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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 4 years

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The Remembrance Of A Kiss

I was feeling nostalgic for a fic which I wrote almost three years ago called Zeta-7 and The Kiss; it was written back when I first started writing Rnm fics. While, I don't write how I used to, I am fond of it. So, here's this finished wip. I think I'm running on nostalgia these days, for things are changing faster then I can keep up with. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. It's guaranteed to be fluffy :3

In this fic the reader thinks about a past momentous moment.

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The trouble and light anxiety you had felt about the occasion had been insignificant compared to his. Back then you had been searching for an answer or rather a solution to a predicament; the problem at the time being that you weren't sure how to broach the subject of a certain display of affection. It was neither a lack or an abundance of affection, and it seems silly now when you thought of it, which was often, but when and where had your inclination to kiss him first begin? It might have always been there, but that statement in itself seemed like a lie, for you didn't want to kiss him when you initially met him, but he had been influential; recognizing you from another time, another life, but that wasn't what you came here to talk about. No, you wanted to think of that fateful day.

That day he had been in his usual delightful mood, the kind that came about because he got to see you and was genuinely having a good day; although, with him, he tended to find good in every day and as expected he was deliciously cheerful and had a smile which could last for days upon his thin lips. Oh, how you had loved that smile for it followed you everywhere, even when you couldn't seem him; that haircut which had been copied from an old clothing catalog advertisement and moved about when he spoke; buck teeth which dentists could only dream to keep as trophies, and the hint of lip bite when he'd finished talking; it was part of the draw. You fought, swallowed, and bided your time as you thought of the ways in which you could show him you loved him. For you, there was a momentum, a force which couldn't have been stopped; beginning with his hellos, and would build as you continued to be so affected and had been desperate to satisfy the longing and affection which pulled and drowned your senses whenever he was near; it made you reason that it was the right thing to do; to express and ask if it was alright to move forward; it was and he agreed, but he never quite recovered from being kissed.

No, you didn't mean all the kisses which occurred after and had taken place up to the present per se, but from the first one you had given him around the start of your relationship; having made such an impression, it was as though you had branded his heart and soul; that a string was tied to one of your ribs and to one of his ventricles which kept him alive only by his sheer will to withstand the forces and madness that threatened to tear him apart daily; he could never recover. You would say that he grew a little more mature that day; in mind, spirit, but not in age. To be sure, things had been so different then; Rick had been so shy when it came to romantic sensibilities, naive to others advances or otherwise natural attraction to him, believing he was unworthy of such while you had so much to learn about the mysteries of men; neither knew what the other had been going through. You hadn't known about his otherworldly adventures yet, his loneliness, or uniqueness, and he knew almost everything except your personality quirks, but as to how he knew was a different story.

Still, that was then, back when there was so much yet to be known, and you thought him to be human. You remembered how for days, he walked as though in a daze, bumping into things and hardly able to look you in the eyes without being lovestruck and tongue-tied; you were sure to watch after him to make sure you hadn't given him a stroke and assured him that he shouldn't deny his worth. Why it seemed even now he could barely function without being a little goofy after a kiss, but it was endearing; you hadn't known then about how he had been starved for affection due to lack of family and circumstances. Yet, if you had any doubts, they certainly were lessened by his attentiveness and wanting to please.

You were sure others might've tired of this behavior long ago, and you had your days in when you thought you weren't capable of managing it all, but for every time you came crashing down, he was there to help you even when you didn't want him to; for every tear and moment of grief, there was his affection which he returns out of love, gratitude, and fear all at once. Oh, if you knew then what you knew now, you would've confessed earlier; let him know how much you had cared, and tried harder to be a better friend. Still, you were making it up to him and doubted you'd ever finish making it up to him. And because he was forever grateful and happy when you kissed him, you decided to ask him one day what it was that he found so dazzling about it and to your shock, his answer endeared him to you all the more. "It's like saying h-hello." he answered matter of factly.

"Really? In what way?"

"Gosh," he wondered, scratching the back of his neck. "it's uh - it's like touching hands, but instead of the formality of a-a handshake, you touch lips to greet and exchange not only DNA but affection. Culture or whoever happens to partake in this ritual may affect its meaning, but in such an awe-inspiring way I believe it's a reminder of trust and union; albeit more intimate."

Was that how he had felt back then? Had it been a social experiment or a daydream that had come into fruition? Perhaps neither. Maybe, he was concerned that you'd be disappointed if that so-called spark wasn't there, but the good thing was you relied more on just sparks. "So, what you mean to say is that in a sense those who kiss are bonded?"

"I th-think so."

And you believed him, for when it came to such matters, he was sincere. Why it must've hit him harder than it ever will with you, but you blamed being a creature of natural circumstance for that; your childhood and life had been happy and general for the most part, while his had more loops in it then the Whirly Dirly. Thinking of it now, the consequence of your affection was that he took to you so strongly, you were sure that if something happened to you, it might kill him; the thought being burdensome in its own right.

You had never thought of pairing the word passionate with him, but his sensibilities to and of the world in which he existed in as well as to interactions with the beings in it made you wonder if there was anything or anyone he could truly hate; himself perhaps for that was who he was most affected by.

"Rick," you started, pushing away the unsettling thoughts as you set down the book you had been reading. "I think that's sweet. You certainly have a knack for seeing the poetic nature behind the reality, but what are your thoughts on the people who kiss for fun?"

He ruminated for a moment. It might've occurred to him that people didn't always kiss with the intention of forming serious relationships, but he would be sure to make a note of finding out later. "Gosh, I'm sure there are some benefits t-t-to it, though I haven't done much research on the matter."

Who knew where one would begin on such a subject. There were books on both physiology and psychology, but did any of them go into the happenstance of a kiss? You hadn't thought of checking, but knowing the intelligent man that he was, perhaps he had looked into it. "Research huh? Dear," you explained, "people don't just research kisses as though they are studies or hypothesized."

"Th-they don't?"

"At least not that I know of. I mean, people simply see and do. Don't they? Is there more?"

"Y-yes and no. It depends on the species."

"Hmm, I guess it does."

