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septic-skele · 3 years

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UF - Out of Reach

Summary: Classic and Blue have it good with their brothers. They make displays of love and affection look so easy. Red can’t help but feel bitter about it. He stands no chance of ever having anything like that with his boss.

Well, not with that attitude about it, Blue says.

Red couldn’t understand it. Logically he figured it was because Classic and Blue came from drastically different backgrounds. They weren’t living with eye sockets in the back of their heads or half-formed, sharpened bones under their pillows like he and Boss did. They were probably just as baffled about him and his behavior, but there was something Blue had said once that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Red had walked in on a private moment and for reasons beyond him, he hadn’t taken a hasty shortcut back out. He stopped and stared and couldn’t help being taken aback when he saw Blue cradling his Papyrus’ skull against his shoulder, murmuring comforts to him. Red had never seen that casual, laidback Papyrus so drunk, weak and vulnerable, much less Blue so solemn.

“I love you, Papy,” he soothed. “I’d love you no matter the ‘reset’, whatever that may be—no matter the world, no matter the universe. A good, proper Sans would never give up on his brother, and I am just that.”

Good, proper. Red had no illusions of propriety but the idea of it nagged and frustrated him. Any time he had tried to console Papyrus in recent memory, it had ended with all the wrong things being said and door hinges buckling under the strain of being slammed.

Red already knew what Blue would say if he heard of this. “You can always try again! I believe in you, pal! You simply need to persevere! You’ll get through to him, I know it!” Disgusting.

The worst part of it, however, was that even Classic did it better than he could. Classic—depressed, cynical, apathetic, a liar to Papyrus’ face more often than not—still loved his brother better.

Somehow the six of them had survived a night in together, though the argument over the TV remote had almost come to blows and the throw pillows may have sacrificed some of their stuffing. Now that they were all retiring, Red wandered down the hall to hear strains of Classic’s voice from one of the nearby bedrooms. He didn’t sound anything like the blasé character Red usually knew; he was lighter, actually putting effort into this.

“…Peekaboo had become a game of hide-and-seek! Where could her friends have gone? Fluffy Bunny wondered, bounding across the green, green field to look for them. She searched high! She searched low!”

“She searched near and far,” Papyrus chimed in.

“You bet she did. She searched east and west, under rocks and up in trees. But Fluffy Bunny couldn’t find her friends anywhere! Wherever could they be?”

Maybe they ditched her for wantin’ to play such stupid games, Red mused with a snort, although as Classic continued he was distracted by an old, old memory fluttering forth.

He had spent hours poring over the dump, fishing out as many old, damaged books as he could find. Drained and shivering, he’d lugged them back to the nook where he’d left Papyrus, safely out of sight. Before he could find sleep, Papyrus had thrown himself over Red’s back and pitched a fit about learning how to read.

“Show me, brother! I want to do it like you do, I want to try! It doesn’t have to be the long one! Just show me how, please! Please, please, please, plea-a-a-ase!”

Red had capitulated only because he didn’t want the tantrum to draw unwanted attention, but that wasn’t the part that stuck with him. Papyrus had curled up against him, half-tucked under his coat, watching him trace letters with intent focus. As he haltingly sounded out the words, every small success made him light up like a star, clutching eagerly at Red’s ribs for his approval.

“Did you see that, Sans?! Did you hear me?! I did it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down, kid, I saw. Nice one.”

Red’s opinion and praise had still meant something to Papyrus back then. Stars, he was still willing to cuddle with him, despite the filth and the damp clinging to his clothes from the river.

Had Boss ever really been that hopeful, clingy little baby bones or was Red trying to convince himself that was how it had happened? It was so long ago. Pap could have just fished those books out and taught himself while Sans was away, trying to find work. That sounded far more likely.

“G’night, bro,” Classic concluded, sliding the book onto the nightstand and giving his Papyrus an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Balking, Red ducked back toward the stairs before he could be found snooping, all too well aware of what Boss might do if he ever dared reach out that way. He’d probably end up losing a few fingers.

It wasn’t fair, something small and spiteful in the back of his mind huffed. The idea nearly made him miss one of the steps, torn between shock and scornful amusement. Since when had fairness ever been part of the equation? If things were fair…

If things were fair, they would probably look a lot like the scene he had just left, as well as the scene he was walking into now. Blue perched prim and proper on the end of the couch, surfing idly through channels. His brother was stretched across the rest of the cushions, head propped against Blue’s lap, swaddled up in blankets, the whole nine yards.

Jerks. They were intent on showing off now; they knew exactly how good they had it. Sparks of irrational anger crackled along Red's jaw and spine. If he had something immediately on hand to hurl at them, he would have, but he had already shucked off his boots and summoning a bone would be a waste of magic.

“Edgy me?” Blue called in a faux whisper, making him tense. “I would have thought you’d be asleep already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to rest easy with Classic jabbering on about fluffy bunnies through the wall!” Red snarked, louder and sharper than necessary. He took little satisfaction in the way Blue winced, resting a hand on Papy’s skull as if to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” So genteel, so polite, he still offered an inviting smile. “If you’d care to come and join us, any of the chairs from the dinner table are free! Mweheh, I honestly have no idea how Papy sleeps like this; the side I sit on is the only one without mangled, broken springs. It’s probably all of his tossing and turning that’s done it. I’ve been meaning to get them repaired, but he hardly ever leaves the couch to let me at it! He really ought to—”

“Shut up already, would’ja? I don’t care! Besides—Tch, wouldn’t want to interrupt your cute little ‘brother bonding’ time.”

“Oh, no, y-you’re not interrupting anything! Did I imply that somehow? I’m sorry! If you want part of the couch, I can wake him and ask him to scoot over—”

“How d’you make it look so easy?” It broke free before Red could fully comprehend how irrational it would be to ask. Jaw clenching so tightly that his teeth squeaked, he drew back from his own brash demand. Blue tilted his head.

“I’m sorry?” That counted three times in this conversation that he’d apologized for nothing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He should have retreated. He should have spat, “Never mind!” and transported to his room to seethe in privacy. Instead his foolish, fat mouth blundered on. “How d’you get him to do that?” He threw an irritated gesture at the sleeping lump on his lap. “How d’you make him…relax, with you there? It’s as if he likes having you around!”

Even that was saying too much and yet just enough. Realization dawned in Blue’s eyes, followed by—oh, stars, there was pity.

“Well, I…I’m not really sure. If there are no other comfortable surfaces around for him while he sleeps, I’m happy to help! The last thing he needs is a cramp in his neck. Heh, I’m not tall enough to fix that for him so why not try to prevent it entirely? We’ve huddled up ever since we were baby bones; it’s always been this way.”

Of course. Cheekbones flaming, Red ducked his head. They never had raging fights that lasted until dawn (or until they started losing their voices, whichever came first.) Blue and Stretch had it all sorted out from birth, cozy and coddled.

“…Papy always caught cold too easily. I’d make up some rather impressive beds for him with grass and water sausages so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the rock, but the dew would leave him shivering all night! I couldn’t let that stand! Those chattering teeth of his kept me awake too so I made the noble sacrifice and slept on the damp side while he nestled up to me.” Blue chuckled, an uncharacteristic note of something laced through it. “With our two shirts tucked together, we could almost imagine a full hoodie like he has now!”

“Wh—You? That’s rich.” That was decidedly not what Red had been picturing as a life that could spit out someone as sickeningly sweet as Blue. “You’re not tellin’ me you two were homeless.”

“I preferred to think of us as explorers!” Blue corrected. “I told Papy that we were on an adventure to find the perfect place for a new start. We experienced all that the Underground had to offer a couple of wandering baby bones: scavenging, hide-and-seek, games of chase with older monsters, who were rather poor sports when they couldn’t catch us. I grew strong and magnificent thanks to all of that exercise and my brother…well, he tried very hard!”

Red shuffled uncomfortably in place. Funny, how familiar all of those experiences sounded—but from someone else’s mouth?

“Then Papy fell terribly ill. He was poisoned, in fact. It was the first time I really wondered if I’d lose him.” Ignoring how Red startled, Blue glanced pensively down at his snoring brother, smoothing his fingers more gently over his skull. “It may have been an accident, but I was responsible for his safety; I should have been paying closer attention. In part it was my fault.”

“And he…forgave you for that?” An accident like that, caused by a slip in Sans’ attention, could probably get him disowned.

“On the contrary, he blamed himself! He blames himself for a great many things and he thinks most of them can’t be helped. I try, I always try to help. What’s infuriating is that he acts as if he doesn’t deserve it. Despite what you may think, there are plenty of times he doesn’t want me around. He shuts down, he pushes me away, he tells me I’m wasting my time.”

Red’s eyelights flicked off.

“Shut up, Sans. I don’t want to discuss it.”

“You idiot! Get away from me!”

“Useless. What a waste of time.”

“I think he’s scared of what might happen if he lets his guard down…Perhaps he thinks I’m not strong enough to face whatever is underneath,” Blue continued. “Perhaps he thinks that if he lets me too close, it will be the thing to drive me away for good. Nevertheless! With time and patience, I know I’ll convince him.”

“But how?! How am I supposed to—I mean, how do you keep trying when it never does any good?”

“It does do some good, I’m sure of it! I keep pushing to help him so he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that I won’t be driven away so easily. Maybe Papy just isn’t ready to show me the good it’s done yet. He has to learn to trust himself before he can trust me, but he can never say that I don’t care about him. I’ll show love to every part of him, even the bad, and it will be an influence for the better. I will break down those barriers!” Blue concluded with a fiercer grin.

A good Sans would never give up on his brother.

“Doesn��t it…suck?” Red ground out, hoping it wouldn’t be interpreted as an admission of weakness. Doesn’t it hurt? “When he shuts you out all the time?”

“Of course. I never said it was an easy task but it’s not within me to accept defeat!” Blue stopped up short then, holding his breath as Papyrus shifted against him. Neither Red nor Blue had been particularly careful about their volume.

