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My Big Responsibility

Chapter Text

You hate Sburb. You really fucking do. Every task was so frustratingly difficult, and no matter what you do, you or one of your teammates die. Not only that, but it’s damn near impossible to beat this fucking game.

Taking in a deep breath, you put down your controller.

Reader ===> Introduce yourself.

You suppose you should.

Your name is (Y/N) (L/N). As was previously mentioned, you absolutely hate SBURB, whereas a few of your BUDDIES absolutely love the damned game. You have a passion of PLAYING VIDEO GAMES, and you are the best at it. When playing SBURB, you are known as the (GOD TIER), but outside of SBURB, you are a COLLEGE STUDENT with ABSOLUTELY NO LIFE. (Y/N), what will you do?

Reader ===> Respond to your friends.

Oh, you didn’t even notice the message notifications flashing on the screen through your rage. With a slightly irritated expression, you click open Pesterchum.

EB: (y/n) where are you?
EB: i know you died and all, but we need your help!
CH: Sorry, John. I need a minute.
TG: well hurry up man
TT: Dave, please don’t rush (Y/N). She has every right to “cool down” after getting killed the umpteenth time.
TG: ok ok fine whatever
CH: Brb.
TT: Take your time.

You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. When you had first received the game for your twentieth birthday, you were excited to run around the world, killing monsters and collecting those weird Gusher grist things you need to upgrade your weapons and to build with. Now, you’re tired of flying through space as a god with a handful of friends you had met along the way.

There was Rose, the Seer of Light. She kinda creeps you out at times, but she’s promised to be your drinking buddy. Pretty fucking sweet.

Dave, the Knight of Time. The cool dude’s shared some of his sick beats with you, and although you don’t particularly like rap, you find his music to be pretty awesome. Not that you’d tell him that, of course. His ego’s large enough as it is.

The Heir of Breath, aka John, is probably your nerdiest friend, like, ever. He likes all of these stupid, shitty movies, like Con Air (you’ve told him you’ve seen it. You were lying.), and he absolutely hates clowns. You do, too, but for your own reasons.

Jade did her job as the Witch of Space pretty well, but lately, she’s been too busy sleeping to help beat the game. You can’t really blame her.

Dirk, Dave’s older brother, has momentarily quit the game. The Prince of Heart had been decapitated for the second time, which you find pretty ironic because how many times can a guy get decapitated? You guess he’s pretty mad at the situation, but getting his head cut off by his younger brother probably irked him. Things have been tense between them.

Roxy doesn’t really care, though. She finds it pretty amusing her brothers are arguing over such stupid things, and she doesn’t hold back the details on their arguments at home. Either way, she’s pretty cool, if you overlook her wizard obsession. The Rogue of Void is an alcoholic in recovery, and you tell her every day that damn, you’re proud of her. You like to think this helps keep her motivated.

The lad off on an adventure is known as the Page of Hope. By the way, when you say adventure, you really mean he’s off on a hunting trip with his and Jade’s grandpa. Jake is well known to anyone who’s sat through his blabbering for more than five seconds (inside and outside the game) to be pretty trigger happy. He’s tried to convince you to visit their little island so he can bring you on an adventure, but you passed on that. You quite like the indoors, thank you very much.

One of your closest friends is Jane. As the Maid of Life, or the Healer of the group, she’s saved your ass too many times to count. Without her, you’d probably be knocked so far back, your god tier would’ve been stripped from you. In the real world, she started out as your penpal. You needed some help baking a cake for your grandmother and asked around on numerous different sites for any good recipes. Jane quickly responded, sending you a recipe of her own creation. Well, after a while, you two became good friends, and she convinced you to get Sburb. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

The twins are a completely different story, and with the two bickering so much, Rose blocked them both for a week. Caliborn and Calliope are complete opposites. The Lord of Time was constantly killing everyone, trying to be the best player and literally the lord of the game, and the Muse of Space spends her time either trying to help everyone, drawing everyone in their god tiers, or running from her brother. To say they were an interesting duo was a severe understatement.

A small ding catches your attention, and you notice it’s a private message from… you don’t really know, to be honest. You can’t see their chum handle, and the page’s empty. Raising an eyebrow, you message your friends.

