--I mean, I prefer the phrase "booty rockalicious," but sure, if the traditional language does it for you, I'm not gonna complain about a little physical affirmation in my last hour of blushing maidenhood.
[Hah! Nailed it. He is the Savior of the Awkward Assholes, it's him. Dave flops over onto his back to spare them both having to look at each other, because he is nothing if not a benevolent god.]
Anyway, our private island's a wedding present from Jade, while John's the one who donated the snacks and movies. Rose'll give us an eldritch kraken to put in our moat but she'll forget to train it, so we housebreak it with a Baby's First Puppy guide and every day you come back from your grueling job at the factory, it makes happy noises and licks your face with a tentacle.
[Dave illustrates everything with his hands, and at the last bit, he just reaches up and boops Karkat's face. Boop.]
[YES. GOOD, NOW DAVE IS TALKING SENSE or rather complete fucking nonsense, but that's exactly what both of them need to hear to forget the unbelievable awkwardness that was the last, ugh, Karkat doesn't even want to know and he's not the Knight of Time here anyway, that part of the conversation never happened and that's what matters.
... And, even if Dave isn't blushing, a certain former troll is probably blushing enough for the both of them. Fortunately, he has greasy fried food stuff in his face to hide it.
Oddly, he hadn't anticipated the boop.]
Dave, what the fuck.
[His tone is flat, but despite how tempting it is to turn and look at Dave, he's feeling pretty happy with the minor distance he'd retreated when Dave had lain back again, just because he'd needed that additional buffer. Hahahahaaldksgfjhdgj he is not having... he's having nothing. Hypothetically nothing is taking place here because he absolutely wouldn't be considering anything other than perfect pale propriety toward his moirail, because that's how quadrants work. He knows how quadrants work, he is a romance savant.
He fidgets with a fry, then shoves it down his meal tunnel. Gosh these sure are delicious.]
You want a horrorterror as a pet. And... wait, why the fuck am I working at a factory? What factory? Why aren't you working?
[Yes, he's actually getting a little engaged in this imaginary scenario that is totally unrelated to the nonexistent one previously mentioned. Haha, engaged. Haha. Ha. Fuck, maybe he's imagining it? Again. That other time was clearly a fluke, right, so—fuck, no, he's not thinking about that right now, tell him more about this space kraken they're going to use as some unnecessarily elaborate bouncer for their equally extravagant mansion.]
You work at the romcom factory where they make romcoms, duh. You can be, like, the C.E.O., is that more respectable?
[Shrug!]
Anyway, I didn't say I don't work, but someone's gotta look after the wigglers.
[As he tucks his arm under his head as an extra pillow, though, Dave realizes he doesn't actually have a fucking clue what he would do, if he'd had the opportunity to grow up. He hesitates, trying to remember what he used to want to be. He has to have had some dream, right?]
Huh. I guess I...go back to doing SBaHJ? Keeping the frothing public satiated, handling all the merchandising...start my blog up again, maybe.
[That sounds...not very fulfilling, actually. Quick, go back to bullshit.]
Eh, I dunno, actually three entire kids might keep me pretty busy. Are you prepared to sustain me in the lifestyle to which I'm accustomed, dude? The taxes on our island are probably fucking horrendous.
[... The romcom factory where they make romcoms. Wow.]
You mean the studio? And what the fuck, I thought you were kidding about the wigglers.
[Joking about joking about the wigglers. Yes. This makes sense. Also, don't think he didn't notice that redirect, Strider, he is way too familiar with your bullshit for that.]
Trolls aren't... I mean. [Fuck is this not a safe topic. Uh—] Wigglers or human babies? You've said both.
[Nice save. Not. Time to shove a chicken nugget in his talk blaster and chew angrily because argh ugh blargh, fuck everything.]
You could still get a job, don't even try that shit. Gl'bgolyb did all right with Feferi, so—
[Yes he is suggesting that this eldritch kraken play babysitter so they can both work. What? It makes total sense.]
That only works if our wiggler babies can swim, Karkat. ...Also, one of each, and the third is...
[He thinks about it, because a hybrid wiggler-baby (a wiggly? a bageler?) mostly just sounds kind of horrifying, but then he lights the fuck up.]
A baby Mayor. Shit, that would be the most adorable dopeness!
[Baby Mayor in a baby carrier. Baby Mayor in a stroller. Baby Mayor sleeping all curled up under a baby mobile version of the Incipisphere, covered in a soft blanket patterned with cans. HE WANTS A BABY MAYOR RIGHT TF NOW.]
