Inkstuck

Your name is Dave Strider and you have never felt so comfortable and well rested in your life.

Seeing as you were a knight, and then an outlaw, you’ve never really had the chance to get a good night’s sleep. You always had to sleep with one eye open, in case you get stabbed in the back—literally. Bro drilled it into you that you have to wake early in the morning and go to bed late. It's a habit you've carried on throughout your life.

So, when you wake up at the time of nine am, you’re pleasantly surprised.

Sunlight shines in from the window above you. Birds are tweeting very loudly and obnoxiously outside as well. You move your hand so that you could maybe throw something at them, but it’s restricted from moving by an unknown object.

You look over to your side and you come to the embarrassing (and adorable) conclusion that you and John are holding hands.

You go to move your hands, but he lets out the cutest little snort mid-dream. You can’t bring yourself to move.

Instead, you decide to observe John as he sleeps.

Oh great now you sound like a fucking stalker.

His hand is soft and warm against yours. His fingers are chubby and squishy and fit perfectly with yours. You trace your thumb over the back of his hand affectionately.

Your eyes drift from your conjoined hands up to his face.

John’s stunning blue eyes are closed as he sleeps. The morning sunlight leaves dapples of light that flit across his features like butterflies in a field of flowers. His cheeks look adorable—pressed against the sheets and slightly drool covered.

His bed-head is possibly the cutest thing you have ever seen—and you have seen many, many cute things in your lifetime. Most of the things on that list are John-related things.

He’s still clutching Inkstuck to his chest as tight as a drowning man would a life-saver. You think you understand his obsession with that book. You have the same obsession with Caledfwlch, your sword.

You like to keep it on you at all times, so that you can always be ready in case you’re under attack. Currently, it's propped up against your bed frame.

John’s glasses are off and lying on the bedside table next to a vase of flowers. Roses, you think, and smile at that little vase of irony.

Speaking of irony, isn’t it ironic that out of all the beautiful women, brave knights and hot damsels-in-distress in your land, you had to fall for someone who didn’t even live in your world. Someone who lived in a world where your world is a lie, a story made up to entertain children. Someone who lived in a world you don’t belong in.

You remind yourself for the millionth time that after you go kill Jack—you’re getting Read back in.

You give his hand an affectionate squeeze and let go of it, mustering the energy to get out of bed. As soon as you move however, two blank, purple eyes shoot up to stare at you.

Whisker stares at you with huge saucy eyes that seem to see everything at once. She was curled up by John’s side—but now she’s staring at you with an accusing look in her eyes.

“What? I need to do a piss.” You say, clutching your junk for emphasis.

If Pokémon could frown, this one was the Pokémon Frowning World Champion. Seriously, you’ve never seen any living creature frown this hard—ever.

“Whoa.” You say, holding up your hands in defence. “I’ve never seen anyone so angry at my need to take a dump.”

Whisker glares at you more and flicks her tail towards John.

“What? I really need to piss! He’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to be attacked or anything.”

Another tail flick. This time her tail lands on John.

“Ok ok, jeez you creepy ass motherfucking psychic cat thing. Goddamn.” You mutter, getting up out of bed.

Purposely avoiding Whiskers glare, you tuck John back into bed. He snuggles down a little, submerging himself into a cocoon. You chuckle a little at that, and before you can stop yourself, you place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Upon realising what you’ve done, you quickly retract and hurry out of the room.

The blush forming on your cheeks is only because you’re furious with yourself. You can’t kiss John—you don’t belong here, with him. You only ran off because you need to pee, not because you were embarrassed or anything.

After a bit of opening and closing doors (like a chase scene in fucking Scooby-Doo) in hopes of finding a bathroom, you finally find one.

It’s a small and incredibly clean and luxurious thing. A shower cubicle is in the far right of the room. Many different perfumed soaps line the shelves, each in a different colour. A potted rose bush sits atop the toilet. Two more potted rose bushes line the porcelain sink—just like knights would stand beside their sovereign.

The whole room smells wonderfully feminine—of fruits and flowers.

Outside, you notice a balcony that overlooks the entire estate. It runs around the entire house from what you can see.

Because you’re a fucking man, you refuse to piss in comfort and luxury. You refuse to do your business like a normal, sanitary human being.

You’re going to piss off the fucking balcony.