CH: Guys, I just got a message from some random asshole.
GG: :o
GG: Oh? What does it say?
CH: I have no idea. There’s no chum handle, no message, nothing. It’s blank.
TG: dirk says to highlight everything
TT: Are you two finally talking again?
TG: oh hell no
TG: he walked by and read the message over my shoulder
TG: then he flashstepped away like he was on fire
EG: well, his raps ARE pretty lit
--tentacleTherapist[TT]has blocked ectoBiologist[EB].--
CH: Hey now, that pun was pretty funny.
TT: Do I need to block you, too?
CH: No thanks.
TT: I thought so.
CH: I’m gonna try highlighting the text. I’ll be on in a bit.
--chumHandle[CH] has left the chat.--

Reader ===> Highlight the text.

You already did. You’re looking at the message right now.

Open your door and retrieve the package.

That sounds like something you shouldn't do. However, you’re bored with your life, and you’re currently angry at Sburb, so why not?

Pushing yourself away from your desk, you get up from the rolly spinny chair (you don’t really care about the actual name of it. Desk chair sounds way too boring.) and walk to the front door. You look through the peephole and see no one standing there (at least, not from what you can see) and decide to test your chances by opening the door. A quick glance reveals no one hiding, but at your feet, there’s a box with holes carved in the sides and a note taped to the top.

There’s movement inside.

Taking in a breath, you pick up the box with little difficulty, bringing it inside before the poor creature can freeze. After all, it’s pretty chilly for mid-September. The door slams closed due to your foot kicking it, and whatever’s in the box is startled. Poor creature. You set the box on the table.

It doesn’t look like very much, and it’s too dark for you to see inside of it without taking the top off. It vaguely reminds you of one of those boxes they put a bird or a mouse or something in when you purchase one at a petstore. Glancing at the note, you carefully peel it off and read it.

Take good care of this little fella. They’ve been through a lot.

Uh huh. Okay. It’s not like you have much of a choice. Besides, you were thinking of getting a pet to keep you company, and to keep you sane. College sucks ass.

With another deep breath, you pull the top off the box.

And you scream.

Chapter Text

The walls of the box seemed to bleed red, the soft scent of cherry filling your nostrils. A small figure, no taller than six inches, cowered in the corner, desperately attempting to hide the bleeding wound on its shoulder. The…thing... bared its sharp teeth at you, its gray eyes narrowed dangerously as it scoots closer to the farthest corner.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, your eyes wide. The minute person has gray skin, solid black hair, aforementioned sharp teeth and gray eyes with yellow scleras, not to mention little candy corn-colored horns, and it’s wearing a black sweatshirt with a gray cancer symbol on its chest, it being tucked into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. You figure it’s a male by his body structure.

The creature growls at you, daring you to move any closer. Though, honestly, you’d rather not have your hand bitten. Who knows what kind of diseases he may have?

“What are you?” you inquire. You notice he’s shaking.

“What the fuck do I look like?” he snaps. You almost squeal at how angry his squeaky voice sounds, but another look at the box makes you hold in the urge and momentarily ignore the obvious difference in species.

“You’re injured,” you state. He rolls his eyes.

“No, I’m just bathing in the stickiness of my own slurry,” he retorts sarcastically. “Of course I’m fucking injured! It doesn’t take a gogdamn archeradicator to figure that out!” You blink.

“A what?”

“Do you fucking know anything, or is your thinkpan as fried as a cluckbeast ova in the daytime?” he spits. You stare at the small being, your face as blank as your mind. You have absolutely no idea how the fuck to respond, but just looking at him gives you an idea. A fantastic one, actually. “What are you staring at?!”


Reader ===> Tend to his wounds.


After thirty-seven minutes of chasing the little guy around in his box (and knocking it over, which allowed him to run freely around in your apartment. The fact that you haven’t cleaned for a while [see this as for a few days to a few weeks] makes it even worse when you realize all of your misplaced belongings gives the creature perfect out-of-reach hiding places), you finally catch the guy and trap him in the crook of your knee. He’s currently yelling and screaming at you to release him before he, quote en quote, ‘Shreds open your acid tract and rips out your acid tubes, using the blood from your slashed chug column to paint bulges all over your walls to call in the Imperial Drones to have you culled.’

You have no idea what any of that means.

After another gruesome eleven minutes, you finally get the shirt off the little bastard and begin to clean his wound. He’s got a nasty gash from his shoulder to mid-chest, all of which is pouring out blood like a damn waterfall. It takes the little guy an even longer period of time to realize you aren’t meaning to burn him with the cleaning solution, and that you’re actually trying to help. He calms after this, but only slightly.

