[He probably would have deserved it if Dave had, but there will be other chances to gift him with a nugget-to-the-hair. Until then, Karkat is... going to wear a pained sort of smile that does a frankly shit job of hiding how fuckawful he feels for having implied any of that. Angry Spearow toys, haha. Ha. Haaah.
The smile drops.]
I'm sorry. I just—
[—can't help but feel like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dave's a really good moirail, all right? And Karkat's not fucking used to having nice things and, wow, okay, he's not going to say any of this out loud ever. They've trodden this territory before, so there's no fucking point in bringing it up again. He just needs to deal with it.]
His face softens all at once, brow gentling and mouth returning from its sarcastic set. Nah, nuh-uh, Karkat Vantas isn't allowed to feel like that, and if he does--when he does--Dave's gonna fix it, every time.
He wipes his McNugget hand cursorily on his pants and touches Karkat's face with the other, careful, not doing anything yet but sliding it under his cheek, tilting Karkat's head just enough so Dave can see. His voice is quieter, lower.]
Third of all. Who'd take care of you while I was off losing my shit wantonly in the streets?
[He brings his other hand up and frames Karkat's face between both his palms, studying his expression carefully, steadily. Lightly, his thumbs tap Karkat's temples, and he slides his fingertips up and back, combing dark hair behind Karkat's ears, freeing his face momentarily. He does it again, with the flats of his fingers this time.]
I'm getting chicken grease all up in your hair, please tell me you'll shower after I'm done conciliating you into oblivion.
[—"Losing my shit wantonly in the streets." Okay, Dave, what the fuck, that thing where you phrase things in inexplicably gross ways is still a thing that's happening that really needs to not. Karkat can't deny that it's helping in some equally confusing way that probably means there's something seriously fucking wrong with him (like that was ever up for debate), but he can't even bring himself to smile at it because why does he always do this. It isn't intentional, it isn't, but he keeps losing his shit when he's supposed to be handling his moirails and god he is the worst fucking failure of a troll, he can't even do his fucking job when he's in that quadrant with a human. Dave is spectacularly fucked up, there's no denying that, but goddammit, it's—he's—
Karkat squeezes his eyes shut and leans into the touch, trying to just—fucking—stop. Just stop. Stop making it worse, stop acting like he has any right at all to oh wow okay that feels nice. The smell of chicken is making him hungry again, but it's not as distracting as it could be or even as distracting as the realization that he's going to need to find some way to get Dave back for this even if he has only the palest of intentions. This douchebag.
... Seriously, though, what the fuck, "conciliating you into oblivion?" This is not a fucking porno, who even talks like that? Dave, that's who. Christ.]
I don't even need to say anything derogatory about your intelligence with you tripping over yourself to open your gaping meal tunnel and release whatever explosive bout of flatulence you're passing off as language these days. If someone can't piece together how full of shit you are from that alone, they fucking deserve whatever auditory horrors you inevitably unleash.
[... he's feeling better, in other words, or possibly just trying very, very hard to pretend that he is. He's getting there.]
None of that mentioned a shower, so I'm gonna take it as, 'No, Dave, I am so non-sexily enamored of your deep-fried Torchic gristle scent that I choose to wear it as a token forever, ministrate to me even more tenderly.'
[Even if it's better, Dave doesn't stop, neither with the careful attention nor the petting. He keeps watching Karkat's face as he sinks his fingers into his hair and slowly scritches his way around to the back, massaging his scalp, thumbs gliding after to smooth springy locks back. Rinse and repeat. He's glad, weirdly, that they got into this thing after he already practiced some hella petting techniques with his Pokémon--but that's such a bizarre thought to have that he kicks it out of his headspace immediately.
(Is that why people get dogs and cats, relationship practice? No, wait, it's to learn how to be responsible for something, right? ...Still weirdly applicable to moirallegiance, anyway.)
He uses his whole hand to flatten Karkat's hair up and away from his forehead and tilts his head a little, open.]
Talk to me? You don't have to, I won't push it, but you can, you know? [Dave thumbs another stray clump of hair off Karkat's face again. God, how does he keep it out of his eyes? He breathes out, a little wry, a little self-aware.] Fact: It'll keep coming up if you don't.
[... Thank you, Dave, for that beautiful illustration of literally everything Karkat just said. What the fuck.
He huffs but doesn't bother contradicting him, both because it would only prompt another logorrheic tsunami and because the hands on his scalp are making a convincing case against doing practically anything. They're also spreading chicken grease fucking everywhere, but that's a sacrifice he's just going to have to live with. Maybe he should steal one of Dave's pillows before his shower and rub his head all over it. That would fucking show him.
Petty revenge fantasies do nothing to distract him from what Dave says next, unfortunately, and Karkat spends a breathless second or two wondering if he can get away with pretending he hadn't heard it before the realization of how much that would probably hurt Dave make him dismiss it. Oh, joy, even more guilt! Fuck, why is he so... ugh.
He opens his eyes again, steals a glance at Dave's face, then looks away. This is stupid. He's being stupid. But—]
It's nothing new. I'm just—[a complete fuckup]—just, you know, fucking awful at being a moirail, can't even keep my own shit out of yours, it's a fucking fecal orgy up in here. I'll stop, okay? I just—I, I don't want you to get t-tired of me, so I'll stop. I'm sorry.
[He's either smothering Dave or getting too caught up in his own self-hating bullshit to even think about taking care of Dave or he's completely fucking misunderstanding human relationships, moirallegiance, or Dave in particular, and who the fuck wants a moirail like that? He's tired of himself.]
He's going to game his way back to life somehow and shank a purple motherfucker. Through time. 8)
Dave makes a 'hmm' sound as he cleans his hands one last time in Karkat's hair, then worms his arms securely around his best sad alien bro, scooching up close.]
Okay, I hear that. Hold on a sec. Hup.