After a few moments of adjustment, Stretch settled deeper into his blankets with a sleepy hum of contentment. Blue softened, eyelights aglow with such fondness that Red could almost feel a ripple of it in the air between them. It made his soul turn.

“He’s my only brother. We only have each other in the end. Isn’t that worth the effort?”

_____________________________________

If Red hadn’t been passing his boss’s room at precisely the right moment, he never would have heard it: a string of low, ragged gasps, followed by a rumble that could have been a groan or a growl. Sans grimaced at the sound, already aware of what was happening. Boss never made noise in his sleep unless he was injured, pain slipping through the cracks of his subconscious, or he was fighting a nightmare. Seeing as the last few days had been highly uneventful, it would be the latter.

Welp, that’s his problem. I’m not about to get impaled ’cause he mistakes me for his sleep paralysis demon.

That was habit speaking. Better reasoning caught him a few steps later, slowing him to a halt.

It would be easy to swan off, mind his own business and let Papyrus suffer on his own. It would have been easy to do it years ago too, when Pap was nothing but a scrawny baby bones who couldn’t have done anything about it.

If he hadn’t then, why should he now? It was Boss’s shouts in the morning that often woke him from dark dreams…He could return the favor and feel less indebted to him for it.

It was only fair.

Cursing his newly planted seed of a conscience, Sans pivoted with great difficulty and kicked a foot at the door with a small thump. No answer. He kicked again. The gruff breaths from within quickened.

“…Boss?” he ventured, clearing his throat roughly. “Hey. Boss.” Belatedly he realized that he had no proper excuse ready if Papyrus awoke and asked what he wanted. That might not go over well, but the circumstances were making it hard to focus. Those strangled groans were slowly but surely chipping away his first instinct of self-preservation.

He was definitely going to get impaled. One shot, -9999 damage and his life would be over, all for an attempt to be considerate, but he could hear it now in Papyrus’ voice. There was a scared little brat trapped inside the intimidating commander and that brat clearly still needed a big brother to drag him out of trouble.

Steeled for his impending doom, Sans jostled open the door. “Boss,” he began again as he poked his head in. “You’re makin’ noise, alright? You gotta—Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s not good—”

Papyrus was a writhing, tangled mess in his blankets, some already torn where his claws had caught. Sweat and magic bled down his face, eye sockets sputtering and smoking in a flurry of colors as he choked for traction to cry out.

“Ngnnh—No, no—stop!”

“Boss?!” Sans stammered, surging forward. Of their own volition his hands got busy, dragging at the blankets to rend them free of Papyrus’ kicking legs. “Bro, hey! It’s okay, it’s just a dream!”

From there it must have only been a few seconds but to Sans it felt like an eternity before Papyrus lurched upright, already scrambling. He didn’t lunge to attack as Sans had expected but recoiled; it was only when he smacked his skull against the wall behind him that he came to a lurching stop.

“I-It’s just me, Pap,” Sans stated cautiously. He wouldn’t have dared use the old nickname under any other circumstances, but it seemed to clear some of the wild haze in his brother’s eyes. It took a beat for him to formulate an appropriate response.

“Get out,” he rasped. It didn’t hold a candle to its usual bite. He was still panting, disoriented. “What are you doing here?”

Which d’you want, an answer or me getting out? “I heard you…Well, I didn’t know if somethin’ was up. Maybe someone…broke in or somethin’, trying to get to you.”

“Oh?” Shoulders shuddering in what could barely be masked as a laugh, Papyrus shook his head minutely. “And what could you do to save me? L-Look at you. You’re not even armed.”

“And look who didn’t even wake up when I barged in here! The big, bad boss could’ve gotten killed in his sleep because he was too busy cryin’ like a—” By the greatest restraint he cut himself off, foreseeing how that would be received, but he’d said enough already.

“Get. Out,” Papyrus snarled, rediscovering vitriol enough for Sans to cringe.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Get out, you fool, this instant, or I’ll—!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was worried!” That word felt taboo aloud. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright and you weren’t so I stayed to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do here, Sans; as always, you—you prove to be utterly inadequate! Your best course of action will be to close the door behind you.” Judging by the way his chin jutted out, he was clearly expecting that to be the last word.

“…No.” Tossing the blanket’s edge back to the floor, Sans squared up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” The incredulity that flashed in Pap’s eyes should have cowed him but he had resigned himself to that already at the door. “I’m not just gonna leave you here, all jittery and crunched up against the wall. I can’t leave you like this. You’re not fine and I know if I try to say somethin’ to make it better, I’ll screw it up. Like you said, I always do. So let’s just skip that part where I do it wrong and get to the bit where you tell me what you need. What d’you need to feel better and get back to sleep okay?”

The following silence caught him off guard. Papyrus was never at a loss for further scathing remarks so why was he just staring at him? Moreover, where had his anger gone? He looked smaller without it, less like the Great and Terrible Papyrus and more like…

Papyrus. Red’s only brother. Hunched down, hands fisted into the mattress, micro-tremors trailing down his ribs as he breathed, he looked exhausted.

A minute passed. Maybe it was two.

Sans fidgeted, his nerve failing. “Boss, listen, I—”

“Tea,” he muttered, hooded eyes darting away. “If you really want to make yourself useful.” Sans hadn’t expected his soul to fill his throat at that response; something must have shown in his face, as Papyrus’ next grumble was even quieter. “You’re acting uncharacteristically generous with your work ethic. Why would I pass up this opportunity to make you work in the kitchen for once?”

Sans felt oddly light at the words as he nodded, turning for the door. “Gotcha.” He had never thought this day would come. For once in his life, he saw doing more work as a victory.

If it did some small modicum of good, if it made one miniscule chip in those walls between them, it would be worth the effort.

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mcrmadness · 3 years

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Rambling about my (dä fan)art...

I was writing another post and this kinda got out of hand and turned into me talking about my art overall. I’m gonna put this under the cut because I don’t know if people are interested in my art nor especially in my thought about it and my “art history” basically, but if you are, then I hope you enjoy.

And yes, this is gonna be about my die ärzte fanart mainly!

So let’s start with the HELL coverart drawing because that’s what I was talking about originally:

I’m extremely happy with how the drawing turned out in the end and I like that feeling of success when I’m happy with something I have created. That is not always self-evident with myself. More than often I have plain hated my drawings or have felt like there should be something done differently, or something that I could always improve at and do better. So this feeling where I’m actually content and happy with what I have created is something new and different. I have a dopamine rush every time I look at that drawing. I like the drawing. I think it looks nice. And I’m extremely happy about this fact and I am not afraid of admitting it. Perfectionism is a curse and a gift. It can sometimes make your life a living hell when something that is perfectly good still feels like it’s not enough. When everyone else sees that what you have done is actually good or even great but your brain just keeps repeating how it’s shit and everyone else is just delusional and that they don’t see what you see. And this is like the polar opposite of that feeling. It wasn’t other people who were delusional, it was you and youself all along. You were the one seeing the image in your head and the drawing not matching that image. Other people saw only what you had created and couldn’t compare it to anything. And that doesn’t mean it was never good.

So whenever I do these comics and comic style drawings nowadays, I just feel so happy. I feel that I am no longer failing them, I feel like I can draw the image I see in my head. I finally feel like I can draw, I have some skills, I’m not a professional and maybe not as good as everyone else but I’m good at what I’m doing. This is my thing and I’m good at it and it’s enough. And I love it when I feel like I’m improving. For years I felt like I was stuck, like my skills would have been glitching somehow, I didn’t get better no matter how much I drew. But I guess I tried too much and was too harsh on myself because I believed that a drawing is good only when no reference photos have been used. And I sucked at drawing without them. I still do! I was staring at the Hell coverart the whole time I was drawing! I wouldn’t have been able to do this if I didn’t! And this feels particularly good also because this is the first time I have tried something different with these comics. I have never tried to draw a photo or existing picture with this style. I have only drawn my comics and those I have created all by myself. The clothes come from what I have seen in videos and photos but the plots are created by me alone, with a idea coming from somewhere actual usually, as inspirations do.

For comics I do look at reference photos of people sitting or standing, or I look at the mirror, or even take photos of my own hand to be able to draw something. And that’s lots of fun and also challenging because I’m mixing there my old habit of portrait drawing with my less serious comic book style but I really really do like the combination. It also makes me feel that I am memorizing what I draw and the next time when I need to draw that same posture, I no longer need the reference photos because they’re no in my brain. And in my muscle memory. My hand remembers how to do the lines now.

Here you can see one of the sketches I did in 2018 - I had this image in my head and I wanted to draw it and I just... drew it in my sketchbook. Didn’t use pencil. But now I’ve noticed I like doing these on proper paper instead of the sketchbook AND it’s so much more fun to first draw the sketch with the pencil and then draw on it with the fineliners. That I have always done with the comics (apart from one) because they take more time than these quick sketches. But here you can see Farin’s legs on the first image - I think I might have looked at reference photos for that but then it was so much easier to do the to the comic I made in 2019.

I have now also figured out that a big part of my style is not to draw just simple straight lines. I like making those sketch-like lines even with the marker. They look more rough but that’s something I like seeing with my art. That’s what I was missing when I was staring at the lines I had drawn before and hated every detail of them. They were too clean and neat.

^These two I have also drawn on my sketchbook in 2018 and I don’t really know why. I guess I was still a bit stupid and didn’t really realize I’m drawing again. But anyway, they both were inspired by my own fanfiction I have written a long time ago. It’s one of my favorite self-written fanfics and it had these two scenes I just saw in my head and felt like I could try drawing them. Maybe that’s why they are in my sketchbook, I wasn’t sure if they were going to turn out even good... The marker around the second one obviously was shit and the paper wasn’t good for it, and I never finished with it so it looks a bit weird. Do I need to say that I really enjoy drawing very small, repetative details, like those tiles? It’s so soothing, almost like a therapy.

