Egyptian Campaign: battles led by General Bonaparte from 1798 to 1801 - "Return from Egypt": term characterising the style of ornamentation - Empire, 1804-1815: General Bonaparte was crowned Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. - Empire style furniture, from 1803 to 1821. ***Blockade Breakers during the American Civil War: source Wikipedia. Disclaimers : I do not own the story and characters of Gone with the Wind which belong to Margaret Mitchell. The “world” of Duncan Vayton and Blanche Bonsart are my creation.

[fuckyeahjamieandclaire]

Sam Heughan (left) and Caitriona Balfe as Jamie and Claire Fraser in “Outlander” —S‍‍TARS‍‍Z

LOS ANGELES—“The first episode is going to be for the fans,” Sam Heughan said about Season 5 of his hit time-travel drama series, “Outlander,” where he and Caitriona Balfe play Jaime and Claire Fraser, respectively.

“It gives the fans a moment to enjoy spending time with the Frasers and the extended family,” added Sam, dapper in a navy Armani suit, complete with a pocket square, in this LA interview.

“The wedding episode gives them time to wallow in that. But of course, things go downhill pretty quickly, so they get a little breathing space before we get into the drama.”

Sam talked some more about the devoted fans of the series based on Diana Gabaldon’s book series. Season 5 is based on the fifth book, “The Fiery Cross.”

“The fans are definitely fervent and extremely excited,” the blue-eyed Scot said. “We have the premiere coming up next month and we’re going to be in Los Angeles.”

Looking boyish with his short blonde hair, Sam grinned as he dished about the wig his Jamie character wears. “I didn’t wear a wig on the first two seasons, or a season and a half. My hair was dyed. I eventually had so much dye that my hair went purple. So we wigged it, which has been great.

Speaking of age, Sam turns 40 in April this year. “Oh God, thanks for reminding me,” the heartthrob reacted with a laugh. “This season, Jamie hits 50. I think he’s looking quite good (laughs). But yeah, I have my 40th birthday in April, so I’m quite excited about it. I definitely feel like taking stock as you do every year.

“I am inspired by a lot of different people, but I’d like to emulate someone like Paul Newman or a sportsman I know. I feel very positive about it, and I’m sure Jamie does, too.” The Newman reference is not random—more about that toward the end.

The milestone reminded Sam of his younger years when he was trying his luck in Los Angeles. “Yesterday, I almost felt the ghost of myself going past. I was sitting in this car in a nice suit I didn’t pay for, and going off to do some press. I just felt very lucky.”

He also recalled, “When I graduated from drama school (Royal Conservatoire of Scotland), I was 23, 24. I was always going for the juvenile lead part and quickly found out that I was losing the jobs to younger, much better-looking lads.

“When you get to my age and beyond, the parts get better. It’s not the same for women and that’s a shame because it does feel that there’s some disparity there.”

For the fans of “Outlander,” one of the big “reveals” in the new season’s trailer is the sight of the Scottish Jamie wearing the red coat of—gasp—the British Army. “It’s a bit of a spoiler,” he admitted. “That is such a huge moment because of Jamie’s history and his past. That uniform stands for everything that he has fought against.”For Sam, Jamie’s evolution in the Starz series keeps him engaged. “The show is constantly changing. I’m not stuck playing the same character. He has all these great responsibilities now. He feels the weight of that.“I would like to emulate some of Jamie’s qualities. He’s very loyal and quite stubborn. The love that Jamie has for Claire—it would be amazing to find something like that myself.”

The actor, who started playing Jamie when he was in his early 30s, remarked on the long run of “Outlander.” “We never knew where we would get to in this. It’s amazing—we’re still here and there still seems to be a great appetite for it. The show has found a home on Starz but obviously, being on Netflix has helped, as well.

“This season, the pressure is much greater. And we know that the Revolutionary War of Independence is coming, so Jamie knows what’s at stake here. He knows he’s on the wrong side. But he’s doing it for the greater good.”

In the meantime, in Sam’s own life, having a relationship is tough. “Certainly, relationships are hard when you’re working in Scotland 10 months a year. I travel a lot and any downtime I have, I’m trying to do other projects, so very much, my career comes first. Maybe I will find someone eventually.

“My whole career, not just ‘Outlander’ but as an actor, I have always put that first. It’s hard when you travel a lot. My priority has been my career, so that’s where I am at the moment. But I am sure at some point, I will get knocked off my feet, then I’m screwed (laughs).”

On and off the set, Sam has found a friend in Caitriona, with whom he spends a lot of time working together. “Poor girl,” he cracked.

“She is such a wonderful woman—intelligent and creative,” he praised his costar who married music producer Anthony McGill in August last year. “More than anything, she’s a good friend. She forces me sometimes to socialize when I don’t want to. She’s a social animal. It’s wonderful to be part of, and always welcomed into, her world.