[And he just rolls onto his back and lifts and drags Karkat halfway on top of him, slightly diagonal so that Dave can stare up past his head at the ceiling and Karkat doesn't have to worry about making eye contact with him during this trying emotional time. And also so Karkat doesn't accidentally knee him in the crotch or something. This is fine. Karkat is the blanket, now, it's him.
Dave rubs his back with both hands, up and down. This shouldn't be so fuckin' comfortable, god damn.]
...Haaaas it occurred to you...
[He says, when it seems pretty obvious that it hasn't, because if it had then they wouldn't be having this conversation, Jesus Christ, Dave is never letting this asshole turd go. He does have to loosen his grip a little to be able to look at Karkat's face at all. Eye contact's important for this part, at least.]
That it's actually kind of perfectly reasonable for that shit to be coming up at times like these? Since, you know. Your first moirail was an utter nutfucking bastard to you without cause, making you believe the expired manure coming out of your face right now?
Karkat doesn't necessarily mind being pulled on top of Dave for a lot of reasons, but he's baffled enough to actually allow eye contact in the interests of figuring out what the fuck is going on. He has a sneaking suspicion that Dave's about to impart some piece of profound wisdom/phenomenal fucking stupidity masquerading as such, but that's normal, not something his moirail needs to preempt by hauling Karkat into an even more extreme variation of their usual cuddle pile. He returns the embrace automatically because of course he fucking does, but he shouldn't have to feel like he's accepting some draconian contract while doing so. Has what occurred to him? What about his firoh fucking hell.
His breath leaves him in a hiss, but as much as he really fucking wants to pull away, his arms tighten around Dave instead, his face turning to hide against his shoulder. Nnnnope, they are not talking about Gamzee or whatever effect he may or may not have had, hahaha, what, Gamzee who? That motherfucking—]
Don't. Just—just don't, Dave.
[Don't even mention him. Just—don't—fuck, that isn't even the same thing!]
He's—whatever that shit was about, his Mirthful fucking Messiahs, none of it matters anymore, all right? It's nothing. He probably wasn't even pale for me, why the fuck should I care?
[His breath hitches, and unconsciously, his arms wind even tighter around his moirail. Both of these things are Completely. Fucking. Normal. What is Dave even talking about?]
I'm—I was talking about you, not that, that fucking clown. Fuck that guy. What the fuck else do you want? I don't want to talk about Gamzee.
[For a second, Dave thinks he must've made an irreparable miscalculation--that'd show him to take an emotional risk, even when he was so sure--but no. He blinks, because the venom in Karkat's words doesn't match at all the strength with which he's clinging to Dave, and that's not right, Dave's usually the one whose body language doesn't match what his mouth is doing.
His hands unfreeze, and he strokes them both down Karkat's shoulder blades and then holds him securely again with one arm, runs the other hand up into his hair again. He doesn't shoosh him even if he wants to; don't draw attention to it, this is the perfectly reasonable reaction of a reasonable troll and they can talk (or, much more likely, not talk) about it when Karkat's calmed down.]
Okay. We won't.
[See? No pushing, he's as good as his word.
(He doesn't think he needs to. Left to his own devices, Karkat will take a gentle poke and worry it into a shredded, gaping hole, and if that hole's in the idiot veil of self-blame that's keeping him from seeing the truth of his situation, Dave will have done his job.
Christ. Is this how Rose and Terezi feel when they wind him up with a word and let him go? Interpersonal awareness is weird, he's not sure he likes it.)
Dave stretches his neck so that Karkat can fit even more comfortably into his shoulder, rests the side of his face against Karkat's ear, keeps working his fingers through Karkat's hair.]
I'm just saying, you must be holding yourself up to some ass-whack standards if you think you're not a good moirail for me. You know I don't expect you to be some kind of towering figure of fine when we've gone through so much of the same shit, right?
[No pushing and Dave is saying—much kinder things than Karkat deserves, fuck, does he actually think it's that simple? Is this confusion over moirallegiance, Dave being fucking stupid, or some misconception he has about Karkat in general? It's probably all of the above; there's no fucking way he'd be saying any of that if he knew the full picture.
Karkat shudders and burrows closer, fully exploiting the space offered and nuzzling determinedly back because eve ry thing is fuck ing fine, he's perfectly calm and not breathing too fast and definitely not still clinging to Dave like a lifeline. Give him a minute and maybe all of that will even be true.]
What fucking standards? I know I'm not—that I don't have to be perfect for you.
[He's sullen but no longer panicked, not that he had been or ever will be panicked. What the fuck is wrong with him? Dave's already let it go, so it's fine.]
I mean, perfectly well-adjusted and, and fucking rational, because that oceanic exploration vessel has fucking sailed. I just, I should be better at knowing when you... knowing you. And not fucking up whenever I open my mouth.
[Like now, for instance. As usual.
He takes a deep breath, holds, releases.]
And I'm—I'm shit about telling you things and knowing when to back off and I still don't understand how your fucking human relationships work. You're the one who's new to moirallegiance, but you—you're adapting better than I am. Fuck, I've already said half of that shit before, haven't I? This is stupid.
[And a point to Dave because yeah, it's going to keep coming up until he deals with it.]
['Maybe because my heart didn't get its ass handed to it on a platter by a codpieced piece of shit who was supposed to be my moirail,' Dave thinks but doesn't say.]
I mean, to be fair, I don't really get how fucking human relationships work, either.
[On account of having precisely zero functional human-to-human ones that weren't established over distances measured in hundreds of miles, hahaha okay no let's not talk about that.]
Just...dude, I think that's normal? That we're learning new shit about each other having entered into this relationship thing. It's only been a month, of course you don't know all my goddamn idiosyncratic pathologies, I had seventeen years to develop them. They've got, like, whole character arcs and complex subplots to them, they fucking create themselves at this point, they're like their own whole independent ecology. You map this out, you may as well have earned yourself three human PhD's in one go.
[Agh, stop, pay attention. Dave reins it in, tries to find his place again, rearranges his arms so he's got the other one around Karkat now and the freed hand can stroke his spine.]
