Drabble Dump
Guys. Guys. This is HOMESTUCK. Not Prince of Tennis. Homestuck. Yes, I know. Color me shocked. There isn't even sex or cats in it. Crazy stuff. Everybody dies, by the way. Skip if not your cuppa.
For extra sad: Background music
Bright Eyes
For some reason you expected the end of the world to be more…
Louder.
Yeah. Instead there's nothing. Nothing but your labored breathing. Fuck. You really fucking hate red. And it's all over you. Can't even lick your lips without swallowing the nasty stuff down. Terezi would get a kick out of this. Where is she? You try to recall when you last saw her. Fierce and beautiful as she hacked everything down that stood in her way. Not here. There's only you here. You and the end of the world.
Guess you're really going to die here, then. Alone.
Fuck.
For a moment panic pulls you under and your vision goes hazy. You pant for air even as it makes your blood pump out faster through hole in your chest. Fuck. Fuck this, you don't want to die alone, you really don't, fuck fuck fuck, you don't even know if you won and if they're okay, what if they are out there, dying, dead, gone, because you fucked up yet again and you have to help them, you're their leader, what if they need you?
Fuckdammit. Get up you useless piece of shit.
You try.
You fail.
Blood leaks out around you.
It's warm. Feels perversely good against your cold skin. So many stars. You look at them, because that's all you can do. You're beginning to get sleepy. Fuck, what a hilarious piece of bullshit. You're never tired. You don't have time to be tired, fuckdammit. So why are you just lying here?
Oh yeah.
You were busy dying.
Okay, you're sort of scared. Your fingers curl, blood gathering under your claws. Warm. Fuck, you're shivering. The stars are beautiful though. So blue. Why did you never notice that?
"Karkat."
Fingers touch your jaw, smooth back your hair. Raindrops fall on your face. Warm. Feels nice.
"Karkat."
Fuck.
So tired.
You scowl at the stars. Water slides down the curve of your cheek and slips between your lips. Salty. Clean. Better than your own goddamn mutant blood, that's for sure. The stars are so blue. Like the sky.
What?
John leans over you.
You blink.
"Found you," he says and smiles down at you.
He's red, too. Huh. Wasn't his moronic God Tier pajama bullshit blue? Dave? No. No, it's definitely John. It's his black hair and wide blue eyes. He's also dirty and battered and bruised. His face is wet, drops of rain down his cheeks. And red. Almost as red as you. He looks like shit.
You tell him as much.
He laughs, softly, head bowing over yours. "Yeah, well. You don't look so great either, buddy," he chuckles.
It hurts so much when he lifts you, but he does it so gently you let him. Allow yourself to cradled in his arms, head leaning against his shoulder. You feel like your worthless body is made out of lead, straining to sink through him and into the earth. But it feels good, too. He's so warm. Your head tips sideways and you exhale against his skin.
John wipes blood off your face with the heel of his hand.
"Did we win?" you ask. Your voice comes out surprisingly clear.
"Yeah," he says, as he swipes his thumb over the bridge of your nose. "We did it."
"Good," you nod a little. "… John."
"Hm?"
"I'm dying."
"I know."
"Oh."
"I'm here."
He's warm.
"I wish I could say goodbye to them," you say. "See them one last time." A snort escapes you. "Sentimental bullshit, huh?"
John swallows. More rain splatters onto your face. He uses it to clean the red away, smearing it away with great care.
"Don't cry, John," you say.
"You first, stupid," he answers. The tip of his finger follows a wet track down your cheek. And then he kisses you. Your lips are almost too numb to feel him. But you think it's nice, nonetheless. He tastes like blood. Yours or his own, it's hard to say. It doesn't matter.
You both sit there for a while. John tries to smooth your hair back, carefully arranges it around your horns. Eventually he sort of begins to sag, chin dropping towards his collarbone, until he's curled over you, clumps of his hair tickling your face. It takes everything you have left, but you fumble for his hand and curl your fingers around his.
It's so quiet. Nothing but your labored breathing. And John's.
Then he starts to sing.
"Bright eyes,
burning like fire."
You barely hear it over the sluggish, desperate convulsing of your blood pusher. He sort of whispers it against your eyelashes.
"Bright eyes,
how can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?"
John is cold now. Against your cheek you can feel the wavering beats of his… his heart? Yes. Heart, that's what they call it. It's different than yours, only two beats. Ba-dump. Like that. Not like yours. Ba-woosh-da-ump. His is simpler. Straightforward. Like John himself. It sounds nice.
When John lies down next to you, you're not afraid anymore. You can barely feel him, but he's there, right next to you.
The end of the world isn't so bad, you think.
John's lips against your neck, his fingers laced with yours. His red is the same as yours.