“I am quite relaxed sometimes. I let things go. She’s very strong and likes to get things done. That probably winds her up. I shouldn’t say it, but I know when she is pissed off (laughs). She does a little foot tap. So, if I see her tap her foot, I’m like, here we go. I can see it.”

“Outlander’s” popularity—and Sam’s rise—have led to many opportunities. Sam is now planning to be a producer, as well. “I have definitely been trying to find other projects to produce,” he announced.

“As an actor, you always want to do other things. This last year, I got to play characters that are very different from Jamie Fraser—‘Bloodshot’ being one of them that happens next month.”

“I wouldn’t say my character is the bad guy,” Sam said of his Jimmy Dalton part in the action-drama-fantasy, “Bloodshot,” which costars Vin Diesel and Guy Pearce. “But he’s certainly a very angry man. It’s a lot of fun to play that character.

“I was on wires flying through the air and fighting Vin Diesel (laughs). As an actor, those are the moments where you go, oh Christ, can I actually do this?”He added, “I did an independent action movie called ‘SAS: Red Notice,’ which is based on a series of books by a writer who’s also the most decorated British Special Forces soldier, Andy McNab.”

“My character is going to Paris to propose to his fiancée, and the Eurostar gets taken over by mercenaries,” he shared. “The movie sits between Jason Bourne and James Bond.

“Then, I did a couple of days on a movie (‘An Unquiet Life’) about Roald Dahl and Patricia Neal, where I got to play Paul Newman.” The film depicts the tumultuous marriage between the actress, Patricia, and the writer, Roald.

The Paul Newman? “Yes, big shoes to fill,” he replied with a smile. “I felt the responsibility of that. But the more I found out about Paul, the more I was in awe of him. What an incredible man.

“I’m not sure I look like Paul, but I tried to bring a lot of his mannerisms into the scenes. It’s a very small part in a bigger movie. It’s at the moment when he is meeting Patricia Neal and they’re about to go off and film ‘Hud.’

“I watched a lot of his movies, but for me, ‘The Hustler,’ which is my favorite of Paul Newman’s movies, is when he really begins to hit his strength.”

As Sam pursues film projects, he knows that he has at least one more season of “Outlanders.” Starz has renewed the show for a sixth season. Still, Sam wonders. “I do sometimes think, what am I going to do when it is over? I think I will actually be quite upset and sad, and it will be a great loss.

“I probably will always have Jamie Fraser with me at some point, even when the show is over.”

Read more:

https://entertainment.inquirer.net/361221/sam-heughan-on-turning-40-new-outlander-season-playing-paul-newman-in-film#ixzz6BrxWUd8z

[kariachi]

Kevin episode! And a Lord Decibel episode but let’s be real we all watch this show for one thing and it’s my son.

Digital Quality

Oh gods they’re at another 90′s-Themed flea market. Well if nothign else it explains the familiar music that was playing over the opening credits.

‘The CD Underbelly’. Yep, this the 90s (seriously, I think I went to that store when I was 6)

Ben’s surprise at learning there was a ‘before the internet’.

Oh gods using previous Max designs for the flashbacks! Okay, yeah, that’s clever, that I applaud!

Max: Give cds a chance Ben & Gwen: The world upgraded for a reason damnit

Poor Max looks so sad to see them abandon him and his cds

The playing at being polite is the most familiar familial interaction I’ve seen out of these two all season.

My son! Who appears to be dead on his rollerblades.. Kevin, dearheart, are you alive?

Gwen, in the background: *appears concerned* Ben, in the middle ground: *is displeased* Kevin, in the foreground: *blearily returning to life*

No, wait, scratch that

He’s polite when he’s dead to the world, who knew

Ben: “This can’t be Kevin, his manners are even better than mine.” Gwen: “You’re right, must be some other guy with bad hair.”

Everybody is here to roast my son

Wait, wait, he’s alive enough to recognize he’s being spoken about!

Gwen, concerned. Ben, certain Kevin is faking fucking faceplanting out of exhaustion. Or he’s been hypnotized. Or he’s trying to distract them from somebody else. Basically he has forgotten the lesson of Four By Four and Vin Diagram, which was ‘yes, Kevin is capable of being places and doing things that do not have anything to do with evil’.

Ya know I’m sure people are expecting me to be more concerned, but as of right now this is just confirming what I suspected as a result of watching UA and that is that no Kevin sleeps.

Not that this is healthy, it’s probably the result of a fucking puff pastry’s worth of layers of trauma, but still. It’s sort’ve expected of Kevins, at least by me.

He tries to talk to Ben, calls him ‘Benny’ and ‘buddy’ and such, and then just falls asleep in place.

