cw: possible mischaracterization, awkward, author didn't really know what to put despite having firsthand experience with this stuff irl, reader is kinda oblivious?, brusha is bad at life.
proofread: yes
style: headcanons
a/n: i fear you just described a textbook tsundere my friend (she would be one theres no denying it tbh). also, very sorry i couldn't respond to this directly! i accidentally hit post when i was trying to save it to my drafts and had to delete it 😞
Brusha
First of all, she's probably going to be unreasonably petty at the beginning.
She will be making smartass comments towards you for a while.
I'd imagine she genuinely thinks she just hates you at first because she's bad at identifying her feelings.
When she realizes what's actually going on she'll start avoiding you at all costs.
She does NOT want to deal with it, especially if you share any qualities with a certain someone.
Eventually you'll have to run into her again and awkward conversation ensues.
From your end she still seems prickly, although she isn't quite as rude as before.
Things will go on like this for months, she'll avoid you, run into you again, have an awkward interaction, repeat.
Every time it happens she gets a little bit less cautious about staying away from you.
It doesn't seem like much of a difference from your end.
After an incredibly painful buildup you'll be able to converse like two normal people.
She tries to find roundabout ways to ask about your interests or favorite things.
Don't call her out on it, you'll unpave half the road.
She genuinely gets kept up at night by the horrors of knowing she likes someone (me too girl).
You'll become sort-of-friends eventually.
Where everything goes from there is completely dependent on you, she isn't risking anything.
She still throws the occasional insult in your direction, but it's much less personal.
If you manage to get close to her she's only gonna let some walls down in private, but don't expect her to go all soft with you. yet.
a/n: i feel like this is kinda bad but i dont think im quite up there yet for writing awkward relationships. there's always room for improvement lol, maybe far into the future i'll look over my old posts and redo some of them. regardless, i hope its decent enough for your enjoyment.
Except you actually pull out a paint BOTTLE because throwing an entire open bucket is messy... AND a waste of paint!
Notes: gn any toon reader, poll at the end to determine the next ending, pre shut down, admin doesn't much care for brusha and tbh he uses that as a method to build the fic, you guys aren't friends but there's a mutual understanding of your crafts.. that's something right?, theres SOMETHING to build off of even if you two arent the bestest of friends
Word Count: 2.5k
CWs: none
You reach your hand into the bag…
And your fingers wrap around something cool— something cylindrical. Heavy… but not crushing. Compared to the rest of the items pressing against the length of your wrist, it felt smooth. A light squeeze revealed it had some give. So with everyone's eyes on you, your hand slowly retracted from the neck of the open sack.
It was a purple bottle of paint. Not even open, and the specific shade not all that important to you as the semi opaque plastic revealed the paint loosely sloshing inside it as you held it right side up within your palm. Color aside, it didn't take a genius to figure out who the item belonged to. Why Brusha would bring an entire— seemingly unopened— bottle of paint to a party was beyond you. In all honesty it felt a little pretentious, the way she looked over the top of her canvas at anyone who dared try to spark conversation with her; regardless of the status of her paint brush. Sometimes the space where her nose would have been had she been human would scrunch even when her canvas was tucked neatly away in her bedroom. You never liked the look she gave you on the rare occasion you needed to talk to her— you never really went out of your way to converse with the toon if you could help it.
If you were being completely honest, you weren't all that fond of the brush. Not after her debut in the show, at least.
"Look at it this way, Dewdrop—! The two of you might be able to work through your differences," Dandy started as his soft hand lightly pat your shoulder, much like a father trying to encourage his kid to go on and introduce themselves to their favorite toon. The flower must have caught the soured look on your face. You squeeze the cool bottle of paint between your fingers, and tried to will away the wrinkles in your face as you watched Teagan quietly whisper to Brusha; who of course couldn't be bothered to really care about the game she entered. All you got was the plastic warming against your palm, forced to watch with slightly gritted teeth as Brusha scoffed— as if her own decision to join the game was an inconvenience as she pushed her small sketchbook aside. If she had wanted someone in specific, then she should have just went to them herself. It was no secret she'd been eyeing Tisha since their falling out— something that you weren't willing to touch with a ten foot pole even if you were privy to the information.
"Brusha!" Dandy started as the paint brush toon pushed closer. The entire tredge to where you and the flower stood was quiet enough to catch someone coughing awkwardly within the crowd of staring toons— who exactly you didn't really bother to try to pin. "Lucky you, getting to spend a few minutes with Dewdrop! You know, they're an artist too!" Dandy's hands curled around your shoulders as Brusha's bored eyes slowly rolled across your form. Never in your life had you ever wanted someone to shut up more than you did now. You caught it, the near uncatchable twitch in the middle of her face between her eyes; like she could tear apart whatever talent you had to offer right there on the spot before you ever got the chance to prove yourself. Not that you felt the need to.
