ME??? HUHHHHHH??? ...ME?? ME! wait.. ME??? No way.... THANK YOUU HEEHEHEHHEH YOU MADE MY DAY!!
@universalcozmo @samthelocalshadow @quirky-petal @gabeth3bear @lordst-ofeth-edge @morbidology @fern3031 @bonnie181987 @castiels-slinky + whoever wants to join and tag their moots to basically call them awesome
@gelarshiesprofruitboarder @invader-bucky @bonnie181987 @zelskingdom uhh i forgot who im moots with draws and who doesnt im sorry if i didnt tag you!!!!
dealing with my exams rn (ive already passed two!! and there are another two left) so I'm not here /// and there's so much CONTENT here omg I need to check all of this
I miss my beloved clerks so much 💔💔💔
I want to draw so badddd if you only knew 😭😭
once I'm done with my exams I'll draw dante's portrait omg can't wait
but for now eehhhh wish me good luck with my exams!!
it's so terrible that I think it was really, really hard for randall to accept becky in the sense that...
I think he's used to hating/disliking/not really caring about dante's girlfriends. like, I think he hated/disliked caitlin, and he probably felt a little sorry for veronica, but overall, I think he didn't really care about her. and emma, well, I think he didn't really care about her either. like...he never really took them seriously??? because dante was so unlucky with them, they either cheated on him or ended up leaving him, and randal didn't care because he knew that dante would always be his.
but I think it was really hard for him to accept becky because he couldn't despise or hate her because she treated dante badly or caused him suffering.
and he even says in a cut scene that becky is a "chick he actually begrudgingly respects".
I think it was so hard and painful that dante is no longer completely his and he's getting married, but randal just can't be angry with becky because he likes her. and she makes dante happy. and that's the most important thing.
okay, wow, I haven't written smth for months but this idea has been on my mind since April? no, mb even March...
anyway, this fic is inspired by the one of Ike's posts and the song "I wish you were a girl" by 12 rods so... enjoy!!
special thanks to @batteriesandflashlights @wats-am @latinumenthusiast @fuckin8alien @calamit-yy thank you guys for bringing joy and happiness to my life ❤ I was thinking about you while writing this :D
my dear slavic folks, если вы хотите прочитать в оригинале - дайте знать!! я вам скину <3
I wish you were a girl
Sometimes Dante likes to wonder: «What if Randal were a girl?»
She'd probably have overgrown, messy hair — neither long nor short, the kind you can't properly tuck behind your ears, and it's always getting in your eyes. She'd also wear a hat backwards, chew mint gum, and read comic books. Dante could discuss them with her. And watch Star Wars. And criticize the crap comedies they play on TV in the evenings... actually, a lot of other things too. All the girls Dante had dated didn't like comic books, or Star Wars, or especially evenings spent on a worn-out couch with a beer in hand and a terrible movie on in the background.
They didn't like the piles of clothes scattered around his room or the leaky faucet in the bathroom. They didn't like his perpetually messy hair or his passion for street hockey. Randal didn't give a shit. Quite the opposite, actually. If Dante dug through those piles, he'd probably find Randal's t-shirts or a pair of his worn-out jeans that he occasionally forgot after their sleepovers. Randal loves spraying him with water from that same leaky faucet in the mornings, when Dante — sleepy and disheveled — goes to wash his face. He loves making fun of his ridiculous hair and endlessly shares his passion for hockey.
'Cause if you were a girl
Nothing would seem to matter
'Cause if you were a girl
I wouldn't really care
Shit, Dante thinks. If Randal were a girl, he'd probably date him... No-no-no, her! Of course, her. If only Randal were a girl... everything would be so easy.
She'd come to Dante's work, and they'd cram into the tight space between the wall and the register — he'd hug her from behind and paint her nails black while she made snide comments about his shitty job. And she'd never object to «ideal dates» — takeout from the nearest greasy spoon and a cheap movie on in the background. They'd sit curled up together, kissing occasionally — her lips would probably taste like mint, her thin girl fingers would stroke his cheeks, and she'd sigh sweetly into every kiss whenever Dante gently tugged on her overgrown dark blond hair.
It would be so nice... Dating a girl who's also your best friend, who's always there, who laughs at the same jokes, who doesn't need to be taken to expensive restaurants where Dante always feels out of place.
But Randal wasn't a girl. Randal has big, not-at-all-girlish hands. The hairs on his arms catch the light, turning gold every time the sun streams through the Quick Stop windows, which lately has made Dante involuntarily stop his gaze on his forearms — strong, with knots of veins and a scattering of light, almost invisible freckles. He lets his gaze drift higher, up to his chin — Randal has light stubble he forgot to shave, and for some inexplicable reason, Dante suddenly feels awkward staring at him like that. He looks away sheepishly and goes back to counting change in the register. Randal wouldn't have noticed his stolen glance anyway — he spends all day flipping through his porn magazines, even not looking up at the customers coming in.