My child snores. Also fucking jolted awake and immediately looked around, presumably to re-ascertain where he was (or to make sure there’s no threats, but let’s be nice today) which really doesn’t help the pastry of trauma theory.

Yeah, this boy needs some fucking sleep. Hopefully this cd he’s looking for will help, but if it doesn’t honestly medical intervention might be called for at this point.

Ben does not believe Kevin could be looking for a normal cd. It must be a special evil cd of some sort.

...Max put out a cd titled ‘Audiobook For World Domination’. Which I will admit is a rocking title for an album

Ben, so offended at the idea he and Kevin might be bonding over cds that he throws his grandpa’s in a fit of rage.

Oh look, it’s Decibel. Hi. If you don’t mind keeping the volume down today, we’re trying to get Kevin some sleep.

Ben, convinced Lord Decibel and Kevin are working together. Lord Decibel insists he is a solo artist.

Meanwhile Kevin isn’t here enough to even take notice of the fight

Decibel, offended Ben is paying too much attention to Kevin’s complete lack of getting involved despite Ben’s surety this must be a team-up to appreciate his work.

The man has built a wall of solid sound

Okay, everybody who’s surprised he used it to seal in everybody in the area raise your hand or closest equivalent

Well, at least Decibel appreciates a good cd

And Max agrees with him

Ah, so Decibel’s new tech can make people dance to music, nice.

Watch it not work on Kevin just because he doesn’t have that sort’ve energy right now

Ah, he can make people dance to their own preferred genre with their own preferred genre.

Even works on dogs.”Humans can’t hear it, but it’s very catchy.”

Is gonna hold people to ransom with the power of the boogie

Ben pls do not challenge the supervillain while you are timed out

Well thank fuck, he hasn’t figured out how to make it work on kids yet. He’s working on it.

And now Ben is convinced that Kevin is finding the cd that will make children dance for Decibel

Whatever cd it is, he’s found it. Good on him. (Listen, even if Ben turns out to be right, if it’ll make my boy happy then I will allow it. I will allow the burning of the world at this point if it makes Kevin happy.)

He looks so happy in the quarter second before Shockrock divetackles him

And Ben’s surety convinces Decibel that it’s what he’s looking for so now he wants it, good job Tennyson

Kevin almost got away with his prize, but no, there’s a wall there that he forgot about

He keeps calling Ben buddy and honestly if that’s not the surest sign of how he really feels about the boy at this point (I’m so sorry Ben, he’s just a emotionally stunted disaster with no one and nothing and a desperate need for appreciation)

Somebody find this boy a bed and some warm milk, please

Kevin, asking if they can skip the part where they fight and just help each other out. Ben, confused as to why the fuck he’s acting so weird like he didn’t fall asleep on his feet in front of him like five minutes ago

Ben tries to destroy the cd, Kevin decides combat is just gonna have to happen

Three people fighting over a cd, one because he thinks destroying it will protect the world, one because he thinks it’ll grant him power, and one for personal reasons

I love my son. I really do. I’m fucking dying over here

Max has gone on ‘destroy Decebil’s cd collection’ duty and Gwen on ‘get the cd from these morons’ duty

Ben finally asks what the fuck Kevin’s deal is.

The deal, is that my boy hasn’t slept in six days. I’d be surprised but honestly if you’d told me he’d only slept one night in his life I probably would’ve believed you. And with all the shit that’s been going on in his life lately? Yeah, not all that shocking he’s having trouble sleeping. And the fact he managed to almost fall asleep a couple times already this episode? Does not make it better. Really just makes it more likely it’s less general insomnia and more the pastry of trauma.

“I team up with peoples, but him? Don’t know him, don’t care. What I do know, is I’m not functional enough to walk around. Why do you think I’m wearing this [helmet, rollerblades] again? I just need that cd to help me sleep.” My poor baby.

Ben apologizes for not listening earlier. He’s a good boy.

Ben openly and actively planning for the both of them, under the rightful assumption that if Kevin’s too tired to walk he’s probably too tired to form a proper plan or ascertain what someone else’s plan is enough to work with it. Right down to picking Bashmouth for him because Kevin just cannot brain.

Oh gods Slapback can’t reach the omnitrix symbol to start armored mode. Bashmouth has to do it form him mid-transformation sequence

And even as Bashmouth Kevin is too damn tired to be much good

Oh

Oh

Oh my baby

Decibel got and is playing the cd and-

It is literally a cd recording of... fatherliness. I don’t know how else to describe it, it’s things dads say when their kids are helping them with projects- including such classics of ‘can you hand me that wrench’ and ‘I’m proud of you’. My fucking son!! This, this specifically is what my child needed to fall asleep! Fucking dad-based ASMR! I am in tears! How could they do this to me!

Bring Kwarrel the fuck in I’m begging you!!

