In which xeno/inflation/mpreg/egg-laying is taken entirely too seriously, compulsive world building is showcased, and I pretend really hard that Gamzee might ever be a sympathetic character again. Originally found at: http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/8447.html?thread=39867903

John and Karkat find themselves on opposite ends of the universe after the game.

"We should check on Prospit," Jane says, one week into your probably pointless run through the gas-and-zombies weirdness that Sburb turned out to be.

"Okay. Let's work on shelter first. You ever build a treehouse?" Sh-t, Tavros's little impressed face kind of gets you right in the pump biscuit.

"My name is Karkat Vantas," you say when the recording starts. "Imperial ID number 4136-1211-15201. I'm applying for status as a pail slave. I'm," you swallow hard to try to clear the lump from your throat, "I'm unfit for standard contribution due to abnormal hemotype, but I want to serve my Empire to the best of my ability. I understand the physical demands of the position and," your voice cracks, "I'm training to be better prepared for them. I swear to cooperate readily and faithfully with my assigned user. I surrender my body to Imperial custody. All hail Her Imperious Condescension, and all hail her glorious Empire."

One is a majorly kinky adult man in his prime, who got to go to nightclubs and met people and had one night stands and learned through trial and error, and is now fairly relaxed about his needs. The other is a teenager who thanks to the internet and his own reasoning has a lot of intellectual understanding and nothing else and zero real social experience, and the same needs and instincts and no outlet for them.

You wake up to the sound of rain thundering hard and heavy against the roof of your apartment building.