So, you piss off the balcony.

It is a glorious piss too. The morning sun reflects in your piss causing rainbows to shine everywhere. Birds shriek at the yellow waterfall erupting from your dick.

It truly is a magnificent sight that only yourself and woodland creatures will ever see.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t urinate on Kanaya’s rose garden. She does like them you know, and I think urine would absolutely ruin them.” A calm voice calls out from another balcony and you nearly shit yourself (you’ve already pissed yourself).

Rose is leaning against the balcony railing, staring at you with amusement in her violet eyes.

She’s wearing silken pyjamas that match her eyes. She’s not wearing any makeup, and you can see a light dusting of freckles on her dark skin. Her pale blonde hair is a little mussed from sleep, but still manages to look fashionable.

You shove your dick back in your pants and slowly turn around to face her.

“Actually, I wasn’t urinating on them.”

“You weren’t?” Rose raises an eyebrow at you.

“No. You see, from my dick flows the juices of life. I was gifting Kanaya’s roses with the power of my dick.”

“Ah. So you were gifting Kanaya’s roses with your magic life-jizz. My apologies. I thought you were pissing on the flowers but it turns out you were just gifting them.” Her tone is sarcastic, but you act as though she’s being serious.

“Oh yeah. They looked a little too red so I had to yellowen them up somehow.”

“So you’re admitting to pissing on Kanaya’s roses.”

“No, I’m admitting to purifying them. They’re even more beautiful then before.”

Rose facepalms, looking so done with everything.

“I’m assuming pissing off the balcony is a show of your ‘manliness’.”

“Oh hell yea—“

“—or is it a show of over-compensating and trying to prove something? I mean, you must have quite the…balls…to do such a thing. Or do you? Perhaps it was too cold to see it properly, but your ‘life-jizzing’ penis does not look very life-giving.”

“Dude what. Are you saying my dick is small? What the fuck.”

“Oh!” Rose looks up, surprised. “I apologise. I wrote you after my brother and seeing you here reminds me of the conversations we had.”

“You had some weird ass conversations.”

Rose laughs dryly and looks up at the cloudless sky above.

“Yeah. We had some great conversations. But…I still had so much I needed to say. I wish I got the chance…”

An idea pops into your head.

Normally, you hate emotional bullshit. It makes you feel really awkward and kinda like a massive social outcast.

But Rose and Kanaya have been nothing but welcoming and kind. It is time you pay them back.

“You could um…project on me if you’d like? I mean, I’m kind of your brother—right? You did write me after him. It’ll help and all.” You suggest, shuffling your feet awkwardly.

Rose considers it, bringing her hand to her chin and scrunching her eyes up in thought.

But she turns to you, a determined look in her eyes.

“No. I-I can’t dump all that stuff on you. You may be my brother, but you’re not my brother. I got past all that years ago and I’d rather not have it all come back to haunt me. I still feel regret—sure, but I got though my depression and became stronger because of that. It's been over twenty years since he died.

If I say everything…I think I’ll break again, and I can’t…I won’t let that happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She gives you a look. “It wasn’t you”

Your conversation lapses into silence.

Looking at Rose staring wistfully at the horizon makes you feel a little awkward, so you turn away.

In the distance, you can see the New York City skyline. It’s covered in a thick haze of early morning fog. You can hear the honking of cars and the squawking of birds. It’s pretty peaceful out there.

“Have you eaten yet?” Roses voice cuts through the silence like a knife through soft butter.

“Yes. I got me some nice pussy and—“

“I’ll take that as a no. Come on. I’ll make you something.”

“Ohh so classy, making me breakfast and everything.” You fake-swoon. Rose glares at you with the fury of a million exploding suns.

“Actually no. You can make your own breakfast. I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

She’s off in a swish of her night gown. She leads you through the twisted, artistic maze of the Lalonde-Maryam mansion.

Actually, you don’t really need her guidance. You can smell something absolutely delicious from what you only assume to be from the kitchen. With each passing step, the smell gets stronger and stronger.

Soon, the smell is so strong you know it’s through the next door. That is confirmed by Rose walking through the doorway, ushering you in.