Good news, at least, Decibel can’t use it for evil and Kevin is finally sleeping

And Ben saves the day

Ben’s presence is enough to get cops to show up and wait at this point

Huh, Decibel can’t see without his visor

11/11 let my child live

[obscure-nexus]

I'm gonna use this post to info dump about my paras!!

ONO2 (Obscure Nexus of Observers)

A note: I'm not from Illinois, nor do I know anything about how serial killers are actually handled. My knowledge comes from reading the online law book of Illinois, my living in a poor town, Vin's sp/in in serial killers/criminal justice, researching about Illinois and it's towns, and Google maps/Wikipedia. Use your suspension of belief with me here 😅

Lyra Jones' aunt is murdered shortly before she moves into the small town ( fictional, unincorporated) of Pigeonfield, Illinois. She acts as a vigilante to find the murderer behind it, soon uncovering the mass corruption in the town- in which her friend, Vincent, is caught up in as well because he can't escape his preteen mistakes. She also learns the murder is connected to a string of murders, belonging to a serial killer dubbed 'The Vulture' by the Cario Police department, in which, her father works.

This is the story. Do I ever actually drop lore about it? No lmfao! Who do you think I am? A productive member of society?

This one is a system para!

COP (Cult of Pain)

This is the story of Ezekiel Rivets, a delusional queer man in the 1950s of the south USA. He lives in a cult that has severely traumatized him and those around him. He romantically loves the God of the cult and despises himself greatfully for it. This follows him breaking out of the cult and healing his trauma and accepting his delusions not as reality.

This is based on my tramua and my journey of healing it. It is also a way to project pain onto a fictional character instead of myself or bottling up my feelings.

I drop cryptic lore about it, but will happily dump about it explicitly if asked. :D

This one is London's para

R&R (Robots and Romance)

Alabaster is an android that is made for cleaning and working. He works in children's entertainment as a cleaner while non-sentient animatronics play music. He deviates from his programming after falling in love with his technician, Calhoun (or Caz, as in Cazenovia). He works throughout life of an android, trying to understand human concepts and trying to express his sweetness on Caz.

What a reason to deviate! Falling in love with your caretaker!!

This one is a few alter's para.

Melon Causalities!

A DnD type story with my own original species added in. It follows Melon, a druid Elrim (said species), traversing the land to learn new magic and heal abilities. They are accompanied by a half-elf bard who wants to eat every food possible and a goblin barbarian who wants the benefits of two healers for her impulsive adventures. They adopt an antsy Dragonborn paladin.

This one is not as fleshed out the others, but just as fun to me :>

This one is Raziel and Vinny's para.

HAH-A (Homage to Another Homicide- Again!)

A story with no real plot about Vonté Collen and their life as a disabled queer person. They uncover and heal their trauma from their childhood and learn to love the "ghosts" that haunt them. It's kinda episodic with each day/week of their life ending in a moral that they tell to the deity of the world. They are self aware to a certain degree.

This is a perspective heavy piece of my own life, they are very oriented towards that. It deals heavily with our system's trauma and Vonté is used as a vessel for my life's story telling.

[poppyknitt]

ERROR 404- A JSE Egos fanfic: Winter Holidays special pt. 1

Recap: Our Marvin has finally returned from the dimension he was hiding in, and he regrets every single bit of his prior actions, however, he is forced to spend the next few months in the hospital for while his severe injuries heal. Meanwhile, however, it was discovered that another, much stronger Anti, from a separate universe, has found his way here, and allegedly plans to conquer ours, in his attempts to conquer as many worlds as he can. But, all hope is not lost, as his world’s version of Marvin- whom goes by the name ‘Merlin’ as to not cause confusion- has also come to this universe, in attempt to stop him, and bring him back to the pocket dimension that they apparently came from.

Previous chapter

Next Fic

[December 25th]

Marvin opened his eyes, and let out a short scream as he realized where he was. He was in yet another vision, and this time, he was falling very fast. He flailed around desperately for some sort of way to catch himself, but to no avail.

After a few solid minutes of falling, he was suddenly picked up by the talons of a bird, and quickly flown somewhere, only to be flung forwards, as the bird turned away and the world dissolved to darkness.

“Marvin, thank god I found you!” The child’s voice from his previous visions spoke.

“You again? What- What’s going on? Who are you?”

“My name is Liam. I’m a different version of your Jackie’s newborn son. It’s a long story.”

“Wait, newborn son?! When- When did Jackie have a kid?!”

“Two.”

“What?”

“I have a twin. We were born almost an hour apart, but on separate days. I, the 15th of December, and him, the 16th.”

“... On the anniversary of Overnightwatch, no less..”

“Yes, but for my universe, that would not happen for a fair amount of time.”