“Goddamn, you’re a handful,” you mutter, carefully placing the now-bandaged midget on your couch. You make your way to your washer and throw in his ruined shirt, along with some laundry you’ve neglected to do. After checking the thermostat and seeing it’s sixty-seven degrees in your apartment, you retrieve a fuzzy blanket and walk back to your living room, presenting the soft bundle of fabric to the small creature. He stares at it for a moment.

“The fuck is this?”

“It’s a blanket. It keeps you warm.”

“...I don’t want it,” he sasses. Your left eye twitches.

“Well, too bad. You’re gonna get sick if you’re not covered up.” Before he can speak, you wrap it around him to form a cocoon, careful of his injuries, but also ensuring he doesn’t run away. He only calls you a nooksniffer once. Okay, maybe twice, but you’re trying to be nice. “So,” you start, sitting next to him. He struggles to move away. “What the fuck are you?” He huffs, settling on glaring at the space in front of him after realizing he can’t get out from under the blanket.

“I’m a fucking troll,” he replies. You raise an eyebrow.

“Like the ones that live under bridges?” He gives you a bewildered look.

“Why the fuck would I live under a bridge? I used to live in a hive, damnit.”

“..So, you’re like a bee?” You almost burst out laughing at his expression. Almost.

“Do I look like a fucking stingbug to you?” Even though you’re still confused by his terminology, you still find him quite amusing.

“I guess not,” you muse, cracking a smile. He frowns at you for that. “What’s your name, little troll?”

“First of all, I’m not little. I’m one of the tallest in my group of friends.” He ignores your comment of you being about ten times his height. “Secondly, my name’s Karkat Vantas.” He says this with a puff of his chest, as if his name meant something important. After a second of thinking it over, he slumps in his cocoon.

“Okay, Karkat Vantas, I’m (Y/N) (L/N), and I’m a human,” you say. Karkat scrunches his nose at you.

“You have a weird name,” he states.

“At least I’m not named something like Karkat,” you bite back. He shrugs.

“Fair enough, I guess.” Things go quiet between the two of you for a while. You have so many questions, and you have a feeling he does, too, but you don’t want to overwhelm him. “Why didn’t you kill me?” His question catches you off guard, leaving you to gape at him.

“Why would I?” you finally reply. Karkat doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Because of my blood color. I’m a mutant.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that where you come from, people with your blood color are killed?” you ask incredulously. He nods.

“Without a second thought,” he confirms. You frown. Mutant or not, you think Karkat’s pretty cool, even if you’ve never met a troll before. He’s already way more interesting than most people you know.

“How about this,” you begin slowly. “I promise I won’t let anyone, or anything, kill you and you behave, at least until we figure out how to get you home to your friends. You can stay as long as you need to, and I’ll try to do whatever I can to keep you comfortable and healthy. What do you say?” You hold out your hand to him, watching as he stares at it. He finally huffs and wrestles his uninjured arm out of the blanket, gripping it with his much smaller one, with a surprising amount of strength.

“Fine. If I die, you’re to blame,” he growls. You smile.

“I can agree to that. C’mon, let’s get you some food.”

Reader ===> Be the troll.

You are now Karkat Vantas.

As of late, you are in the care of a strange creature called a human, and honestly, you don’t like this at all. After escaping from your planet with eleven of your other friends and captured by some guy with a huge white ball as a head, you’re pretty much convinced that the universe is finally getting its revenge on letting you exist. If being away from the only people you feel comfortable with and getting blown into space and kidnapped by some white-headed freak wasn’t bad enough, a fight with a barkbeast has rendered you severely injured, and you’re sure that you would’ve slowly bled out if the human hadn’t found you and mended your wounds.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you trust her. You just plan on playing along with her stupid little promise before you find a way to reunite with your friends, and hopefully never step strut pod on this gogforsaken planet again, much less see another human again for the rest of your short life.

Karkat ===> Introduce yourself a little better.

Fuck, do you have to?!


Fucking fine.

