low-effort alpha rose+dave partial lyricstuck i did on a whim after a friend mentioned it was one of his headcanon songs for them song is kids aren’t alright by fall out boy
Rose and her mother have just moved into an large, Very Old mansion in upstate New York. The house is beautiful and stately and luxurious, and entirely haunted, its got to be. It just creaks in a way that says “Ghosts be up to some fuckin shit in here”, and Rose, delightful goth that she is, could not be more thrilled about that. She snoops out every corner of the house in her free time, lights spooky candles and tries to summon spirits.
And eventually, she stumbles upon Dave, Haunter of the House, an incredibly lame cool ghost who literally just wants to be left the fuck alone to mope and brood and shit, but this angst ass teen keeps asking about how he died and if she can help him cross over to the afterlife, and what toils have bound his soul to this mortal plain. He says he’s just not interested in movin on, heaven sounds like a snoozefest, everyone is all poofy and angelic and pious and shit, dull.
Theyre would be lots of shenanigans, and bonding, and really Dave didn’t move on because he felt like he hadn’t done anything with his life yet, he hadn’t had enough time, and Rose, shes never had very many friends but she comes to care about Dave, this spirit lurking in the shadows of the hallways and criticizing her musical tastes. She stops asking about how he died, it’s rude, He stops disappearing on her when questions hit too close to home, they bond, the fall in love, It’s tragic as all fuck because wow, falling in love with someone whose already dead is pretty shit, kids.
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Idk where I’m going with this, I might write a fic, I’ll probably expand on this more later but ghost!Dave and spooky teen!Rose is a good idea okay
“Will you die with me?”
she asks him once, twice, a hundred times across a hundred timelines.
“Will you love me with
all my flaws and failings?” she never asks, never dares to beg of him,
every single time they meet.
“Do you hate me?”
she asks, as a child, as a woman, as a person drowning herself in alcohol and possibilities
and self-reflections too bright to look at any longer. Blind and aching and
without a place to find refuge, in the face of a thousand futures that bear
down on her mind with the accusations of How
will she fail this time?
“Do you love me?”
she can never bear to whisper, to beseech answer to. A shackling, forswearing,
oath of a sentence that would either bind him to her and she to him or break
them apart in brand new ways if he said No.
“Please,” she’ll
start every time, at least once, and then never continue. Never finish the plead;
never find words for even herself to understand what she wants of him.
(Everything.)
(Nothing.)
(All she could have of him and more.)
(Just his presence by her side, if nothing else.)
So many things go unspoken, and he never gets to answer Yes to any of them. To all of them.
daverosed 