i will always stand by that dave and rose have probably one of the most intimate and close relationships in all of homestuck like it is really beyond words how well they know each other and how well they click and their understanding for each other even if sometimes they are frustrated with one another
that’s why it hurts me so bad that dave is so mad and pissed off at rose for drinking because you know it is only out of love and anxiety for her
Tag: txt
a daverose wedding would be the epitome of opulence, decadence— as in them signing courthouse papers, dave in heelies and a $5000 swarovski bedazzled velvet tux, rose in a custom-fit squiddles ball gown, and showing up late to the ceremony at taco bell. they order everything off the dollar menu x5. dave hides the rings inside a chalupa
the scars spread across his whole body, numerous as his freckles. some are mere flecks of whiter than white tissue, and others span longer and wider than her finger.
he has muscle, but it’s lean, drawn thin. he eats as much as she does, spreading meals out long as they can last despite having the alchemeter’s unlimited supply.
“there wasn’t much food, sometimes,” is all he’ll answer with when she asks.
“there was always food, but never any meals,” she replies, sharing her own familial experience. they’re taking turns. it’s almost a year and a half into their journey, and they’re bored beyond belief.
tedium has finally pushed them to share the more intimate pieces of themselves, handling each shard with perfect care lest one of them be cut and bled out. his hands follow the thinness to her waist, only brushing fingertips like he’s scared to properly touch. her approach is both bolder and far more timid- she traces the thin line up his bicep, one of many, without hesitation, but can’t bring herself to examine any lower with her wandering hands.
she lifts them instead to his face, arguably a far more treacherous action than drifting south. his cheekbones are like hers, his eyes more almond shape- their irises are bloody red and make her think of death and wine and the color of sickly sweet valentines.
he’s gone still, letting her hold his face. her thumb finds its way to a scar that nearly nicks his eye, dangerously close and suspect to past terror of almost being half blinded. he flinches away, minutely, at the touch, eyes blinking rapidly and chest hitching with breath- and she draws back, sitting herself further away again and hugging her bare midriff, save for the bra she’s kept.
“sorry,” she says, and means it.
“…sorry,” he echos, and only speaks again after a lengthy pause, rubbing the back of his neck, his scarred arms, skin that’s been marred by someone who deserved what he got. “it just- for a moment, was too much, you know? like, fuck, lalonde. i think we can both agree lettin’ you near my tender strider flesh is like askin’ to get flayed, grilled, and served with garnish. you’re kinda risky business. frisky risky business.”
“a sword, in opposition to a needle, does have a sheathe i suppose,” she replies when he speaks his mind of why he drew away. “it’s natural to fear a sharp object pressed to one’s jugular.”
“been there, done that, experienced what comes afterwards. not fun.”
“then our ‘show-and-tell’ session has reached it’s end. your cooperation of frittering away a void’s evening was appreciated.”
she doesn’t hurt, she doesn’t want for more. they aren’t like that, no matter what jokes and satire they spin of themselves. it’s just. there’s so much time left to keep waiting for the life and death dramatics to resume. so very much time, and it festers in her, like the grimdarkness did, like the loneliness of her house did, like the relationship with her mother did. he bears and bared a hundred markers to her, showcasing the abuse he’s lived and survived. she is just a petty, needy creature, grasping for light in a place where there is so very little.
“didn’t say i wouldn’t just deal with it, lalonde,” he says, his trembling touch on her shoulder betraying his tentativeness, his nerves of asking for more, for her.
(he doesn’t think she’s awful for the neediness, the pettiness- she’s like him, a little, in a different way. she had everything except anything resembling attention. he had nothing except unending vigilance to his every move. they’re both fucked up in the head, in their hearts, in a similar enough fashion he can look into her brilliant violet eyes and see a slightly warped reflection of himself. it pains him as much as it comforts him to not be alone in this.)
she aches so fiercely inside, sometimes. in places the woman who has her eye can’t reach, can’t fill. the emptiness that’s built around by glass and mirrors, reflecting endlessly the intangible light that she passes off as her soul and self.