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and as previously mentioned, you are an INJURED TROLL. You were living peacefully in fear of the IMPERIAL DRONES on your hiveplanet, also known as ALTERNIA, until shit went down with one of your CHUMS FUCKING UP. You’re the LEADER of your GROUP OF IDIOTIC FRIENDS, and honestly, you’re a pretty SHITTY LEADER, but you don’t let this deter you. You have a passion for ROMANTIC COMEDIES, whether it be RED/BLACK, PALE TURNING RED, or THAT OF WHICH TWO KISMESIS ARE MET WITH A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT, RENDERING THE FEMALE IN A COMATOSE STATE. HER MOIRAIL COMES TO THE RESCUE, ONLY TO FALL RED FOR HER KISMESIS. THEY BOTH ARE UNAWARE OF THE MALE’S PURELY RED FEELINGS FOR HIS KISMESIS, AND IN AN IRONIC TURN OF EVENTS, HE CONFESSES ONCE SHE WAKES UP, AND-Okay, let’s just say it’s your FAVORITE MOVIE. You are also a MUTANT. Karkat, what will you do?

Karkat ===> Help make food.

You can’t do that at the moment, as the human girl has wrapped you in what she calls a ‘blanket,’ but any cultured dumbass would know it’s a human version of a snuggleplane. It just took you a little bit to spot the similarity. Unable to move, you merely watch as the (Y/N) human scurries across her meal block, pulling out ingredients and tools you only barely recognize. She’s oddly silent as she cooks, only muttering to herself on how long to set the timer for the crisprange. You watch her, many thoughts filling your thinkpan, but not bothering to say a word to her.

“I hope you like scrambled eggs,” (Y/N) finally says, turning to you. She has a wooden tool in her hand, stirring the yellow glop inside the black pan. You briefly wonder if it’s a form of grubsauce you’ve never tried before. Instead, you shrug to the best of your ability.

“Don’t know what the fuck that is,” you tell her. (Y/N) nods slightly, turning back to the pan. Whatever she’s cooking (eggs, was it?) smells so fucking good, and your acid tract seems to agree. She’s silent again, not speaking until the glob of the yellow substance is on a nutrition plateau in front of you. Once more, you wriggle out your right arm, which feels so fucking weird since you’re left clawed (it’s not as common to find a right clawed troll where you are, and the fact you found a right clawed human speaks volumes in the differences in your species), and grab a larger version of a troll four-pronged eating device. You scoop a bite of the yellow food in your squak gaper, your glance nuggets blown wide.

“Holy shit, this is good!” The words are out of your squak gaper before you can stop them, and the human grins.

“I’m glad you like it. Now eat up. You’ve got to rest,” she informs. You ignore her and awkwardly eat more, still not used to using your right claw. It doesn’t matter, though, as your empty acid tract appreciates the food. (Y/N) eats her own food, not sparing you a glance. Either she’s trying to be polite and not stare at you as you load your gaper, or she’s too freaked out by you. You bet it’s the latter.

“Done,” you announce, pulling your claw back into the snuggleplane. (Y/N) was right about it being cold, and you begin to appreciate the snuggleplane even more, but you won’t tell her that. Never in a million solar sweeps.

“Good. Why don’t we watch some T.V.?” (Y/N) doesn’t let you answer as she picks up your empty nutrition plateau and puts it with the other dirtied dishes. She then carefully picks you up, which you immediately bitch about, and places you back on the couch. A movie’s already playing, and the human doesn’t bother changing it. You watch the screen with little interest, suddenly feeling very tired. You haven’t felt this tired for quite some time, and you begin to suspect the human put something in your food. Still, the human says nothing, but glances at you periodically, yet you can’t find yourself to care. You’re too focused on the movie.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

Chapter Text

--chumHandle[CH] began pestering timaeusTestified[TT].--
CH: Dirk.
CH: Diiiirk.
CH: Oh my god, Dirk. Fucking answer me.
TT: What do you want, (Y/N).
CH: He finally speaks.
TT: I’m getting off.
CH: Wait!
TT: What?
TT: If you can’t tell, I’m pretty fucking pissed, here.
TT: You have three seconds before I log off.
CH: Okay, look.
CH: I know we’re not close.
CH: Like, at all.
CH: But I need your help.
CH: ...
CH: Dirk?
TT: Not to be rude or anything, but why would I even consider helping you?
TT: Like you said, we’re not close.
TT: At all.

You stare at your phone, tears burning your eyes. Ever since Dave decapitated Dirk’s character, he’s changed, and you know for damn sure that the Dirk you knew is gone, dead just like his character. You didn’t know a game would have such an effect on your friend. Can you even call him that anymore? This is where your desperation gets the better of you.