Again, you wouldn't know. There must've been planets, realities, and universes whose signs of affection transcended that of action, but while it was a fascinating thought, you were glad that in your reality that wasn't the case in its entirety. Searching his face, you found that his brow was scrunched up together, wondering if there was more to it. You had thought the question innocent enough, he, on the other hand, wouldn't be satisfied until he found the truth behind your inquiry. Not being one to try to disappoint him, you turned towards him and nodded. "However, I have my own answer. If you come closer I can show you what I mean."

Removing his glasses, he scooted closer; curious to see if the answer was somehow in your pocket or hiding on his face. The trust which allowed him to focus on you with conviction as you approached him was palpable. Lightly, you brushed back his bangs and passed your fingers lightly over his frown lines. Silly man, he thought too much for his own good, but if he had been unsure earlier, then the blush which dusted his ears and cheeks said otherwise. Stretching up, you pressed a light kiss on his forehead; not unlike the ones he'd give you when he thought you were asleep. And you smiled at him from the bottom of your heart. In turn, he chuckled in happy amusement; boyish in the way his eyes glimmered as though he had gotten a new toy. "Gee, that was - that was swell, but I-I don't understand. Wh-what was that for?"

"I see you and I must kiss you. It's practically the law." you giggled before repeating the action.

"Are y-y-you sure?" he wondered, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

Pulling back a little, you nodded. "I'm positive. Especially since it's what you deserve."

The light chuckle which escaped him only fed your joy as you peppered him with kisses. And before you could see it, you felt him smiling and glowing with happiness as his goofy grin returned with a vengeance.

"Gosh," he sighed with contentment, "I-I learn something new everyday."

"I bet you do, but really a kiss is nothing to think too hard about."

"I-I know."

"If anything, I think it's based on a feeling. For example," you paused to give yourself a moment to gather your thoughts together. "the reason I kiss you is the same reason I've always had and it's because I care about you. In my own way, it's like I'm saying, 'Hello, I missed you, come here, I love you. Oh, I love you so very much. Thank you, for simply existing and being here with me.' Maybe we both have the same reason as to why words sometimes aren't enough, and while a kiss is simple, it's not always so easy to execute, but nothing is wrong with that. It's all done in its own time. In its own way. I am happy you let me kiss you way back when, because I adored you so much that it hurt. I still adore you, and you'll always be precious to me."

Glancing at you in wonderment, he played with his fingers then searched your face again. In his soul, he knew you weren't lying, but since you've first known him, he always seemed to be searching, as well as fighting his self-condemning mind and heart especially having been injured so many times. As though you had a world of answers for some of his simple questions that he would've otherwise been too embarrassed to ask, he'd open his mouth just to close it again. You had assured him on multiple occasions that he could ask you anything, but his bashful nature gave allowances for this; endearing in its own right. Once he seemed satisfied, he took out his notepad and wrote down some notes; if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was writing a thesis by the way the words slanted and blended into one another as he concentrated on the details, all the while sporting that lovestruck grin. "What are you writing dear? Is it a love letter? Is it about the trees, or bees, or whatever goes about in that wonderful head of yours?"

"I'm updating my notes."

This much you knew. "But on what? Not on kissing, right? That would be something." you teased.

"N-n-no," he answered softly, "but on you."

"Is that right? Is there any particular reason?"

"Mhm," he nodded. "so I won't forget."

What a silly man he was, you thought. "It's ok to forget things, but I'm sure you won't. Besides, who forgets the first person they kiss?"

"N-not me."

"Of course not, especially with all the reminders that come after. I doubt I will, but reminders are appreciated. I wouldn't want to forget how happy you make me."

Slowing down his note-taking, he mentioned. "I like reminders too."

Of course he did. From years of journal keeping to the multiple watches and small computers that were scattered about the house, for there was so much going on in his head he needed help keeping his train of thought straight. It was just another way of saying in so many words, how much he loved you. "So do I. And trust me, I'll be sure to remind you a lot. As much as you need, and as often as I can. Hopefully," you winked at him. "I'll be reminded soon."

Giving your hand a squeeze, he softened. "I um - I don't mind reminding you. I-I really like reminders."

"I know, but do you like them more than adventures, or as far as that ship in the garage will take you?" you teased.

Replacing the notepad in his pocket, he nodded. "As far as 238,855 miles w-will take me."

Miles or kilometers were but measurements and distance, but that distance you were sure was not on Earth. "Do you mean to the moon?"

Pressing a light kiss to your temple, he answered. "Por supuesto, y-y más allá de eso. Please, don't forget"

Forget? Why would you forget? If there was a prelude, it was the flutter and happy giddiness which occurred when you caught him off guard, but to whatever came after, it was effervescent, sweet, and addictive. And while it could be said about a lot of things, he was far more complex. You see, you never recovered from being kissed, because you were enticed by his charm, and won by his goodness, but a kiss sealed the deal; for now and forever you belonged to him and you weren't going to let him forget it. Cupping his cheek, you replied. "I won't and I never will Ricky. You can bet on that," as you leaned forward, you whispered. "and seal it with a kiss."

Fin

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patronihoe · 4 years

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holy smokes so i uh. i actually wrote something. and finished writing it. hot damn.

Pact with the kobold ending. Patronio brings Hans’s mother a vast fortune and a missive from the new Count Lucanor. But he wasn’t expecting the emotional roller coaster that ensues.

Patronio was ecstatic! His curse was finally lifted and he was finally free! All he had to do was deliver a fortune and a missive to the new counts mother like he had promised.

Before he could leave, though, he had to gather the treasures he would bring. And to do that, Patronio would have to visit one of the few places he had been avoiding since the curse was enacted; the Count Lucanors tomb.

Patronio would have to admit that when the count died, he had grieved, though he looks back on his relationship with the count as a shaky one at best. The count was manipulative, strict, and powerful. But Patronio would be lying if he were to say he hadn’t admired the count to an extent. Despite his flaws he ran his kingdom well. Everyone within Tenebres walls were kept safe from invaders and pestilence, thanks to the counts attentiveness. No, the Count Lucanor was nothing like the fat, lazy kings Patronio had come across in other kingdoms.