I think that quitting antidepressants in 2013 has done so much good for my creativity. If you compare my work from 2011 to 2019, the difference is huge - all are just parts from my comics:

Can you guess see the difference? But have to admit I am jealous for myself for how I have drawn Farin’s hair to the 2011 one and maybe have forgotten to color Farin’s arm but... I actually had so long pause from drwing (~8 years) that I forgot how I did that and had to use THAT as a reference when I was trying to draw late 80s Farin’s at some point last or this year :D

Anyway, my style with the shadows is a little different when I use colored pencils than when I use markers. This is from my latest comic from this year, where I experimented with Promarkers the way I had never done before and I really like how it came to be:

I have owned this set of Promarkers (black + 5 greys) for years and have never really used them, apart from the black which I usually used for the thick lines anyway. And wanted to see if I could find some use for the greys too! (Yes that’s Bela back there - this comic was an alternative ending for Für Immer music video :D)

And I wanna end this post with a face progress comparison for all three. During this I also noticed that before I used to draw their side profiles and it was really difficult to find images where I’d have drawn from from the front. And nowadays I have mainly drawn them from the front and it’s hard to find side profiles! Interesting! Here’s one of Farin and Bela from a drawing I made this year:

Also the hand that was so much fun to draw but I also took photos of my own hand in that posture in order to even draw that - that was fun! :D

But here are the last three images - using the HELL one as the last for each, of course:

Bela has always been the easiest to draw. And the first one of these three is actually from my first ever Bela&Farin comic! I didn’t color their skin back then. With the next ones I already did color their skins too but I used darker colors to do the shadows. Nowadays I do the shadows with fineliners. Or it depends - that 2019 one doesn’t have that lol.

Damn it was so difficult to find something where I’d have draw Farin from the front :D And I see the HELL one literally is my second (or third) time drawing Farin with his grin. Or if you count all those numerous extra mouths I drew because I failed the first one, then I have drawn his grin at least 15 times by now. I probably can draw his teeth with no reference photos from now on.

I haven’t drawn Rod too many times. I can actually count about... 5 times? And then there’s only 2 times when I’ve drawn his side profile but he’s at the background. I don’t know if I’ve ever really succeeded at that, I usually try to draw his head a more round and his eyes smaller than for Bela and Farin and I was actually bit worried for the HELL one and was wondering if I’m going to ruin the whole thing. But in fact, that was actually easiest of them to draw. And STILL I’m surprised by how alike he looks in that last one. In fact, I think his dacial features are perfect for a carricature drawing so you don’t need to do more than a few lines for the mouth and it looks like his mouth. The middle one was for a drawing I made for a friend and with this I actually looked at photos so that I could draw some of his hairstyles from the 90s and I liked this one the best and it was also quite easy to draw too.

Do I even have to say that I’m not extremely motivated what comes to drawing? I feel like my creative has become what it has never been before. I still don’t really know what to draw but I just feel that whatever it is I’ll start next, it will be good. And if it doesn’t... who cares? I had so much fun with those extra mouths of Farin which was maybe visible from the video I filmed, and that is what makes drawing worth it. Before I took the drawing process so seriously and a mistake felt like the end of the world but now I laugh at them and make fun of them and don’t take them too seriously. And I always have ways to fix these, or I can redraw. Just like I did with Farin’s mouth (or a half of his face actually) for this newest drawing. The most important thing is that I’m having fun and enjoying what I do, that way usually the outcome will also be a success.

I have now at least 2 dä comics on my to-do list (I don’t remember if there’s a third one too) + one pencil drawing that is halfway there. It will take one more night/day for it to get it finished. I also have probably 5 ideas for self-comics etc. in my sketchbook and I try to find some time to work on those. Or actually I have a plenty of time. Adhd, time blindness and executive dysfunction just make it feel as if I didn’t :D Can’t wait to get working on my next drawing projects, tho!

(I wish I knew how to make art for a living even but that’s a topic that will need its own post which I’m probably do in a near future if I don’t forget :D)

#mcrmadness’ art talk #mcrmadness draws #the post has lots of text but also quite a many images #dä fanart #die ärzte #I have been drawing dä comics since 2010 - the old ones are very stupid but whatever :D #long post

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avondione · 5 years

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for the lack of words

[ miraculous ladybug // 2199 words // lukanette, minor spoilers ]

there had always been a melody in the back of his mind, a song he hummed to, a beat he drummed to. music echoed through his bones (and her song through his heart).

or: how he fell in love between the notes of a song.

❁ ❁ ❁

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

He could tell from the moment her song stuttered over his poor attempt at a joke, visibly wilting as the laughter died from his lips. He had promised not to embarrass his sister or her friends, yet he already found himself reaching for his guitar, strumming in place of words, apologizing in the only way he knew how.

Forgiveness, he learned, was an echoing song with an ever rising crescendo. It was a tune so slow and deep yet strangely optimistic, a swinging melody brightening the room with her smile. And that, he supposed, was that exact moment he decided that he liked this girl.

And he liked her even more when she didn’t cower in the face of an akuma. Skillfully removing the chains that bound them, she took the lead like a conductor guiding her orchestra. Her song was so confident, bold, and he couldn’t help but trust her as he drew the akuma away, as he was captured with all the rest.

“She’s the one that contacted me,” said Ladybug, as if it were normal for a civilian to be in contact with a superhero. But from what he knows of the pig-tailed girl, he wouldn’t be surprised. Brave, he smiled to himself, that girl was incredibly brave.

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

And luckily, his darling little sister didn’t need words to understand him. Juleka looked at him and huffed, a smile woven into her song. “She’s the one I told you about,” she rolled her eyes. “The one that helped me take a picture for school.”

He hums in acknowledgement, fiddling with the the strings of his guitar, an easy, happy tune slipping out. He could hear his sister sigh, and when he looked at her, she gives him that knowing, pointed look. “She’s a good person,” he decides to say. “I’ve never heard a song like hers before.”

And for some strange reason, he wasn’t that surprised when he found Marinette hanging around more. It was innocent at first — his sister inviting her over to finish a science project (which they could have easily finished at school), that quickly turned into a hangout session the moment they were ‘done.’ And next thing he knew, the Liberty seemed to be the base for girls’ night.

He didn’t mind, in fact, he quite liked how lively the boat has become. But as much as he wanted to know more about the pig-tailed girl, he didn’t really have the time to properly talk to her. Most of their time spent together was when she was waiting for the others to be ready, small conversations in-between. She had grown comfortable on-board, more capable of wandering the halls without a guide, leaning over the edge for a breath of fresh air.

“Do you feel kinda like this?” and a wavering melody played from his guitar. She looked startled for a moment, as if she realized she had just sulked past him, but she ends up smiling and he knows he’s right. “Personally,” he’s already moving to sit next to her. “I think a girl like you deserves to feel something like—”

She sways to the beat. It was nice, seeing someone so moved by his music. He could tell she was a kind person, empathetic and hardworking. People like her didn’t deserve the discourse of an erratic song. “And whoever made you feel this way,” he looks over with a sly grin. “Is nothing but a...”

Her laughter rings in beat with the quick, mischievous tune. “Thanks Luka.”

And once again, he lacked any words to say, falling back to the familiar pattern of strumming. It was easy like this. He didn’t have to worry about messing up, or saying something wrong, or risk upsetting her. He could just sit back and listen.

“Say,” she’s peering up at him with a grin. “Are you free tomorrow?”

And if he heard his sister’s smug melody playing in the background, well, he chose to ignore it.

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

“Do you want to take the subway together, Marinette?” he asks, but he hears the longing tune, a bittersweet ballad playing out before him. Pining, he learned, was such a sweet song that could make a man weep. “You should probably go over there and talk to him,” he says, because their duet could bring the world to its knees, and who was he to interrupt? “Thanks for inviting me out today.”

She hesitated, and for a heartbeat, he could have sworn he heard a different harmony. But she grins and thanks him with a kiss, her touch burning like a lingering cadence, playing so softly in the background he wondered if it was really there. He watched as she ran after the car, disappearing from sight, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. What a funny girl.

He wasn’t expecting her to suddenly appear on the Liberty the next day, in the middle of practice. “I...” she shyly offers the sketchbook in her hands. “I made some designs for Kitty Section.”

The rest of his band eagerly greets her, and she’s flushing an adorable shade of pink. “They look great,” he manages to say after he realizes he was caught staring. “You’re amazing, Marinette.”

She fit in so easily, a steady beat in the orchestra of practice. A steady presence in the background, grounding, keeping their chaotic ensemble organized when their music was anything but. It was hard to imagine a time when she wasn’t there, cheering them on (and he quite liked it when she cheered them on).

Seeing her draw and sew and paint was a wonder to his fidgeting hands. Designing was as much a part of her life as music was in his — a constant, aching need that drove their blood and filled their souls. Fidgeting fingers and tapping toes, they were as alike as different they were.

“Can we be friends, Marinette?” He doesn’t know why he asks one day, but he had gotten so comfortable in this dynamic that he would hate to assume.

She looks at him with wide eyes and laughter on her lips. “I thought we were already friends!”

Ah, he messed up again. She’s looking at him with a teasing glint in her eyes, and he wondered since when were their roles reversed. “I’d hate to steal you away from my sister,” he says, because she was her friend first. “But thanks,” he says, because he didn’t really know what else to say.

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

He lacked the proper words to describe the anger he felt. Frustration, injustice. These people were unforgivable, corrupt, and god he knew it wasn’t worth it. Yet something else bubbled to the surface, broken strings of an unfamiliar feeling throwing him off key. He didn’t know what happened.

Because in one moment, he was watching as Marinette — his friend, his designer, his muse — stand up. Steady beat rising in tune, humming and buzzing, not a single note of fear as she argued against the man who was threatening her with everything he had.

And in another, Ladybug was there, palms outstretched and melody singing.

Akumatization, he learned, was a harsh but passionate song, easy to get lost in the beat of hypnosis (and oh, had he lost).

His memories of that day were missing the notes of its song, but surely something must have gone right. Because he watched as that faux producer confess his crimes on camera, watched as his band was invited to perform their new song. He watched and watched and watched, because if he spoke now, he was going to mess something up again. Because things were better off when he stayed bloody silent—

“Luka,” she calls to him. “Did you really mean the things you said when you were akumatized?”