“Well, anyways... Why are you contacting me? What do you want?”

“... To warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?”

“About him.”

“Him? Who’s ‘him’? You’re not making any sense, kid!”

“... My Anti. Currently, you are in stasis. He captured you quite a while ago. He.. replaced you with a false. You were the first to go. Now, only Seán and your universe’s version of my father remain untouched by his strings.”

“What?! Wh-How?! Why?! Why tell me?!”

“You’re the most important factor to work against him. It is your kindred nature and determination to fight for the others that will ultimately prove most vital if we plan to save your universe, or at least you and the other egos. Wake up, Marvin! You have to wake up! We need you now, more than anything else! Merlin needs you!”

“Wait-!” He began, but it was too late. The vision had already begun fading.

~~

Marvin shot up, eyes snapping open as he gasped for breath. He looked around. Oh god, it was true! The other egos..! They were here, too! He stared in horror at the sights before him- Schneep hung from an unseen object, green strings wrapped around his wrists tight enough to keep him suspended. JJ was lying on the floor, his movements completely hindered by strings, too. Robbie was partially dismembered, with his body sort of spread across a small area on the floor. Worse yet, Chase was propped up against an unseen wall, a small line of blood trailing from his mouth. The vlogger’s shirt had a fresh patch of blood in it, and he knew in the back of his mind that Chase had been the most recent one to suffer. Then, he saw the children, and his heart sank with dread. Grayson and Samantha were cuddled up against each other, their faces stained with tears and blood, while two little baby boys, whom he assumed to be Liam and Brandon, were huddled in their lap for warmth. This Anti... went after the children?! Oh, how it pained to even think about what he could possibly even have done to them. He looked around more, and his heart sank more and more as he took in all of his surroundings.

He got up after a while, and attempted to shake the egos awake, one by one. He didn’t bother with Schneep, though, because he knew it was probably too late for the doctor. Schneep’s chest was almost entirely covered in blood. He slowly approached the kids, and shook each of them. Only Grayson stirred, but he just shifted. The poor boy didn’t have the energy to open his eyes, and it hurt Marvin to know this.

He sighed dejectedly, and turned, going over to where his now partly bloodstained mask rested on the floor, picking it and his cape up. Opening a portal, he looked back one final time, feeling his heart on the verge of shattering as he gave one final goodbye to his real family, and stepped through the portal, silently praying he had managed to get the coordinates perfect this time.

As soon as he exited the portal, however, he tripped, and smacked into the ground with a loud thump!, sighing in annoyance as he realized he’d put it a little bit too low this time.

~~

Merlin could feel the world shifting, and, despite his hopes, knew this was the final hour for his new friends. He swiftly ran back to Jackie and Ava’s place, his heart racing as his mind spiraled into a mad flurry of not-so-positive “what if”s. If he was going to save someone, he knew, deep down, that it had to be Jackie and his family. He couldn’t let them down! Not like this!

The thought only made him run faster, and, not even bothering to go inside, he used a few trashcans and the outcropping over the entrance to the apartment complex to jump up to their balcony, and opened the door quickly, yelling for Jackie and Ava to “Get ready for shit to get really fucking bad in a few minutes!”

~~

Seán sensed something in the world change, but he couldn’t place exactly what. He quickly went to one of his windows, trying to see if he could tell what it was from there.

A yelp of surprise, followed by a slightly quieter crash and a loud thud, caught his attention, and he turned to see Marvin on the floor behind him.

“Marvin?!”

“Oh, hey Seán. Didn’t know you’d be here.” The magician stood up, rubbing his head.

“What the hell are you even doing here?! I thought I told you I never fucking wanted to see you again!” He spat.

“Wait- Wh-What?!” Marvin stuttered, backing up a bit as his eyes widened. Seán stared at him, as he realized the shock was genuine.

“How do you not remember?! It- It happened right after you forced Jackie to nearly kill Anti!”

“Wait, what?! I-I never did that! I-I’ve been stuck in another dimension for ages! I don’t even know what day it is!”

“What?! But- Then- Who have we been chastising for betraying our trust this entire time?!”

“I-I don’t know-“ The light sound of a foot hitting the floor interrupted his speech, drawing both adult’s attention.

“A copy. You’ve been interacting with a copy of him for several months now.” Seán looked to the source, shocked to see what looked like a hologram projection from one of those old sci-fi shows of a child. Not to mention that the kid looked a bit like Jackie, too.

“Liam?! What are you doing here?!” Marvin exclaimed as the kid stepped closer, the hologram effect fading as he seemed to cross into their world.

“Liam- Wait, what’s going on?! Marvin, what the hell-?!”

“We don’t have any time to discuss this! My world’s Anti is going to kill you all if we stall any longer!”

“Shit, you’re from his world, aren’t you?!”

