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Whats your top pale pairing?

Me and my meowrail <> http://crappycomputerart01.co.vu/ <><><><><><><><><><><>

plEASE ENTER A MOIRALLEGIANCE

#homestuck #karkan #karkat vantas #kanaya maryam #otpale

You Would Never

You’re feeling a little lost without a moirail, to be honest. As taxing as the relationship with Vriska had been, it had been a relationship nonetheless and you are getting a little starved for palemance lately. It doesn’t depress you necessarily, but...put it this way, your life is nicer the more people you can help, and you haven’t been helping too many lately. In short, you, Kanaya Maryam, keep one eye out for prospective moirallegiances at all times these days. This particular day is an ordinary but productive one; you’ve finished a skirt and a scarf that you’ve been working on, read fifty pages of a most indulgent novel, and spent a few hours watching Rose play with chemicals, her hair getting increasingly messier with every clink of bottles. Now, you have decided that what you desire most is a solitary walk to cleanse your mind, and this is what you are embarking upon when you hear it. You would recognize a shriek of Karkat’s anywhere; his voice sounds like he’s perpetually swallowing gravel, and it’s usually raised in vituperative ardor towards one thing or another. That’s not why you stop, because if this was just Karkat’s usual shriek than you might have just kept on walking without a word. This shriek, so clearly emanating from Karkat’s throat, is full of raw agony that hurts you just hearing it, a scream so clear-cutting and pained your feet stop walking of their own volition, outside the door where the horrible cry is coming from. You try the knob. It’s unlocked. When you step into the room and Karkat looks up, you almost turn around and run back out again; his face is rent with scratches that would match up to him clawing at his own face, the ruby-red blood flowing down his cheeks like tears. It’s a fearsome sight, and you feel yourself tremble a bit, but you hold your ground. “Karkat?” you ask quietly, and his scream shudders off into racking sobs as he sees you, nearly doubled over with the force of them. “Why do I fuck everything up?!” he’s saying through chattering teeth, and you scarcely have time to start a response before he continues: “Terezi, I fucked it up, Nepeta, I fucked it up, you, Sollux, everyone, I fuck everyone up, I goddamned suck, I can’t even keep a FUCKING MOIRALLEGIANCE.” Understanding dawns over you, the reasons for his distress, and without another word you are drawing close to the tortured boy, the sufferer who drowns in his failures, and taking him into your arms. “Shoosh,” you murmur to him, papping him lightly, stroking his hair and letting him cry and bleed onto one of your favorite shirts in the world. “Don’t let me fuck you up any more,” he sobs into the crook between your neck and shoulder, and you shake your head, though he can’t see it. “You would never,” you tell he who might just be your new moirail, and hold him closer.