And yet here he was. Dread pooling into his stomach as he teleports into the old counts tomb. Of course, after everything hes been through; everything that the count had put him through, at this time all he felt for the man was spite.

As quick as he could, and avoiding looking at the sarcophagus, Patronio formed a pile of treasures in the center of the room. He was a little nervous, because he was about to attempt something he hasn’t tried in a long, long time. Steeling his nerves, just as he was about to teleport with the treasures, he looked up to the large portrait of the Count Lucanor.

"I hope you’re happy, old man. Your legacy will continue, not that you have much of one left." And with that, Patronio and the treasures disappeared.

Where he ended up was a quaint little cottage within a lightly wooded area. Patronio took a moment to breath in the fresh air and admire the tranquility of the place. That is, until a small beast spotted him and started barking.

'This is... a dog right? gosh i don’t think i’ve seen one in hundreds of years! they’re much noisier than i remember!' Patronio mused to himself. 'Well, since my presence is known i might as well be done with this.'

Cautiously slipping past the barking dog, ('he looks friendly enough, its a good sign when their tails wag, right?') Patronio made his way over to the door and knocked three times, then took a few steps back. Not a few seconds passed before the door opened and a young woman stepped out, looking over to Patronio with a rather comically confused expression. Patronio cleared his throat a little to stop himself from laughing at the look she was giving him.

"Milady, please excuse my abrupt approach. The name is Patronio and i happen to bring a gift from the most illustrious Count Lucanor." the young woman approached.

"Count? I’ve never met any count."

"If you will allow me, i would like to deliver this missive myself." Patronio handed over the missive Hans had wrote for her soon after he had sat in the throne.

Hans's mom read the missive, a bittersweet smile on her face. When she had finished, she quietly slipped past Patronio and looked at all the treasure she was given. More than she could ever need.

Patronio figured she was just in shock or speechless with joy because of her newfound fortune, but then he heard her whisper hoarsely; "Hans... will i really never see him again...?"

Patronio whipped around to fully face her as she was crouched over a pile of gold and precious gems.

"Mam...?"

Hans's mother looked up to Patronio, and Patronio had to stop himself from flinching back at the look of grief on the woman's

face, a stream of tears gently running down and soaking into the front of her blouse.

Hans's mom turned back around and stared at the ground, silently grieving.

Patronio didn’t understand. She should be overjoyed! She was now lavishly rich! she could move into her own castle if she wanted to! And yet... Patronio gripped the front of his shirt, his chest filling with a dull ache.

She... misses her son. Her son, Hans, whose only ten years old, but never coming home. And she'll never see her son again... because of him, isn’t it? He was the one who convinced Hans to sit in the throne. He was so selfish... but after nearly a millennia, there was finally a glimmer of hope for him. A chance to finally be free. And so he took it, but at what cost? At the expense of a

young mother and her son. That was the cost.

Hans's mother looked back up to Patronio to thank him after collecting herself but she paused.

"Patronio? Are you okay sir? You look awful pale..."

Shocked out of his reverie Patronio looked back up to Hans's mother, who was now standing before him and looking at him in concern.

"Uh uh i no um milady i’m just fine!" Patronio spluttered then mentally kicked himself for losing his composure.

"Are you sure dear? you’re not looking so well. Maybe you should have a seat and i can get you something to eat."

'Oh, how... motherly...' Patronio thought. The ache in his chest now feeling worse. Before he could respond, Hans's mom practically dragged him inside the house with her and sat him at the kitchen table. Completely taken aback by this new development, all Patronio could do was follow along with it.

While Hans's mom went over to the pot boiling over a fire, Patronio rather awkwardly looked around.

The place was tiny. It was only a one room house, with only one bed. Patronio could hardly believe what he was seeing. When he brought Hans to Tenebre to tackle the trials, he figured he was just fooling another greedy traveler. But seeing Hans's old home... he could hardly blame him for seeking out fortune. It made Patronio feel a little better to consider that Hans's mother now has

her own fortune to do what she wants with. She doesn’t have to live in this sad little shack anymore.

Patronio was once again dragged out of his thoughts when a bowl of steaming soup was placed before him.

"I know its not much... but i hope it helps you feel better."

Patronio looked down to the soup he was offered, but he felt nauseous. Not because of the soup, no, the soup looked and smelled

delicious. But because of the sinking feeling in his gut. It was... guilt, wasn’t it?

Slowly, Patronio took a spoonful and brought it to his mouth. It was the best thing he ever tasted. Surpassing even the most lavish dishes Tenebre had to offer. And he informed Hans's mother of such.

"Aw gosh there’s no need to be so modest, really." She replied, her hand now placed on her cheek at a cute attempt to hide how happy she actually was at the compliment.

Patronio smiled bitterly to himself. This woman was so kind and selfless, and he’s the reason she will never see her son ever again...

Ignoring the pit in his stomach Patronio finished off the soup he was offered and got up from his seat. He bowed deeply towards Hans's mother, despite her protests, and thanked her for her kindness. He turned toward the door but before he could leave, Hans's mom called for him to wait, so he turned back to face her, despite being unable to bare lingering another moment.

"Patronio, thank you so much for everything." Patronio was about to protest but Hans's mom continued.

"If you ever see my son again... tell him i’m so very proud of him. I’m so happy he found what he sought out that night he left home...

i..." Hans's mom started tearing up again and Patronio had to swallow down the lump that was forming in his throat.

"When he left i was just so scared. So scared that he would be attacked by wild animals or, or highway men but-" Hans's mom took a shaky breath. "Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me know he’s safe. That hes not hurt, or scared. But that he got exactly what he wanted." With that, Hans's mother quite unexpectedly pulled Patronio into a hug. Shocked, all Patronio could do was stand stiffly in her embrace. But after a moment he awkwardly returned the hug, gently patting Hans's mom on the back and assuring her it was his pleasure to be of service.

Hans's mom pulled out of the hug but still lightly gripped Patronios shoulders, and gave him a teary, but genuinely happy smile.

"If there’s anything else i can do for you, Patronio, please let me know."

Suddenly Patronios face grew very hot, and his eyes burned with tears. Patronio took Hans's mothers hands from his shoulders and gripped them in his.