The kitchen is sleek and furnished exactly like it would be in a furniture catalogue. Every surface is a shiny, tiled white. Several pots and pans line the shelves, so clean they look brand new. A TV is set up on the bench, playing a children’s cartoon. It wouldn’t be what you’d call ‘homey’ or ‘family friendly’ if it weren’t for the two people chatting excitedly and cooking pancakes.

John and Kanaya are cooking up stacks upon stacks of delicious flat-cakey goodness. Various jars and fruits are scattered around the bench, presumably to top the pancake stack.

Berries, sugar and sauces of all different shapes are all over the kitchen table alongside two huge stacks of pancakes.

Rose goes over to Kanaya and kisses her on the cheek.

“Aww baby, did you make this all for us?”

“No. I made this for breakfast.”

A pre-recorded laughter track plays from the TV.

“Man.” You say, sitting in front of one of the pancake stacks. “This is like a really shitty sitcom right now.”

John turns around, fry-pan full of pancake batter in his hand. His apron flies around his body as he moves.

“Dave. If you grew up in a TV-less world, how do you know what a sit-com is?”

“OMG John, you can’t just ask people why they know what a sit-com is!”

“Dave you aren’t from Mean Girls. You aren’t a girl—or mean.”

“Egbert I am so damn offended right now. My maiden honour—besmirched!” You say, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Alas! I have besmirched thy maiden honour. What shall I do to replenish it?” John replies in an equally dramatic voice. He flips the pancake in the air—it does a perfect 360 before landing batter-side-down and sizzling away.

“Make me a million pancakes, drizzled with the finest chocolate in the land.”

John smiles at you and stacks another five pancakes onto your already huge stack. He drizzles it with chocolate sauce and garnishes it with a fresh strawberry.

“M’lady.” He says, tipping an imaginary fedora your way.

You tip an imaginary one back and dig in. John goes back to flipping pancakes. Rose and Kanaya are busy talking over their own plates.

You turn your attention to the TV. It was playing some weird kids cartoon when you first came in the room, but now there’s an ad break.

John sits beside you, a plateful of pancakes in front of him. He brings a whole pancake to his mouth and begins chewing.

“Wow. This tastes really good.” He hums, swallowing the mouthful of pancake.

“John that’s so conceited. You sound like you’re trying to jerk yourself off with compliments.”

He squints at you through his glasses. “It’s called self-confidence—look it up.”

“Maybe I will.” You grab Inkstuck and begin flicking through its pages. “Oh look! Right here, that’s self-confidence.” You shove the book back at him, open at a page you’re sure that depicts your heroic self-confidence.

John laughs. “Oh boy, crying in a dark cave after the Fire Mage kicked your ass—classic self-confidence right there.”

“What!” You pull the book back to you. “That isn’t what happened. I totally owned that smoking hot babe.”

Sure enough, there it was. You were crying in a dark cave after a grizzled old man kicked your ass.

This is so embarrassing, you’re really cool dammit!

“Dave. The Fire Mage is a thousand-year-old man who eats his own shit because he thinks it’s good for him. Are you saying you’d tap that?”

“Hell yeah, who wouldn’t? I mean, everyone’s lusting after the magic witch babes, but what about those poor, blue-balled Fire Magicians? Gotta throw them a bone dude.”

“Ewww Dave, that’s disgusting! I don’t want to hear about your adventures lusting after wrinkly old man dick.” John’s nose is wrinkled up in disgust in the cutest possible way. You have to blink a few times to clear your thoughts of the adorable little boy in front of you.

“Hey, don’t judge my tastes. Maybe I like wrinkly old man dick. Maybe that’s it?”

“That’s bullshit, who would like wrinkly old man dick?”

“Well not small children that’s for sure.”

“Dave!” John kicks you under the table, staring at you with wide blue eyes.” Don’t say that! That’s horrible!”

“But it’s true. The same thing happens in my world as it does in yours.”

John looks down at the floor, a sad look in his face. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Agreed. How about we talk about the stuff I’ve done in my lifetime. I mean, stuff that isn’t written about.”

“Wow, now who’s conceited.” John giggles, absent-mindedly picking at a strawberry on his plate.

“I know.” Rose pipes up, an empty plate in front of her. “Let’s talk about Jack and our plan of attack.”

“So essentially, let’s talk about our Jack-attack.” You wink at her and she face-palms in response.

“Yes.” She sighs and raises her head off her hands. “Let’s talk about our Jack-attack.