God dammit, me. Stop feeling fluffy. Stop.

Oh god, this is basically me channeling my insomnia into a character. Ahahahahahaha, I need sleep…

Disclaimer: If I owned Homestuck, wouldn't I be figuring out ways to harvest your souls?

Dave gulped down another bottle of apple juice. Hopefully, the sugar inside would keep him awake for a while longer. The cold beverage slid down his throat and settled heavily into his stomach. He felt nauseous as his beloved juice sloshed around inside of him. If he kept this up, he may very well puke. Well, that wouldn't be so bad. There would be more room for juice and the burn would keep him awake.

Why was he trying so hard to keep himself awake, you might ask? Did cool kids not need the beauty sleep required of most human beings? Does that apple juice have piss in it? The answers to those questions go as follows:

He had to finish this especially long Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff comic on no sleep. No, he doesn't expect peasants like yourselves to understand this logic.

No, Dave Strider was permanently fucking gorgeous. That was just the way the art of cool went.

And no, there was no piss. Fuck Egbert (not literally, in this case) for ever bringing up that dumb movie in the first place.

Dave has then decided that yes, speaking to an invisible, imaginary audience was perfect for writing his comic. Obviously. Hallucinations could make it even better, but he hadn't pushed himself that far yet. If John knew of what was going on, Dave knew the punishment. Warm blankets. Warm milk with honey. Being pinned underneath Egderp. Aggressive cuddles. A hummed lullaby that just begged for him to relax an e…

He shook his head, clearing away the images that were already causing him to nod off. God, this routine was getting so old it had already tackled his subconscious, forced it to give into its demands and made it the routine's bitch. The trope was getting mighty popular with the Strider bod, kinda like Twilight. You know it's downright wrong, but you can't help but be attracted to it with its necrophilia and pedophilia. Not that his relationship with John is any of those things. They were both sixteen and very much alive (Dave should know; he's a god dammed immortal). But wouldn't he have been in a necrophilia-type relationship before, playing the role of the sexy bleeding corpse? Dave didn't think it really counted, mostly because Jade had only given his very-much-dead carcass a smooch to keep his dreamself alive so that he could be brought back to life as a bad ass god.

Well, that train of thought derailed quickly. This tended to happen whenever Dave was tired; his thoughts would run off the fucking tracks and there would be no survivors.

He squinted at the bright light of his screen. The colors and lines ran and swayed together, becoming fuzzy and slightly faded around the edges. Was he beginning to hallucinate yet or were his eyes just blurring?

Dave heard a slight shuffling coming down the hall. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his ears (which were running at twenty fucking thousand miles an hour while his brain may as well have been a pet rock). When he realized the steps, his thoughts were something akin to, ABORT MISSION, ABORT MISSION.

He got the urge to dramatically roll to the side of his bed while humming the Mission Impossible theme, which may very well have been an ironic possibility if it weren't for the floor shifting like waves of magma flowing down into a lake and his knees suddenly being stolen and replaced by jelly. That guy from Saw must have stolen them instead of his kidneys.

As Dave was going into a fit of borderline hysterical giggling, the boy who entered sighed and began to tear him away from his precious computer. Of course the cool kid held on for his life. He couldn't be expected to get into his bed! His brethren were gathered about his shrine to the gods of all that is irony and cats! Dave then realized that the webpage he was on was not, in fact, Tumblr.

Oh, it was John who was handling him into bed! He liked John. John was very pretty. Dave blinked, just looking at John and feeling a fluffy warm thing wrapping around him. It was a blanket. John was going away. Dave whined loudly. He didn't want the blanket, even if it was fluffy like a kitten or Karkitty when the troll got angry. He wanted to be back at his computer, doing… something. He didn't really remember what. Maybe it was writing something? Something ironic? Nah, it was probably something under rule 34 including lizards and wizards.

John was back!

Dave let himself be maneuvered to sit up, holding a warm mug that was handed to him. He obediently took a sip, because whenever he did, those blue eyes would just sparkle happily at him, like the ocean under siege by the sun. Something warm and sweet trickled down his throat and soothed his tummy, making him begin to feel warm from the inside out.

He got all of the drink done and the mug was put somewhere (Dave for the life of him could not fathom where it would have disappeared to; perhaps to a magical pocket dimension known as the bedside table, though he knows that now he's just being silly). He was being laid down under the fluffy thing that may or may not be Karkat when he was angry (he had a feeling it wasn't) and a weight was pressed on top of him.

John was laying on top of him, nuzzling his fluffy hair against him and squeezing his arms around him. He instantly relaxed, feeling exhausted and content. He couldn't remember why he wanted to stay away from this, this place where everything was warm and safe and perfect. John was the best. He was so sweet and kind. He was also warm, Dave couldn't forget that. John was warm. Warm was John. Warm, warm, warm John.

And then Dave could hear a rumbling against his chest as the sound of humming filled his ears. This was just perfect. He was warm and safe. The humming was smooth, lulling, making his eyelids droop further. Lead weights attached to each one, pulling and pulling until they were shut and the only thing Dave could do was listen to the heavenly humming and register the feeling of warmth and rumbling. Surely John's lullaby was the exact sound a star would make if they came down to Earth and made music. Yes, surely. And that would explain why, exactly, he was floating away…

The humming grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing but blissful slumber.

I need sleep. Also, I gave myself diabetes again. But mostly, I need sleep.