you dont really love someone until you follow them into the gaping maw of a literal fucking sun after they knock you out and psychoanalyse you in your dreams
since it is a Chatting Time, have some headcanons i’ve talked about before probably but i refuse to part with:
-rose eats dave’s popsicles and there is nothing on earth he can do about it. this is just a fact of life. -dave knows that rose makes sweet gibberish mouth noises at the cat and she can never escape this. -spa nights are their jam. -they text jade a lot of things she never, ever wanted to know about them or their private life together, thanks. -dave gets rose into vul/ture cul/ture and they have a bunch of animal bones everywhere now in addition to the dead things in jars. they’re a big hit on halloween.
day 3: dave makes breakfast sets the table and includes little placards on each end with their respective names in a nice font
day 4: rose makes breakfast sets the table and includes little placards on each end with their respective names in a nice font and shutters the windows and lights long, tapered altar candles for mood lighting (even though it is, remember, breakfast)
day 6: dave makes breakfast sets the table and includes little placards on each end with their respective names in a nice font and shutters the windows and lights long, tapered altar candles for mood lighting and has filched, from somewhere, a pair of tigers, collared in gold and lounging amidst their feet as they partake in berry berry kix for the 6th day in a row
day 7: rose makes breakfast sets the table and includes little placards on each end with their respective names in a nice font and shutters the windows and lights long, tapered altar candles for mood lighting and has filched, from somewhere, a pair of tigers, collared in gold and lounging amidst their feet as they partake in berry berry kix for the 7th day in a row, and has replaced their chairs with thrones immaculate, hers a deep, dark ebon wood, wild and overgrown while his is a magnificently wrought copper, a thousand layers of filigree woven into each other until it is impossible to tell where one strand ends and the other begins
day 8: dave makes breakfast sets the table and includes little placards on each end with their respective names in a nice font and shutters the windows and lights long, tapered altar candles for mood lighting and has filched, from somewhere, a pair of tigers, collared in gold and lounging amidst their feet as they partake in berry berry kix for the 8th day in a row, and has replaced their chairs with thrones immaculate, hers a deep, dark ebon wood, wild and overgrown while his is a magnificently wrought copper, a thousand layers of filigree woven into each other until it is impossible to tell where one strand ends and the other begins, and when rose begins to so delicately raise a spoon of cereal to her lips he knocks his own bowl aside and stands with dramatic flourish, tears in his eyes, and relays a poem in an ancient language, as dead as the poppies withered in the vase between them, artfully navigating the unfamiliar twists of syllables in a self-set rhythym, describing her beauty, her grace, like aphrodite, like athena, both born from the head, his voice risen in cresendo for the final line, before he pauses for a breathless moment, and returns to his seat. rose takes a bite.
There is a tugging in the center of her, a spun-silk thread pulled taught, an ache like some asshole took a melon baller and scooped out her insides.
And Dave is well, he’s more irrelevant than anything.
He’s in her fourth period study hall, he sprawls his legs out and clicks his pen rapidfire, he wears skinny jeans and she’s pretty sure he’s in the photography club or wrote an article for the school newspaper bashing the practice of football or something. And she doesn’t know his last name, he stops existing when she looks away from him. He is the quintessential blonde boy, he’s tall and almost concerningly stoic, a douchebag by any other name in the sense that he reeks of insecurity and layers of cover ups.
But, and she supposes there is always a but, he moves with a weight on his shoulders, otherworldly and obsolete. With an exhaustion and squared shoulders and set jaw that’s- It’s interesting, it’s something worth noting. Familiar.
She doesn’t care about him, she doesn’t look at him, but he’s laughing at something he said to his friends and he’s curling his tongue around his braces and there are crinkles in the corners of his eyes and freckles across his cheekbones, prominent and sculpted, and she’s never really spared him so much as a thought but he glances at her, for a second, and the wind is knocked out of her and she’s grabbing her desk white-knuckled and she feels a jolt of electricity powerful and-
“Dave Strider.” She mouths to herself in English class, wonders why it fits on her tongue so perfectly.
–
He takes pride in his shitty beat up converse and she takes pride in her Necronomicon.
She’s not like the other girls, he isn’t either.
Dave Strider, which is what she decides to call him, listens to cassette tapes and shows up to homecoming in a full tuxedo. Like, with spats, and coat tails, and he doesn’t exactly upstage the homecoming king persay but he does accumulate a bigger circle around him as he makes fun of prom as a concept with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his wingtips clicking against the polished gymnasium hardwood.