And I doubt it, Dante thinks, that Randal would «sigh sweetly into kisses» — he'd probably kiss messily and sloppily, and his moans would probably be hoarse, low... nothing like a girl's. Shit, what is he even thinking about! He doesn't even really know how Randal kisses... And he's not interested in that at all!!! Randal's not a girl anyway. He never was and never will be. So what the hell does it matter? Dante glances quickly at Randal next to him, then at the tight space behind the counter. The last time they were back there was with Veronica, and it was nice, quiet, and smelled like nail polish. Would Randal let him paint his nails? ... Shit, of course not, idiot!! Randal would have laughed his ass off, called him a fag, and reminded him of it for the rest of his life.
I wish you were a girl
But I'm not sorry that you're not
Shit, what's wrong with him? Why does he keep thinking lately about how nice it would be if Randal were a girl... And it's not that he's against Randal being a guy. No, not at all. He likes him the way he is. But Dante just can't get this ridiculous wish out of his head. Why, oh why couldn't Randal just have been a girl?
'Cause I feel green, if you know what I mean
Don't be so nice to me, 'cause I feel awkward
Dante gets distracted by customers and sinks deep enough into his thoughts to miss the moment when Randal, with his quiet rustle of pages and popping of mint bubbles, disappears from his field of vision and from Quick Stop altogether — apparently remembering that he occasionally needs to work, too. Good riddance, Dante thinks. At least for half an hour he'll stop being distracted by the way a light strand of hair escapes from under his hat and curls at the very tip, and the way the corners of his lips curl up when the hot Asian women on the glossy pages do incredible things right there in the shower stall. But the bliss doesn't last long — the bell on the door jingles, and Randal appears in the doorway again. He walks quickly but so naturally into the depths of the little store and takes his place next to Dante that Dante thinks his workdays wouldn't be the same without him.
Then a cup of coffee appears on the counter in front of Dante, and he hears Randal's voice, muffled by the magazine pages:
«Figured you needed this. You've looked like a sourpuss all day.»
Dante blinks a couple of times and stares at the cup, bewildered. He picks it up, takes a sip, and closes his eyes blissfully — it's a vanilla cappuccino with one packet of sugar, just the way he likes it. He takes another couple of sips, then quickly turns to Randal and blurts out an awkward «thanks» — Randal just snorts in response and turns the page. Dante lowers his eyes to his coffee and blushes — why does Randal have to be so damn nice? Bringing him his favorite coffee in the middle of the workday, helping him close up the shop, entertaining him with conversation so Dante doesn't lose his mind from the endless stream of annoying customers... And most importantly — why does Dante feel so awkward???
I wish you were a girl
I hate what I just said
Dante doesn't plan it at all. He's a little drunk and pretty upset — another date that ended with an awkward smile from a girl whose name Dante didn't even remember, and her hasty escape from the cafe under the pretext of urgent business, completely throws him off track, but for some reason doesn't surprise him. He's tried to find someone after breaking up with Veronica, but they either run away from Dante (like today) or he runs away from them. So he's hoping that a familiar evening in his crappy apartment, with beer and Randal, who's forced to listen to his drunken whining, will make him feel at least a little bit better.
«Guess she didn't like that I never went to college. Shit, why is everyone so obsessed with goddamn college? She said it was "irresponsible"! Do you think I'm irresponsible?» Dante waves his arm a little too emphatically, and a few drops of beer land on the couch. He doesn't give a shit.
«You're the most pathetic idiot working a shitty job who just whines about his worthless life that I've ever met,» — just as Dante is about to object to this unpleasant, but perhaps too accurate description of his life, Randal adds: — «But at least we're stuck here together, man.»
Dante sighs. Randal's right (as always): he works an unappreciated job and every damn day he thinks he isn't supposed to be here today. And what annoys him even more is that every girl from every date he's been on, he inevitably compares to Randal. This one didn't like comic books, that one was annoyed he'd dropped out of college, this one didn't like his ideas for dates... Randal in his head smirks and taunts Dante in his voice-that's-too-deep-for-a-girl: «I love comic books, Dante. I don't give a shit about college, and I'm just as much of a loser as you are. And I'll always be here — to listen to your whining and come over to your place whenever you want.» The real Randal just opens another can of beer and throws him a lazy glance.
«Watcha thinking about?»
«You know, I...» Dante leans back into the pillows and lets his thoughts flow. Probably a mistake: cheap beer from the nearest supermarket liquefies them, and they spiral around one thought that's been haunting Dante lately. So he's barely aware of it when, eyes closed, he groans in resignation: «Why can't they be like you? Why?...» and after a couple of moments adds: «If you were a girl, I'd date you...»