"I-i just.." Patronio shut his eyes tight, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm just so very sorry that you can’t see your son ever again. It’s... it’s all my fault." Patronio confessed.

Patronio braced himself, expecting some sort of retaliation, but looked back up in shock as he felt a soft hand gently caress his cheek.

"I- i don’t know all the details about... what has happened. but don’t blame yourself for anything, Patronio. As long as Hans is safe, and happy, so am I."

Patronio could not stop the tears that slipped past his eyes and poured down his cheeks. They weren’t the painful tears of guilt, though. They were light tears of relief. All at once the ache in his chest, and the pit in his stomach vanished. He gave Hans's mom a big, tearful smile then stepped back and teleported away. Hans's mom merely stood there in shock for a moment, but then let out an amused huff.

"Now, where ever am i going to put all that treasure?!"

#the count lucanor #fanfiction #i hope this isnt super corny and weird lol

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 31)

Shady Belle

This one is quite lengthy and I really enjoyed this chapter. It’s a good mix of moods; good and bad. We make the move to Shady Belle and reader has a little conflict with Micah, Jack comes home, and there’s some fluffiness with Arthur.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Arthur was waiting there for us when we all pulled up on the loaded wagons. Shady Belle. A big, old, abandoned house in the swamps of Lemoyne that had been ravaged by the years but somehow remained standing, the place that’d serve as our home for the foreseeable future. I couldn’t help but look at the place in awe, it was a mess of missing or boarded up windows, rotting wood, overgrown plant life, it was nature reclaiming the spot. But gosh, it was a house! Walls, a roof, an honest to God house! And it would’ve been beautiful in its time that’s for sure, with a large garden complete with a gazebo and a dried up fountain. Funny; even with all of its flaws, it was still the fanciest place I’d ever called home.

I hopped down from the wagon I’d ridden up on, pulled by Rayna and Kieran’s horse, and sped over to Arthur, a smile spreading across my face.

“Look at this place!” I breathed, shaking my head in amazement. He chuckled at my excitement, twisting around to take in the face of the house too. “It’s big. And it’s pretty!”

“You know what else is big and pretty?” I heard Micah say under his breath, all dirty and gross. I spun around to see him leaning in towards Bill, his hands grappling at two rounds in the air in front of his hips, body gyrating in a crude way and my virginity didn’t stop me from understanding exactly what he was mimicking doing. His eyes caught mine and he straightened up, dropping the act and turning away, laughing to himself. Bill didn’t look as amused as Micah probably hoped he would; the man looked perpetually pissed off anyway.

“Yeah, it’s sort'a pretty. Part of me reckons it’s a shame it’s been left to wither away like this, but if it hadn’t, we wouldn’t have the chance to stay here,” Arthur replied to me, not hearing or seeing what Micah was up to. I put a smile back on my face and let it go.

“That’s true. So, some other gang was using it before us?” I asked, looking around and seeing the sand bags all piled up along the path up to the house, like some sort of fortress.

“Lenny and I stole some weapons from them a while back,” Arthur nodded, “there was a couple of stragglers still hanging about, but John and I dealt with ‘em. We should be safe here.”

“Thanks for sorting this place out, Arthur,” I gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and he looked down at me. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to being thanked.

“Jus’ doing my duty, tryin'a make sure we’ve got someplace to go,” he shrugged.

“And you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

“Arthur!” Dutch called out, making his way over to us. “Come take a ride with me.”

“Sure, what’s happening?” Arthur replied.

“We’re gonna get Jack back. Today! That boy’s been gone long enough, come on.”

The rest of us stayed and set up the camp at Shady Belle, moving some stuff inside and setting up the tents next to the house. The bedrooms upstairs were divvied up much to my expectation, there was an unspoken rule that Dutch always got the best sleeping arrangements, followed by the perceived highest ranking members of the gang.

Dutch got the master bedroom complete with a double bed that I assumed he’d be sharing with Molly, John got the second largest room that he’d be sharing with Abigail and their son once he was back safe and sound. Arthur got a room too, and I was tasked with setting it up for him. It was the smallest, but there were no holes in the walls like John’s room, so it was nice. Everyone else? They could either sleep outside by their usual wagon or shelter, or they could find a nice spot on the floor inside.

The bear pelts that Charles, Arthur and I had acquired were in use by then; Charles had one, often sleeping atop it beside Hosea, another was by the girls’ wagon as a first come first served kind of deal. Mary-Beth and Tilly slept on it mostly, but sometimes they’d insist I take it since I’d killed it. Sadie and Karen didn’t seem to care either way, content to sleep on the usual blanket like normal. The third bear skin was floating around the camp, sometimes Susan would nab it, other times one or two of the men would sneak it away; Lenny and Javier mostly. Most of the gang was used to sleeping in less than cozy places so it didn’t cause any real arguments, much to my relief.

It was a busy day of setting up the new camp; I set up Arthur’s room and tried to make it as cozy as possible even with the put out window leaving it open to the elements. I set up his bed in the corner, along with his shaving things and his chest. I retrieved all of his photos and keepsakes and set them up on an old shelving unit by the door that’d been left there. I pinned the pictures up carefully, standing up the photo frame of his mother on one of the shelves. I stared at the photograph of Mary for a little while, thinking about her and Arthur, imagining the two of them being in love enough to commit to marrying each other; the thought of it made my heart ache a bit, despite the fact I knew how silly it was of me.

I stood the frame up on the shelf too, anyway. It didn’t matter that my own insecurities made me feel a certain way when looking at her, Mary was as much a part of Arthur’s life as I was, and I wasn’t going to hide her photo away in his chest like a child.

After tossing out a bunch of dried up leaves that’d floated in through the window, I went back outside to join in putting up the tents again. It was a good thing I was used to erecting and collapsing a tent from my history of living in one, I was a dab hand at it. By the evening we were all set up, and I began helping Pearson with dinner. I noticed Dutch drop in to whisk John away, and overhead him saying that they’d found Angelo Bronte, whoever that was, and that they were going to get Jack back. That was a relief.

