“You’re needed in the helmsblock,” a harsh voice says from the doorway. Karkat stands up, his body small in its pressed uniform. The speaker is a highblood, not obligated to return the salute Karkat is obligated to give; he looks down his aquiline nose and turns contemptuously away.
“Acknowledged,” Karkat says regardless, making his way to the door of his respiteblock. Only two trolls have round-the-clock access to the helmsblock, not counting its sole occupant; himself, for moirail duties, and the Condesce, for duties he prefers to keep far from his mind.
Long ago, Karkat had been an idealist in a world unsuited to idealism. As he opens the door and walks into the ankle-deep water, he can’t imagine what his old thoughts were; they’ve been cleanly excised, along with whatever feelings they carried, along with the memories stripped of life and color. He climbs up the magenta tendrils, hands and knees slipping, until he braces his feet on two familiar loops in the pile and finds himself face-to-face with Sollux.
In a system and a universe that appear designed to manufacture suffering on the whims of the Condesce, it seems as though small actions are all any single person can hope to accomplish. The only way to leave things better than they were, he tells himself, is to render life just a little more livable for someone else. Karkat runs his thumb along a high cheekbone, whispers encouragement, watches the lines of tension ease from Sollux's face for just an instant. This is something he can do. No one else can do it.
"You can do this," he whispers, fingers gentle on Sollux's forehead, ghosting over the tendrils that twine across his hair and face to form his headpiece. The gauges jump in a frantic rhythm as the system repeatedly overtaxes his brain for a huge energy withdrawal, the needles sliding back down as Karkat caresses his cheek; his eyes flare again and again as he spasms and lets out a shuddering, primal moan, pushed much too far, overused and damaged and held together only by the unnaturally prolonged life he never asked for. "You always do this," Karkat continues, moving up to his horns again. Lightning crackles over his hands as he strokes the hard chitin, the harmlessness of that power one of the few remaining signs that Sollux is conscious. "You have to do this, okay?"
In response Sollux merely spasms again, the tendrils that restrain him and channel his power pulsing and squirming around his limbs. Karkat never had been physically attracted to him and he is less attractive all the time, torn up by biotechnology never designed to be gentle, his body suffering a sea-change from troll into usable object. Mingled rivulets of magenta and yellow run down his forehead from the headpiece, but his eyes neither blink nor close against them. Karkat doesn't want to remember what he was like before, his small hive filled with games and bicolored graffiti. He doesn't want to remember anyone else they cared for, anything that anyone has ever tried and failed at. Karkat's hands are soft and careful. He is small in his uniform. He is one troll, and if he were gone, no one would do these things. Not for the Empire, but for Sollux and in a sick, horrible way, for himself.
The only gift Sollux has left to offer in return is his neediness and Karkat devours it, hungry for distraction because there's nothing he wants more. The cold helmsblock is his refuge from the rest of the universe. As long as Sollux continues needing him, he can set aside every other thought. "I'm pale for you," he whispers, pressing his face against Sollux's throat and feeling the harsh rasp of breath passing through his labored trachea. He knows without being told that he is complicit in Sollux's torture, hopelessly codependent with him, every impulse in his body driving him to calm and soothe and never to cause damage. This is why they keep him.
Far above the helmsblock, the Condesce makes elegant gesticulations, issues commands from her throne, strides along the flight deck and impatiently claps well-manicured hands. Far below the helmsblock, a beam of thermal energy builds and builds and finally erupts downward, searing the surface of the planet, boiling the oceans in a single hellish wave of golden, cleansing light.
Deep within the helmsblock, Sollux lets out a shuddering moan and presses his face against a caressing hand. "You're good," Karkat tells him, fetching water to moisten his lips and trickle down his convulsively swallowing throat. "We're good.”
FILL: TEAM Sollux♥Karkat
< TAGS: body horror, codependence
---
“You’re needed in the helmsblock,” a harsh voice says from the doorway. Karkat stands up, his body small in its pressed uniform. The speaker is a highblood, not obligated to return the salute Karkat is obligated to give; he looks down his aquiline nose and turns contemptuously away.
“Acknowledged,” Karkat says regardless, making his way to the door of his respiteblock. Only two trolls have round-the-clock access to the helmsblock, not counting its sole occupant; himself, for moirail duties, and the Condesce, for duties he prefers to keep far from his mind.
Long ago, Karkat had been an idealist in a world unsuited to idealism. As he opens the door and walks into the ankle-deep water, he can’t imagine what his old thoughts were; they’ve been cleanly excised, along with whatever feelings they carried, along with the memories stripped of life and color. He climbs up the magenta tendrils, hands and knees slipping, until he braces his feet on two familiar loops in the pile and finds himself face-to-face with Sollux.
In a system and a universe that appear designed to manufacture suffering on the whims of the Condesce, it seems as though small actions are all any single person can hope to accomplish. The only way to leave things better than they were, he tells himself, is to render life just a little more livable for someone else. Karkat runs his thumb along a high cheekbone, whispers encouragement, watches the lines of tension ease from Sollux's face for just an instant. This is something he can do. No one else can do it.
"You can do this," he whispers, fingers gentle on Sollux's forehead, ghosting over the tendrils that twine across his hair and face to form his headpiece. The gauges jump in a frantic rhythm as the system repeatedly overtaxes his brain for a huge energy withdrawal, the needles sliding back down as Karkat caresses his cheek; his eyes flare again and again as he spasms and lets out a shuddering, primal moan, pushed much too far, overused and damaged and held together only by the unnaturally prolonged life he never asked for. "You always do this," Karkat continues, moving up to his horns again. Lightning crackles over his hands as he strokes the hard chitin, the harmlessness of that power one of the few remaining signs that Sollux is conscious. "You have to do this, okay?"
In response Sollux merely spasms again, the tendrils that restrain him and channel his power pulsing and squirming around his limbs. Karkat never had been physically attracted to him and he is less attractive all the time, torn up by biotechnology never designed to be gentle, his body suffering a sea-change from troll into usable object. Mingled rivulets of magenta and yellow run down his forehead from the headpiece, but his eyes neither blink nor close against them. Karkat doesn't want to remember what he was like before, his small hive filled with games and bicolored graffiti. He doesn't want to remember anyone else they cared for, anything that anyone has ever tried and failed at. Karkat's hands are soft and careful. He is small in his uniform. He is one troll, and if he were gone, no one would do these things. Not for the Empire, but for Sollux and in a sick, horrible way, for himself.
The only gift Sollux has left to offer in return is his neediness and Karkat devours it, hungry for distraction because there's nothing he wants more. The cold helmsblock is his refuge from the rest of the universe. As long as Sollux continues needing him, he can set aside every other thought. "I'm pale for you," he whispers, pressing his face against Sollux's throat and feeling the harsh rasp of breath passing through his labored trachea. He knows without being told that he is complicit in Sollux's torture, hopelessly codependent with him, every impulse in his body driving him to calm and soothe and never to cause damage. This is why they keep him.
Far above the helmsblock, the Condesce makes elegant gesticulations, issues commands from her throne, strides along the flight deck and impatiently claps well-manicured hands. Far below the helmsblock, a beam of thermal energy builds and builds and finally erupts downward, searing the surface of the planet, boiling the oceans in a single hellish wave of golden, cleansing light.
Deep within the helmsblock, Sollux lets out a shuddering moan and presses his face against a caressing hand. "You're good," Karkat tells him, fetching water to moisten his lips and trickle down his convulsively swallowing throat. "We're good.”