You're not sure who goes first. It doesn't matter.
"Bright eyes."
The stars sure are beautiful.
For extra sad: Background music
Bright Eyes
For some reason you expected the end of the world to be more…
Louder.
Yeah. Instead there's nothing. Nothing but your labored breathing. Fuck. You really fucking hate red. And it's all over you. Can't even lick your lips without swallowing the nasty stuff down. Terezi would get a kick out of this. Where is she? You try to recall when you last saw her. Fierce and beautiful as she hacked everything down that stood in her way. Not here. There's only you here. You and the end of the world.
Guess you're really going to die here, then. Alone.
Fuck.
For a moment panic pulls you under and your vision goes hazy. You pant for air even as it makes your blood pump out faster through hole in your chest. Fuck. Fuck this, you don't want to die alone, you really don't, fuck fuck fuck, you don't even know if you won and if they're okay, what if they are out there, dying, dead, gone, because you fucked up yet again and you have to help them, you're their leader, what if they need you?
Fuckdammit. Get up you useless piece of shit.
You try.
You fail.
Blood leaks out around you.
It's warm. Feels perversely good against your cold skin. So many stars. You look at them, because that's all you can do. You're beginning to get sleepy. Fuck, what a hilarious piece of bullshit. You're never tired. You don't have time to be tired, fuckdammit. So why are you just lying here?
Oh yeah.
You were busy dying.
Okay, you're sort of scared. Your fingers curl, blood gathering under your claws. Warm. Fuck, you're shivering. The stars are beautiful though. So blue. Why did you never notice that?
"Karkat."
Fingers touch your jaw, smooth back your hair. Raindrops fall on your face. Warm. Feels nice.
"Karkat."
Fuck.
So tired.
You scowl at the stars. Water slides down the curve of your cheek and slips between your lips. Salty. Clean. Better than your own goddamn mutant blood, that's for sure. The stars are so blue. Like the sky.
What?
John leans over you.
You blink.
"Found you," he says and smiles down at you.
He's red, too. Huh. Wasn't his moronic God Tier pajama bullshit blue? Dave? No. No, it's definitely John. It's his black hair and wide blue eyes. He's also dirty and battered and bruised. His face is wet, drops of rain down his cheeks. And red. Almost as red as you. He looks like shit.
You tell him as much.
He laughs, softly, head bowing over yours. "Yeah, well. You don't look so great either, buddy," he chuckles.
It hurts so much when he lifts you, but he does it so gently you let him. Allow yourself to cradled in his arms, head leaning against his shoulder. You feel like your worthless body is made out of lead, straining to sink through him and into the earth. But it feels good, too. He's so warm. Your head tips sideways and you exhale against his skin.
John wipes blood off your face with the heel of his hand.
"Did we win?" you ask. Your voice comes out surprisingly clear.
"Yeah," he says, as he swipes his thumb over the bridge of your nose. "We did it."
"Good," you nod a little. "… John."
"Hm?"
"I'm dying."
"I know."
"Oh."
"I'm here."
He's warm.
"I wish I could say goodbye to them," you say. "See them one last time." A snort escapes you. "Sentimental bullshit, huh?"
John swallows. More rain splatters onto your face. He uses it to clean the red away, smearing it away with great care.
"Don't cry, John," you say.
"You first, stupid," he answers. The tip of his finger follows a wet track down your cheek. And then he kisses you. Your lips are almost too numb to feel him. But you think it's nice, nonetheless. He tastes like blood. Yours or his own, it's hard to say. It doesn't matter.
You both sit there for a while. John tries to smooth your hair back, carefully arranges it around your horns. Eventually he sort of begins to sag, chin dropping towards his collarbone, until he's curled over you, clumps of his hair tickling your face. It takes everything you have left, but you fumble for his hand and curl your fingers around his.
It's so quiet. Nothing but your labored breathing. And John's.
Then he starts to sing.
"Bright eyes,
burning like fire."
You barely hear it over the sluggish, desperate convulsing of your blood pusher. He sort of whispers it against your eyelashes.
"Bright eyes,
how can you close and fail?
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?"
John is cold now. Against your cheek you can feel the wavering beats of his… his heart? Yes. Heart, that's what they call it. It's different than yours, only two beats. Ba-dump. Like that. Not like yours. Ba-woosh-da-ump. His is simpler. Straightforward. Like John himself. It sounds nice.
When John lies down next to you, you're not afraid anymore. You can barely feel him, but he's there, right next to you.
The end of the world isn't so bad, you think.
John's lips against your neck, his fingers laced with yours. His red is the same as yours.
You're not sure who goes first. It doesn't matter.
"Bright eyes."
The stars sure are beautiful.