The little boy’s idea of heaven was right at dawn when he and Rufioh lay by the dying fire on a bed made of nothing but a blanket strewn across the ground and one thrown over their shoulders. With Rufioh’s body covered him as much as possible without crushing him, making sure that if anyone should dare tread into their camp to kill the young prophet that the blow would fall upon himself first instead of Karkat. His arms wrapped around the boy even when tension was high after a quarrel over what was best – what was easy or what was right. A fight that always ended with Karkat declaring his revolution would have no blood shed that wasn’t spilt in self-defense and that if Rufioh didn’t agree he could leave. Karkat had eternity to save Alternia and he could be as patient as possible.
He would never leave though. He would storm around the camp and chastise Karkat for his arrogant ways; that such methods never worked for his ancestor and they would not work now. Rufioh simply wanted the best for Karkat. He wanted the boy in a palace sleeping in soft bedding and wrapped in finery. He wanted the boy to be granted the safety and happiness denied to him his entire life and he wanted Alternia to draw peace from his reign. He knew that if he would be permitted his war that Karkat would warm Alternia like the sun pounding through his very veins. But Karkat wouldn’t budge.
Rufioh would still remain vigil even after these fights, when bedtime came quietly and they simply fell into each other out of habit. Sleep pulling at them slowly as there was a lack of conversation to stimulate their thinkpans, lack of excitement for a new Empire to keep them awake. Karkat would slowly push a hand through Rufioh’s cherished hair and press a long desired kiss to the man’s lips, whispering quietly against the chaste touch: “I know… I’ve known for ages, and I’m sorry.”
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The little boy’s idea of heaven was flittering about in the twilight sky; flying was always faster than walking. That was until they hit a town and they were forced to light down so as not to draw attention. They would scramble through their pockets and sylladexes until they scrapped together enough caegars to get a motel room somewhere.
Sometimes they would be bad off and they would have to sit on the corner and beg or hunt down bodies to rob until they’d managed enough to get a sleazy room that served its purpose enough for neither to complain. When they were the most poor off, the recooperacoon would be a single and Rufioh would have a crick in his neck for a few nights. When they were worse off than that even the ablution trap would be too small and Rufioh would have to stand over the sink while Karkat sat on the counter and washed his hair for him.
But when things were going well for them, when Karkat’s sermon had garnered a heap of donations or when they came across the remains of a FLARP session gone bad or when they stumbled across legislacerator killing grounds they would have enough money for a rather nice hotel. The sopor was always of good quality and the ablution trap was big enough for both of them and sometimes, when they hadn’t eaten in awhile or hadn’t eaten anything Rufioh would deem food in awhile they would order room service.
And when the server would come to give them their food, sometimes they would be recognized and the server would run to get their boss for the reward for their heads was a large enough sum to keep the entire hotel staff secure for the rest of their lives. In those instances Karkat and Rufioh would CAPTCHAlog the food, laughing while Karkat fluttered out the window, pulling Rufioh out by his wrist (wedging out his horns had become an art form at this point) and ascending high into the clouds.
Rufioh would always search out a cluster of stars that sat perfectly together and he would point out the second star on the right with the fondness of a troll looking upon their lusus and Karkat would smile in a way that made Rufioh unable to look at him.
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The little boy’s idea of heaven was the look Rufioh would get on his face every time they found an underground Church of The Holy Sufferer and they would be invited in to take shelter. The rooms were always only big enough for Rufioh to turn his head in any direction and only half the time they had recooperacoons instead of beds, but it was always warm and there was always food and there was always guaranteed protection.
But there was not always guaranteed happiness. They had harbored in the largest church they’d ever seen, and at first it had been merrymaking all around. Karkat and Rufioh had been allowed a few nights to decompress from the stress of their travels before slowly pastors and travelers and honored disciples came to speak with Karkat. At first a mere trickle that allowed Rufioh to proudly remain at Karkat’s side, arm protectively slung around him. Soon the number in the crowd grew so that his grip migrated to shoulder, then hand, until Rufioh was hardly able to see the boy over those that wished to be blessed by him.
When finally they were alone, Rufioh would grab him by the shoulders, kneeling down to look him ocular orb-to-ocular orb and in a hushed and worried tone declare the church was dangerous and they needed to leave immediately. Karkat of course would see through his insistence and push the man away. “You’re jealous,” he would gape. For how often Rufioh got him alone to be without him in his arms, without him dependent Rufioh would allow not a soul to enjoy his company as much as he did. And Karkat would storm from the room, angered that he was finally safe and happy with a full congregation, finally he was getting somewhere in his revolution and Rufioh wished to return to the road for his own selfishness.
At such harsh rejection Rufioh would turn from the church, finding his way out of the winding cave it was built deeply into until he’d reach fresh air and he would pace to get himself back together. He was angry, he was jealous, he was embarrassed, but he couldn’t leave Karkat despite how much of a tantrum he wanted to throw. Being an adult was difficult he would sigh as he would search up through the canopy for Neverland.
During his pacing though he would discover that some reckless disciple had been followed. Hiding high up in the trees he would watch the army below, slowly picking through the underbrush looking for clues as to where they had run off. But it wasn’t until he was certain that the location of the church had been found out that he would dart back through the cave to Karkat’s side.
Again he would grab the boy and demand they leave, but Karkat’s patience would be thin and he would argue with the man. Rufioh would cling to him though, drawing Karkat up into his arms despite how Karkat would push at his wide chest. His followers were soon upon them, trying to disentangle Karkat from Rufioh’s grasp. His hold remained tight, though, nose buried into Karkat’s hair and the boy tucked perfectly against him. He had had perigees to discover just where Karkat could be placed so that no troll or beast could pull him away.