Not to her. Never to her.
"I heard from Sprout and Ginger that Dewdrop here has been getting reeeeeeaaaaal good at decorating cookies!" Dandy continued, oblivious to the tensing muscles laced under his hands. Or maybe he did notice, and simply chose not to say a word about it.
Something to relate to. An artist, just like her.
Though you weren't entirely sure if she would find anything respectable in icing.
Not that you had anything to prove.
As you passed the bottle of paint back to its rightful owner, Brusha only kissed her teeth. The sort of "tch" sound that made the back of your teeth grind together in a tight circle. The same kind of sound that you'd hear from the teenage boys that were dragged along to visit the center with their families— the kind that always had the same sort of attitude, even if it were a different breed than the toon's.
"Right." Short. Dismissive.
Your molars ground as Dandy offered one last pat along the back of your shoulder. "Right! Well, I won't keep you two from bonding! Maybe you guys can get together in the kitchen some time— draw up some designs for cookies? Oh! Or maybe those decorated cakes— the real detailed ones!" the flower flashed his bright white teeth at you, as pristine as Brusha's sweater sleeves as they crossed over her chest.
Had you possessed less self control you would have shot down the idea right there on the spot. Instead, you just grit your teeth in a taught smile to return Dandy's energy- or at least try to— "We could, if she doesn't mind wearing a proper apron."
You saw the tick in the corner of her mouth.
But you didn't say a word about it— and you still didn't say a word as you both walked down the rainbow carpet lining the hall. To be fair, Brusha didn't really say a word either as you both turned right to step into the overly decorated holiday gift shop. Fake snow clung to the loose fibers of her sweater, and the light reflecting off of the scattered piles of white just about strained your eyes as you took a seat at the small plastic table set off to the side. Standing felt too awkward.
Christmas music hardly offered any relief as Brusha remained by the doorway, shoulder barely propping against the frame. A part of you wished the other toon felt as annoyed and awkward as you, even if meant worse tension later down the line. You'd be able to handle it, just not in the same conversation-less room for more than a handful of minutes.
But like a cruel twist of fate, Brusha actually felt talkative for once.
"I saw your icing." Her voice was slow, almost droning as her index finger slipped between the folds of her sweater that bunched around her elbow— arms still crossed like she was cold under the wool. "Your piping work is improving."
It was instinctual. The own scrunch of your face.
Except… Brusha's face remained flat as her eyes pulled from the fake snow covered floor, and rested somewhere on your form; where specifically it was hard to tell as everything between your shoulders and the very top of your head ignited under her baggy eyed stare.
You didn't have to be her best friend. You didn't even have to be her friend. Even if the back of your throat still squirmed uncomfortably, you knew well enough that there was an attempt being made. She didn't smile when she said it— in all honesty you weren't actually all that sure when she smiled last. Before her debut, you think.
It wasn't always this bad, was it?
You fought against the corner of your lips as it yearned to tug downward in a half frown, and by some grace of God the line remained as straight as the one she wore herself.
A few moments passed— just long enough to let the tiny crease between your eyes to smooth itself out. If Brusha could at least try, then surely you can too. "It's not the easiest, you have to get the icing just right— if it's too runny it'll just slip right off the cookie. Too thick and it kind of just… isn't workable."
Lord knew you had to make dozens of baches of icing just to get the consistency down right— you can't remember how many cookies you made that tasted just fine but weren't the prettiest to look at. Dried drippings of icing clinging to the sides, with flattened heads where it dried against the parchment. Not even mentioning having to pick through the gaps of your wire rack to rid the grid of icing that refused to melt away under the hot water.
"Ginger's been helping me, since she's been around at least." A shrug, then— "I don't think I'd have gotten it if it weren't for her, not for a while at least."
Only a hum pushed from Brusha's lips as her hand remained tucked into her elbow, finger still parting the folds of soft wool. Sometimes one had to wonder that if the brow of her head wasn't shaping her eyes, if she would have looked more welcoming. A set of proper eyebrows would surely make her look less judgemental.
No one certainly thought of doing her any favors when she was being created— or after.
The thing is, you didn't entirely get it yourself. It was one thing to just be; but it was different to see that change.