Once dinner was ready, I sat myself down in the gazebo, away from everyone else, to catch a few minutes alone to eat the stew we’d prepared. It had been an overwhelming few days, and I needed some time to be away from people and to have some quiet. I was annoyed, then, when Micah came swaggering towards me with a cigarette. Admittedly, he didn’t seem to be seeking me out on purpose; I’d spotted him walking around the house, exploring the place, but when he saw me his course diverted straight towards me.

“Hey, princess,” he greeted, and I recoiled at the pet name. Arthur called me that, it was the name he used for me the most. I did not want to associate the word with anyone other than him, especially not Micah.

“Do you mind not calling me that?” I requested, and Micah cocked a brow. “I’d just prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Of course, sweetheart. That better?” He laughed.

“I guess,” I shrugged.

“You look nice today, your hair like that,” he pointed at me, then climbed the steps to join me in the gazebo.

I gave him a small grateful smile at the compliment; my hair was simply pulled back into a bun to keep it out of the way.

“And the dress. I prefer you in a dress over those pants you sometimes wear. You don’t wanna look like that widow woman, what’s her name, Adler,” he added.

I scoffed a disbelieving laugh. I liked Sadie, and she’d taken to wearing pants just like I sometimes did and I honestly felt grateful that I wasn’t the only one. It wasn’t a style that was universally accepted, evidently.

“What? She stomps around this place, all ill-tempered, tryin'a be like one of the fellers, it looks like,” Micah snorted at my reaction. I pursed my lips and looked away, over towards the swamp where I could see a gator floating there, motionless, creepy.

“Don’t be cruel,” I warned.

“Didn’t realise you two were friends.”

“I don’t really talk to her,” I admitted, a little sadly. It was true, Sadie and I rarely spoke, but it wasn’t on purpose. At first I didn’t know how to speak to her, considering she was deep in the clutches of grief after her husband died, but since then it was simply a case of never having the chance. “But she seems nice. She pulls her weight, too, you can’t argue with that. I know you have certain feelings about the women here not doing their bit.”

“Sure, I guess you have a point. Anyway, I was complimenting you, not wantin’ to talk about her.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly, “but I don’t really care if you prefer me in a dress. Pants are practical, that’s why I wear 'em. Ain’t a fashion parade.”

“You’re acting all pissed off,” he noted.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What’s wrong? You and I used to be friends,” he whined, stepping closer and sitting down next to me on the sand bags piled up inside.

“You think of me as a friend?” I raised my eyebrows at him. His mouth opened and his bottom lip twitched, stunned into quiet for a moment.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, like it was obvious, then he raised his chin a bit, “I think of everyone here as a friend. More than that, you’re all family.”

“I figured you thought of me as a joke,” I shrugged, looking back towards the gator. Micah was silent for a while, processing my words.

“What makes you think that, sweetheart?"

"Sweetheart,” I snorted, “don’t bother. You know I saw you earlier on with Bill, and I know you’ve been saying things, putting crap in people’s heads around the campfire.”

“I made a joke with Bill, is it a crime to laugh a little in these trying times?” He drawled. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, putting stuff in people’s heads.”

“I heard you, saying things that’d mislead someone into thinking that you and I–” I cut myself off, not wanting to say it. I also didn’t want to incriminate Javier, so I twisted the truth.

Micah chuckled. “I think I know what you’re talking about, but I gotta say, Miss, you must have a dirty mind to come to such conclusions. I was merely sharing what a pleasant evening you and I had at the Parlour–”

“Don’t talk bullshit. You knew exactly what you was doin’ because it is just like you to push peoples’ buttons. Please, Micah, be a goddamn man and not an overgrown boy,” I hissed, rising to my feet. Micah blinked at me, shocked.

“Wait, you’re actually pissed off with me?” He stammered.

“I’m insulted by you,” I corrected him. “I am not a toy for you to play around with, having fun at my expense. I am not a source of entertainment for you, and I won’t sit by and listen to you fiddle with other people’s perceptions of me.”

“Sensitive, ain’t you? Nobody cares about you!” He raised his voice, and I recoiled. In a second, his words caught up with him and his face dropped. “That did not come out the way I meant.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“No. Really, I– I meant that people don’t have no perceptions of you, nothin’ I could say would make anyone think any less of you. It’s me they can’t stand, you think I’m too dense to know that?” Micah stood up too and gestured to himself with both hands. I might’ve imagined it but I thought I detected a hint of vulnerability in the way he said that.

“I wonder why!” I gave a hollow laugh and Micah frowned. “All you do is wind people up!”

“Maybe I’m just an abrasive kind of person,” he muttered, “can’t help who I am.”

“No, you ain’t. Micah, you can be a nice guy when you wanna be. I’ve seen it. When you came and apologised to me at Clemens Point. When we’ve worked together and you’ve just shut up and listened to me and been respectful of my plans and ideas. When you sit and listen to people’s stories around the fire at night and leave out any childish remarks. You ain’t abrasive by nature, I don’t know why you do it, is it boredom?”

Micah just stared at me with a slack jaw, his eyes wide and brows curved upwards.

“Just, stop talking about me behind my back. Stop winding everybody up!” I sighed, pushing past him to leave.

“Wait a second, let me tell you somethin’,” he called out after me. I stopped in my tracks, despite wanting to keep going. “I think you’re a good woman, I’d go as far as sayin’ I’m fond of you, alright? If there’s anyone I might actually care about hating me, it’s you.”

“I don’t hate you,” I told him as I turned back to look at him.

“No?” He questioned hopefully, then came down the steps to close the gap between us.

I shook my head, and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth. He put his hands on my upper arms and pulled me towards him, tilting his head as if he was about to kiss me. I didn’t let him get far, jerking backwards and out of his grip; his smile disappeared.

“Arthur,” I blurted out unthinkingly, my mind unable to communicate anything more than just his name. Micah’s shoulders dropped and he sighed.

“Yeah, I get it, you’re sweet on Morgan. But he ain’t gonna all of a sudden fall in love with you just 'cause you played nurse with him for a couple weeks and y’ keep following him around every-goddamn-where, alright?” He ground out through gritted teeth. I stared blankly at him.

Did he really not realise? I’d assumed that everyone in the camp knew about us by then, we hadn’t exactly been subtle over the past few weeks. People assumed and people talked, I thought it was common knowledge. The look on Micah’s face, however, told me otherwise.