She runs the thin gold chain of her necklace through her fingers, and stares at him with a fierce sort of single-minded concentration. And he looks back at her, he trails off from his tirade with his mouth slack and his hand twitches like he’s been shocked and he really had to pay the ten dollar entrance fee to seem so smart and make his point about fighting the man.
Her skirt rides when she grabs a plastic cup of fruit punch and leans against the disposable plastic table cloth and hears Carly Rae Jepsen pounding out of the speakers. She hums pensively, touches the rim of the cup to her lip and sees Dave drag his eyes from her legs to her hands to her face and she can’t tell if it’s the hazy-purple lighting of school dances but his eyes are watery and he makes a small wet-cement choking sound in the back of his throat.
–
The comfort of his being near her is shocking, it’s the spinning of some cosmic wheel, and gears locking into place, and the three beauty marks on his neck down to his shoulder blades and how his shoes are left half-unlaced and the lazy movements of his hands as he holds his crutches up which he got from tripping over said shoelaces while running the mile in gym class and-
She felt the pain, when it happened, sharp and immediate in her ankle.
Dave Strider has a flighty air about him when she sees him, he has bags under his eyes and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks at her more vulnerable and fragile than anything she’s ever seen and the way his hips stand out and his collarbones pop is enchanting, hypnotic, when he checks his plastic watch to throw his jansport over one shoulder.
She looks at him, eyelids heavy, and watches his adam’s apple bob when he swallows.
–
“Dave Strider.” She catches him by the shirt sleeve, feels the ground shift underneath her feet and something important bubble up in her, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The universe likes to repeat itself, to try the same song
over and over but in a different key each time. A serenade to existence that
never changes its score, and somehow is brand new every time it begins again.
He comes back pale as snow, she comes back dark as night-
they swap the next time around. They come back every shade in between the two,
and sometimes in greys, rainbow blood flowing through them and bright orange
horns atop their heads.
They grow up together, crammed into an apartment with a man
who loves neither of them, pushes both of them, to be better, stronger, faster,
too quick to the draw to be killed by an inevitable doomsday rushing towards
them- in that world they’re scarred and scared and never admit it, keeping the
truth of things from even themselves, tangled up in beds they don’t need to
share and dreading the next time something creaks outside their door, only
trusting each other and even then hardly breathing a sincere word to one
another-
They grow up together, again, spaced out in a house that has
too many doors and too few people, cold but not uncared for, alone but not
isolated, acting out and acting like kids, while their guardian drinks herself
into oblivion, too scared to look at their faces directly and know the day the
world ends is coming for them all too soon- in that world they’re together,
they talk, they share, but there remains a barrier, a miscommunication, no one
ever taught them how to be open, to be honest-
They meet when they’re adults, when they’re on the way to
success, dressed in finery and fought for riches, a director and writer sizing
each other up, questioning each other’s merit in their field, trading barbs and
probes and tipping their glasses to one another in the end- in that world they
know the end is coming, they know they’re going to fail, but they fight and
they struggle and they try to warp the set future of time with weapons and
strength that isn’t even half a god’s power, and they fail and fall and fall in
love as they do-
They’re neighbors, and he hides from her, he wants after
her, and she’s intrigued by him, interested in his secrets, his mind and skills
and dumb hobbies, her blood placing her so far above the lowblood foolish
enough to build a hive so close to the sea border and yet she wants him- in that world she is brutal
and terrifying and will outlive him by centuries, and he’s resistant, afraid,
he’s a mutant freak and knows he’s going to die before he manages to leave more
than half a mark on the world, and their hands join more than once, they hold
on as long as they can, and when the day comes and the drones are set on him,
she bares her fangs and needles and roars in the face of the empire for trying
to take what is hers and only hers-
They’re raised apart, she in an isolated house that is
filled with love that never connects, cold and alone and pretending she’s not,
and he in a city that burns, that blisters, trapped in a cage that is riddled
with tracks from restless pacing, unloved and not sure why, never understanding
why he doesn’t measure up- in that world they ascend, they rise above it, they’re
children thrust into battle and turned into tools for the universe’s
continuation, the next step, and they burn together on a suicide mission, a one
way trip that they knew might not work but we’re willing to do it anyway, hands
clasped together as everything bleeds searing green and all they have left is
their faith and barely hidden love-
They win the game, they grow up, they find people they love
and who love them and they get to see a future that’s bright and good and are
given everything they wanted. They’re gods and eternal and happy, but the universe treks on, and nothing is forever-
Reset.
The universe starts again.
They’re born, and grow, and they find each other again.