Silence falls. At first, Dante doesn't pay it any mind, but he quickly catches himself: he can't even hear Randal taking sips of his warm beer, but he can feel his heart starting to hammer mercilessly somewhere in his throat, echoing in his ears. He musters the courage to open his eyes and look at Randal: he's staring back with such a wild, desperate look that Dante's scared he's said something wrong. He's never seen that look on him before: it reminds him of a beaten dog. Dante thinks he might throw up.
Shit. Shit-shit-shit. He hates himself. Why did he say that? What does that look on Randal's face mean? He probably just thinks it's gross, Dante finally decides. Also, he should probably stop drinking. And saying the first thing that comes to mind. And just...
His cheeks are burning so much that Dante has to cover his face with his hands to hide his blazing blush. What the hell is wrong with him? He shouldn't be thinking about this. Randal... Randal is his best friend. And you don't think about your friends this often. Randal's a guy. And guys can't love other guys. Randal will never be a girl. And Dante wished so much that he was. Everything would be so simple. It would be so easy to lean over to her and ask her to the movies. Watch her smile in surprise, crack a joke about his terrible way of asking girls on dates — with a beer in his hand on a shitty couch, right after another love interest just ran away from him. But she'd say yes. Of course she would. Would Randal?
«Shit, forget it,» Dante crumples the beer can angrily and tosses it somewhere to the side. He gets up and goes into his room, unable to look at Randal with his strange stare. All night, he dreams of dogs with sad blue eyes.
If you were a girl
Come on over and see me
If you were a girl
They don't talk about it. Dante's too ashamed to look Randal in the eyes for the rest of the next day and, it seems, for the rest of the week. He doesn't even invite him over to watch movies anymore, afraid he'll just stare again at the hairs on Randal's arms catching the blue and red light from the TV, how the reflections from the old screen softly fall on his cheeks and straight nose, dance on his eyelashes... At first, Randal looks at him strangely and asks a couple of times if everything's okay — Dante asks him sarcastically since he got so caring and waves away his questions, secretly cursing himself for being so rude. After all, Randal hasn't done anything wrong, so why is he so angry? Well, obviously, he's not angry at Randal.
Deliberately growing distant from his best friend, Dante quickly realizes he's starting to miss him. Despite the fact that they still spend quite a bit of time together at work, on day offs he lies aimlessly on his bed and stares at the empty ceiling. Randal calls him a couple of times and suggests he come over: he went to Big Choice and rented «some fucking awesome porn, man, we gotta watch it together», but Dante brushes off his suggestions, making up stupid excuses that Randal probably doesn't believe.
He spends all day thinking about the image of the ideal girl, but the picture won't come together: one minute she has freckles on her forearms that are suddenly too strong for a girl, the next there's stubble appearing on her cheeks, the next her baggy jeans pockets are stuffed with tons of mint gum tablets, the next her jokes echo in Dante's head in a voice that's too familiar, too low and sarcastic for a girl... Dante buries his face in the pillow and screams silently, hoping the cool fabric can put out the fire roaring on his cheeks again. And in his heart.
Eventually, he has to admit it: he's lonely. His hand reaches for the phone on its own... Randal, on the other end of the line, a little surprised by his unexpected call and, probably, the loneliness in Dante's voice that he's desperately trying to hide, says that yes — he'll come.
Dante barely feels awkward when he lets Randal into the house — he's brought a whole armload of new comics, and they spend a good two hours discussing the plots and flipping through the glossy pages. Dante, it turns out, had missed this simple pastime so much: lounging on the couch, chatting about everything and anything with his best friend, occasionally touching shoulders or knees, and feeling the other shaking with happy laughter vibrations.
Finally, they end up practically lying down — each on their own end of the couch, but their legs somehow tangled together, and Dante feels a soothing warmth bloom in his chest — Randal's bony ankle pushing into his calf, and suddenly it's enough to make Dante completely relax and lose all his vigilance. They lie in lazy silence until it's broken by Randal's quiet voice:
«Dante?»
«Mmm?» Dante cracks open one eye and nudges Randal's thigh with his heel (their tickle-fights hold a special place in his heart). «If you're gonna make me go to the kitchen for beer — no way. Go yourself.»
«No, I just wanted to... ask you something,» — there's a strange seriousness and anxiety in Randal's voice, and the fact that he completely ignored Dante's heel and didn't shove him back puts Dante on edge, and a restless lump of fear settles in his chest, dripping in ugly black drops into his stomach and freezing there, chilling his insides and sending goosebumps along his spine.
Dante is silent just long enough for Randal to take it as a signal to continue: he sits up on the couch, pulls his knees to his chest, hugs them with his arms, and looks away — Dante feels uncomfortable and cold now that Randal's warm ankle isn't touching his leg anymore. He sits up too and looks at him expectantly, feeling the air between them thicken gradually until it's hard to breathe.