The followers’ attention was soon diverted as the doors were broken open and the army began to open fire. Rufioh flew up into the vaulted ceiling, keeping Karkat safe between him and a corner. Karkat’s arms were tight around Rufioh’s neck then, watching the battle below. Rufioh’s breath was heavy, ocular orbs closed as he prayed to The Signless himself that he had been fast enough, that his black clothing and brown wings would help to blend them into the shadows and the army would not discover them. Despite himself he prayed that the others would be arrested and in the battle searching for The Second Coming would be forgotten.
It would seem as if Rufioh’s prayers had been answered, as the battle died down as bodies fell. As if The Signless was rewarding Rufioh for his loyalty to the royal blood pumping through the tiny shivering form against him. As he relaxed, listening to people being dragged out to later be loaded in carts and strung up for all to witness, one of the last remaining priests knocked a candle with her elbow as she struggled for her life and freedom and the church was engulfed in minutes.
Karkat would see though. His gaze never leaving his people even as Rufioh tried to block it all with his shoulder, he himself never once looking down. Karkat would struggle again, pushing at him enough to fly, trying to lead Rufioh to safety without making a sound. He couldn’t risk telling the man what was going on and thus alert the army to their presence. Rufioh would eventually turn and see it though, and he would hold Karkat more tightly. Between Karkat’s struggles and their wings both trying to achieve a dominant flight pattern, the two bumped around the ceiling like moths trapped until eventually Karkat slipped away and dove for the nearest window.
Flinging himself through the colored panes he made a hole to freedom and Rufioh was quick to follow. There was enough time between fitting himself through the window and the army rounding the building for Rufioh to gather the bleeding and unconscious Karkat into his arms and take off through the emergency escape route out of the caves.
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The little boy’s idea of hell was waking up to the blurry sight of the canopy above him, just barely thick enough to keep out the sun. The familiar pressure of Rufioh’s arms was only mildly comforting about his sore and tender body, and the prickling of brown tears was more soothing than it ever had been.
When he had come-to enough, they strung a hammock between the highest branches of the tree Rufioh had chosen to hide in, and Karkat settled against Rufioh’s chest once more. As the sun moved across the sky and the muffled chirps of the birds echoed from below, Karkat ran his hands through Rufioh’s mussed hair. Sleep was far from the boy’s think pan even as Rufioh drifted. He was awake enough, though, that his hands caressed Karkat’s back and hair, pulling him closer as Karkat moved against him.
Karkat’s kisses were soft and tender, landing on his collar, neck, and jaw. His tears were quiet and cool, staining Rufioh’s shirt the mutant color he was condemned for carrying. His hands were comforting as they moved from Rufioh’s hair down his body, healing cuts and burns and his voice was weak and frightened as he chanted, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
capta1namer1ca replied to your post:capta1namer1ca replied to your post:OKAY. Babe....
BE1NG UNCOMFORTABLE ABOUT BE1NG REALLY 1NNAPROPR1ATELY SEXUAL1ZED 1SN’T BE1NG A FOUR SWEEP OLD? 1T’S A COMPLETELY LEG1T1MATE CONCERN AND 1T’S PATRON1Z1NG TO BE TOLD 1 SHOULD JUST BE ABLE TO SHRUG 1T OFF.
And yet you're expect1ng me and h1m to completely shrug off a sn1de remark about the extremely oppress1ve educat1onal system under the tyrann1es we grew up 1n.
Your 1ssues w1th sexual1zat1on are not the problem here. Your 1ssues w1th dera1l1ng m1ght be. Your 1ssues w1th harrassng my mate 1s. Your 1ssues for not act1ng l1ke a damned adult and lett1ng 1t go sure are.
1've talked my mate down. Or d1d my best to. So 1'd apprec1ate 1t 1f we'd d1scuss th1s 1n pr1vate or ceased all together.
capta1namer1ca replied to your post:bullsh1tt1ng replied to your post:OKAY. Babe....
FL1RT1NG W1TH SOMEONE 1 L1TERALLY JUST EXPRESSED D1SCOMFORT ABOUT. SOMEONE WHO PUT MY P1CTURES ON A PORN S1TE NONCONSENSUALLY. REALLY.
See th1s 1s your problem. You have absolutely no f1lter for yourself yet you expect 1t for everyone else. 1 have absolutely no 1dea what you're talk1ng about. And you know what? 1 don't care.
1 am address1ng the s1tuat1on at hand. And you know what that s1tuat1on 1s? Two grown trolls throw1ng a sh1t-f1t over horr1bly wr1tten and conc1eved jokes.
1 have noth1ng aga1nst you be1ng uncomfortable. 1 understand that. But my mate apolog1zed and you cont1nue th1s nonsense. Wh1ch, by extens1on, 1s only mak1ng a lot of people uncomfortable.
capta1namer1ca replied to your post:OKAY. Babe. Back off. Vantas-typ1ng alt… please...
YOU’RE THE ONE WHO PUT THE FUCK1NG 1DEA 1N YOUR MATESPR1T’S HEAD TO TRY AND CONSTRUE MY D1SCOMFORT 1NTO SOME K1ND OF HEMO1ST ASSPULL. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU PATRON1ZE ME ABOUT TH1S.
1 read someth1ng 1ncred1bly class1st and called 1t out. You two then dec1ded to roll around 1n your own conversat1onal muck l1ke a pa1r of four sweep olds.
1 am not patron1z1ng you. 1 am s1mply tell1ng you to stop.