I'm shit at telling you things, too, bro. And knowing when to...when not to back off. When you need...when you need someone there.
[There's a familiar rhythm to Dave's rambling, one that Karkat is probably only aware of because he spends way too much fucking time with this human, but that doesn't make it any less soothing as he lapses into it. "Idiosyncratic pathologies"—that's definitely Rose, right there, but the rest is all Dave.
Actually, he's not sure about "independent ecology," either, but he's not going to fucking question it right now. It's close enough.
His eyes close, and when he breathes again, it's much more natural. Calm. He is so fucking calm. Mostly.]
So we should work on that? Being better at... talking about shit. Or not talking about shit. Whatever.
[He does not like where this is going, mostly because—okay, if there's one thing he's been meaning to talk about with Dave and has been senselessly putting off forever... hahaha, no, fuck, he just got done saying he didn't want to talk about it, this is so not the place to start.
He lifts his head a little and turns it, seeking... something. Fine, eye contact. He wants eye contact, is that a crime.]
[Yes. It is a crime. Karkat Vantas is now under arrest for felonious misunderstanding of being the best moirail a horrendously fucked-up and emotionally damaged human could ask for, sentencing TBA. Probably five to twenty hard time getting vigorous headpets until he gets it, Jesus.
Dave meets those eyes, though, and if his flick away for a second, it's only to think, to weigh the question before he agrees. He's back in no time.]
I guess?
[Shit. Karkat's really close to his face. Looking at him like this, Dave's cheeks warm a little under the faint freckles springtime's starting to draw out of his pale-ass skin. He keeps rubbing Karkat's back and hopes it's attributable to embarrassment over, like, all this emotional vulnerability and crap.]
Um, maybe in increments. [Pet, pet. He shifts a little under Karkat's weight.] Last time I tried talking about--about Bro, it. I felt kind of weird afterwards.
[Like he'd strained some kind of emotional muscle with the effort. Christ, that isn't even a thing.]
That might've been too much in one go, so, you know. Maybe we should try not to push ourselves too hard, while also, like. Maintaining the open channel.
[... In increments. Right. Open channel. What? At least the fact that Dave clearly has no fucking idea what he's talking about is helping to hammer in the point that Karkat doesn't need to be totally perfect, even if he still wants to be. He'd never make the mistake of thinking he could be actually perfect, but a perfect moirail for Dave?If he can be that, then...
He sighs and lets his head drop back down, giving Dave a totally superfluous squeeze at the same time. Good human, best headrest. More back rubs, please, he's almost feeling normal again.]
So... a little bit at a time, so it won't be too much.
[He can do that, even if he also kind of doesn't want to because he'd rather get it the fuck over with if he's going to talk about that shit at all. About Gamzee. Dave, though... yeah, all of his issues have to be handled more carefully. The last thing Karkat wants is for him to withdraw and pretend shit is fine when it so clearly isn't. Again.]
How much per increment? Or are we just going to stop whenever the fuck we've felt like we've had enough?
[He is... absolutely trying to draw out this subject for as long as possible to try and make Dave forget about the Gamzee thing. Or any other thing, really. Yes, this is healthy.]
Karkat, if you even think about setting a minimum word count on our feelings jams, I'm gonna upend an entire thing of fries over your head. And that would be an unforgivable waste of good fries.
[Also, an unforgivable waste of calm Karkat. Who knew this asshole would make such a good blanket, seriously? Dave returns to running his hands over the plane of his back, distractedly interested in the change between bone and muscle under his palms, slow and even.
God, Dave likes cuddling. Shit. He's gonna turn into some kind of snuggle junkie.]
Just saying as much as we're comfy with should be fine. We're both basically grown-ups here, I think we can handle that much. And if on any given day either of us doesn't want to, for whatever reason, I think that's fine, too. Yeah?
[Is that reasonable? He has no idea, what the fuck do normal, well-adjusted people do about this shit, oh wait normal well-adjusted people don't have to deal with this shit to begin with.]
[Eminently reasonable, yes, which is precisely why Karkat falls silent for several seconds before giving a single nod. He has completely fucking exhausted any and all stalling tactics he might have used. That's just perfect. There's no guarantee that Dave will decide to start this brand new policy of backing off less right now, though, so it's probably fine? Maybe it really is fine. Maybe he won't have to talk about it.
... Fuck, fries sound really delicious right now. Why had he stopped eating? Oh, right, because he'd fucked up a perfectly satisfactory feelings jam by getting his goddamn insecurities all over the place. Someone needs to invent PokéTrollian so he can get back to yelling at Past Karkat for being so impossibly horrible at everything ever.]
Yeah. We can do that.
[It's late and probably unnecessary (Dave should have been able to feel the nod even if he couldn't see it), but Karkat has a pressing need to hear anything at all that isn't the perpetual bullshit monologue running through his think pan 24/7. Just. Anything at all. Even one of Dave's stupid raps would work, god.
He sighs and gives his moirail a nudge.]
Come on. We're wasting the fries anyway by not eating them.
[Ignore the fact that he's the one who's, you know, on top of Dave and could easily wriggle free if he wanted to. Choosing between more cuddle time with Dave and Happiny Meals is a serious fucking dilemma.]
[Yeah, no, Dave is not implementing Operation: Suck Less At Moirallegiance, Just Apply More Sincerity (a.k.a. Operation SLAMJAMS) today, let alone right now. He's blown his weekly allotment of standing up for himself--no, shut up, it still counts even if he's holding his ground for Karkat's sake, you don't know his life.
He glances uselessly at Karkat--he can't see anything from this angle--then to the side. This is equally useless. He huffs a little breath and pats Karkat's back once, then rubs it again a little more briskly. Not to soothe, just affectionate.]
Welp, you're gonna have to feed me, bro, because I have lost visuals on the target. All I got on radar is fuckall and a side of shit. I must've sunk under the titanic weight of the asshole on top of me.