Fear, he learned, was a quiet song that crept in the background of his mind, sharp chords echoing in his ears and ringing through his bones. “I’m sorry, he says, but he doesn’t really know why. “I don’t remember.”

She wilts, and if she’s trying to hide her disappointment, she’s not doing a very good job at it. How could she be? She had always been so honest and kind and she wears her heart on her sleeve. And when he asks her about it, her answer is a bright smile and flushed cheeks.

“Oh nothing,” she brushes it off like she doesn’t care (but she does). “It was nothing at all.”

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

And he didn’t need to hear her say it to know he probably messed up again. He’s said something wrong, something that made her stumble over his unsteady beat. “You were possessed by Hawkmoth’s akuma,” and she said it like it was an acceptable excuse.

“I don’t know what I possibly could have said.” He didn’t even know what he was saying right now. “I just hope it wasn’t anything mean.”

She didn’t respond. He didn’t really expect her too.

“You’re a wonderful girl, Marinette.” The words spilled from his lips like a dam broken. Words he’s written and practiced and played over and over like a prayer left unanswered. “Clear as a music note,” he breathed. “Sincere as a melody.”

He’s drowning in her eyes now, hand on her shoulder his only anchor to the land, the only thing stopping him from drifting away (but he was already lost). “You’re the song I hear in my head since the day we first met.”

He could hear them calling his name, and when he parts, it’s like the sea had opened up and swallowed him whole.

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

And he was fumbling through them as he greeted her with a shy smile. He had rushed there on a limb, the spontaneity of his muse bringing him right back to her. He must’ve looked ridiculous, bright yellow helmet and in the middle of a delivery, but he had pulled out his guitar and was already strumming through her song like his life depended on it (and maybe it did).

Her eyes grew soft, smiling as she complimented his song, and there were new chords ringing in his ears. He could do better, he promised, he would write the song she deserved. The arms around his waist made his mind sing, and he sorely wished he had the time to write it all down.

But he had work to do, and so did she, and they parted ways.

Only to meet again a few hours later. He almost rode past her, her harmony unrecognizable, but it was unmistakably her and he didn’t hesitate to stop.

Heartbreak, he learned, was a screeching song often ignored, hidden behind the static of smiles, until it just could be help back. He could hear every crack of a broken harmony as her smile fell (and distantly, he could hear the crack of his guitar as it fell to the concrete floor).

“You can tell me everything.” It was such an easy phrase for comfort, but it left a sour note in his song. Because he wasn’t good with words, and it was okay if she wasn’t either. “Or nothing, if you would prefer.”

Responsibility and loneliness were songs he was all too familiar with. They had played in the background for so long, finally bursting to the forefront without so much of a warning, loud and she was unprepared. So all he could do was hold her until she was.

He didn’t hesitate to shield her away. It was a hypnotic beat. Not quite akumatization, but similar enough to shake his core and sing him to sleep. And when he awoke with Ladybug leading him and the others away, he wondered what he did to make her heart weep.

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

The chords of his guitar were shaky (or was he trembling?) and he couldn’t help but wonder if this song would ever end. This endless battle she is fighting — how much longer will she have to listen? For how much longer can her song overpower the hypnotic beat of akumatization?

“Are you alright?” he asks, but they both knew the answer.

They sat in silence, the world fading away into the background static. And for a moment, they could pretend they were back at the park, with his arms around hers and her soul laid bare. And for a moment, everything wasn’t okay and it was okay that it wasn’t.

But she took a deep breath, and smiled. Hope, he learned, was a saccharine song that was dangerously bright. Like the sun, so warm and inviting but burning to the touch.

“My song,” she looks at him with a crooked grin. “Can you play it?”

Luka Couffaine was not good with words.

But as his fingers strummed through her song, so tired and broken yet strong and unyielding — he could believe that he didn’t need to be. Because Marinette, he learned, was a song he could spend a lifetime listening to.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #lukanette #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #avon writes

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trash-the-tozier · 5 years

Text

One Week Away (2/2)

Title: One Week Away

Length: ~13.7k words (6k for this part)

Summary: School is out for spring break, and the Losers are taking a week long trip to visit Beverly in Portland. Could there have been a worse time for Richie to realize that he was in love with his best friend?

Warnings: None? This fic is mostly just bill and richie being rowdy boys (explicit language, perverted insinuations, and general dumbassery), a bit of underage drinking

Pairings: Richie/Bill, established Mike/Stan, hints at Ben/Beverly

A/N: Part 2! The underage drinking warning applies to this chapter. This fic gave me the fluff fix I needed - the next thing will have an actual plot to it, I promise. Thank you for reading! Previous part: 1 also posted to ao3 here

After dinner they all squeezed onto the couch to watch a movie, making the collective decision to do nothing tomorrow. Any time they tried to make plans the conversation just devolved into talking, so it made more sense to not make a plan and simply hang out for a while; maybe that would get all of the chatting out of their system. Richie didn’t think it was too bad of an idea; catching up and spending time together was the main point of the trip, after all. If the group did have the wild hair the next day to go out and do something instead, they would.

They woke up in as much of a pile as they fell asleep in. Beverly and Ben made muffins for breakfast while they all slowly migrated to the kitchen and lazed around the kitchen table. The whole scene was entirely too domestic, Richie getting exhausted just watching the way Beverly and Ben danced around each other: compliments that were said a little too seriously to be played off as just friendly, glances that lingered a little too long, especially if the other person wasn’t looking. After watching the particularly excruciating game of hand-footsie during their walk yesterday though, Richie wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He just didn’t know what was taking the two of them so long.

Then they all just talked. And talked. The flow of conversation was natural, exciting, and fun; despite the lack of an activity, Richie didn’t find himself ever getting bored. There was the background noise of music, or the TV playing something that no one was really paying any attention to, but they weren’t needed. They talked about the gossip at school about people that they didn’t really know, but it didn’t matter because the drama of it all made it entertaining anyway. They talked about plans for college—an exciting idea, because Beverly would be going with them—and what their parents thought about those plans. Every once and awhile someone would get up for food or to shower or whatever else they needed, the group shifting around between the kitchen and the living room. Naturally, it wasn’t until late that the more serious topics were breached.

“Okay, Bill.” Mike said. He and Stan were taking up the entirety of the couch; Mike was simply sitting on it, but Stan had his head resting against his boyfriend with his body draped across the rest of the cushions. Stan looked so content and comfortable, holding Mike’s hand with one of his own and tracing patterns on it with the free fingers of the other, that Richie couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed at them.

“What?” Bill asked back. He was on the floor, sitting between Richie and Ben. The side of his sock-clad foot kept knocking against Richie’s own, and it was all Richie had not to smile like an idiot every time they touched.

“Your breakup. Seriously; how are you holding up?”

“You don’t have to answer.” Beverly was sitting in her uncle’s favorite chair, Eddie on one of the overstuffed arm rests with his legs draped across her lap. “If you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I…” Bill sounded hesitant, trailing off, and Richie couldn’t help himself. He caused a distraction, lifting his leg and replacing it down so that it was over Bill’s own, his foot on the ground between both of Bill’s. Bill looked at him questioningly, but Richie didn’t really have a plan, so he just poked Bill in the face again.

There was a bit of a scuffle after that. Bill got Richie in a headlock, Richie slumping against him in a dramatic display of choking that had his friends laughing. To his surprise though, Bill let Richie slide down his chest after releasing him, until Richie’s head was in his lap. Then he threaded his fingers through Richie’s hair like it was automatic.

“I’m o-okay, I think.” The words were completely unprompted, but they all knew that they were an answer to Mike’s question. Bill drew in a breath, slightly stuttering, and Richie didn’t dare look at him. “Better now that we’re spending some time out of town. I’m kinda worried about what she might say about me, but I think that’s a sign that our relationship should have e-ended way before it did.”

“Why did you date her in the first place?” Eddie asked. The question could have been condescending, and his tone made it almost seem that way, but they all knew Eddie, and Eddie’s pattern of speaking, and could tell that it came from a place of genuine confusion and care.

“Well, I did like her. And she was pretty.” Richie didn’t really want to hear this, but Bill’s hand was keeping his head in place, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they traced patterns across his scalp. “But… I think I was dating someone just to date someone, you know? Like I needed to be in a relationship. And then we just… Stayed together.”

“Needed to be in a relationship?” Stan asked. Bill’s fingers stopped moving. “Why?”

A long silence. Then Bill shrugged.

“I just did.”

Nobody pressed him, Mike instead launching into a funny story about something Stan did, much to the protest of his boyfriend. When the tale was half told and Bill’s fingers still hadn’t moved from their place next to Richie’s ear, Richie nudged at Bill’s thigh with his cheek.

Bill leaned close, his voice quiet. “What?”

“Feels good.” Richie murmured back, and Bill laughed a little, nothing more than an amused exhale, and went back to playing with his hair. Richie was asleep before Mike’s story was over.

The next day, they went to see Beverly’s new bedroom and meet her aunt. She was a kind enough woman, but as Beverly said, was overbearing and seemed rather stressed, like she was tightrope walking across her last nerve, her shoulders taught in an attempt not to fall. Part of that stress, Richie had to assume, came from the invasion of six teenage boys that she did not know into her home, but he felt the majority of it had to come from the scuffling tangle of limbs on the floor--with yells, and what looked like wild attempts to lick each other, because wrestling was fun and spit was gross--that were Beverly’s two young nephews.

The two boys, eight and ten years old, were loud and messy like all little kids are, but were behaved enough and nice enough to still introduce themselves with proper handshakes and do as they were asked. Beverly clearly had a fun relationship with them, taking one in the crook of each elbow and blowing raspberries on the tops of their heads while they shrieked and laughed and struggled to escape. But they more or less kept to themselves and stayed out of the way, returning for dinner hours later with dirt on their faces and knees but washed hands.