CH: Because I have no one to turn to!
CH: Something weird and otherworldly happened like two hours ago, and if I tell anyone else, they’ll think I’m crazy!
CH: Jane would say I’m bullshitting her.
CH: Roxy and Rose are too fucking drunk and wouldn’t remember the conversation.
CH: Dave would only tease me about it.
CH: John would think I’m trying to prank him.
CH: Neither Jade nor Jake are on, and the Twins are too busy arguing to even consider their friends!
CH: I don’t have anyone to turn to, and I’m out of options here.
CH: If you really don’t want to help me out with my problem, then fine, I’ll yank my own teeth out with pliers trying to figure out how to fix this situation.
CH: But I really need your help, Dirk. I really do.

Dirk doesn’t respond. Looking over at the sleeping troll, your curse yourself as tears begin to trickle down your cheeks. You knew this was a lost cause.

CH: Alright then.
CH: I’m sorry for bothering you.
TT: (Y/N), hold on.
TT: What kind of “problem” is this?
CH: I can’t exactly TELL you.
TT: Then what’s the point of telling me any of this?
CH: But I can SHOW you.
TT: Sigh.
TT: Fine. I’ll log off and call you on Skype.
CH: Thanks, Dirk.
CH: I mean it.
--timaeusTestified[TT] has ceased pestering chumHandle[CH].--

Your laptop is on your lap within seconds, and after waiting a moment or two, you receive a Skype call from Dirk, just as promised. You quickly wipe your tears and accept the call. Dirk sits there, and though his shades cover half his face, you can tell he’s annoyed. He’s silent, but you can hear his siblings and robots making noise in the background, despite his bedroom door being closed.

“What is your ‘otherworldly’ problem, (Y/N)?” he finally asks. You swallow thickly, looking over at Karkat once more. He stays asleep.

“Well,” you begin, not quite knowing how to start it off. You decide to just roll with the punches. “You know that message you told me to highlight?” A nod from Dirk encourages you to continue. “It said to open my door and receive a package.”

“Did you?” You nod, biting your lip. “What was in the package?”

“It was, uh, well, him.” You carefully set the laptop on the coffee table, angling it so he can see Karkat. The troll breathes softly, still nestled in the blanket. Dirk says nothing, studying the scene before him. With a shaky breath, you poke Karkat on the cheek.

“Leave me alone,” he grumbles, burying his face in the soft fabric. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you continue to poke Karkat until he wakes. “What the fuck?!” he shouts, struggling to sit up. You silently help unravel him from the blanket cocoon. Once freed, Karkat climbs to his feet slowly, pointing at you dangerously with his uninjured hand. “You better have a good fucking reason to wake me up!”

You say nothing.

“Well?!” Wordlessly, you point to the laptop, which now shows a very astonished Dirk. Hell, his orange eyes are probably as wide as his agape mouth, his dirty blonde eyebrows high above his shades. Both males stare silently at each other. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Karkat shrieks, stumbling back. You reach towards him, worried.

“Karkat, calm down! You’re injured, remember?” you remind.

“Oh, I fucking remember, alright! But what the fuck is that?!”

“That’s Dirk. He’s… uh, he’s an online… friend... of mine,” you force out. In all honesty, you don’t even know if the two of you are considered friends anymore. Karkat looks between you and Dirk, his gray eyes wide in a mixture of shock and fear. He glances down at himself, and upon seeing that his wounds have bled through the bandages, the troll screams. You wince and try to calm him down by wrapping the blanket loosely around his shoulders.

“He knows my blood color!” Karkat wails.

“(Y/N), what the fuck is that?!” Dirk exclaims. You sigh, pinching your nose. Karkat’s still screaming while Dirk continues to ask what the fuck is screaming next to you, and it’s beginning to give you a major headache.

“Karkat, shut up for like, two seconds! I’ll explain everything, but I can’t if the both of you won’t let me speak!” Both males shut up. You take a deep breath and turn to Dirk. “Karkat was in the box I found outside my door. He’s injured pretty badly, and I can’t just send him off into the cold. Who knows what’ll happen to him?