[Piles are trolls' gift to man, but they do not exactly provide the kind of buoyant support of mattress springs.
Anyway, Dave isn't doing anything to extricate himself from this situation, titanic asshole or not. He's still petting Karkat's back, actually.
[Does he even need to point out the ~*irony*~ inherent in Dave calling him fat and requesting to be fed in the same breath. Because wow. Wow. Sure, Dave hadn't actually used the word "fat," but "titanic weight" is pretty fucking unambiguous and fuck him anyway, not everyone could be a pool noodle.
Karkat is pale enough for this asshole that the highly audible growl from his stomach stays any acerbic remarks to this effect, though; he huffs quietly instead and reluctantly starts peeling himself away. He is the one who'd brought it up, so—]
You're lucky I'm feeling magnanimous enough to not abscond with both of these and finish them off myself.
[He's trying to grumble and for once it isn't working. Focusing on how fucking aggravating it is to reach over grab the Happiny Meals sort of helps, but settling in at Dave's side again is ruining even that and asjdfklghlhasf what kind of troll is that easily pacified?
Vengefully, he steals one of Dave's chicken nuggets and eats it right in front of him. Hah.]
[He rolls onto his front and grabs the box to check, then turns the frown up to eleven at Karkat's smug chicken-thieving face. The fiend. Dave whines and throws himself across Karkat's legs, even if these are his just deserts.]
Duuuuuuuude. You do only love me for my nugs.
[...And then he retaliates by trying to go after Karkat's fries.]
[—Oh you asshole, he's barely touched those fries, why are you such a douche. Karkat is already at a disadvantage, though, because not only is he slower than Dave but he's also busy trying to stifle his snickering at what is unmistakably a pout on his moirail's face. The retaliatory fry larceny is just the mucus on the grubloaf, and the moment Dave succeeds, he gives up on trying to contain his laughter completely.]
You—[SNRK] you are such a fucking wiggler sometimes.
[Pfffthahahahahasldfjghk fuck, why is laughing weird. He's not doing it especially loudly, and he could probably stop if he really tried to, but oh my god, Dave, what even was that.
Still smiling, he fishes out one of his own remaining chicken nuggets and offers it.]
[He holds onto his tuberous hostages with put-upon, stubborn resolve, but, fie! That crunchy golden surface glistening with fucking fryer oil, the aroma of miscellaneous poultry parts whose provenance was better left unquestioned...Fair chicken nugget doth draw the Goode Knight's eyes, and Dave is but mortal; he falters.
His gaze flicks from the chicken to Karkat's face and back, and, yeah, that's it, his determination crumbles like the cheap piece of shit it is, and he's not even mad, though he pretends to be.]
Fiiiiine.
[He relinquishes the fries. It's because this is fair reparation for Karkat's TREASON and not because Dave made him laugh and feels like a superhero, okay. But even before he can take a bite, Karkat's (awesome, amazing, fucking adorable) smile catches, spreads on Dave's face, too.
He takes a small, smiling bite, chews and swallows politely, and then gestures with the rest of the nugget.]
Just so you know, that? Total wedlock ritual. We're human married now, hope you're cool with that. Tax benefits, hurrah.
[Yeah, like he can't detect when Dave is bullshitting him by now? Or, okay, not always and neither of them are even trying to be serious at the moment, but Karkat still raises an eyebrow tries to suppress his smile into something a little more indulgent. The result is just condescending enough to make him look alarmingly like Kankri, but he is blissfully unaware of this.]
Doesn't being human married mean we have shared ownership of each other's stuff? So I'm fucking entitled to all your chicken nuggets from now on, Dave. All of them.
[You are the instrument of your own undoing, or rather would be if this arrangement didn't go both ways. On that note, doesn't Karkat have a few unclaimed nuggets left somewhere? Hmm.
His expression softens into something unforgivably fond, and suddenly self-conscious, he glances down at his deep-fried tuber strips. Yum, grease. Human food isn't that disgusting sometimes.]
You're wearing the dress, right?
[... He may be feeling a little too gooey at Dave in general to try that hard at continuing the joke, human marriages are his weakness okay, Dave knows this.]
Uh, yes? Karkat, you're perfect, don't change, but you do not have the legs for it, just saying. I'm gonna be a goddamn vision. I vote Jade our best man and John the maid of honor, if he can stop crying slash singing Journey songs long enough to perform his bridal party duties.
[Dave considers everything he's just said, then digs out the toy from his Happiny Meal. It's a Grumpig spinning a lasso, and he opens it with a fake solemn expression that doesn't quite hide the wannabe grin that keeps tugging at his lips.
The lasso doesn't come out, so he just takes Karkat's hand and slips the whole thing over one finger, cowboy Grumpig and all.]
With this ring, I thee wed, et cetera. There, now everybody throws rice and stuff and we take off in our getaway limo. After an undisclosed number of days in which we do unspeakable things to my wedding dress, we return to our private island, where I carry you across the threshold into a mansion packed wall-to-wall with nothing but spicy Cheetos and Cameron Crowe movies. You cry a little and then we cuddle and you tell me I'm very pretty. We adopt three babies and all their first words are "fuck." The end.
[Karkat bites his lip but can't quite stop his laughter from bubbling up again, and ducking his head to try and hide it is fucking useless because that just puts him at the perfect angle to see that "ring" and holy fucking shit he can't, goddammit, Dave, what kind of idiot gives their moirail a Happiny Meal toy as a wedding ring? To say nothing of the fact that it's completely the wrong quadrant—
His smile flickers, but he doesn't pull his hand away even if he really fucking should. Instead, he traps Dave's carefully between his own and oh fuck, oh no, oh shit, abort. Hahaha, what is this, it clearly isn't happening, that's what!]
When did we get a private island? And yeah, you'd be—fucking radiant.
HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT oh god oh god oh god is there a way to salvage this?? What the fuck does he say, can he say anything??]
I mean, that's what all brides want to hear on their wedding day, right?
