Please i am begging hands and knees post the "Yer home" wip POST THE WIP
SO glad you asked. This is easily one of my favorite things I've ever written. Have some Relish comfort with sides of a found family music metaphor, and Pickles reflecting on his relationship with music❤️
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"There's a million other things you could be doing right now. Better things. Things you like."
Pickles levelled her with an unimpressed look, "I like bein' wit' yew."
"No, you don't," Olive scoffed, harshly wiping the tears from her face as she leaned back, "Not like this, at least. Not when I'm like this. I'm a fucking mess."
Softly running his fingertips over the backs of her hands, Pickles sighed. How could he put this in a way that she wouldn't brush off? An idea struck him, then, one that left him with an ache in his chest — not quite uncomfortable, but not quite pleasant either. But… it was a damn good comparison, if he did say so himself.
"Yanno… I've tried a lot'a instruments."
Brows furrowing, Olive sniffled, blinking at him in confusion, the expression on her face funny enough to make him crack a crooked smile.
"Wha-"
"Shh. Jest, lemme finish."
Licking his lips, Pickles laced their fingers together, continuing, "I tried a lot of em when I was younger. Piano, saxophone, fuckin' violin. Guitar was the easiest. I was a natural. It was easy, but it wasn't... right. It wasn't what I wanted. I didn't know what was missing, not fer a long time. I couldn't place it. And then…"
Pausing to inhale a breath, Pickles swallowed down a lump in his throat.
"...then I joined Snakes, and Sammy let me fuck around on his drum kit, and it just fuckin' clicked, yanno? Like, fuck, this is it, this is what I've been missin'. But I wasn't a natural at it, naht like wit' guitar. It didn't come easy. But, man, I put so much fuckin' time into it. Begged Sammy to teach me. I was on dat set every fuckin' day fer months. It finally felt right, yanno? Like I found myself, found what I was supposed ta be doin'. It felt like home. And then… then we broke up, and I was broke, and I couldn't play fer so fuckin' long. So fuckin' long-"
Old heartache cracked his voice at the memory, tears stinging against the backs of his eyes, and Pickles cleared his throat. Olive gave his hands a gentle, encouraging squeeze.
"And, like, I was homeless, fer a bit. But, shit, without bein' able ta play, it didn't fuckin' matter if I had a roof over my head 'er naht. Didn't matter if I was sleepin' on a park bench 'er someone's couch 'er in my own damn bed. I couldn't play, so I didn't have a home. But, finally, I joined up with Dethklok, and, gahd, dood, nothin' has ever felt so fuckin' right. We lived in a shithole of an apartment, everyone shared rooms, had to sleep on the couch more often than naht. But it didn't matter. The shitty landlord, the neighbors gettin' domestic every night, the bugs, naht having AC 'er heat 'er any money 'er food. None of it fuckin' mattered. Because I could play. I was finally home again."
Tears had slowly been gathering on his lashes as he spoke, a few finally spilling over, and Pickles shook his head, wiping them away with a strained laugh and a small fuck.
"Dillon…"
"I'm- I'm okee. Jest, let me finish. Prahmise I'm goin' somewhere."
With a shaky breath, he continued, "And then we blew up. All dat hard fuckin' work, all dat strugglin' and sufferin', all the shitty, sleepless nights, all those hours I poured inta that crappy, pieced together drum set. It all paid off. It was all worth it. And now, I get ta do it all the time. Now, I'm always home."
Pickles paused, rubbing his hands over her arms as he chose his next wording.
"I figure, people are kinda like instruments, yanno? Most of 'em suck. Most of 'em you'll never learn to play, because they're naht right fer ya. But sometimes, ya find the right instrument. Ya find it, and it might be hard, take a lot of effort, and there might be blood and sweat and tears that go inta learnin' it, inta gettin' it right, but it's worth it. It's worth it, because, at the end of the day, it's home."
Leaning back far enough to see her properly, he gently gripped her shoulders as his eyes bore into hers, willing her to understand his meaning.
"So... I finally got my own set. It's all I'd wanted for years. My own set. My own home. And it's been great, fuckin' great but… but I think… I think I could maybe use an expansion kit, yanno?"
Olive's eyes watered, hoping, praying he was saying what she thought he was.
"Somethin' new to add on, shake up my sound a bit. Like repainting the walls, 'er gettin' a better door after the old one gaht kicked in. Jest… somethin' that'll make it feel even more like home. Y'get what I'm sayin'?"
The tears in her eyes finally spilled over, and she smiled at him through a sob, nodding.
"Good. Good. So, uh, whadaya say? Wanna help me customize?"
Choking on a laugh, Olive leaned forward, closing the space between their lips, a series of watery, chaste kisses shared between them as his hands shifted to cup her jaw. Pickles broke the kiss only to meet her gaze once more, tips of their noses touching.
"So, yer naht a burden, ok? Yer naht a mess. Yer our girl. Yer home."
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