They were rowdy, but Richie didn’t realize that they were exactly his brand of rowdy until, seated next to the eight-year old at dinner, he noticed the boy trying to catapult food at his brother with his spoon and failing miserably, pea after pea rolling into his lap instead. What, was he not supposed to give the kid a couple of pointers?

Soon, they were all stealth snipers with their vegetables, trying to hit those across the table. At one point, all three of them hit Ben in the chest at the same time, with Beverly going on the defensive and managing to lob a whole piece of broccoli back at Richie. Eddie was an excellent shot, and Richie raised his spoon a little higher than necessary in an attempt to hit Stan in the face when a shout rang out.

“No throwing food!”

Beverly’s aunt had finally noticed them. Mike had been distracting her with a story--Mike was excellent at making other people’s parents love him--but that distraction couldn’t last forever. Everyone else quickly pretended to eat, but Richie was too far to back out and let the peas on his spoon fly. One of them hit Stan square in the forehead. Richie got chewed out rather thoroughly for being a bad influence on her boys, but the mischievous admiration now in the kids’ eyes when they looked at him felt more than worth it.

The meal was almost over when something hit Richie in the chest. He looked down quickly, seeing a pea roll across his lap and onto the floor. He looked to Beverly first, but she was telling some story about school, then to Stan--revenge, perhaps?--to see that all the peas on Stan’s plate were gone.

Bill was grinning at him, quickly putting his spoon back on the tabletop, as not to be caught. Richie gaped at him slightly, his cheeks going a hot red as Bill winked at him before returning to his food. Richie had half a mind to pick the pea back up and keep it forever.

The group decided that they would actually do something the next day, attempting to employ the ‘early to bed, early to rise’ method. ‘Early to bed’ was considered sometime before midnight, so when Richie launched himself onto the mattress in Beverly’s uncle’s spare bedroom at 11:58, he felt rather accomplished. Then Bill entered the room, looking achingly comfortable in sweatpants and a soft tank-top, and a streak of panic cut through Richie’s chest. Oh right. They were sharing a room. They were sharing a bed.

It wasn’t even a question. They’d been sleeping over in each other’s beds since elementary school--it would have been catastrophically strange for Richie to dive onto the floor like he so desperately wanted to do and insist that he would sleep there. So he simply had to sit, attempt to swallow his tongue, and act like everything was fine as Bill slid under the covers next to him.

It was a large mattress, so while they weren’t actually touching, it was a near thing. It would have been incredibly easy for Richie to just move his hand even a couple of inches and touch some part of Bill; he could feel the heat of Bill’s body across the sheets. Or, it would be easy to do in the physical sense, at least--he wasn’t sure he could handle something like that without combusting, at least on an emotional level.

Bill was still and quiet. So still and so quiet, in fact, that Richie would have thought him asleep aside for his breathing. It wasn’t the simple, deep and rhythmic breathing of someone off in dreamland. Or so Richie thought. Thirty minutes into Richie’s ongoing attempt not to have a heart attack, Bill made a slight and soft sort of moaning sound, shifting with his eyes closed and rolling, one arm snaking its way across Richie’s chest, shuffling over to him.

Bill was now very, very close, legs side by side and touching all the way up to the hip. The extension of Bill’s arm across his chest had Bill’s upper body so close that his forehead was pressed into Richie’s shoulder. Richie had never known Bill to be particularly clingy in sleep, not in the way Stan and Eddie were, but there wasn’t much Richie felt he could do about it now. He just relaxed into the embrace, into the extra warmth and the softness of Bill’s hair against his cheek. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if that gift was a cuddly Bill Denbrough.

The bed was empty when Richie woke up. He was almost grateful for that, letting his body relax a little as he rolled onto his back. He’d been both dreading and anticipating sharing a bed with Bill, simultaneously worried for it and wanting it more than just about anything. Realistically, he’d expected nothing to happen. And, almost nothing had. Almost. Richie suddenly missed Bill, sitting up, when as if on cue, Bill walked into the room.

Richie fell back down, averting his eyes to the ceiling. Bill was next to naked with a towel around his waist, his hair still wet enough to drip a couple stray droplets of water onto his shoulders and down his chest.

“Everyone else is awake.” Bill told him, Richie using acknowledgement as an excuse to look over, trying not to be too obvious with the up-and-down that he couldn’t help but do. If Bill noticed he said nothing, walking over to his suitcase. “If you want to shower, go ahead and do it now. Eddie and Mike are making breakfast.”

“Okay.” Richie managed out, the word a momentous feat considering just how hard he was biting his tongue. He scrambled out of the room just in time to hear the towel hit the bedroom floor.

He ran into Ben on his way down the hall, quite literally, his friend making a small sound as the collision caused him to lose his balance. Ben pinwheeled his arms, leaning against the hallway wall, and Richie decided to flop onto his shoulder.

“You feeling alright?” Ben asked, nothing but concerned, and Richie let out an anguished groan.

“I’m dying, Benny Boy.” It was only a little bit of an exaggeration.

“You are?” Miraculously, Ben still sounded worried.

“What else am I supposed to be doing when I can’t lick the person that I really, really want to?”

Ben made a startled noise in response, a dry voice behind them.

“You shut up about it and jack off in the shower like an adult.” It was Stan, Richie turning on his heel to reach out and grip Stan by the shoulders.

“He was in a towel, Stan. Just. A towel.”

A smirk twisted Stan’s expression. “I know. He asked me to get him some clothes from your room, but I said he should just walk on in. Told him that you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are…” Ben’s eyes had gone wide, and Richie remembered something. The only people that don’t know might just be Ben. “Are you guys talking about Bill?” Those wide eyes fixed on Richie. “You want to lick Bill?”

Richie tried to think of something funny to say. He really did. But Stan was already cackling, so he just turned away and got in the shower. And what he thought about while he was in there was completely his business.

They had a proper day out on the town, Beverly showing them all of her favorite places in her area of Portland. It was fun, chattering and joking as they went, listening to Beverly tell stories about each of the locations as they walked. They ate out for lunch, got more ice cream at a different little shop, and terrorized the aisles of the local grocery store for dinner food. The seven of them had fun wherever they went, but there was something so lovely about being able to do the simple things together, things like walking around the neighborhood or shopping for groceries. By the time they’d all settled around the kitchen table at the end of the day, with their homemade meal on the table in front of them, Richie felt his heart so full of love for his friends that it might burst. He was just so… So content, with the six of them.

The mood seemed to be contagious, all of them squishing onto the couch together after dinner, and when Richie decided to go to bed Bill left with him, walking so close that their shoulders kept brushing together. Richie was careful to lay in the same place as he had the night before, infinitely surprised when Bill laid down closer to him, close enough to be touching him.

“I…” Bill’s voice was soft in the dark room, and at the sound of it, Richie could suddenly feel his heartbeat in his mouth. “I f-felt like a bit of a mess, when Erika broke up with me. Thanks for everything.”

“Thanks?” Richie turned. Bill’s face was close, that much Richie could see. His features weren’t very distinct through the darkness, but Richie knew them all by heart anyway. “I haven’t done anything, man.”

“Then thanks for, f-for…” Bill… He sounded nervous, nerves the only time his now-defeated stutter tripped up his tongue. “Thanks for being you then, I guess.”

Silence. And Richie… Richie had to act, unable to help himself.

“Hey, Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna hug you now, dude.”

Bill laughed a little, Richie reaching out and finding him under the sheets. Bill shifted forward accommodatingly, lifting his head to let Richie slide an arm under him. They were like that for a while, and while that slight and anxious thrum was still stirring in Richie’s chest at the opportunity to touch Bill, it wasn’t nearly enough to disrupt that feeling of contentment that had all but sunken into his bones throughout the day.

Then Bill leaned in close, closer, closer… And blew a raspberry against Richie’s bare collarbone. Richie squawked in alarm, Bill’s laughter ringing out, and then Richie had to retaliate, wetting his pinky finger with his tongue and trying to stick it into Bill’s ear. There was a grapple on the bed as Bill tried to keep his hand at bay, the sheets getting hopelessly twisted as they wrestled, Bill laughing the entire time. He had an iron grip on Richie’s wrist though, so eventually Richie had to concede defeat, breathing hard as he flopped back against his--now horribly crooked--pillow.

They were even more tangled up in each other than before, their legs a mess, Richie’s arm now resting across Bill’s chest, Bill more-or-less curled under his arm, the fingers of one hand still around Richie’s wrist, their grip slack.

“Richie?”

“Yeah?” Too quickly to realize it as it happened, Richie now noticed that Bill’s entire body was tense. He was fully expecting Bill to tell him to move, to get off of him, to move to the opposite side of the bed, for him to sleep on the floor, on the couch in the living room, outside of the house on the porch--

“I love you.”

Richie was glad that the answer was automatic, because he felt his heart wasn’t moving in his chest anymore.

“I love you too, man.”

“Yeah?”

“‘Course I do, Big Bill.”

Bill made a small noise, somewhere between an exhale and a laugh, relaxing completely under Richie’s arm. He was asleep in a matter of minutes.

The group had saved up a decent amount of money, wanting to be ready for any and all shenanigans they could get up to in Portland. Maybe they’d gotten old and boring over their high school career, because they found themselves on the last day of their stay with a rather large amount of spending money left, and nothing much else that they wanted to spend it on. Then Eddie brought up the rule that Beverly’s uncle had set about having to replace any of the liquor they drank in cash, and they collectively decided to spend their final night with Beverly getting completely smashed.

Due to a lack of fake IDs, cool parents, or a collective ability to lie, Richie had only been drunk a handful of times, and only at some random kid from school’s party that ended up having an open invite. They all drank pretty slowly--probably because all Beverly’s uncle had was actual, hard liquor, nothing fun and fruity--but they were all awful lightweights, and it didn’t take too long to get the party going.

Eddie got drunk first, partially because of his size and partially because he decided to slam a couple of shots of rum from glasses way too big to be shot glasses. He cranked up the music and started dancing, Beverly quickly getting up to join him. Ben got up next, and when Ben started dancing, they all started dancing.