--I mean, I prefer the phrase "booty rockalicious," but sure, if the traditional language does it for you, I'm not gonna complain about a little physical affirmation in my last hour of blushing maidenhood.
[Hah! Nailed it. He is the Savior of the Awkward Assholes, it's him. Dave flops over onto his back to spare them both having to look at each other, because he is nothing if not a benevolent god.]
Anyway, our private island's a wedding present from Jade, while John's the one who donated the snacks and movies. Rose'll give us an eldritch kraken to put in our moat but she'll forget to train it, so we housebreak it with a Baby's First Puppy guide and every day you come back from your grueling job at the factory, it makes happy noises and licks your face with a tentacle.
[Dave illustrates everything with his hands, and at the last bit, he just reaches up and boops Karkat's face. Boop.]
[YES. GOOD, NOW DAVE IS TALKING SENSE or rather complete fucking nonsense, but that's exactly what both of them need to hear to forget the unbelievable awkwardness that was the last, ugh, Karkat doesn't even want to know and he's not the Knight of Time here anyway, that part of the conversation never happened and that's what matters.
... And, even if Dave isn't blushing, a certain former troll is probably blushing enough for the both of them. Fortunately, he has greasy fried food stuff in his face to hide it.
Oddly, he hadn't anticipated the boop.]
Dave, what the fuck.
[His tone is flat, but despite how tempting it is to turn and look at Dave, he's feeling pretty happy with the minor distance he'd retreated when Dave had lain back again, just because he'd needed that additional buffer. Hahahahaaldksgfjhdgj he is not having... he's having nothing. Hypothetically nothing is taking place here because he absolutely wouldn't be considering anything other than perfect pale propriety toward his moirail, because that's how quadrants work. He knows how quadrants work, he is a romance savant.
He fidgets with a fry, then shoves it down his meal tunnel. Gosh these sure are delicious.]
You want a horrorterror as a pet. And... wait, why the fuck am I working at a factory? What factory? Why aren't you working?
[Yes, he's actually getting a little engaged in this imaginary scenario that is totally unrelated to the nonexistent one previously mentioned. Haha, engaged. Haha. Ha. Fuck, maybe he's imagining it? Again. That other time was clearly a fluke, right, so—fuck, no, he's not thinking about that right now, tell him more about this space kraken they're going to use as some unnecessarily elaborate bouncer for their equally extravagant mansion.]
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no subject
The smile drops.]
I'm sorry. I just—
[—can't help but feel like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dave's a really good moirail, all right? And Karkat's not fucking used to having nice things and, wow, okay, he's not going to say any of this out loud ever. They've trodden this territory before, so there's no fucking point in bringing it up again. He just needs to deal with it.]
... Sorry.
no subject
His face softens all at once, brow gentling and mouth returning from its sarcastic set. Nah, nuh-uh, Karkat Vantas isn't allowed to feel like that, and if he does--when he does--Dave's gonna fix it, every time.
He wipes his McNugget hand cursorily on his pants and touches Karkat's face with the other, careful, not doing anything yet but sliding it under his cheek, tilting Karkat's head just enough so Dave can see. His voice is quieter, lower.]
Third of all. Who'd take care of you while I was off losing my shit wantonly in the streets?
[He brings his other hand up and frames Karkat's face between both his palms, studying his expression carefully, steadily. Lightly, his thumbs tap Karkat's temples, and he slides his fingertips up and back, combing dark hair behind Karkat's ears, freeing his face momentarily. He does it again, with the flats of his fingers this time.]
I'm getting chicken grease all up in your hair, please tell me you'll shower after I'm done conciliating you into oblivion.
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Karkat squeezes his eyes shut and leans into the touch, trying to just—fucking—stop. Just stop. Stop making it worse, stop acting like he has any right at all to oh wow okay that feels nice. The smell of chicken is making him hungry again, but it's not as distracting as it could be or even as distracting as the realization that he's going to need to find some way to get Dave back for this even if he has only the palest of intentions. This douchebag.
... Seriously, though, what the fuck, "conciliating you into oblivion?" This is not a fucking porno, who even talks like that? Dave, that's who. Christ.]
I don't even need to say anything derogatory about your intelligence with you tripping over yourself to open your gaping meal tunnel and release whatever explosive bout of flatulence you're passing off as language these days. If someone can't piece together how full of shit you are from that alone, they fucking deserve whatever auditory horrors you inevitably unleash.
[... he's feeling better, in other words, or possibly just trying very, very hard to pretend that he is. He's getting there.]
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None of that mentioned a shower, so I'm gonna take it as, 'No, Dave, I am so non-sexily enamored of your deep-fried Torchic gristle scent that I choose to wear it as a token forever, ministrate to me even more tenderly.'
[Even if it's better, Dave doesn't stop, neither with the careful attention nor the petting. He keeps watching Karkat's face as he sinks his fingers into his hair and slowly scritches his way around to the back, massaging his scalp, thumbs gliding after to smooth springy locks back. Rinse and repeat. He's glad, weirdly, that they got into this thing after he already practiced some hella petting techniques with his Pokémon--but that's such a bizarre thought to have that he kicks it out of his headspace immediately.
(Is that why people get dogs and cats, relationship practice? No, wait, it's to learn how to be responsible for something, right? ...Still weirdly applicable to moirallegiance, anyway.)
He uses his whole hand to flatten Karkat's hair up and away from his forehead and tilts his head a little, open.]
Talk to me? You don't have to, I won't push it, but you can, you know? [Dave thumbs another stray clump of hair off Karkat's face again. God, how does he keep it out of his eyes? He breathes out, a little wry, a little self-aware.] Fact: It'll keep coming up if you don't.
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He huffs but doesn't bother contradicting him, both because it would only prompt another logorrheic tsunami and because the hands on his scalp are making a convincing case against doing practically anything. They're also spreading chicken grease fucking everywhere, but that's a sacrifice he's just going to have to live with. Maybe he should steal one of Dave's pillows before his shower and rub his head all over it. That would fucking show him.