“Oh. I guess I’m a moron, then,” he said, tone oozing irritated sarcasm.

“I just thought everyone knew,” I peeped, noticing redness creeping up his neck and to his cheeks.

“I knew you had a soft spot for him but I didn’t know anything had actually gone on between you two. Thought Morgan was too yellow to be a man and make you his woman, either that or he weren’t interested. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him so much as look at a woman since I’ve been here, was starting to wonder about him…” he trailed off, his tone mean and judgemental.

I rolled my eyes at him, something that did not go unnoticed.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, try to make me feel stupid,” he snapped.

“There you go again, talking crap.”

“I can’t help the way I am, princess,” he said, swinging his arms out to his sides grandiosely.

“I asked you not to call me that,” I said abruptly.

“Why? In case your little boyfriend hears me and gets upset? He don’t scare me, you know, he might be big bad Arthur Morgan, the neanderthal they all send out to intimidate folk, but he don’t scare me one bit,” he strolled over to me, making wild gestures with his hands. “He ain’t so special. Bet he don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman.”

I scoffed and turned around, walking back towards the main camp.

“Touched a nerve there, have I, sugarplum? Pretty boy Arthur couldn’t point to which hole it goes in if y’ asked him to? Wouldn’t surprise me if you pulled his pants down and there was nothin’ there,” he shit talked all the way to the fountain and I spun around to him, getting in his face.

“Don’t you worry about that, Micah, just remember he ain’t the one having to ask me to get into bed with him. Don’t you worry at all,” I spat, jabbing my finger in his chest and making him back up in surprise.

I stared at him for a few moments more, daring him to say something else. He kept his mouth shut, thankfully, and soon my anger was ebbing and I couldn’t believe my own outburst. I backed off, feeling my knees shake as I did, averting my eyes, spotting someone from the corner of my eye and almost crumbling with humiliation. Kieran was just sat there on the ground, leaning up against one of the wooden barriers that were built where we kept the horses, smoking a cigarette. We held eye contact for a few long seconds before his peeled away to look at Micah.

“I ought'a string you up for ear-wigging, you nosey little shit!” Came Micah’s sudden outburst, and he lunged towards Kieran. I grabbed hold of his arm before he could get further and Kieran was up on his feet, hurdling the fence and scampering off. “Yeah, run off, O'Driscoll!”

“Leave the man alone, he was just smoking a damn cigarette!”

“You like making me look like an idiot, huh?” He directed his poison at me and I flinched.

“No, I didn’t know he was there,” I said meekly.

“You know what? I’m done. Only reason I wanted you was so I could fuck a virgin, anyway,” he sneered at me, then sauntered past me.

I stood there for a moment, brows slightly raised, heart thrumming and making me feel all funny and lightheaded. The sun had set and the stars were beginning to show and a glance up to the sky showed me a full moon, a trick of the night making everything look brighter. It was later than I thought. With a sigh I sat myself down on the edge of the fountain, grateful for the drop in temperature the night brought. These parts were just as sticky and hot as I remembered them, with air thick and wet enough it felt like you couldn’t pull a decent breath.

I watched Kieran with his horse in the distance, his arm thrown over it, his other hand stroking its face. I didn’t blame him for keeping to himself one bit. He glanced over at me, offered me a small, apologetic smile. I gave him a limp wave in response.

I missed Arthur. All I wanted was to crawl between his arms and stay there. I hated arguing with Micah, part of me regretted bringing anything up in the first place, wishing I’d just been polite from the start to avoid all this. But I couldn’t just let him keep getting away with needlessly acting like an asshole behind my back. Micah and I were probably through with being friendly, given the words he’d spat in my face. Whether they were true or not, they weren’t pleasant to hear. Perhaps I was wrong to see any good in him. Perhaps he really was just a nasty, angry little man.

I wasn’t sat there long before I heard hoof beats on the path. I looked up to see Dutch riding back, flanked by Arthur and John– and Jack! I stood up quickly and pulled in a sharp breath, a smile lighting up my face at the sight of him.

“Abigail!” I shouted, not knowing where she was or if she’d even hear me.

“We got him! Abigail, we got your boy!” Dutch yelled, slowing to a stop in front of me and swinging down.

Abigail came running into view as John lowered Jack down from the horse.

“He’s fine,” John called out in reassurance, and Jack ran towards Abigail. I could almost cry seeing her reunited with him, hugging him tightly as the boy relayed stories from his time away, about the food he’d eaten. He was adorable, and thankfully unscathed.

“It’s good to have you back, Jack! We all missed you,” I told him, coming up behind Abigail and putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You got my son back,” Abigail said, her voice wavering with emotion. “Dutch, Arthur, thank you."

I looked at the three men gathering before her, at Arthur and Dutch’s silent nods, at John’s dejected expression. Without a word to him, Abigail was guiding Jack into camp, smiling wider than I’d ever seen her, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with her.

"I got my son!” She called out as the other members of the gang all got up and came rushing over, each person wearing a bright smile. It filled me with just enough optimism for me to forget about all of the crap with Micah. Soon enough, Dutch was calling out to everyone to drink and enjoy the night, Jack’s return called for celebration.

It felt good to have something to celebrate, with everything that seemed to have been going wrong.

I hung back and watched as everyone gathered around the campfire, Javier beginning to play his guitar, gracing us all with his smooth voice as he sang us a song in his native tongue. My smile didn’t shift as I watched them all, merrily dancing and joining in on the chorus, little Jack in the middle of it all with the cutest little grin on his face. Family. One that I felt a part of, especially when someone walked past and pushed a beer into my hand; Lenny, smiling at me as he went and joined the others.

I opened up the bottle and took a long drink, not even caring that the beer was especially warm from the Lemoyne heat.

“Hey,” Arthur came up beside me, letting his hand come to rest on the small of my back.

“Oh, I’m glad to see you,” I breathed, tilting my head and resting it briefly on his shoulder before straightening up again.

“Yeah?” He smirked, amused. “You miss me, since you saw me this morning all those hours ago?” He teased a little drily.

“Yeah, actually,” I nodded.

