Chapter Text
Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK. You are currently in a shared bathroom on the meteor purging out your lunch. You have spent the past 10 minutes jamming your fingers down your throat, but the muscles in your stomach are so strong that your gag reflex has only just started to trigger. Most of those 10 minutes were spent hacking up saliva and while the puddle you have going is pretty sizable, the texture looks more like spit than vomit. Regardless, you think you have most of it out by now.
You lean back from your current position hunched over the toilet and take a shaky breath. The spot on the edge of the bowl that you’ve been holding onto for stability is fractured, but, despite how hard you’ve been clinging onto it, it’s still intact. Excellent. That’s progress. Proof that what you’re doing is serving its purpose beyond self punishment. Your jaw is burning from how long you’ve been holding it open, but you try your best to ignore it.
You just have to hold out a bit longer and you’ll be fixed.
It wasn’t that you hated your strength, exactly, you just… didn’t enjoy the more destructive aspects of it. You didn’t want to be unappreciative of the gift the mother had given you, that you had prided yourself on for sweeps, but it really did wear on your patience sometimes. Especially on the meteor it was causing more problems than it was helping: constant shattered glasses, dented walls, machinery crushed under your attempts at repair. It was easy enough to deal with the physical damage when you were living with only your lusus, but here there were other people around to see it, and though you did your best to ignore the annoyed groans and whispers—what right did they have to insult someone of your blood?—it was unfortunately starting to irritate you. Especially since you had lost your main outlet when your workshop exploded with the rest of your hive. You hadn’t found anything as efficient at quelling your rage as punching fist to metal, but now all your robotic punching bags were gone, and you would sooner tear your remaining horn off than turn your angered strength on another living being. Which left you with nothing to batter but yourself. Thoughts that used to be easy to punch out of your mind built up and spilled over and you often found yourself falling into self loathing spirals, ruminating on your poor social standing, your inability to properly serve your betters, your lack of control over your more… shameful urges. You hated how weak you were to be unable to push those thoughts out, how you couldn’t do anything about them but wallow in self-pity (and not even the kind that would make you feel better). How were you supposed to be useful like this? It was ridiculously difficult trying to get anything done when you had to be so careful with your movements, and having your thinkpan screaming at you about how awful you were doing the whole time only made them harder to control. You’d talk to Nepeta about it, but lately being around her only made it worse.
It had been a very long time since you were able to touch another troll without causing them injury. Even your stongest attempts at being gentle left extensive bruising, and hugs were out of the question entirely unless you wanted to shatter someone’s thorax. You’d more or less accepted this by now, as it wasn’t much of an issue back on Alternia; Vriska was the only other troll around for miles and even then you didn’t spend much time with her physically. Attaching her prosthetic arm was probably the most you’d touched another troll in sweeps. But on a small meteor with 13 other people, physical contact was surprisingly hard to avoid. Whether it was bumping into someone in a doorway or tapping someone to get their attention, you always had to be conscious of exactly how much force you were applying at any given moment lest you hurt someone. It was a full time effort trying not to break Tavros’ hips when you did maintenance on his legs, or Gamzee’s arms when you tried to push away the sopor he offered you. And then there was Nepeta.
That was the worst part of it, that you could barely even touch her. Your dear moirail, who you had wished for perigees and perigees to be able to see in person, now living with you and you could barely even touch her for fear of breaking her. It upset you more than you wanted to admit. She was a very cuddly person, always jumping on you and hugging you, and though you always put on a strong face and refused, you wanted so badly to reciprocate. To be able to properly lean into her midblood warmth against you instead of laying slack in her arms, savoring what you could but never pressing for more. To be able to pet her like the meowbeast she pretended to be instead of just hovering your hand above her head, fearful of ripping her hair out. You hated to admit it, but, laying carefully unmoving in the pile next to her, feeling the slow rhythm of her breath as she slept next to you after a particularly exhausting feelings jam, you would often guiltily fantasize about losing your strength, just so you could finally stop caring and throw your arms around her and press into her with all the force you wanted to use instead of treating her like she was made of glass. Finally pap her properly like a good moirail should, shower her in all the pale affection she deserved. But you never lingered on the thought for long, because there was no point in making yourself feel worse about something you couldn’t change. You would always sigh and cease that train of thought, resign to your fate, turn over, and return your focus to keeping your hand from twitching against Nepeta’s back.