Petty revenge fantasies do nothing to distract him from what Dave says next, unfortunately, and Karkat spends a breathless second or two wondering if he can get away with pretending he hadn't heard it before the realization of how much that would probably hurt Dave make him dismiss it. Oh, joy, even more guilt! Fuck, why is he so... ugh.
He opens his eyes again, steals a glance at Dave's face, then looks away. This is stupid. He's being stupid. But—]
It's nothing new. I'm just—[a complete fuckup]—just, you know, fucking awful at being a moirail, can't even keep my own shit out of yours, it's a fucking fecal orgy up in here. I'll stop, okay? I just—I, I don't want you to get t-tired of me, so I'll stop. I'm sorry.
[He's either smothering Dave or getting too caught up in his own self-hating bullshit to even think about taking care of Dave or he's completely fucking misunderstanding human relationships, moirallegiance, or Dave in particular, and who the fuck wants a moirail like that? He's tired of himself.]
I'll stop.
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He's going to game his way back to life somehow and shank a purple motherfucker. Through time. 8)
Dave makes a 'hmm' sound as he cleans his hands one last time in Karkat's hair, then worms his arms securely around his best sad alien bro, scooching up close.]
Okay, I hear that. Hold on a sec. Hup.
[And he just rolls onto his back and lifts and drags Karkat halfway on top of him, slightly diagonal so that Dave can stare up past his head at the ceiling and Karkat doesn't have to worry about making eye contact with him during this trying emotional time. And also so Karkat doesn't accidentally knee him in the crotch or something. This is fine. Karkat is the blanket, now, it's him.
Dave rubs his back with both hands, up and down. This shouldn't be so fuckin' comfortable, god damn.]
...Haaaas it occurred to you...
[He says, when it seems pretty obvious that it hasn't, because if it had then they wouldn't be having this conversation, Jesus Christ, Dave is never letting this asshole turd go. He does have to loosen his grip a little to be able to look at Karkat's face at all. Eye contact's important for this part, at least.]
That it's actually kind of perfectly reasonable for that shit to be coming up at times like these? Since, you know. Your first moirail was an utter nutfucking bastard to you without cause, making you believe the expired manure coming out of your face right now?
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Karkat doesn't necessarily mind being pulled on top of Dave for a lot of reasons, but he's baffled enough to actually allow eye contact in the interests of figuring out what the fuck is going on. He has a sneaking suspicion that Dave's about to impart some piece of profound wisdom/phenomenal fucking stupidity masquerading as such, but that's normal, not something his moirail needs to preempt by hauling Karkat into an even more extreme variation of their usual cuddle pile. He returns the embrace automatically because of course he fucking does, but he shouldn't have to feel like he's accepting some draconian contract while doing so. Has what occurred to him? What about his firoh fucking hell.
His breath leaves him in a hiss, but as much as he really fucking wants to pull away, his arms tighten around Dave instead, his face turning to hide against his shoulder. Nnnnope, they are not talking about Gamzee or whatever effect he may or may not have had, hahaha, what, Gamzee who? That motherfucking—]
Don't. Just—just don't, Dave.
[Don't even mention him. Just—don't—fuck, that isn't even the same thing!]
He's—whatever that shit was about, his Mirthful fucking Messiahs, none of it matters anymore, all right? It's nothing. He probably wasn't even pale for me, why the fuck should I care?
[His breath hitches, and unconsciously, his arms wind even tighter around his moirail. Both of these things are Completely. Fucking. Normal. What is Dave even talking about?]
I'm—I was talking about you, not that, that fucking clown. Fuck that guy. What the fuck else do you want? I don't want to talk about Gamzee.
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His hands unfreeze, and he strokes them both down Karkat's shoulder blades and then holds him securely again with one arm, runs the other hand up into his hair again. He doesn't shoosh him even if he wants to; don't draw attention to it, this is the perfectly reasonable reaction of a reasonable troll and they can talk (or, much more likely, not talk) about it when Karkat's calmed down.]
Okay. We won't.
[See? No pushing, he's as good as his word.
(He doesn't think he needs to. Left to his own devices, Karkat will take a gentle poke and worry it into a shredded, gaping hole, and if that hole's in the idiot veil of self-blame that's keeping him from seeing the truth of his situation, Dave will have done his job.
Christ. Is this how Rose and Terezi feel when they wind him up with a word and let him go? Interpersonal awareness is weird, he's not sure he likes it.)
Dave stretches his neck so that Karkat can fit even more comfortably into his shoulder, rests the side of his face against Karkat's ear, keeps working his fingers through Karkat's hair.]
I'm just saying, you must be holding yourself up to some ass-whack standards if you think you're not a good moirail for me. You know I don't expect you to be some kind of towering figure of fine when we've gone through so much of the same shit, right?
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Karkat shudders and burrows closer, fully exploiting the space offered and nuzzling determinedly back because eve ry thing is fuck ing fine, he's perfectly calm and not breathing too fast and definitely not still clinging to Dave like a lifeline. Give him a minute and maybe all of that will even be true.]
What fucking standards? I know I'm not—that I don't have to be perfect for you.
[He's sullen but no longer panicked, not that he had been or ever will be panicked. What the fuck is wrong with him? Dave's already let it go, so it's fine.]
I mean, perfectly well-adjusted and, and fucking rational, because that oceanic exploration vessel has fucking sailed. I just, I should be better at knowing when you... knowing you. And not fucking up whenever I open my mouth.
[Like now, for instance. As usual.
He takes a deep breath, holds, releases.]
And I'm—I'm shit about telling you things and knowing when to back off and I still don't understand how your fucking human relationships work. You're the one who's new to moirallegiance, but you—you're adapting better than I am. Fuck, I've already said half of that shit before, haven't I? This is stupid.
[And a point to Dave because yeah, it's going to keep coming up until he deals with it.]