They danced, ate, talked about nothing, and played ten hopelessly fast games of Jenga, only stopping because they couldn’t quite figure out how to put the tower back together for the eleventh time and just decided to leave the blocks on the floor. Eddie and Bill got into a pillow fight on the couch, Mike next to them, half dozing off and half hitting them both in the face when the opportunity arose. Ben found himself with a lapful of Stan, who was now so drunk that he’d gotten to the stage where he began a very emotional monologue to each of his friends about how much he loved them. It was something that he only half believed that he actually did, and would vehemently deny in the morning.

Richie himself had been rather slow to drink, but was also the only one still drinking, everyone else either sufficiently drunk or done for the night anyway. Beverly and Bill seemed the most put together, Beverly with a large glass of water in her hand, Bill saving Eddie from falling face-first off the couch.

The party was declared over when Stan, after falling into Beverly’s lap and calling her pretty, was called pretty in return and began to cry. She kissed him on the forehead and dumped him on Mike, the two of them tottering to bed, Stan babbling about how big and strong and handsome and lovely Mike was as they went.

“Bill!” Richie exclaimed, dragging himself over to Bill, sitting in the spot that Mike had left and getting very, very close. God, Richie loved the freckles that had littered themselves across the bridge of Bill’s nose. “Do you think I’m big and strong and handsome and lovely?”

Bill laughed a little. “I think you need to go to bed.”

Richie made a bit of a noncommittal noise at that. He was tired; he could feel his eyelids drooping.

“Am I pretty?”

“Pretty fucking annoying, yeah.” Bill got to his feet. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll help you.”

“I’m not that drunk.” Richie protested. Then he actually got to his feet, swayed so heavily that he had to grab onto Eddie’s head for balance--Eddie didn’t seem to notice--and yeah, maybe he was that drunk. “Okay.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Bill’s shoulders as they went, Bill holding onto his waist.

“I’m not that drunk.” Richie protested again. “My feet are just like… Fucking huge? I have clown feet? Shit, be careful. I might trip you on accident. Be careful.”

“I will.” Bill’s voice was amused. “I’ll be careful.”

“You can’t get hurt.” Richie continued. This was important; Bill needed to know this. “Not like… Ever, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. You can’t get hurt. I love you too much.”

“That’s nice.”

“Bill.” They were in the bedroom now, in front of the bed, but Richie didn’t want to let Bill go, wrapping his other arm around Bill’s neck as well. Bill had planted his legs in an attempt to half hold up Richie’s weight, his feet on both sides of Richie’s own. Bill was so handsome up close.

“Thanks.” Bill was avoiding Richie’s eyes now, the nonsensical statement making Richie realize something. Was he thinking out loud? That was really dangerous. “C’mon, you need to lie down.”

But Richie didn’t want to let go of him, Bill leaning over the bed in an attempt to drop his body on the mattress. But maybe Richie was too heavy, or too long, or his big clown feet got in the way, and then Bill was on top of him.

Oh. Oh. This was nice. Richie liked this very much. Bill was warm, and heavy enough for Richie to feel comfortably pinned in place—not that he wanted to move. At all. Possibly ever.

Richie slid one hand up, running it through the hair at the base of Bill’s neck. He couldn’t be entirely sure if the shiver he felt through Bill’s body was real, or just something he wanted to be real.

“Richie.” Bill said softly. Bill’s voice could be so, so incredibly soft. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah.” Richie murmured back. All he wanted to do was pull Bill just that little bit closer and kiss him. But god, he was so drunk.

The rest of the night went unremembered.

The first thing Richie was aware of the next morning was a horrible, cottony taste in his mouth. The second was the soft angles of Bill’s still-sleeping body next to him on the bed. The third was that if he didn’t get out of this bedroom and to a toilet in the next thirty seconds, he was going to get hangover barf all over himself.

He managed to make it to a bathroom, re-emerging to the kitchen to find that Beverly, bless her heart and soul, had called her uncle to bring them all burgers for breakfast, the man watching in amusement as he handed out ibuprofen.

“I’d think you all owed me an entire liquor cabinet, with the way you all are groaning!” He exclaimed, met with a chorus of complaints at the loud noise. Something bumped into Richie’s shoulder rather hard, Richie turning to see what it was, wondering if it was intentional.

It was Bill, and it wasn’t intentional. Bill had finally surfaced from their room, looking rather put together, his suitcase by his feet. He had put his hands over his ears at Beverly’s uncle, and had hit Richie with his stray elbow. Richie grinned at him, a greeting on his lips, but when their eyes met Bill just backed up and turned completely away from him. The movement seemed anxious and clearly avoidant, and Richie felt the smile slip off his lips.

They packed up the car with a lot of help from Beverly’s uncle, who accepted their gratitude for the week readily, saying he was glad that they had a good time. Then they had to say goodbye to Beverly, getting tight hugs and cheek kisses and promising that they would see each other again soon, that they were only a couple hours away if she needed them, and to call for any and every reason. She said the same things back, though they all knew that the offers went both ways.

Ben, the strongest of them when it came to recovering quickly, took up the driver’s seat. His sense of direction was startlingly atrocious though, so Eddie was placed in the passenger seat to help him. Fiercely hungover Stan and equally hungover Mike collapsed together in the backseat, leaving Bill and Richie again in the middle. They weren’t squeezed in next to each other this time, and as a result the middle seat was between them, somehow feeling more like a concrete wall than empty air. Bill hadn’t spoken a word in Richie’s direction, or even looked at him, and Richie couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

Eddie pulled one of Mike’s caps down over his eyes, Ben started up the van, and with waves and blown kisses from Beverly, they were off. Richie wasn’t completely sure how Eddie was going to help navigate without being able to see, but he supposed it would be better than nothing. They would get home eventually. Or wouldn’t, and they would be driven into the Atlantic Ocean. Which was fine by Richie too, if Bill decided he wasn’t ever going to speak to him again.

Richie tried to think back to the night before, to figure out what it was that he’d done, but all of the memories he had of the evening were hazy with hard liquor. They’d had fun; he remembered that. Nothing had seemed bad, or mortifying. Had he said something that he shouldn’t have? Done something he shouldn’t have? He didn’t think he had, but fucking something up was very much his speed. It wasn’t entirely out of character.

After the longest, quietest, most torturous forty-five minutes of Richie’s life, Stan shot upright from the back.

“We gotta stop.” He said. “I’m gonna throw up in Richie’s suitcase if we don’t.”

“Hey!” Richie shouted back at him. Stan looked really and truly green, so Eddie helped direct Ben to the nearest bathroom. They ended up parking at some sort of rest stop, a big area that was mostly a park with dog trails. Stan ran inside immediately, Mike following after him, and Richie grabbed Eddie and pulled him aside.

“Question for you, my love.”

Eddie didn’t even lift the hat. “What?”

“Did I… Did I do anything dumb last night?”

Eddie fell silent for a long moment. So long, actually, that Richie thought that maybe he was being ignored. Then he let out a long breath.

“Gonna be honest, Rich. I don’t remember. Probably?”

That was helpful. Richie tried Ben next.

“Not that I can think of. I remember thinking that you were actually acting a little tame. Just… Watching, sort of.”

“Watching?”

“Yeah. You did a lot of staring at Bill, but I don’t think he noticed.”

Richie glanced around for Bill now. He’d gone and sat down at one of the many picnic tables at the rest stop, his chin in one hand. Knowing that he wasn’t going to get much better of an answer from Mike or Stan, Richie decided to just bite the bullet, walking up to Bill.

“What the fuck?” He asked, sitting down across from Bill at the table. Or rather, he flung himself into the seat; if he was going to have a tantrum, he might as well commit to it. “You’re avoiding me.”

The last three words were what got Bill’s attention. His eyes snapped to Richie’s own, and it felt like releasing a breath that had been building up pressure in Richie’s lungs.

“Well?” Richie asked. “Why?”

Bill glanced away again. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really--”

“Did I do something?” Richie cut off his dismissal. “When I was drunk, or something?” He tried to play this off, fixing Bill with a pseudo-serious look and lowering his voice. “Did I pinch your butt?”

Thankfully, Bill laughed. “No.” He said. “You didn’t do anything to my butt.”

“That’s a relief. Butt scenarios were like, concerns one through twelve on my list.” Now that Bill had loosened up slightly, Richie tried again. “What happened, then?”

Bill let out a breath. He looked down at the table, but this time he began to speak.

“I helped you back to our room last night, and you were really drunk, so you were kinda… Hanging on me, a lot. And when I was trying to put you on our-- t-the bed--” The slip-up stutter had Bill’s cheeks flushing-- “I kinda fell on top of you. And then you put your hands in my hair, and… And said you didn’t want me to get off of you.”

Bill’s face was incredibly red, and Richie could feel that his cheeks were burning too. Still, with Bill's reaction he'd been expecting worse, and he told Bill so.

“It’s not like I haven’t dragged you around before.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant, as though wrestling and hopelessly enamored and drunken clinging were roughly the same thing. He tried to pull another joke. “What, did I have a boner or something?”

“Yeah, a little.” Bill admitted, and while Richie was reeling from that, he continued. “I mean, I did too, a little bit.”

Oh. Well.

“I… Sorry.” Richie finally decided to say.

“It’s fine.”

“Well, it seems like it wasn’t fine, Billy Goat.”

“No, the...T-the problem was that I didn’t mind.”

“You…” Richie felt as though he’d been hit upside the head. “You gotta help me out here, dude. What the hell are you trying to say?”

“You know how Erika never liked you?” Bill asked, and Richie figured he should probably just give up on trying to predict where this conversation was going or he would actually give himself whiplash. “I never told you why.”

“You said she thought I was annoying.”

“Okay yeah, that was part of it. But I was dating her because I was trying to get over someone else, a guy I liked, and I think that seeing us together was what helped her figure out that I wasn’t entirely straight.”

Richie couldn’t help but snort out a laugh.

“She didn’t like me because what, she thought hanging out with me turned you gay?”