dave can reach there, simple and easy as his knuckles touching hers as they pass in the halls. with an offhand phrase in the dead of night as they drink more coffee rather than sleep. a whisper quiet admission of trust spoken only behind locked doors. soft and scared and comforting, because it forces her to remember that she isn’t the only one with no idea how to love another person without expecting them to hurt you for it.
rose leans into his hand, reaches back with her own, and they sink into one another again.
i cant remember what i thought the first time i read it but i know that even now the idea of dave and rose fighting over who would go and sacrifice themselves as they thought PERMANENTLY in order to try and save each other and FULLY BELIEVING one of them was going to die forever and then not even being able to just send the one of them bcaus dave has to be a little shit and not let rose go alone and then they were BOTH GOING TO DIE but then they explode and die TOGETHER and rise out of the green sun as GODS while this CRAZY DRAMATIC LORD OF THE RINGS ass MUSIC is playing . boy. hoooh mama. i cant even handle it. i imagine the reason i cant remember what i thought when i first read thru was because i probbably BLACKED OUT from the DRAMA
i just saw a post by someone i’m not naming about how since rose and dave didn’t grow up together they wouldn’t act like close siblings, would actually hate each other instead, and i’m here to say uh no? incorrect. if anything the isolation of their childhoods would make them even closer, if intensely awkward about learning how to communicate their sincere and growing affection for each other. three years together on the meteor? after the massive trauma they’ve been through? the homes they grew up in? they’d be attached at the hip within the first few months. touch-starved, emotionally stunted kids with a sudden much deeper connection to each other. ecto siblings, family, best friends before all that and now? the only other human they have anymore, alone in the void and grasping for something familiar, warm, human to combat the literal alien of their surroundings. earth is dead and they’ve got a long journey ahead of them and a knot of repressed issues the size of the meteor. no one else can understand that, just their sibling, just their closest and tentatively most trusted confidant. they can’t bring themselves to say it until much, much, much later, but they love each other before they can even consciously understand that sort of care for someone.
td;lr rose and dave are not only great siblings but best friends and sort of really in love and no one can ever tell me otherwise
betapile:
i refuse to define (something happened between them) but if it’s not conversation trailing off as they talk to pass the time in an empty world and daves eyes flicking down to her lips and rose leaning in and them kissing, once, chaste, but the unspoken attraction and every bit of teenage angst and ancient burden they carry all coming to the surface and nothing ever happening because dave has to leave and rose has to die but like now they Know…….. i don’t want it
rose’s love letter to dave: contains clever references to pablo neruda, bits of poetry, the phrase “you in all your wonder”.
dave’s love letter to rose: the lyrics to no diggity written down with some tear stains because he read the letter from her before writing his. he refuses to let her in the room while he’s writing it and sprints out to put it in the mailbox at 3 am while she’s asleep so it can be return to sender’d in proper fashion.
Dave and Rose’s relationship is so confusingly tragic? Dave leaving Rose behind on a doomed timeline, Dave following rose to the bomb. Like them giving up their lives for each other in a confusing and heartfelt love song is so touching and hard to explain. Both are so cut off and curt it’s hard to really understand the depth of these things. Definitely a favorite dynamic of mine.
bigfoot hunters the show but it’s just dave and rose wandering around the woods at night with their phones. every episode is broken into ten-second chunks bc they film it all on snapchat and one time dave loses it bc rose vanishes and reappears minutes later just to pinch his ass from the shadows. most of the series is them fucking around and walking into trees but at the end of one of the episodes something big and dark and ragged looms behind dave and stares into the camera. it is never addressed and the next ep continues as usual
he buys her a dozen roses on her birthday as a joke and she smiles that slow, easy smile and reaches out and takes them and tells him she’s allergic to flowers (untrue) but she will keep them anyway (true)
She’s never been attached to her name before.
On some occasions she might even say she doesn’t like it – too frilly, perhaps, or maybe she doesn’t enjoy the implication that she was born to be something beautiful and delicate that would draw blood if you got too close.
But when he says it – when it spills from her lips between breathless, snorting laughter, when he sighs it into her hair in the dark, the streetlights glimmering off the posters on the walls – she wonders if perhaps Rose is not such a painful moniker, after all
daverosed 