“From what he’s told me, Karkat’s a species called a troll, and not the kind that live under bridges. What I’ve gathered is that if a troll has our blood color, he or she is considered a mutant, and they’re killed immediately. Trolls also have different terms for everyday objects, which is honestly confusing,” you explain. Dirk nods, following along. You’re glad his shock has worn off, but now, he’s unreadable. Karkat, however, glares at Dirk.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Dirk asks. You bite your lip, thinking it over. It felt pretty damn good to tell someone about Karkat, but now, you don’t really know what to do.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I have no idea on how to go about this.”

“Here’s an idea. Fucking help me find my friends and ship us off to a different planet,” the troll snarls. You frown.

“Here’s the thing: we don’t know if your friends are nearby, and if, perchance, they are, how would we be able to convince them to stay with us? I also have school five days a week, so I can’t exactly spend all of my time looking for your friends, which also means I can’t keep an eye on you twenty-four-seven.” Karkat frowns darkly at you.

“Then take time off of your ‘schooling’ so you can help me!” he cries out. Dirk speaks up before either of you can begin arguing.

“How about this. I’ll fly up to you and stay with you for a little bit. That way, I can look after your grumpy little troll while you’re at school, and I can start looking for the others.”

“What about your siblings?” you ask.

“What are siblings?” Karkat wonders. You and Dirk ignore him.

“They won’t have to know. All I’ll say is that I’m going on a trip for a few weeks, and that’s that. I won’t tell them about Karkat or about trolls,” Dirk says. You think it over.

“Or,” you pause, looking over at Karkat, “we can create a character in Sburb for him.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Dirk almost yells.

“What’s a Sburb?” Karkat asks again. He goes ignored once more.

“Think about it. We can say he’s my cousin who’s come down to visit, and we asked you to help move him in since Jake is AWOL. And, if we make him a character, he not only will be preoccupied with the game, but he can chat with our friends. I know there’s an option to customize your character, and aren’t there four species you can choose from? Carapacian, Human, Cherub-”

“And Troll,” Dirk finishes. He looks thoughtful, kissing his knuckles. “Fine. This also means we’ll have to set him up with a Pesterchum, or, if we want to get all technical here, a Trollian.”

“Oh, you mean the expensive version of Pesterchum?” you point out with a certain tone to your voice. A knowing tone. A tone that makes Dirk know you don’t have the money to pay for it. Dirk nods.

“Hell yeah. I can afford to get it, so I’ll let the troll over there use it. Fuck, I can set it up right now if we really want to. We’ll have to come up with a Trollian for him, though.”

“Do I have any fucking say in this?” Karkat speaks up. You look down at him.

“Well, yeah. Do you have a problem with any of this?” you question. You’re almost not surprised by the outburst that leaves his lips.

“Of course I fucking do! First of all, I don’t want to play a fucking game! I want to find my friends and get the fuck off this gogforsaken planet! Secondly, if I played this stupid game and chose to be a troll, wouldn’t people put two and two fucking together?! The gogdamn Imperial Drones will find me and boom! Goodbye, Karkat Vantas! See you in the next fucking afterlife!” Karkat breathes heavily, glaring daggers at you.

“Karkat, you need to calm down,” you tell him. Dirk watches with an eerie calmness.

“I am calm!”

“No, you’re not. Listen, we’re going to find your friends, and we only came up with this idea to have you join this game so you can see if anyone may have seen your friends without being super weird. Most people either choose to be a Human or a Carapacian, so being a Troll wouldn’t be really out there. No one would be able to tell, and they’ll just think you’re human, one that’s extremely in character. Hell, some people would even get a kick out of it.”

“Not to mention we don’t have Imperial Drones,” Dirk adds. “We have remote controlled drones, but those are usually used for looking in your neighbors’ windows or tying up Halloween decorations and chasing kids around to scare the shit out of them.”

“Okay, I agreed with you up until the whole spying on your neighbors and scaring little kids bit,” you deadpan to Dirk. A ghost of a smirk makes it to his face. You turn back to Karkat, who still looks unconvinced. “The point is, no one could tell the difference, okay? You’ll be safe, you won’t get killed, and we’ll find your friends. It’ll take some time, but we can do this. Easy.” The small troll stares at you, not making any noise for a handful of minutes.

“I really wish I can believe you,” he finally says. “I really do. I just don’t want to take the risk and have it blow up in our faces. What if one of Dirk Human’s ‘siblings’ follow him here? What if one of your friends find out?”