“She didn’t like you because you were the guy I was trying to get over, and she realized that the entire time we were dating, I never did.”

Richie couldn’t do more than sit there, dumbfounded, the sentence replaying itself relentlessly in his head. It was Bill breaking eye contact and glancing away that snapped Richie out of it.

“I, but… Never—you never said—”

“I never came out to you because I was worried that you’d see it.” Bill’s eyes were on his hands, on the rough wooden tabletop. “That you would notice how I felt.”

The guy I was trying to get over.

I never did.

“Hey, Bill?” Richie tried incredibly hard for casual. His tone missed by a mile. “Do you still like me?”

Bill looked up again. “Yeah.”

“Thank fucking god.” Richie said, then he surged forward and caught Bill’s face in a kiss.

It was clumsy, leaning all the way across the table, and yeah, ouch, Richie definitely had a splinter in one of his palms, but it was more than worth it to be kissing Bill Denbrough.

Bill pulled back, but not to speak or stop him; Bill tugged him forward until Richie was sitting up on the table then stood up too, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck and pulling him in. He kissed Richie firmly, soundly, like he’d never done anything more important in his life, and it was all Richie had just to wrap his arms around Bill’s waist and revel in it.

After what felt like a concerningly long amount of time for Stan, but entirety not long enough for Richie, Stan and Mike resurfaced from the rest stop, and it was time to all pile back into the car. But, like when he first realized his crush, Richie felt again that he couldn’t stop touching Bill, didn’t want to, and now Bill completely indulged him.

“Richie and I are sitting in the back.” Bill said to Mike and Stan. “You guys stretch out in the middle seat, okay?”

“Oh god, don’t do anything gross back there.” Eddie whined, pulling his hat back down. “I’m not going to look, but remember that we can hear you.”

“How do you know that we’re going to be gross?” Richie asked innocently, Eddie just offering back a death glare. Though truly, Richie knew Eddie was right, what with the way Bill was already tugging at him, his lips already touching Richie’s neck.

“I like you.” Bill told him, blunt, honest, his voice completely free of nerves, and it made Richie so happy to hear.

“Yeah?”

“And you like me?”

“God, so much, dude.”

“Good. Took you fucking long enough.”

“Hey!” Richie protested, Bill beginning to laugh at him, and the delight on his face was an expression, a look, a feeling that Richie could already tell he would be trying to make Bill feel for the rest of his life. It wasn’t a task he minded; it was all he wanted to do, something he felt he'd been doing since he and Bill first met. He pressed a messy kiss to Bill’s cheek, getting a squirm and protesting laugh in response. So he did it to Bill’s other cheek, then his forehead, then his nose. He kept going, kissing Bill everywhere except his lips, until Bill was grappling with him in the seat, half trying to kiss him back and half trying to get away.

“Fuck off, Rich.” He finally said through laughs, and Richie leaned away.

“Oh? Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Bite me, Denbrough.”

So Bill did, leaning close and nipping at Richie’s bottom lip, and oh. That was new. That was good. There wasn’t much talking after that for the whole drive home.

#bichie #bichie fic #bill denbrough #richie tozier #it 2017 #this fic was fun to write #fun fact it's the first fic i've finished in over 5 months #so that was good #myfic #owa

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creative-frequency · 5 years

Text

Cayde-6 x Reader: The Trigger Ch. 3

Word count: 1904 Pairing: Cayde-6 (Destiny) x Female Reader Contains: Rating eventually up to mature/explicit. Cayde being Cayde, hunting, trips into the EDZ, bickering

Previous Chapter | My Writing Masterlist

Confidence usually grew with experience and experience was more valuable than Glimmer outside the walls of the Last City. The inhabitants of the wilds only traded in lives.

The bow string tensed in a swift, fluid motion with no time for thoughts to surface. Sharp gaze found its target quickly and stayed on it. There was almost nothing that could stop the predator about to pounce on its prey. And success always felt good.

Success, when your life literally depended on it, felt even better. The sweet rush of adrenaline, all instincts strained to their maximum capability. The focus. Your quickened but steady heartbeats were the foundation of the effort. Your body was the actor.

For the time of an exhale, the forest around you was still and silent. Only the sharpest ears could’ve been able to hear the air splitting. The mild pumping of adrenaline pounded in your ears with each beat as you waited.

Cayde’s admiring inhale of surprise was the first sign that your arrow had hit its mark. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. The deer was taking its last breath as Cayde hurried to release it from its suffering.

“Nice shot!” he complimented and you saw how he eyed the bow in your hands with a glint in his optics. The background noise returned with a snap.

“Thanks,” you said quietly and looked over at the animal. It was a female of average size, probably a bit on the older side. Its movements had been slower than of the one from before. An easy kill, but it was probably for the best. Some other predator would’ve soon snuffed its life out.

As usual, you clicked on the communication device in your ear and waited for someone to answer. After the Guardian had made rounds around the EDZ, the connections had gotten a lot better. Begrudgingly you had to admit things would’ve been a lot worse without her. It was hard not to be thankful, especially since everyone around you, Suraya included, seemed to worship her.

“Come in,” a familiar voice from the survey unit replied. He wasn’t a Guardian, but he had worked at the Tower before the invasion attack. That didn’t make you like him more.

“Ready for transmatting,” you said as you eyed the deer. It was a good catch. You had been lucky.

“Copy that. Just a moment…”

You waited for a few seconds, trying to ignore the look on Cayde’s face. His gaze was glued to the bow in your hand and his head was tilted in a thoughtful gesture.

“Ready to receive whenever.” A hint of an amused chuckle got through the coms. “You were quick today.”

You didn’t reply but drew in a sigh.

Cayde’s Ghost circled around the animal and projected a transmat beam over it.

“Transmatting now,” Sundance said.

The comm device buzzed and clicked once in your ear before the clearance order got through. It was another thing that was hard to admit but having a Ghost along in the wilds did have its benefits. Unfortunately, it was always a package deal with a Guardian.

You let your posture relax and turned to Cayde.

He jumped to his feet from the ground and cheered. “We’re a good team! High-five! No? Okay. No high-five.”

You left him hanging and continued walking. A small pool of blood was all that was left of the deer and you felt relieved in a sense. It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t find anything else to hunt that day. Your daily quota had been hit for several upcoming days.

“Alright, that’s it then?” Cayde asked in a hopeful tone and swept dirt off his backside.

You bit your lip and let your eyes wander around the forest. The sun was still high, and the sky was clear. It would be a shame to waste such a clear day but staying in the wilds with Cayde wasn’t tempting either. Going back early for a proper rest wouldn’t be so bad once in a while. The Farm had nothing to worry about food-wise so there was no sense in trying to find more prey than what was currently needed.

“I guess,” you said when you couldn’t think of anything better to imply the hunt was concluded for the time being.

“Sooo, we go back now?” Cayde inquired.

You shrugged while walking. “You can stay here if you want.”

He hurried after you. “I know I said it already, but I’ll say it again: Great team. Us.”

“I don’t really do team,” you replied dubiously. It almost felt bad to shoot Cayde’s enthusiasm down like that, but you weren’t up for a bonding session with a Guardian.

“Okay, let’s just stay in the basics, then. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine. That sort of thing.” He wasn’t ready to give up and as annoying as it was, it was slightly moving.

“I won’t hesitate to leave you to the wolves.”

“Ouch!”

Almost a full minute of walking in silence ensued with Cayde grinning behind your back.

“Can I say something else?” he asked, definitely not about to wait for your permission, “It’s been kinda rough for these past few days, but you’re making it hella lot easier for a lot of people.”

You cast a sideways glance at his sincere tone.

“Right. Where’s this coming from?” you asked.

Cayde shook his head, amused. “Can’t take a compliment, can you?”

“Not really.”

“Anyways, this was great. I’m looking forward to the next trip already. Now how far is the Farm? I’m craving a sandwich…” Cayde babbled, his voice trailing off in your ears as you focused on finding the right path.

Having someone cheer for you had left an unknown sense of warmth. You didn’t know how to deal with something like that. You quickly settled into the familiarity of ignoring most of what Cayde was saying, but his presence no longer felt like having a pebble in your shoe. It was almost comforting to hear someone talking as you trekked through the woods. And he didn’t expect you to reply anything besides the occasional mumble.

It was weird. As if he was constantly trying to cheer you up.

After walking for over an uneventful hour, Cayde began to pester you about taking a break.

“Oh man, my legs are killing me!”

He slumped onto the trunk of a fallen tree. You gingerly followed him, leaving a wide gap between you two.

“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he continued, blue optics fixated into you.

The forest around you was still and silent. Apart from the occasional chirping and faint rustling, the gentle wind blowing between the trees was the only sound. The midday wasn’t popular time for animals to be moving around.

You stretched your legs, reaching your fingertips towards your toes. “You’re just out of shape, Mister Vanguard.”

“Oi! That’s unnecessary and rude. Aaand probably true,” Cayde admitted with a chuckle that you joined into without realizing it.

It was good to stop to just breathe the fresh air once in a while. It was rejuvenating. You reached your arms up towards the sky and breathed in deeply.

Cayde cleared his throat.

“There’s something I wanted to ask.”

You turned to look at the Exo, brows lightly scrunched in suspicion. “Then ask.”

“What if…” Cayde began in a sly tone and it already drew a slight sigh out of you.

“Yeees?”

“Let’s say I wanted to, uhh, pull my weight here. What should I do?” He stared at you, completely, uncharacteristically serious.

“Stay out of my way,” you wanted to say but bit your tongue. If the Guardian really wanted to make himself useful, you shouldn’t shoot him down. Or Suraya would shoot you down as soon as she would hear about it.

Cayde looked at you intently, waiting for a reply.

“You need a bow,” you finally said.

“YES!”

“Talk to Hawthorne about it. Tell her I said so.”

“I will. Thanks.” He pointed finger guns at you and you rolled your eyes, hard. “Y’know how I said I’ve missed going out? They can never make me go back in.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” you asked, though the answer obviously included the Vanguard Commander.