“Come on!” Liam yelled, as he grabbed Marvin by the sleeve, and gestured for him to follow as he practically dragged Marvin back through the portal he must have used to get into Seán’s house. Seán sighed inwardly as he followed, not wanting to risk getting killed because he didn’t listen to the kid with obvious superpowers.

~~

Chase woke up, and groaned quietly in pain. His wounds still ached, but the blood on his shirt was drying. He wiped as much of the blood on his lower jaw away, and shakily sat up, trying to remember what all happened. All that he knew was he had been ambushed by two Anti’s on his way back home. Raising his gaze to look around himself, he froze, horror wrenching his gut as soon as he saw the scene before him.

Schneep hung from above, his body limp, eyes closed, and work scrubs covered in blood. He looked... He looked like how Robbie had described him looking after Anti almost gutted him, back on the glitch’s birthday! Oh god, how long had he been here, like that?! His eyes finally managed to break away from the doctor, and with each new ego he saw, his heart shattered more and more. JJ was on the ground, his head bloodied and partly cracked open, like it had been after Marvin attacked him. He shuddered at the memory, which was still freshly scorched into his mind. Robbie was nearby, his arms and a leg detached from his torso, with his right arm being in three pieces.

Chase checked the area for signs of either Antis’ return, and when he saw nothing, took his chances, and made the agonized dash to JJ’s side. He had planned to take the mute back to where he had been prior, but his eyes fell on his and Jackie’s kids as he looked up, and his heart stopped.

Making sure he didn’t drop Jameson on the ground as he made his way to the kids, he practically dropped to his knees by their side, and, placing JJ on his other side, checked to make sure they were still alive.

To his relief, he could definitely feel their hearts beating, and, despite the circumstances, began to cry in relief. He hugged his poor babies, wondering why Stacy hadn’t told him they were missing. As he sat where he was, his biological children and nephews held closely by one arm, his dearest brother Jameson hugged by the other, while tears slowly fell down his cheeks, he smiled faintly to himself. Something, almost like an instinct of some kind, inside of him told him that this was it. The world was ending. But, yet... He didn’t care. As long as he got to spend his final moments with JJ and his kids, he would be happy to die.

~~

Marvin had no clue what the hell was happening anymore. Everything was a blurry mess at this point. Liam was cowering fearfully behind him and Seán, as they used a protective spell to hold back the out of control glitch before them, who was too focused on trying to break down the spell to realize he could probably just warp behind them and attack from there.

Their magic briefly faltered, and the terrified look on Seán’s face confirmed that they had detected the same thing. Not a moment later, the world started quaking, and he could feel their reality beginning to break. A bright light erupted from somewhere in the distance, and the last thing he heard and saw as the world was enveloped in white and he slammed painfully into the ground, was Liam shouting his name and running to him.

~~

Merlin was using his magic to put a barrier between his Anti and Jackie, Ava, the babies, and himself. He knew it was probably game over, since the glitch had them cornered, with no visible means to escape anywhere between them and their attacker.

Then, a flash of red streaked past his barrier, as he felt the world beginning to crumble, and he screamed for Jackie to come back. The world began to go pitch black as the last thing he saw was this world’s version of his oldest brother getting brutally cracked in the face by his greatest enemy, while all he could do was trip while attempting to run after him, forgetting he was supposed to be protecting the hero’s family, screaming for him to turn around. The last thing he heard was Ava shrieking in pain-

...

You blink, wide-eyed. Oh, god, what the hell happened?! Where was the universe?! Why were you cut off from it? You bang on your monitor a couple times in confusion, attempting to see if it’ll reboot. The monitor just glitches briefly, and presents you with the dreaded Blue Screen.

You sigh, and turn your attention to the WorldView monitor. Blank. Nothing of importance was happening right now. Shit.

Swiveling around to the only other monitor in the room, you turn it on, and access the Error Logs.

[...]

[....]

[.....]

[Error... Camera Viewpoint connection lost.]

Damn it.

[<Attempting to reconnect...>]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[<Attempt failed. Try again?>]

[Yes]

[No]

You put your hand on the mouse, and swivel it over to the option you intended to click.

Now, it’s up to you, dear reader! Which do you choose to do- Sacrifice your ability to view more stories from World Initiative, or do you try again, hoping desperately to restore what you’ve lost? Respond with your choice via an ask, a comment, or a reblog!

——————————————————

Next Chapter

@antis-loyal-puppet @tiny-septic-puppet @rorald-spooks @septic-dr-schneep @ihaveanunhealthyteaaddiction @insaneangel18-blog

[chocolatechubby]

Morph (Part 2)

Devin was beautiful. His fat face and ample double chin were exactly as Ben had sculpted. His porcine fingers fluttered nervously, as he fumbled with the Twix bar melting in his chubby palms. He took a bite…then another before he spoke.