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I mean, to be fair, I don't really get how fucking human relationships work, either.
[On account of having precisely zero functional human-to-human ones that weren't established over distances measured in hundreds of miles, hahaha okay no let's not talk about that.]
Just...dude, I think that's normal? That we're learning new shit about each other having entered into this relationship thing. It's only been a month, of course you don't know all my goddamn idiosyncratic pathologies, I had seventeen years to develop them. They've got, like, whole character arcs and complex subplots to them, they fucking create themselves at this point, they're like their own whole independent ecology. You map this out, you may as well have earned yourself three human PhD's in one go.
[Agh, stop, pay attention. Dave reins it in, tries to find his place again, rearranges his arms so he's got the other one around Karkat now and the freed hand can stroke his spine.]
I'm shit at telling you things, too, bro. And knowing when to...when not to back off. When you need...when you need someone there.
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Actually, he's not sure about "independent ecology," either, but he's not going to fucking question it right now. It's close enough.
His eyes close, and when he breathes again, it's much more natural. Calm. He is so fucking calm. Mostly.]
So we should work on that? Being better at... talking about shit. Or not talking about shit. Whatever.
[He does not like where this is going, mostly because—okay, if there's one thing he's been meaning to talk about with Dave and has been senselessly putting off forever... hahaha, no, fuck, he just got done saying he didn't want to talk about it, this is so not the place to start.
He lifts his head a little and turns it, seeking... something. Fine, eye contact. He wants eye contact, is that a crime.]
... Dave?
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Dave meets those eyes, though, and if his flick away for a second, it's only to think, to weigh the question before he agrees. He's back in no time.]
I guess?
[Shit. Karkat's really close to his face. Looking at him like this, Dave's cheeks warm a little under the faint freckles springtime's starting to draw out of his pale-ass skin. He keeps rubbing Karkat's back and hopes it's attributable to embarrassment over, like, all this emotional vulnerability and crap.]
Um, maybe in increments. [Pet, pet. He shifts a little under Karkat's weight.] Last time I tried talking about--about Bro, it. I felt kind of weird afterwards.
[Like he'd strained some kind of emotional muscle with the effort. Christ, that isn't even a thing.]
That might've been too much in one go, so, you know. Maybe we should try not to push ourselves too hard, while also, like. Maintaining the open channel.
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He sighs and lets his head drop back down, giving Dave a totally superfluous squeeze at the same time. Good human, best headrest. More back rubs, please, he's almost feeling normal again.]
So... a little bit at a time, so it won't be too much.
[He can do that, even if he also kind of doesn't want to because he'd rather get it the fuck over with if he's going to talk about that shit at all. About Gamzee. Dave, though... yeah, all of his issues have to be handled more carefully. The last thing Karkat wants is for him to withdraw and pretend shit is fine when it so clearly isn't. Again.]
How much per increment? Or are we just going to stop whenever the fuck we've felt like we've had enough?
[He is... absolutely trying to draw out this subject for as long as possible to try and make Dave forget about the Gamzee thing. Or any other thing, really. Yes, this is healthy.]
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Karkat, if you even think about setting a minimum word count on our feelings jams, I'm gonna upend an entire thing of fries over your head. And that would be an unforgivable waste of good fries.
[Also, an unforgivable waste of calm Karkat. Who knew this asshole would make such a good blanket, seriously? Dave returns to running his hands over the plane of his back, distractedly interested in the change between bone and muscle under his palms, slow and even.
God, Dave likes cuddling. Shit. He's gonna turn into some kind of snuggle junkie.]
Just saying as much as we're comfy with should be fine. We're both basically grown-ups here, I think we can handle that much. And if on any given day either of us doesn't want to, for whatever reason, I think that's fine, too. Yeah?
[Is that reasonable? He has no idea, what the fuck do normal, well-adjusted people do about this shit, oh wait normal well-adjusted people don't have to deal with this shit to begin with.]
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... Fuck, fries sound really delicious right now. Why had he stopped eating? Oh, right, because he'd fucked up a perfectly satisfactory feelings jam by getting his goddamn insecurities all over the place. Someone needs to invent PokéTrollian so he can get back to yelling at Past Karkat for being so impossibly horrible at everything ever.]
Yeah. We can do that.
[It's late and probably unnecessary (Dave should have been able to feel the nod even if he couldn't see it), but Karkat has a pressing need to hear anything at all that isn't the perpetual bullshit monologue running through his think pan 24/7. Just. Anything at all. Even one of Dave's stupid raps would work, god.
He sighs and gives his moirail a nudge.]
Come on. We're wasting the fries anyway by not eating them.
[Ignore the fact that he's the one who's, you know, on top of Dave and could easily wriggle free if he wanted to. Choosing between more cuddle time with Dave and Happiny Meals is a serious fucking dilemma.]
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He glances uselessly at Karkat--he can't see anything from this angle--then to the side. This is equally useless. He huffs a little breath and pats Karkat's back once, then rubs it again a little more briskly. Not to soothe, just affectionate.]
Welp, you're gonna have to feed me, bro, because I have lost visuals on the target. All I got on radar is fuckall and a side of shit. I must've sunk under the titanic weight of the asshole on top of me.
[Piles are trolls' gift to man, but they do not exactly provide the kind of buoyant support of mattress springs.
Anyway, Dave isn't doing anything to extricate himself from this situation, titanic asshole or not. He's still petting Karkat's back, actually.
His stomach growls.]
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Karkat is pale enough for this asshole that the highly audible growl from his stomach stays any acerbic remarks to this effect, though; he huffs quietly instead and reluctantly starts peeling himself away. He is the one who'd brought it up, so—]
You're lucky I'm feeling magnanimous enough to not abscond with both of these and finish them off myself.
[He's trying to grumble and for once it isn't working. Focusing on how fucking aggravating it is to reach over grab the Happiny Meals sort of helps, but settling in at Dave's side again is ruining even that and asjdfklghlhasf what kind of troll is that easily pacified?