Cayde shrugged. “Zavala and Ikora, I guess? Okay it hasn’t been that bad, but still…” Cayde looked up to the sun peeking behind the treetops.

Your gaze lingered on the happy expression on his face. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey, are you hungry? I think I still have a snack bar in here somewhere…” Cayde shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out something wrapped in bright green. “Wanna share?”

You cast a dubious look at him. “Is that what you eat in the City these days? ‘Cause I’d rather starve.”

“What? Oh no, we do have real food. Like… ramen!” Cayde suddenly looked dreamily at the sky, the snack bar still hanging in his hand. “Man, I miss ramen.”

“So I’ve heard. Like a nine thousand times during these past few days,” you quipped.

Cayde turned to look at you and snapped the bar in half. He offered the food to you. “Well, if things turn out as well as they should, I’ll treat you a bowl when this is over.”

You were taken aback by his sudden offer and the wistful tone. Maybe he really did consider you a some sort of friend? You accepted the bar. It tasted like paper, so no surprise there.

“You think it’ll go down in your favor? Things are looking pretty bad for you guys…” you asked quietly as you munched the snack bar.

“Of course! You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Cayde said instantly, “Zavala is on it. Ikora too… And we have the Guardian. We could really have a shot at turning this around. Don’t you think?”

You cast your eyes to the forest floor and pursed your mouth into a thin line. You shouldn’t have asked. The snack bar was crumbling in your grip.

Cayde squinted at you. “What?”

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, realizing your reaction had been utterly suspicious. “Huh?”

“What’s with the long face?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t like Guardians but–”

“That’s not it!” you yelped. “I do want you to get the City back.”

“More room for you in the forest, eh?” Cayde tossed the leftovers of the bar into his mouth. He didn’t sound too convinced. “I don’t know who rubbed you in the wrong way, but not all Guardians are that bad. Look at me, for example! I’m great!” He pointed at himself with a thumb.

“’Not all Guardians…’” you muttered under your breath. Cayde was right, of course, but you really didn’t want to continue talking about it.

“I’m curious, y’know,” he said in a vain attempt at making you talk, but it only made anxiety rise bile into your throat.

“I bet you are.” You hopped off the log and shook your legs a bit. “Let’s go.”

“What? Already? It’s been like three minutes since we sat down!” Cayde whined but jumped down too. He didn’t really have a choice. Or he did, but that one was to anger Zavala by getting separated from you and getting lost in the wilds of the EDZ. And Cayde was rather fond of the last life the Light had left him.

“Okay, wait up! I’m coming!”

Next Chapter - Coming Soon!

Tagging: @bleucommelhiver @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros@sherniwrites @owlwrites @toastyfiction @sevansheart @xcayde6

#cayde-6 x reader #cayde-6 #destiny fanfiction #destiny #destiny 2 #fanfiction #my writings #the trigger

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messedupessy · 6 years

Photo

IT’S THEM FRECKLE BOYS (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

@ut-stuff because I had to draw the freckle squad when you sent this ask in and then I got fucking carried away, because I srs love my freckle squad so much and this was supposed to be something quick but then I ended up liking it so I went nuts with it and also had to answer it like this as if I put it in the actual ask then you wouldn’t be able to see all the details that I worked hella hard on making! also hope you don’t mind I totally made this shippy even though you can take it as not shippy if you wanna ye :D

And dang am I happy with how this turned out, all colours except the blushes, Stretch’s dark bags under his eyes, the background and the sweat on Scratch was all made in SAI and dang am I happy with it, especially the colours on Stretch’s hoodie and on Scratch’s gloves, also the spikes on the pauldron turned out hella good, only thing that I am not so happy with is that the arm Stretch is holding Scratch with looks a bit weird and don’t even ask about that hand on the same arm because I do not know what is going on there, also Stretch’s head the top of it looks a tiny bit weird and I think the arm that Scratch has against Stretch’s face is a bit short but meh, it all looks good tho and look Scratch’s outfit has gotten a upgrade, changed up his chestplate to a more like vest thing instead and changed the symbol he wears on it and on his belt, and also look closer on Scratch’s exposed bones because your eyes aien’t fooling you those are indeed freckles all over his body indeed because he be the ultimate freckle boy and I was inspired by how you drew him Nyxie back on that pic you made with you and the both of them <; I srs wasn’t supposed to work so hard on this but it was really nice to do anyway because good practice and it turned out so good and I am very happy with this even though there are still flaws here and there yes!

And because I frikking can so will I give ya some ship headcanons down below because whenever I draw a ship I haven’t drawn or thought of much on before I always end up thinking up stuff while drawing so here goes ye

You wouldn’t think they would even hang out, which is true they wouldn’t at first, but then Stretch just walks up to Scratch one day or something and is all like “aye freckle squad” with a pair of fucking finger guns because he’s a nerd, since they are the only skellies with freckles so should they totally hang out, they can be the freckle squad with Scratch flustered telling him to bugger off and leave him alone thinking Stretch is just there to make fun of him one way or another but Stretch doesn’t leave and neither is he there to make fun of him, because he genuinely wants to befriend Scratch as he seems like fun to hang out with, which Scratch doesn’t get as he have never truly had a proper friend before at all and believes everyone is out to bully and make fun of him one way or the other.

Cue Stretch visiting and hanging out with Scratch against his will, popping up here and there and Scratch telling him to leave but he doesn’t as Stretch can see pretty clearly that Scratch really wants and needs a friend and he’s up to be that friend if Scratch wants him, which he eventually tells Scratch when Scratch confronts him on why does he insists on hanging out with him, what is your motive what are you truly after, with Stretch telling him that there is no motive he just wants to be his friend and that if Scratch wants to Stretch can be his friend and if their friendship doesn’t work out then no hard feelings, sometimes friendships doesn’t work out etc, Scratch agrees to give it a shot after some thinking and they start to hang out properly and not just Stretch chasing after him anymore.

So they start to get to know each other properly, talking about their interests etc, Stretch making Scratch disgusted with his fashion choices etc. Scratch slowly but surely opening up about his issues and Stretch helping him by talking things out, Stretch can’t help but tease Scratch time to time because his reactions are way too cute and him flustering is way too adorable, that is when Stretch realizes he got a crush but decides not to act on it as he doesn’t want to fuck things up as he values their friendship more than his crush though it gets a bit hard for him to hold is affections back because Scratch is the cutest little shit ever, and one day he slips up somehow and he ends up admitting his feelings.

Stretch tells him that he’s ok with Scratch not feeling the same and that he will get over it eventually so let’s pretend this never happened and stuff, which Scratch agrees to but he ends up thinking about this and worrying about it and ends up asking Stretch sometime after if this so called crush was why Stretch wanted to be friends with him to start with, which Stretch says no it wasn’t let’s talk about something else or something, their hang outs gets a bit awkward thanks to this but they still hang out, Scratch ends up thinking even more about this and eventually comes to the conclusion that he might feel the sameish? like he doesn’t mind that much of Stretch’s teasing even though it always ends up with him flustered af, he hasn’t felt this close to someone else before and he trusts Stretch completely even though the whole crush thing made him unsure for a bit, as the thought of Stretch wanting to be friends with him just to get into his pants was something he was really scared off, Scratch also feels different when he’s with Stretch like if he had a stomach it would feel like he got them butterflies.

Scratch then goes into full tsundere mode as he does not know how to handle this at all which makes the hang outs even weirder and Stretch immediately knowing something is up, and after some time decides to confront Scratch about it, telling him that if the fact of him having this crush on him makes Scratch so uncomfortable then they can stop been friends or take a break from hanging out with one another he doesn’t mind he gets it, but Scratch literally schreeches out a no I want you around which makes Stretch pause for a bit, looking at Scratch until a wide grin blossoms on his face as he is after all way too good at reading people and he now knows that Scratch feels the same so he decides to tease the other just a tiny bit, making Scratch spill the beans with his teasing and causing Scratch to fluster af and they decide to give this relationship a try and then they hug and end up cuddling on a bed or couch or somewhere and it’s just really sweet and fluffy

As for their relationship as an actual couple, not much changes except they are much more touchy affectionate, like Stretch will keep on picking Scratch up without thinking because he is too cute not to be picked up much to Scratch’s protests but he eventually ends up accepting and kinda like it and Stretch teases Scratch even more, Scratch still hates Stretch’s fashion choices and Stretch can’t stop cooing over how cute Scratch is which sets Scratch the fuck off, like imagine the what are you an idiot sandwhich thing but with Stretch grabbing Scratch’s face and asking what are you with Scratch just going ??? and Stretch saying you are the absolute most cutest person I have ever meet how can you be this fucking cute with Scratch pretty much malfunctioning as he then is kissed because he deserves all the kisses.

And that is all, I just realized that this isn’t really headcanons but more like a fucking story, like this is how I write pretty much anything that I write so I shouldn’t really be surprised pfft, anyway hope ya like because dang this turned out really damn cute?? xD

#honeyvenom #venomhoney #fontcest #MessedUpEssy #Essy Answers #Essy's Art #Essy's Undertale Art #Essy's Undertale Headcanons #freckle squad #that's their ship name when it's my boys now #because I say so pfft #dang this was so not what I was supposed to draw or work on #I finished the pic really late yesterday which is why I didn't post it back then #and also because I had to write down all of these ideas that suddenly hit me while writing this #like when I began writing this all I really had in mind was that Stretch keeps on teasing Scratch into extreme fluster constantly #and that Stretch finds Scratch to be such a god damn adorable and cute guy like fuck his non existent heart #I just see Stretch grabbing the front of his hoodie as if he's having a heart attack whenever Scratch is extremely cute #which is pretty much constantly #fuck they are so gay it hurts #and why is it so fun to ship Stretch and Scratch so much #like not only with each other but with others too #like they are very easy to ship with so many and making it work #fudge I love them so much my freckle squad boys #they need shirts with that on #Stretch is going to frikking get a pair for them and it will be cute af yes #why do I always get so carried away on things that are supposed to just be quick for pfft #Scratch covered in freckles gives me life

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