«Remember you said you'd date me if I was a girl?»
I'm laughing but it's not so funny
Randal glances at him, and Dante immediately looks away. The blush spreads across his cheeks and neck with renewed vigor, his lips stretching into a stupid, pitiful smile on their own, and he can't suppress a nervous giggle:
«You know I was drunk, Randal. I say all kinds of stupid shit, and that date was awful, so I just... Shit, can't we just forget about it? Better yet, tell me: do you think Archie can finally pull off that plan in the next issue?» — he desperately tries to change the subject, grasping at anything, but Randal won't let him.
«Dante.»
«What?! What, do you think I'm a freak, right? I know, you can laugh all you want, and anyway... I was drunk, got it? It doesn't... mean anything,» — Dante breaks off with another nervous laugh, even though he's not having any fun at all. His fingers dig into the fabric of his sweatpants so hard his knuckles go white. Why is he so scared? Now Randal will understand everything, of course he will, he's definitely seen all those stolen glances from under Dante's eyelashes, and... If Randal was a girl, he wouldn't get as angry as he might get now. He still isn't looking at him and wants only one thing — to sink into the ground and never exist again. Why, why did he call Randal today? Why did he have to bring this up? Why is Dante so desperately in love with his best friend? Why can't Randal just be a girl?
His thoughts spin inside his skull, tying themselves into sailor's knots, preventing him from perceiving reality properly. The reality in which Randal's quiet, uncertain voice crashes into his inflamed brain like a bucket of ice-cold water.
«Does it really matter that I'm not a girl?»
Dante lifts his burning face from his folded hands and stares into the space in front of him, unable to process what he's just heard. Randal — all sarcastic and snarky, never missing a chance to tease Dante — suddenly goes quiet and breathes shallowly. Who are you, and what have you done to Randal Graves? Dante stays silent.
«I saw you do that to your girlfriends all the time, so I figured... maybe, this would make it easier for you?.. If you really... Anyway, here.»
Dante finally looks up and glances toward Randal: resting on his open palm is a small bottle of black nail polish. Randal was offering to paint his nails. Randal. The one Dante was sure would just laugh and call him a goddamn fag. Randal, who said he'd noticed that Dante did that for all his girlfriends. Randal, whose cheekbones and ear tips are endearingly pink, who bashfully looks away.
Dante doesn't think too long. He grabs Randal's hand and pulls him toward him — the bottle falls onto the couch, but neither of them notices, because Dante is desperately pressing his lips into Randal's and hoping he understood everything correctly. Randal gasps shakily into the kiss and immediately kisses back — Dante feels his big, warm, slightly calloused palms cupping his cheeks, feels the soft hairs tickling his skin when Dante grabs onto his forearms to keep his balance. He reaches up and pulls the hat off Randal's head, finally cards his fingers through the light waves, and tugs gently on the curling strands at the nape of his neck — Randal moans quietly and lowly into his mouth at that simple gesture, and Dante is flooded with a hot wave of arousal along his entire spine.
Randal isn't like a girl at all — Dante realizes this especially when he suddenly shoves him into the pillows and climbs on top of him without breaking the kiss. He's heavy and warm, and Dante suddenly feels so good and so happy, especially when Randal, after leaving one last mint kiss in the corner of his mouth, trails down to his neck and starts showering his skin with chaotic, wet little touches. His hot breath ghosts over Dante's ear, and that's the last straw — Dante starts laughing, trying to squirm away from his ticklish kisses, but Randal's strong — stronger than any girl he'd ever dated — and Dante makes a mental note that this is something he's going to have to get used to.
So take me far away from here
Their little wrestling match on the couch ends with ragged breaths and thoroughly kissed lips — both of them have red cheeks, and they awkwardly avoid each other's glowing faces. Dante shoves Randal's shoulder lightly and mumbles «you're heavy», even though he doesn't want Randal to get up at all — he's like a heated weighted blanket, and Dante feels like he could lie like this for an eternity.
Randal laughs softly, embarrassed, and rolls off him, sitting down across from him. His hair's a mess and his blue eyes are shining, and Dante doesn't know if it's possible to be even more in love. He suddenly feels so awkward — he tugs at the collar of his old t-shirt for some reason, as if that'll hide all the mint marks on his skin, and clears his throat awkwardly, filling the silence with his raspy voice:
«So... what now?»
Randal stares at him silently for a few seconds, then his lips stretch into that familiar smirk that Dante has missed all these weeks, and he rummages across the couch, trying to find something in the little mess they've made. Then he shoves Dante's shoulder playfully, waves the nail polish bottle right under his nose, and snorts:
«Now you paint my nails, dumbass.»
Dante, unable to suppress a wide grin, nods and takes the bottle from his hands.
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