I want fuchsia Karkat.
I want a grub none of the jadebloods are allowed to cull, even though they know the Gl’bgolyb has already sent for her daughter.
I want a prince raised in a matriarchy, wearing a crown that means nothing because he’ll never inherit, living in a palace he’ll never rule from, talking in grayed-out capslock because he’s important enough on his own and people will understand that even if he has to shout to get them to listen.
I want Feferi being sweet and supportive over trollian but never meeting face-to-face, and he understands why even if it hurts. (He couldn’t stand to kill her either, even if his instincts tell him there can only be one.)
I want him trying on gowns and stuffing a bra and then ripping the whole thing off before he can even find a mirror because that’s not him, it will never be him, he wants to make it on his own merits in the way that only the truly privileged think they can.
I want him never getting messages from the Fleet with crowns stamped on the load page, and never asking Feferi if she gets any. I want him training in the middle of the ocean because he can’t be seen on the surface and the singing in the deepest depths is not for his ears.
I want a red-blooded crabdad to wander around his palace and screech at him because they’re not bonded, but crimson is imperial enough to not be a slap in the face as a royal caretaker, just enough to remind him that he’s a genetic aberration.
I want Feferi and Karkat to keep trolling each other from their Fleet ships, hers small and prone to sabotage, his smaller and half a sweep from the junkyard under a coat of shiny new paint. And she’s so worried about challenging the Empress, and Karkat tried to lighten the mood by making a joke about them double KO-ing each other and him taking over. And then she doesn’t speak to him for perigees, not until he roots out an anti-seadweller conspiracy and sends her their remains artfully arranged to spell out an apology in her quirk, and that makes her laugh a little because he had to go track down some extra pro-Condense reporterrorists and decapitate them to make the dots for all the exclamation marks.
I want him given a tiny crew of rejects and cullbait in every color of the rainbow, from the maroon-possessed robot girl to the princess’ whiny moirail, and sent to the farthest reaches of space, beyond the borders of the Empire’s most distant scouts, to conquer a planet or die trying.
I want him to find Earth.
prr prr prr prr