 His voice was soft—almost child-like when he finally said, “Hello Benny.” Ben was speechless. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “I know, I know…” Devin started “…I look a little different—well a LOT different from the last time you saw me.” 

“You’ve put on a little weight” was Ben’s startled response. “A little weight?” guffawed Chucky; “He could take on the entire front line of the Dallas Cowboys!” Devin blushed. “But it looks good on you Devin!” Chucky smiled, softening his first comment. “Finally got some meat on them bones!” “Wouldn't hurt you to get some of that on you, Ben!” Ben did a double take on that comment. What was Chucky implying? Before he could ask, Devin spoke. "I-I-came in to find you, Benny.” 

Devin smiled. His face had the cherubic innocence with which Ben had fallen in love. Except now, what Ben had cherished on the inside, seemed to have manifested itself on the outside as well. All of the shit that swirled around his relationship with Devin was melting like the candy bar in his hand. Ben tried to hold on to the pain and embarrassment that the relationship had elicited, but staring at this image of a Hawaiian god was too much. He was immediately back in love.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?” Devin's voice was a tinkle of bells on a soft breeze. "Uhhhh…" was all Ben could get out. "Chucky told me of some places we could get a bite to eat…" Devin offered. Somehow, Ben knew Devin would never be satisfied with simply a "bite" ever again.

Moments later, Ben found himself walking towards The Bloated Belly with Devin. Well, it was more like walk…stop…walk…stop. Devin was a sight. He was still learning how to maneuver his new girth. He would arch his back, slightly twist his ballooning torso, and send his huge arms swinging behind him. This would give him momentum enough to lurch forward and land with a resounding "thud" about a foot from where he had begun. His entire body would quiver lusciously with the effort. He would repeat this process three or four times in succession before stopping, his round face glistening with sweat and fatigue. His poor t-shirt was no match for such movement, and would constantly ride up over his massive belly-exposing his brown flesh to the world. It was beautiful. 

Ben was having a hard time walking as well—forcing his hard-on into submission as he watched his former lover make his way up the street. Of course, the freaked-out eyes of onlookers only served to fuel his desire. 

Chucky had pushed them both out of the Computer Cove saying, "Go on you two. I know you've got a lot to tell each other. It should be quite a meeting!” There was a twinkle in Chucky's eyes when Ben turned to protest. The innuendo in his statement suggested that he knew about his and Devin's relationship. It was time he found out. As he opened his mouth to ask Chucky what he knew, as if reading his mind Chucky added: "I'll be here if you need to talk to me afterward, Ben-you all go and have a good time!”

It was the second time in as many days that Chucky's parting words to Ben had caused him to pause. He'd left the shop quietly, still trying to fathom the events that had taken place since he had gotten to work that morning. Before he could give himself more time to ponder, Devin tugged on his sleeve and pointed to the sign in front of them…The Bloated Belly.

Ben had often been in this part of the city, but he couldn't remember ever seeing this restaurant before. However, this was a day of seeing things he had never seen. As they were about to open the door, two rotund men in suits pushed it from the other side. Both were over 350lbs and were having their own trouble walking. However, their difficulty was not from unaccustomed size, but from gorging. Each man was smiling, rubbing his overly distended belly buttons struggling to keep the fabric together. Between burps, Ben heard one of the big boys say "This place just keeps getting better and better!" before they both waddled off down the street.

As they entered the restaurant, the reasons for the fat gentleman's delight became quite clear. The Bloated Belly was one of the biggest buffet eateries Ben had ever seen. The tables were on the other side of the buffet-one had to cross between carts and carts of delectable selections in order to sit down. Like other buffets, The Bloated Belly was divided into sections: meats, entrees, vegetable dishes, salad, seafood, etc. Unlike most buffets, the selection was enormous-the meat section spanned three aisles, and included every kind of meat imaginable: tender roast beef and lamb, steaks, pork chops, and ribs--exotic meats from as far off as Africa.

The same was true with each of the other sections-it was a big man's dream come true. Each area had a conveyor belt system that allowed heavier patrons to rest (and eat) as they moved from place to place. Ben could hear Devin's breath increasing. "Thanks for picking up the tab for this…" Devin said as they walked towards the dessert aisle "…it seems as if I've eaten myself past my budget.” Devin's mouth was watering. "No problem" Ben replied. It wasn't the first time he had been in charge of paying for things in their relationship. This time, however, it was different. Not only did Devin seem softer (literally!), he knew he was about to get his money's worth by watching the big man eat.

Once they were seated, and their drink orders taken by a lovely young African American college student, Devin took off. Along with the extremely fat clientele, Devin worked his way from section to section, piling his plates higher and higher. Patrons could secure a rolling cart so that they could prepare more than one plate at a time. By the time Devin got back to the table, he had fourteen plates. Ben helped him arrange them around their large table and then prepared for the show.