You weren't all that close to Brusha, ever. Even before her animated counterpart was introduced to the show. Why they had brought her to life before she was introduced in the show was beyond you— and it all got worse with time. What had caused that change, and for what reason? She was already there.
But she was trying, at least you heard she was in passing conversation with Teagan.
Your cheek rolled between your teeth as you did your best to think of something else to say. For such an observation to be spawned while talking about decorating cookies. Molars locked deeper into the squishy flesh of your cheek, the texture suddenly much more interesting than trying to piece together the right words.
Once more, Brusha spoke up through the pause of silence— completely ignoring the swell of the Christmas music still pouring into the nippy air of the room.
"You were getting better before Christmas." Once more her voice remained flat— "You're not giving yourself the credit."
Forced, but she was trying.
With a soft pop your teeth let go of your cheek, "Thanks, Brusha," was all you could muster yourself up into saying. "That… means a lot, actually."
It didn't particularly feel true to you, and by the looks of it; it didn't look like Brusha entirely believed you either.
But she didn't say a word.
"You're not like me," she started, fingers pinching the wool of her sweater.
One roll. Then a second.
"I don't bake,"
Ah.
The corner of your mouth twitched— neither up or down as your own fingers curled around the edge of the short plastic table you sat at. As silly as it felt, you nearly felt bad for choosing to sit down instead wait of standing to wait out the time.
The quiet thickened between the two of you once more— but it didn't carry the near sickly feel it had before. It didn't make the pit of your stomach churn in mild irritation; instead the organ sat still as your shifted around in your seat.
"Maybe you and Ginger can get together and design a few cakes together; she's better at that sort of thing than me. I'm still just doing cookies," You started to trail off.
That didn't sound too much like a rejection, did it?
You licked your lips, but it did nothing to help draw the right words to come forth— at least it didn't entirely feel right.
"Maybe, if you're feeling up to it of course… we can do some simple glazes for cookies? I heard Teagan's been having you around?" The corner of your jaw twitched awkwardly. "Perhaps you can bring her a little something, take the burden of providing food off her shoulders… if you want to, of course!"
Brusha hummed in response— before tilting her head towards the large window to her right. And without a word, she pulled her back off of the empty door frame.
"Dandy's coming," she muttered, almost biting back a scoff— her hands almost absentmindedly smoothing the front of her sweater.
Sure enough, Dandy poked his head through the doorway— eyes first fixed to Brusha, before searching the room; until they landed on you sat at the table. It didn't take long for him to notice the distance between you and Brusha, you caught the moment in registered on his face. He didn't frown, but his eyebrows twitched inward. Knitted until the crease of skin dug deep into his face.
"Oh…" Dandy blinked a few times— before perking right back up, albeit his smile felt tense. "Oh! I heard you both talking! It's nice seeing you two chatting," he beamed, one corner of his mouth hitched a little too high. Forced, almost warbled as he playfully tossed himself from the empty doorway— doing a little too much but that was to be expected from him. Showy, as he was intended to be within the cartoon.
"I take it that times up?" You muttered quietly as you pushed yourself up to your feet. Whatever attempt at warmth Brusha had tried to muster was already rapidly fading as she practically bristled at your side.
The time went by far quicker than you would have thought. It felt like you both hardly spoke— had the pauses in conversation been that long?
Your lips pursed, too focused on the spent time to really pay attention to Dandy as he gushed about how you and Brusha were warming up to one another; "You're both talking… that's good!", and that the two of you could be friends at this rate and this and that and—
Brusha's hand skimmed against the back of your own— not an invitation to hold; rather a call for your attention.
"About the cookies," Brusha started. Her mouth remained straight— so different from the usual frown she wore on her face. "I can make the time to see you… Teagan invited me for tea next Saturday." Forced, almost gritted. But she was trying.
And who were you to push back against a toon trying to change?
You'd be a jerk, that's for sure.
Your lip squirmed against your teeth as you mentally skimmed through what you had going on for the following week. Nothing in specific. Nothing solid. Not one real excuse to skip out on Brusha.
And so;
"I should have the time— if you're still feeling up to it, you can drop by my room whenever you're ready. Maybe…" Your eyes darted to her face, and chose to linger. "We can even skim through some of the recipes I have. I know Teagan likes her chocolate, so that narrows things down."
Brusha simply nodded as the warmth of her hand faded from the back of yours; a soft mumbled acknowledgement… before she departed.
This was easily perhaps the most bizarre interaction you've had with her, and you were probably going to be thinking about it for the rest of the night… alongside trying to come up with what recipes to show her.