Until one night you had an idea.
It had come to you by chance one day as you laid on the cool metal floor of your respiteblock. You were so tired and dizzy, but… you didn’t mind?
You had just gotten up from your workbench, where you were screwing and soldering your way through a giant broken generator. Karkat had been sure to very loudly hammer into your head how important it was that you finished this task quickly, so you had spent most of the day and the whole night before it working on this. Or, something like that, anyways. There weren’t exactly “nights” on this meteor and you’d been so strongly focused that you’d barely checked the time, so who knows how long you were actually working. All you knew is that it had been quite a while, because when you set down your tools and stood up to go to the bathroom, your vision blacked out and you crashed down to the floor. You landed on your knees with a heavy thunk and laid down, waiting for your vision to clear and your heart rate to go back to normal. It wasn’t uncommon for you to become so lost in focus that you forgot to eat, but never for this long before. It was an odd feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. You were used to the dizziness but never before had your body felt so… empty. Everything felt very clear and real but also not quite there, like you were experiencing everything through an overly defined but still unfocused camera. You slowly realized your stomach hurt, but you didn’t really mind. You felt like you were nonexistent and weightless and absentmindedly wondered if this was like what Gamzee felt after eating one of his pies.
You laid there sprawled on the floor and staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, long after the dizziness subsided. This felt a lot nicer than it had any reason to. Your stomach still hurt, but you were starting to enjoy how the feeling clouded out your other thoughts. And the weightless feeling was so… You felt weak, but not in a bad way. This was nothing like the weakness you were used to that made you want to curl up in shame, no, this felt almost nice. The way your whole body felt so floaty, like you couldn’t break anything if you tried. You hadn’t felt this weak in sweeps.
The effect had been relatively slight that first time, but the implications made you sweat. It made sense, obviously, less food meant fewer calories fueling your strength and less muscle mass to provide that strength. You had toyed with the idea of weight loss before, but never really taken it seriously. It always seemed like it would be too much work, too hard to explain, or one of a hundred other reasons you used to rationalize it out of your pan. But actually feeling the effects of it was more than enough to change your mind. Thinking about it was one thing, but really feeling what it could do was almost intoxicating. The way it clouded out the uncomfortable thoughts in your pan and the chance that you might actually lessen your strength. And that was after only a few hours of not eating. If such a short amount of time was already having effects, what would happen if you tried for a little longer? You’d been looking for a fix for so long, and now this had just fallen into your lap. Anyone else in your situation would have made the same decision, really, they would have to be a fool not to.