As if I could bear to leave the Bayor to slave away at a desk gig like some kind of standard corporate peon. I got the right coloring to be a lusus, anyway, maybe this is just my calling and you didn't know it.
[Stay-at-home dad Dave Strider. You heard it here first.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
--I mean, I prefer the phrase "booty rockalicious," but sure, if the traditional language does it for you, I'm not gonna complain about a little physical affirmation in my last hour of blushing maidenhood.
[Hah! Nailed it. He is the Savior of the Awkward Assholes, it's him. Dave flops over onto his back to spare them both having to look at each other, because he is nothing if not a benevolent god.]
Anyway, our private island's a wedding present from Jade, while John's the one who donated the snacks and movies. Rose'll give us an eldritch kraken to put in our moat but she'll forget to train it, so we housebreak it with a Baby's First Puppy guide and every day you come back from your grueling job at the factory, it makes happy noises and licks your face with a tentacle.
[Dave illustrates everything with his hands, and at the last bit, he just reaches up and boops Karkat's face. Boop.]
no subject
... And, even if Dave isn't blushing, a certain former troll is probably blushing enough for the both of them. Fortunately, he has greasy fried food stuff in his face to hide it.
Oddly, he hadn't anticipated the boop.]
Dave, what the fuck.
[His tone is flat, but despite how tempting it is to turn and look at Dave, he's feeling pretty happy with the minor distance he'd retreated when Dave had lain back again, just because he'd needed that additional buffer. Hahahahaaldksgfjhdgj he is not having... he's having nothing. Hypothetically nothing is taking place here because he absolutely wouldn't be considering anything other than perfect pale propriety toward his moirail, because that's how quadrants work. He knows how quadrants work, he is a romance savant.
He fidgets with a fry, then shoves it down his meal tunnel. Gosh these sure are delicious.]
You want a horrorterror as a pet. And... wait, why the fuck am I working at a factory? What factory? Why aren't you working?
[Yes, he's actually getting a little engaged in this imaginary scenario that is totally unrelated to the nonexistent one previously mentioned. Haha, engaged. Haha. Ha. Fuck, maybe he's imagining it? Again. That other time was clearly a fluke, right, so—fuck, no, he's not thinking about that right now, tell him more about this space kraken they're going to use as some unnecessarily elaborate bouncer for their equally extravagant mansion.]
no subject
[Shrug!]
Anyway, I didn't say I don't work, but someone's gotta look after the wigglers.
[As he tucks his arm under his head as an extra pillow, though, Dave realizes he doesn't actually have a fucking clue what he would do, if he'd had the opportunity to grow up. He hesitates, trying to remember what he used to want to be. He has to have had some dream, right?]
Huh. I guess I...go back to doing SBaHJ? Keeping the frothing public satiated, handling all the merchandising...start my blog up again, maybe.
[That sounds...not very fulfilling, actually. Quick, go back to bullshit.]
Eh, I dunno, actually three entire kids might keep me pretty busy. Are you prepared to sustain me in the lifestyle to which I'm accustomed, dude? The taxes on our island are probably fucking horrendous.
no subject
You mean the studio? And what the fuck, I thought you were kidding about the wigglers.
[Joking about joking about the wigglers. Yes. This makes sense. Also, don't think he didn't notice that redirect, Strider, he is way too familiar with your bullshit for that.]
Trolls aren't... I mean. [Fuck is this not a safe topic. Uh—] Wigglers or human babies? You've said both.
[Nice save. Not. Time to shove a chicken nugget in his talk blaster and chew angrily because argh ugh blargh, fuck everything.]
You could still get a job, don't even try that shit. Gl'bgolyb did all right with Feferi, so—
[Yes he is suggesting that this eldritch kraken play babysitter so they can both work. What? It makes total sense.]
no subject
[He thinks about it, because a hybrid wiggler-baby (a wiggly? a bageler?) mostly just sounds kind of horrifying, but then he lights the fuck up.]
A baby Mayor. Shit, that would be the most adorable dopeness!
[Baby Mayor in a baby carrier. Baby Mayor in a stroller. Baby Mayor sleeping all curled up under a baby mobile version of the Incipisphere, covered in a soft blanket patterned with cans. HE WANTS A BABY MAYOR RIGHT TF NOW.]
As if I could bear to leave the Bayor to slave away at a desk gig like some kind of standard corporate peon. I got the right coloring to be a lusus, anyway, maybe this is just my calling and you didn't know it.
[Stay-at-home dad Dave Strider. You heard it here first.]