Chapter Text
Karkat’s Dairy
Day 612
I have come to the conclusion that Dave Strider is out to ruin my life.
Every day, the asshole gives me this smug grin, like he knows how big a boner his gaze gives me.
Of course he fucking knows. I’m like a goddamned Disney princess staring off into space, blushing enough to make it look like I was hanging upside down from one of those monkey bar things for hours on end, uncaring that my entire fucking face has gone through a severe metamorphosis. The operation was successful, the doctors cried. You’re officially part tomato.
Even typing this is making me think about how much I want to punch his gorgeous face, and then kiss it until neither of us can breathe.
Strider is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. This entire situation is ridiculous.
I click the save button on the top corner of my document and sigh tiredly. Writing my feelings down wasn’t my idea- some old guy in a suit told me in this embarrassingly gentle voice that I had ‘anger issues’ and that ‘writing things down would help me better control my emotions’. I started writing in the beginning of high school, and I guess it started becoming a habit over time. As time went on, my entries became less self- hate and more confusion and lust over the blond idiot.
I had known Strider before they forced trolls to go those stupid public schools. We were neighbors until we were 7 years old. The asshole gene apparently appeared in his older brother as well, because one day he decided that Dave and him were ‘too white for this neighborhood’ (even though aside from a few trolls, most of the population was white,) and decided to move to a high-raise apartment in the heart of Houston. I haven’t seen him at all until high school, which I was forced to enroll into due to ‘Troll equality’ movements. Goddamn waste of time if you ask me.
What makes high school worse (aside from the ridiculous wake up time and homework,) is Strider. He’s basically the living entity of perfection, making straight men question their sexuality on a daily basis. He’s got a harem of leggy blonde chicks who squeal his name every time he breathes, and Terezi, who’s slightly cooler than those weirdoes. I have no fucking clue how she deals with the asshole’s irony shit, though. He’s a complete jerk, stretching his status as a ‘mega hot babe’ to a breaking point. He’s a tool, too, and no one sees it.
I suppose that’s because, dear God, his beauty is blinding. So really, I shouldn’t talk about people swooning over him, considering I’m one of the many that were enthralled by the way the light hits his white-blond hair, the way he exhales when he’s annoyed, and the way he
God
Fucking
DAMMIT
I’m doing it again. Drooling over that insufferable prick.
I need to call Sollux. I whip out my phone and angrily scroll through my contact list. The asshole has a way with killing anyone’s boner. Although that is a bit of a contradiction, considering he was my fuckbuddy for years. That’s the one human term I like. Fuckbuddy. Not quite a matespirt, not quite a moirail. It’s nice and in between.
I find his number and call. He picks up on the second ring.
“Sollux.”
“What do you want, kk?”
He doesn’t even really ask it. I can hear him sighing into his phone. Probably had to pause his all night gaming marathon. Now that’s real friendship right there. Real fucking honor.
“If i¬¬¬t’s Strider again, so help me God, I’ll-”
“Well, it is. However did you guess?”
“How the fuck didn’t I?”
He’s got me there. Anyone who knows me and has approximately two brain cells could see that I have the biggest flush-crush in the history of the multi-verse on him.
“Yes, it’s Strider, okay? I just- I’m so close to being completely done with him.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“... I don’t fucking know. I’m not even sure why I called you.”
At that moment I hear a little beep coming from my phone, telling me that I have another call on the line. I don’t recognize the number, and it’s got a 281 area code. I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in Texas, so I answer. All I hear is this douchey southern drawl.
“Heeeeeeey there.”
Obviously I’ve been drunk dialed. The guy on the other end sounds pretty beat, so I consider hanging up.
“Hey there sugar plum. How’s your night going, Karkat?”
Holy fuckpancakes.
“Who is this?” If the number isn’t in my contacts, I have no clue who it is. I’m not one to hand out my numbers to complete strangers. I don’t even know anyone with a Texas accent.
“Yo, kitty, it’s obviously the Stride-master.”
“…Strider?” I whisper. He’s a complete mess.
I didn’t even know he had an accent.
He slurring really badly, and I have to take a few seconds to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about.
“The one and only, Kitty cat. Terter got me your number.”
“Okay… Well, what do you want?” I was having a hard time getting the words out.
“Felt like talking dirty. Felt like getting my voice into the deepest corners of your mind, where a great beast named phonesex awaits to be unleashed into the night, tearing through the streets, licking everyone sensually in places they didn’t know exist as it runs to do the dirty deed.”
“You’ve…got the wrong number. Haveagoodnight.” My voice cracks on the last jumble of words, and I close my phone faster than anyone ever thought possible.
I get right back onto the call with Sollux and recount the entire thing to him.
“Did you seriously just hang up on him?”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“Dude, you should’ve taken him up on it. You’ve wanted this forever. It isn’t ideal, but it’s something.”
“He was drunk off his ass.”
“Who cares? You should’ve let the great phonesex beast lick you sensually in places you didn’t know exist.”
I hang up on him and climb into my recuperacoon.
I think of Dave’s accent as my fingers find their way into my nook.
What do you expect from me? I’m just a simple guy with an unsimple crush on the weirdest person on Earth.