#signciple

While The Disciple would have followed his word in day-to-day life, I feel like The Signless in turn would have worshipped every inch of her body whenever they had a moment to themselves.

Each victory in their revolution would be an excuse to praise her in every possible way, and give thanks for her undying support.

Jesus fuck (pun intended), I think about them far too much

~🐾

prompt: random dialogue, “I don’t want it anymore” for the Signless

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“I don’t want it anymore.”

There is a piece of the Disciple that wants to treasure this, too, that knows even this has value. But mostly, it makes her heart sink.

She has a holy history of holding onto and cataloguing away words like this even before she understands them—of making sure to every single time, so that he knows that later, when his head’s on straight, she can recite the words he said while in-between universes verbatim without fail. Meulin Leijon has an eidetic memory and two prophets on her hands and she’ll use her brain, her hands, for the parts of the work she can do.

The first time she saw him speak, she didn’t understand every level of what he was saying until later, so she that is her evidence that it always, always matters anyway. That hasn’t proven untrue yet.

This one’s value isn’t so hidden, though. Just lacking a bit of pronoun clarity.

The ringlet-curl of his hair winds around her finger and then back, tucked neatly into place, making a proper painting of the weary face against her chest. The weight of his skull presses that part of her sternum right above her heart, the muscles through his face all tired enough to be drawn down by gravity. Embarrassed or endeared stories, depending on whether it’s him or his trollmom telling them, tell her that he used to come back down to this universe in a fit, but now it’s just like watching him sink.

“Why not?”

“There’s nothing that’s this worth proving.”

Well, that’s not right.

“You don’t want the work, you don’t want the visions, or something else?”

“Mmrph.”

“I love you too. I’m trying to help, Kankri.”

He turns his face to tuck it against her chest, and she smooths a hand down his back, pulls him up close, having taken the merest implication of a cuddle and made it into a great big one before he could back out of it.

His voice is a little muffled against her shoulder, when all’s said and done.

“It wasn’t a good thing to say.”

“That sounds a teensy bit like moralizing feelings, beloved.”

“Yes, but I’m an exception,” he quips. “I’m joking. I don’t want to get dragged out of this universe anymore if I’m only going to be dragged back. I don’t want to lie around ignorant and happy and useless about it and only to be plunked back into the physical manifestation of existential claustrophobia and act like it’s a brand-fucking-new tragedy every time. I don’t want to pretend the thing we are unshakably in isn’t real for ten, fifteen minutes if the punchline is going to be that it’s real. I don’t want to play the game just so someone else can, maybe, in a thousand sweeps, have a shot at—”

“Yes you do.”

“Yes I do.”

“But this is a feelings jam, not a facts jam, so I furgive your logical fallacies.”

“Thank you. In the meantime I will continue to be an asshat.”

“You’re having feelings!!!!!”

“I am in fact experiencing a couple feelings. Hey. Hey.” Signless shifts upright, which is a fight, because she is in fact holding him extremely tightly, but it is worth it to kiss her nose. “Hey, this bit of the world’s worth it.”

“You’ve never met a bit of the world that isn’t worth it.”

Aaaaand part two of birthday gifts I made for @shyyren, this time of The First OT3 (haha), just some soft caring mush!! 

I really don’t draw the ancestors much, I really should change that because they’re such interesting figures in Homestuck with so much potential....