“Mm, me too,” he hummed, moving his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.

“I’m so pleased you all got Jack back, feels like things suddenly got a little better,” I said to him, wrapping my arm around his waist.

“Yeah, it does. It’s good to see everyone celebrating, too.”

“You wanna go and join 'em? Don’t let me stop you, I just like to watch from the sidelines.”

Arthur shook his head. “Nah, I ain’t much in the mood for a party. Truth be told, I’m ready for some peace and quiet,” he chuckled, “it’s been a long day.”

“You wanna go see where you’re sleeping? I made up your room,” I said, and he met my gaze with a certain look in his eye. I could see the reflection of the fire flicker in his eyes and I pressed my lips together, itching to kiss him.

“Sure, show me,” he finally whispered.

I led Arthur into the house and up the stairs. The place was completely empty, everyone outside singing and drinking, enjoying the opportunity to really let loose with permission from Dutch. We entered his room and I stepped aside to let him in, watching as he closed the door behind him. He glanced around the place, at the peeling paint and the broken window, over to his bed and finally to his right where all of his keepsakes were.

“You like it? This is one of the best rooms in the house, lucky boy,” I giggled, hearing him laugh through his nose as he turned to inspect the photos on the shelf. I struck a match and lit the lamp sitting on the table by the window.

“It’s gonna be weird, having a proper roof over my head. Where’re you sleeping?” He asked, picking up the photograph of Mary before glancing at me. I looked down at it before meeting his eye.

“I don’t know, wherever I drop,” I shrugged, fiddling with the cuff of my shirt as I watched him flip the photo frame over and bend back the little clasps keeping the back on.

“Well, my bed was comfier with you in it, so if you wanna join me in here,” he said casually, pulling the back of the frame off and plucking out Mary’s photo. He then fished around in his satchel for a moment, and I frowned, finally unable to hold back my questions.

“Arthur, what’re you doing?"

"I hope you don’t mind,” he started, retrieving a piece of paper from his bag and sliding it into the frame, reassembling it. “Took this the other day when you was sitting by the lake. I don’t use my camera all that much, but I had nothing else to do while I was loitering around camp, not quite ready to get to work again.”

“You have a camera?” My brows rose.

“I was gonna just take a photo of the lake, it looked pretty with the sun setting. I wasn’t being a creep, I promise,” he chuckled, “anyway I saw you there, and I took your photo. Had some spare time in Saint Denis today; had it printed so I could do this.”

He placed the photo back on the shelf, and I stepped forward to take a look. I flushed a little at the sight of it, I’d never had my photo taken before and it caught me a little off guard to see myself. I was sat at the end of the jetty, cross-legged with Cain, a dog that had wandered into camp one evening.

“I didn’t realise you’d taken a photo,” I laughed in surprise.

“No… I know. I should’ve asked,” he murmured, sounding a little ashamed.

“I don’t mind,” I assured him with a smile.

“That night when you noticed I’d kept Mary’s photo, I just thought it– it’d be nice to have one of you, instead,” he explained, and I turned and took his hands in mine. I tugged on them and he bent down to my level, joining our lips together in a sweet, short kiss.

I wrapped my arms around his neck when our lips parted, resting my chin on his shoulder as his arms encircled my waist. I could hear Javier’s song through the window, and Arthur slowly began to sway me in time to the rhythm, his feet shuffling, eventually we were spinning in slow circles. I giggled quietly and he changed his hold on me, taking one of my hands and pulling back to smile at me as he led me in our own private little dance in the middle of his room. He lifted my hand and twirled me around, catching my waist and pulling me in close again.

“I’ve never danced before,” I commented, and Arthur made a humming sound.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into my ear, “I don’t tell you that enough.”

“Arthur,” I gave a breathy, bashful laugh and pressed my face into the side of his neck.

“I don’t think I ever really have, have I?” He added thoughtfully. “Well, there you go, I think you’re beautiful. Not just your face, everything."

"I don’t know what to say,” I mumbled like a fool, my heart beating so hard I bet he could feel it.

He leaned forwards, tilting me back and making me squeak in surprise, before bringing me back up again. He chuckled, tilting his head down and kissing my neck. Our dance dissolved as he got distracted in kissing me, his lips trailing down to my shoulder, along my arm, down to my wrist and my hand. He kissed each one of my fingertips, his eyes closed, and I bit down on my lip as I watched him. Inside I felt abuzz with affection for him, his tenderness making me feel like nothing ever had before.

“I wanna make love to you,” I whispered, and he froze, his lips against the underside of my wrist where my pulse sped. “I want to.”

“Princess,” he exhaled, opening his eyes and meeting mine, “I’d like that more than anything.”

I moved in to kiss him again, this one hotter than the last, but not rushed. His hands settled on my waist and he kissed me back for a moment until I pressed my body up against his, then he held me steadily away from him and broke the kiss.

“Not here, I don’t want your first to be in a place like this,” he whispered. I couldn’t keep the sadness from my eyes and he cupped my cheeks.

“I don’t care,” I shook my head.

“I do. Our friends are right outside, I wanna be able to talk to you, make sure you’re alright without worrying what people might hear,” he explained. I nodded in understanding, my eyes dropping to his chest. “How’d you feel about riding out to Saint Denis, now?”

It surprised me, I thought he was saying no.

“Well, it ain’t far,” I shrugged, a smile crossing my lips, one he returned.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #atink #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #reader insert #micah bell

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the-uptake · 4 years

Text

Strange Declensions of Skin and Musculature

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book 3, Chapter 10. Go to previous. Go to next. A ripening anthology of perverse possibilities. TWs: Medical gore, hard trypophobia warning, needles, drugging. [Revised 2020.01.10]

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Sitting on the toilet cover pantsless as he hemmed over his shin, ‘Choly scratched at his throat. His glasses lay on the bathroom counter. He had his bicolor bangtails braided and tied with button hair elastics, with the ABC-gum barrette pinned into his hairline. In his ears were magenta keyhole ear weights, and just beneath his lip, a spike labret. The variety of colorful pill-shaped charms on his bracelet tinkled as he worked with a seam ripper yet again. The straps of his elastic-band upper back brace, and his ‘please cut here’ dashed-line choker, peeked from the large open neck of his thin white shirt, on the front of which posited a simple ‘So What?’