At first, Devin tried to carry on a conversation. He asked Ben how he was, and confessed how sorry he was for what he had put him through. "It hasn't been the same without you. Nobody understands me like you do Benny.” Devin said as he bit into his first piece of steak. However, with that first bite, a true conversation was out. The meat melted in his mouth, and he let out a moan so sensual that it made Ben's penis jump and caused him to look around to see how the other patrons had reacted. He needn't have worried. As he turned, he noticed several other men and women having similar reactions as Devin's to their meals. "My god…" Ben thought, "…This is like a brothel! People come in here for lunch to get off!” The thought both excited and repulsed him.

As he turned back to Devin, he realized that his former lover now was so engrossed in eating that nothing else existed. He called out softly "Devin?” Devin grunted and his eyes rolled back in his head. That was as much as Ben could get. Devin's fat cheeks puffed out to impossible dimensions as he worked to get as much food in as he could. It was one of the most beautiful sights Ben had ever seen. 

Devin worked his pudgy hands from plate to plate-seizing bread and sopping up any stray bites he couldn't scrape off with utensils. Ben began moving empty plates out of the way and pushing full ones toward his huffing, puffing masterpiece. Devin nodded thanks as he strained past his belly to reach the next entrée. There was such power in Devin's progress—stuffing and swallowing with gusto and abandon. Even his burps were erotic and strong. A part of Ben longed to be able to do that himself, however, he was never able to put away much food, and therefore remained slight of build.

Around the tenth plate, Devin began to slow. "I think I've had it" was his muffled reply through the spinach au gratin and curried goat. "No, baby…" was Ben's ardent reply "…you've got four more plates, plus the dessert aisle. You just need some help.” 

Ben moved closer to his former lover, took his double chin in his hands, and opened his mouth. He spooned some sauce from the honey chicken onto a piece and brought it to Devin's mouth. He took his other hand and placed them on Devin's fat thighs, sliding it gently towards the big man's groin. Devin moaned softly and took the chicken. As he chewed, Ben discreetly massaged Devin's already massive hard on. This continued with each bite, then each plate. Devin's appetite was more voracious than ever. For an hour, they continued this way, both sweating and panting until Ben spooned the last of the coq au vin into Devin's mouth and the entire restaurant erupted in appreciative applause. 

Devin sat heavily back, spent. To Ben's delight, Devin said, "Could you get me some dessert baby? One of everything will do for starters.” 

“Anything you want Devin." 

Ben got up and walked towards the dessert aisle. As he did, he turned to look at Devin again. He was beautiful. He had always been Ben's icon of physical black perfection…but now…he was a perfect-at least 400lbs of man fat all created by that wondrous software! As he chose pastry after pastry and piled whipped cream onto pies and cakes, he realized how happy he was. His life would get back to normal. He began imagining his life with this new, kinder, gentler Devin. He knew they would spend more time together, if for no other reason because Devin couldn't move around as much. He started thinking about all of the projects that they would do together—including outfitting an apartment with devices to handle Devin's newfound bulk. He created five plates of scrumptious confections and headed back to the table still daydreaming.

He was aroused from his reverie by the commotion going on at his table. The lovely young college student was standing at their table sobbing. As tears rolled down her cheek she stuttered, "I'm so sorry sir.” "What's going on here?” Ben asked as he rolled the dessert cart up to Devin. "This stupid twit got our drink orders wrong!” Devin shouted. "How difficult is it to remember Vodka martini and Strawberry Daiquiri? That's what's wrong with Black People today! Black People don't listen. I don't know what they're teaching you in college. But you need to get your money back!” The girl simply nodded her head down, quietly sobbing.

 Ben looked at this man in horror. Even surrounded by the new layers of beautiful fat, it was the same old Devin. 

"Do something about this bitch, Benny!” Devin snapped, "I would, but I can't move right now.” "I certainly will.” Ben calmly replied. He reached over to the first plate of confections: a huge fudge brownie that Ben had piled high with hot fudge, whipped cream, nuts, sprinkles and a cherry. He lifted it high over Devin's head, turned it over, and brought it to rest on top. 

"What the--?" was Devin's startled reply. Ben then took the bread pudding and seven-layer cake and smeared it on the wide area of Devin's exposed stomach. The waitress stared wide-eyed and then began to laugh. "Here's a tip honey,” Ben said, as he placed a fifty-dollar bill in her hand. "…And here's another one: if it looks like an asshole, walks like an asshole, and sounds like an asshole...it's an asshole.” 

With that, he turned and left the restaurant, and Devin, for good.

Next: The Conclusion

Copyright 2003 by FBC. All rights reserved.