It had been hard at first, of course. Trying to ignore a basic need wasn’t supposed to be easy. But you rationalized that this was a way to prove your strength beyond just muscle. A way to prove you had the mental fortitude to do something as hard as ignoring needs hardwired into your body. Fortitude you’d need if you ever wanted to be of use to anyone. Even if you got rid of your physical strength that didn’t mean you weren’t still mentally strong. And besides, you ate too much anyways. Even without starving yourself you were almost always at least somewhat hungry, since all that muscle meant you had a ludicrously fast metabolism. You ate more than probably anyone else on this meteor and you hated how much grist you had to waste on food instead of on something more useful to the group. Increased stomach pain aside, though, that metabolism worked in your favor with how quickly it meant you lost mass; the first perigee alone you lost nearly 10 pounds just from cutting out all your milk and frequent snacks, and you’ve lost several more in the perigees since. Not without consequences, but…
You were more than willing to deal with those. The near constant hunger clawing at your stomach, infinitely more intense than the milder version you were used to and drowned out only by the dull but visceral pain that came from ignoring it. The way you could feel your pan slowly starting to decline, calculations and routines you thought were muscle memory now requiring conscious effort to recall. The last repair you did on Tavros’ legs took almost twice as long as it should have because you kept forgetting which wires were supposed to connect where. You could feel yourself zoning out more often, spending more and more time just staring off into the void. Though you didn’t mind that one as much. You already zoned out pretty often, and everyone was already used to you staring so you doubted they cared much if you were doing it blankly at the floor instead of them. If anything they might even prefer that. Your hair seemed to be getting thinner, and though you weren’t sure if that was real or just paranoia making you see things, you were sure it looked worse. Regardless, you were more than willing to deal with the effects, unpleasant as they may be. The chance that you’d finally be able to interact with others without controlling your every breath, finally be able to serve as a proper, useful indigoblood should, finally be rid of your most inherent flaw, was your guiding light through the fog of starvation-induced delirium, and was more than enough to make this all worth it.
Not that this didn’t come with some of its own benefits. The emptiness clawing at your insides felt good, felt right. The constant, dull ache was unignorable, but if anything that made it better. This emptiness was so different from the kind you were used to. Instead of pushing you out of your body until you were numb, this feeling dragged you back in and flooded you with detail until your head hurt. One void to fill another. Even with your constant zone outs this was the most present you felt in your body in sweeps.
How fitting for such visceral emptiness to be what completed an Heir of Void. Really, it was only natural that you’d be drawn to this; Paradox space had its ways of making sure everyone filled their role, so who were you to fight what the universe had planned for you? If this was how you were meant to inherit nothingness, you weren’t complaining. You felt so good. So good and perfect and pure, and becoming better by the minute. You were finally able to fill one of the roles made for you and soon you’d be better enough to fill the others. You just had to focus on this feeling until you were fixed, and all of the physical toll would be worth it.
You justified this toll to yourself by saying it was temporary, that you could stop whenever you wanted. Once you finished your destrengthening gloves, you told yourself, then you wouldn’t have any need to keep doing this and you’d gain back the weight. Nevermind that no material you had ever tried in a prototype—and you had to be at at least 50 of those by now—was able to control your strength as well as you hoped. Nevermind that most of your attempts had ended in you breaking the circuitry before the final draft was finished, and that your pan was too scattered to focus on your projects properly. You just had to keep trying, yes, you will keep trying and once you eventually finish those you will stop this. But in the meantime…
You stare at the acrid, liquidy mess you’ve just puked into the toilet, mostly indigo-tinged fluids and chewed up boiled vegetable sludge from the stew Nepeta had made and forced you to eat earlier. You can tell she’s getting worried. She had practically dragged you into her block before sitting you down at a table, shoving a bowl in front of you, and refusing to take her eyes off you until you cleaned it. She kept bringing up your eating habits in the pile after, saying that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen you consume anything besides water. You’d brushed it off and replied that you just ate in your room and that she needn’t worry, but she wouldn’t drop it and just softened her voice before asking why you looked so “thin” and “exhausted.” You spluttered out some half truth about having trouble sleeping but the look she gave you told you she didn’t buy it. You hated to make her worry, but what were you supposed to tell her? She never saw your strength in the same light you did. You pitied her, but she was truly senseless sometimes. How were you supposed to explain why you were doing this to someone who didn’t even understand what was so wrong with you that made it a consideration to begin with? To explain the frustration your body caused you to someone who didn’t constantly have to deal with its effect on everything they did? No, you just have to go through with this, keep her from meddling, and she will see at the end how much better you are. You hate that you’ve had to purge something she must’ve spent so long preparing for you, but it’s really for the greater good.