Vengefully, he steals one of Dave's chicken nuggets and eats it right in front of him. Hah.]
Are you going to sit up or what?
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Dude--was that my last one?
[He rolls onto his front and grabs the box to check, then turns the frown up to eleven at Karkat's smug chicken-thieving face. The fiend. Dave whines and throws himself across Karkat's legs, even if these are his just deserts.]
Duuuuuuuude. You do only love me for my nugs.
[...And then he retaliates by trying to go after Karkat's fries.]
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You—[SNRK] you are such a fucking wiggler sometimes.
[Pfffthahahahahasldfjghk fuck, why is laughing weird. He's not doing it especially loudly, and he could probably stop if he really tried to, but oh my god, Dave, what even was that.
Still smiling, he fishes out one of his own remaining chicken nuggets and offers it.]
Haha, here. We cool?
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His gaze flicks from the chicken to Karkat's face and back, and, yeah, that's it, his determination crumbles like the cheap piece of shit it is, and he's not even mad, though he pretends to be.]
Fiiiiine.
[He relinquishes the fries. It's because this is fair reparation for Karkat's TREASON and not because Dave made him laugh and feels like a superhero, okay. But even before he can take a bite, Karkat's (awesome, amazing, fucking adorable) smile catches, spreads on Dave's face, too.
He takes a small, smiling bite, chews and swallows politely, and then gestures with the rest of the nugget.]
Just so you know, that? Total wedlock ritual. We're human married now, hope you're cool with that. Tax benefits, hurrah.
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Doesn't being human married mean we have shared ownership of each other's stuff? So I'm fucking entitled to all your chicken nuggets from now on, Dave. All of them.
[You are the instrument of your own undoing, or rather would be if this arrangement didn't go both ways. On that note, doesn't Karkat have a few unclaimed nuggets left somewhere? Hmm.
His expression softens into something unforgivably fond, and suddenly self-conscious, he glances down at his deep-fried tuber strips. Yum, grease. Human food isn't that disgusting sometimes.]
You're wearing the dress, right?
[... He may be feeling a little too gooey at Dave in general to try that hard at continuing the joke, human marriages are his weakness okay, Dave knows this.]
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[Dave considers everything he's just said, then digs out the toy from his Happiny Meal. It's a Grumpig spinning a lasso, and he opens it with a fake solemn expression that doesn't quite hide the wannabe grin that keeps tugging at his lips.
The lasso doesn't come out, so he just takes Karkat's hand and slips the whole thing over one finger, cowboy Grumpig and all.]
With this ring, I thee wed, et cetera. There, now everybody throws rice and stuff and we take off in our getaway limo. After an undisclosed number of days in which we do unspeakable things to my wedding dress, we return to our private island, where I carry you across the threshold into a mansion packed wall-to-wall with nothing but spicy Cheetos and Cameron Crowe movies. You cry a little and then we cuddle and you tell me I'm very pretty. We adopt three babies and all their first words are "fuck." The end.
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[Karkat bites his lip but can't quite stop his laughter from bubbling up again, and ducking his head to try and hide it is fucking useless because that just puts him at the perfect angle to see that "ring" and holy fucking shit he can't, goddammit, Dave, what kind of idiot gives their moirail a Happiny Meal toy as a wedding ring? To say nothing of the fact that it's completely the wrong quadrant—
His smile flickers, but he doesn't pull his hand away even if he really fucking should. Instead, he traps Dave's carefully between his own and oh fuck, oh no, oh shit, abort. Hahaha, what is this, it clearly isn't happening, that's what!]
When did we get a private island? And yeah, you'd be—fucking radiant.
[....................................................................................................
HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT HE HATES PAST KARKAT oh god oh god oh god is there a way to salvage this?? What the fuck does he say, can he say anything??]
I mean, that's what all brides want to hear on their wedding day, right?
[HAHAHAHAHAHAHA SOMEONE PLEASE KILL HIM.]
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--I mean, I prefer the phrase "booty rockalicious," but sure, if the traditional language does it for you, I'm not gonna complain about a little physical affirmation in my last hour of blushing maidenhood.
[Hah! Nailed it. He is the Savior of the Awkward Assholes, it's him. Dave flops over onto his back to spare them both having to look at each other, because he is nothing if not a benevolent god.]
Anyway, our private island's a wedding present from Jade, while John's the one who donated the snacks and movies. Rose'll give us an eldritch kraken to put in our moat but she'll forget to train it, so we housebreak it with a Baby's First Puppy guide and every day you come back from your grueling job at the factory, it makes happy noises and licks your face with a tentacle.
[Dave illustrates everything with his hands, and at the last bit, he just reaches up and boops Karkat's face. Boop.]
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... And, even if Dave isn't blushing, a certain former troll is probably blushing enough for the both of them. Fortunately, he has greasy fried food stuff in his face to hide it.
Oddly, he hadn't anticipated the boop.]
Dave, what the fuck.
[His tone is flat, but despite how tempting it is to turn and look at Dave, he's feeling pretty happy with the minor distance he'd retreated when Dave had lain back again, just because he'd needed that additional buffer. Hahahahaaldksgfjhdgj he is not having... he's having nothing. Hypothetically nothing is taking place here because he absolutely wouldn't be considering anything other than perfect pale propriety toward his moirail, because that's how quadrants work. He knows how quadrants work, he is a romance savant.
He fidgets with a fry, then shoves it down his meal tunnel. Gosh these sure are delicious.]
You want a horrorterror as a pet. And... wait, why the fuck am I working at a factory? What factory? Why aren't you working?
[Yes, he's actually getting a little engaged in this imaginary scenario that is totally unrelated to the nonexistent one previously mentioned. Haha, engaged. Haha. Ha. Fuck, maybe he's imagining it? Again. That other time was clearly a fluke, right, so—fuck, no, he's not thinking about that right now, tell him more about this space kraken they're going to use as some unnecessarily elaborate bouncer for their equally extravagant mansion.]
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