“Then we’ll go from there,” Dirk says. You nod in agreement. “We can’t just dwell on ‘what if’s,’ Karkat. If we do, we won’t make any progress. Besides, I already booked a plane ticket for tonight. I’ll have my bags packed and I’ll be out the door, and that’s when I’ll tell them I’m leaving. That being said, I’m gonna get off and start packing. I’ll bring some stuff to build a smaller computer for Karkat, so for now, let him use your phone. Install Trollian and sign up. It’s already paid for, and (Y/N), you help him set up his account. I’ll call when I’m about to board the plane.” Dirk ends the Skype call, and you waste no time in downloading Trollian.

“Is this really a good idea?” You blink, not expecting the troll to sound so meek. Looking at Karkat, you can see how scared he is.

“Hey man, it’ll be alright. We can trust Dirk. The guy has more secrets than anyone I know, and he’s not one to blabber to anyone else.” Karkat nods, staring at his hands. You sigh, and before you realize it, you scoop the small guy up and give him a gentle embrace. He blinks.

“The fuck are you doing? We’re not moirails,” he says. You shrug, not even knowing what a moirail is. You don’t dwell on it and plan to ask him about it later.

“It looked like you needed a hug,” you say, placing him down to sit in your lap. Karkat goes silent. “So, what should your Trollian be?” The troll frowns.

“I like carcinoGeneticist,” Karkat replies. You nod and type it in.



“Okay, you can choose to have a quirk. That’s something Pesterchum doesn’t have,” you explain, watching the troll as he studies your phone.

“I’ll type in all caps. My friends used to say I shout all the time, so I guess I’ll shout all the time over Trollian.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips.

“Alright then.”

Reader ===> Introduce Karkat to your friends.

Yeah, yeah, you will. You’re a little busy listening to Karkat tell you about troll romance as you finish design his Sburb character, though as a Troll, it becomes the Sgrub. He intends for his character to look exactly like him, and you’re surprised the game lets you do that. It’s almost as if the universe knows something you don’t. Or didn’t, actually.

“And that’s what a kismesis is,” Karkat finishes. You nod, pulling up Trollian on your phone and Pesterchum on your laptop.

“Here we go."

CH: Hey guys, I’m back.
TG: (y/n)
TG: why is my asshole of a brother flying off to see you
EG: dirk’s going to visit you?
EG: since when?
TT: Since about five minutes ago.
TT: He left abruptly, barely even bidding his farewells.
CH: Guys.
TG: no dont you guys us
TG: why is dirk flying off to see you
TG: if you dont remember
TG: hes throwing a fucking hissy fit because i killed him in sburb
TG: so why is he all of a sudden flying off to visit friends
CH: If you shut up, I’ll tell you.
GG: Who is ‘carcinoGeneticist?'
CH: I’ll also get to that.
CH: My cousin, Karkat, is in town. Uncle kicked him out, so he moved in with me.
TT: Was that the package at your door?
CH: Yeah. He wanted to surprise me, but I needed some help with moving his things in.
CH: And since Jake’s off on his hunting trip, I asked Dirk.
CH: It took a bit of convincing, but he finally agreed to it.
TT: Ah, Dirk mentioned something along the lines of that.
CH: Karkat’s also gonna be playing Sburb with us, so be nice to him, for my sake.
TG: fine
EG: ok!
GG: Of course! He must be pleasant if he’s related to you!
TT: Hello, Karkat. My name’s Rose Lalonde. I am the Seer of Light on Sburb.
TT: The boy with the red text is my brother, Dave. He’s the Knight of Time.
GG: Hello! I’m Jane, the ‘healer’ of the group. Otherwise, I’m known as the Maid of light, and my younger brother, John, is the Heir of Breath.
CH: He hasn’t reached God Tier yet, so he won’t know what you mean until later in the game. We just created his profile, after all.
TG: thats cool
TG: john where are you
TG: also jade was here for like a second
TG: but shes probably asleep again
CH: Yes, I saw her emoticon.
TG: jane wheres your brother
GG: He’s away from his computer at the moment, but he should be back soon.
GG: I heard his door close. He’ll be on in a sec.
EB: hi karkat!

Karkat looks up at you, a displeased frown on his face.

“I hate John already.”

Chapter Text

Hey guys! Very long time, no see! I apologize about that. However, I come bearing news. I opened up a Discord server specifically for my fics, so feel free to join! We're cool, I swear.

See you there!