The cold metal floor is searing into your fingers and knees to the point you can barely even feel them. Oh, you must have zoned out again. You should probably get going before anyone guesses what you’re doing. You brace yourself for dizziness and rise back onto your feet, leaning onto the stall wall and (self-censoredly) cursing as you feel your heart rate shoot up. Vomiting was necessary, as your usual purging method of exercise wouldn’t be effective against the amount of soup you had eaten, but you’re sort of regretting doing it in here instead of somewhere more secluded. Not that you had really been thinking of that when you came in, you just sort of stumbled into the first bathroom you saw after Nepeta let you leave. Thankfully nobody had walked in on you—you couldn’t remember if you locked the door or not—but there’s footsteps coming from just outside the door and you can hear someone starting to jiggle the knob. You lean against the wall for a dizzy, sightless moment before flushing the toilet and exiting the stall to rinse your mouth out. The tap water is cold but you don’t really mind, it almost feels warm on your numb hands. You almost start to zone out again but loud knocking at the door snaps you out of it. Right. Need to act normal. Moving maybe a little too quickly now, you turn off the water, dry your hands, and go to unlock the door. You try to open it gently but it still swings a little too hard and knocks right into whoever’s standing outside. There’s a loud bang, then an even louder cry of various pained expletives before Sollux comes back around the door to glare at you with his hand on his head.
“Fuck, dude, iif you’re goiing two hiit me liike that at lea2t do iit hard enough two put me out of my mii2ery,” he groans out. You stare back at him and start to raise your hands in surrender, stumbling over an apology, but he brushes past you leaving you alone to stand dumbly in the hall. That… could’ve gone worse, you suppose. The hit must sting but it probably wasn’t hard enough to seriously damage anything. You still feel bad, but at least his glasses survived.
You lag for a moment before deciding to go to your room. The only sound as you walk through the empty hall is the metal-on-metal clang of your cleats against the floor, making your already heavy footsteps sound even worse. Urgh. You speed up and try to push it out of your mind.
The mess in your room seems to only be getting bigger and the whole space reeks of stale sweat, but it’s warm and you’re too tired to care about anything else. It’s a gross and humid warmth but it’s warmth nonetheless. You swear this meteor has been getting colder recently, even if nobody else seems to notice it. You kick a small clearing in the mess of scrap metal and towels on the floor and crash down onto your back. Gog, you’re so tired. Obviously starvation will do that to you, but you hadn’t expected the sheer extent of it. You’re so exhausted. And from such a short walk, too. A few perigees ago that would’ve barely made you break a sweat, yet now your shirt is soaked, your palms are clammy, and your heart feels like it could beat a crack through your thorax. Your fingertips and ears are frozen and boiling at the same time.
The floor feels nice and solid against your back as your breathing slowly stabilizes again. The ambient warmth from the stale air has softened the cold metal down into something more pleasant against your tired muscles. You try to think about something useful but your head feels blank, all your ideas just trailing off and dissolving before you get anywhere. You give up and elect to just zone out for a while. The muffled sounds of people talking and shuffling around the meteor filter in through the walls, providing pleasant white noise for your space out session. You feel a bit ashamed for squandering your time on something as unproductive as this, but it feels good. To just exist without worrying about anything too hard. It feels floaty and pleasant and it’s nice to have a break from your own mind. Your thoughts amble aimlessly, half-formed fragments trailing off and around and into the void. Your stomach is still a bit sore from vomiting but it’s less of a bother and more of a grounding sensation.
Eventually, your thoughts trail back to your interaction with Sollux. Obviously you shouldn’t care too much about hurting someone as low on the spectrum as him, but you still feel weirdly guilty about the whole thing. You still harmed another person, lowblood or not. How deplorable. The guilt stews in your chest like spoiled milk.
You try to shake the thought out of your mind. It could’ve gone worse. At least you didn’t break the door, or his face, or anything else besides maybe your self esteem. That’s good, that means you’re making progress, means that this is working. A dull wave of hunger presses at the bottom of your throat but you push down the pain.
You just have to stay strong for a bit longer, and then you can be done being strong forever.