Do you want to go to the seaside? I’m not trying to say that everybody wants to go I fell in love at the seaside She handled her charm with time and slight of hand
2. Terrible Angels – CocoRosie
Oh if every angel’s terrible Then why do you watch her sleep You love to hear her sing And wear purple eyes like rings
3. Air Conditioned Love – Ludo
The moon of her window, it glows evermore The night wrapped around us, two spoons in a drawer I miss her dark blankets, I miss her clean sheets All her Julietting, coquettish and sweet
4. Voodooized – Empires
We can dance, we can dance down to nothing. You can play your voodoo in the evening. Lipstick on a shadow you keep leaving. Novocaine like laughter ‘till we’re seething. we can start out loving like it’s breathing.
5. We Can’t Be Stopped – Ratatat
Instrumental
6. A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left – Andrew Bird
Why are we alive? And here’s how they replied You’re what happens when two substances collide And by all accounts you really should have died
7. Dance So Good – Wakey!Wakey!
I remember when you lost your head Sometimes I wonder how you stay so sad when you’re so beautiful And I remember every word you said How you were scared because you never been somewhere so beautiful,
8. Bloody Twins – CocoRosie
And you five me a kiss Like a tiny floret Which sparks in a blink A firework of roses And the night floods in
9. Cosmic Love – Florence + The Machine
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you
10. Elements – Lindsey Stirling
Instrumental
11. Keep It Together – Guster
They searched but they could find no trace of us So far away from everyone And everything starts today
So make all your last demands for I will forsake you and I’ll meet your eyes for the very first time, for the very last
2. Us – Regina Spektor
We wear our scarves just like a noose But not cause we want eternal sleep
3. Your Side – Young the Giant
We will be fine. I’m still here. You’re in the right Everybody knows I tried And you tried.
4. Tune Out – The Format
No one I know is more depressing than me or should I say, the two of us Cos after all we’re all we’ve got.
5. Lazarus Phenomenon – Bike For Three!
They’d bathe in the same water, same anguish. They spoke bad French, but laughed in the same language.
6. Rain – Josh Vietti
Instrumental
7. What Sarah Said – Death Cab for Cutie
“Love is watching someone die.” So who’s gonna watch you die?
8. We Both Go Down Together – The Decemberists
We fall, but our souls are flying. And oh, my love, my love We both go down together.
9. This Is Not the End(The Moon) – The Bravery
Not even earth can hold us Not even life controls us Not even the ground can keep us down
10. You’re Not Stubborn – Two Door Cinema Club
The critics talk of stubbornness But you’re just passionate, you’re just passionate
11. Go Places – The New Pornographers
Yes, a heart should always go one step too far Come the morning and the day winding like dreams Come the morning every blue shade of green Come with me, go places
Art by Jennifer! {x} {and coloured by me but that’s not important}
Dave paid Rose in Barnes and Noble’s giftcards to go to prom with him.
They ended up ditching and heading to cash in her sweet loot before the store closed though.
Then they made out in the children’s section.
Rose is one of five followers on Dave’s selfies blog.
He constantly changes the URL to avoid her.
She always finds it again.
Rose first met Dave in second grade when he was reading Edgar Allan Poe under the pretense of it being full of “dope rhymes” and that it was “hella ironic” for a cool kid like him to be reading it.
She could tell he actually liked it, and complemented him on his taste in his quote: “literature rap”.
She ended up pulling out some Emily Dickinson and read by him every recess after that.
He still refuses to call it poetry.
They write stories together, and compete for who can turn in the most illegible insane complex metaphor-filled English papers.
It’s usually a draw.
Rose never gives it away that Dave’s intelligent to his “cool friends” since he asked her not to.
She still teases him about hiding it though.
They both end up graduating and heading to California for college.
They room together and occasionally Skype with John and Jade.
it’s not really in the spots littered over tan skin but more in the breath that passes from her mouth to his when he’s able to drag the blunt nails she painted on over the constellations of her spine and its somewhere beyond that and
maybe its something else
it’s not quite cherry coke when she laughs and the air sparkles but it’s also far more cloying than any wine on any shelf
and it’s not as bitter as the tears they both taste on sleepless nights or as quiet as the words that are whispered and forgotten just as soon as they brush over his tongue
it isnt the vanilla perfume on her collar
its sweeter than the lipgloss she keeps in her purse but it’s darker than the black of the lipstick she wears beneath it its sharper than her words and it tastes a little bit like blood when its too quiet out but fresher and more and its more
sometimes
he thinks it might be death
but somewhere deeper within even that is the taste of air and water and life and everything that keeps him here to breathe all of it in and he thinks maybe it is or maybe it isnt but
sometimes when they lay awake and the city sleeps around them, two souls shielded only by freckles and perfume and outdated sheets
daverosed 