Second rolling shift had only just started, so he had plenty of time and light to tend to his leg. Meanwhile, Cecil made enough coffee to hopefully get through to third rolling shift.

“It’s just not healing right,” ‘Choly started from the bathroom, holding all his frustration in his lips. “Slag it all, I hate that I’m outta the Trylocaine saline already. That doc used shit stitches, y’know. Ugh, maybe this is me havin’ a reaction to the bone pin itself.”

“That’s absurd,” Cecil assured. A knock at the door, and he sneezed. “Stay put. I’ll get it.”

“Did you order lunch already?”

‘Choly could hear Cecil speaking with a thetic, and handling a shipment package, and the door shut. He saw him carry a decent sized flat box into the kitchen and set it on the table.

“I’ll show you once you’re done messing with your leg. Gosh, an offline signature. Even the localized in-building Nikola has been spotty. Awful.”

Lacking elucidation, and having successfully opened his leg wound back up, he remained where he sat and let his curiosity chew him up. He took a few paper towels off the roll on the counter beside him, and folded them to the desired thickness. He then pressed at the sides of the wound at different angles, and sopped at the milky bruise-colored discharge as it came forth.

“How’re your stitches healing up?”

“They were staples. The HP kiosk removed them a week ago. You were there.”

“Haha, yeah. But I mean, is it healing up?”

“Yeah. It’s getting to the itchy part.”

“Y’think the telemed kiosk would let me get debridement? Or do you think I’d have to drone that?”

The thought of sidestepping medical provision sublimated in Cecil’s head.

“Please let telemed do it. You really think it’s that bad? We can take you up there right now. Second shift. The elevators are working.”

“Ugh. No. No. I’m just running my mouth,” he dismissed, laughter nearly burbling through this anxiety. “Could you. Just help me make sure it’s drained properly at least. I’ve got the stitches off, but it’s hard for me to see. I can do it, but it’d be way easier with a second set of hands.”

“Yeah. But I really need to take my halo off and let it charge more. Only had it on to make sure I heard when the package came.”

After a few minutes, Cecil appeared in the doorway, wearing a dark gold rolled-sleeve dress shirt not tucked in, gradient black-to-red trousers, and house shoes, and not wearing his halo. He’d replaced the glasses he’d lost in the explosion with a pair of super-small round frames, and it nearly made him look like he squinted at all times.

They navigated the expression of the leg wound through touch and body language alone, guiding hands by hands and reading pace in the stiffness or eagerness of their touch. ‘Choly watched Cecil’s face as he knelt and inspected the shin, noting that the discoloration of the different sections of Cecil’s sutured-together face were starting to truly blend back together. He admired Cecil’s halo ports, the pair of shuttered discs at his temples and the pair behind his ears, and thought, If my fingers were the right shape and material, I could just... reach in. When it got to it doesn’t have to be fingers, he sat up straighter to dismiss the thought process altogether. The image of plunging a screwdriver into surgically crafted holes in his boyfriend’s head for fun and profit churned up his stomach.

He wondered what doing that would actually do to Cecil, and physically frowned instead of smiling like he wanted to.

Once the pus started really flowing, Cecil choked, and the haste in his shoulders came across as though he didn’t think he could discard the paper towels in the waste basket fast enough to start again with fresh. The grief stitched in Cecil’s face said it all for ‘Choly.

“It’s not your fault, that it got infected,” Cecil started, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear ‘Choly reply. “Besides, a similar stench comes out of the garbage chute all the time. It’s fine.”

The tenants dumped into the automated chutes at all hours, and stuff was getting trapped in them while the power was off for sixteen hours at a time, when they were supposed to empty directly into the building’s dumpsters.

“These rolling blackouts are hitting the building like the bullet to my leg. Only a matter of time before it all goes necrotic.”

‘Choly remembered Cecil couldn’t hear him, and trailed off watching Cecil continue to sop up the bloody rot. Again, he spaced out, fantasizing with the tenderness Cecil worked, that Cecil explore the wound orally. I wonder what sort of transmission that would create. Whether he’d get infected with my leg rot. Or if there’s something in his mouth that absolutely should not be in my leg. He groaned when Cecil had to press extra hard to get a stubborn vesicle. Cecil let out an apologetic noise, but ‘Choly nudged his leg at him to continue with an appreciative but flighty nod-shrug.

“Swing around and put your leg over the bathtub.”

‘Choly came back to reality, and complied, letting Cecil use a plastic cup to pour water from the faucet over the wound until it ran clear into the tub. Once patted dry, ‘Choly tested the stretch of his skin by pulling it together over the wound. Agitated, he pulled harder, and harder, losing delicateness when the flesh proved so overly pliant.

“Could you get the stylus tin from the medicine cabinet for me.”

When Cecil continued to watch him fuss over the flesh, ‘Choly realized that was something he’d intended Cecil to hear, and his lips scrunched to one side. He made sure Cecil was watching his hands, and pantomimed the approximate size and dimensions of what he needed before pointing to its location. Cecil stood with a nod and opened the mirrored medicine cabinet. Good thing there’s not anything else in there that size or shape...

Cecil produced the ten-inch-long aluminum tin, and ‘Choly thanked him. He watched in concern when ‘Choly opened it up and began sterilizing the implements in it with the rubbing alcohol. He took a seat on the bathroom floor to watch, and observe, not knowing how else to be of assistance. As Cecil held ‘Choly’s calf and steadied his leg with his heel across one shoulder, the nonchalance with which ‘Choly worked with the scalpel to trim away the square inches of flesh, all without the localized anesthesia he’d complained of having used up, painted a potent understanding how jaded ‘Choly was to this particular kind of pain, and how regularly this maintenance had transpired. Transfixed and haunted, Cecil’s spider bites hung parted for some time, before he finally spoke.

“I knew you stitched yourself back up, but surgery?” he begged. “You do your own surgery? Without anesthesia.”

‘Choly shrugged. He set the hunks on the counter, sterilized the wound with an antiseptic spray, and switched from knife to needle and thread. As he wove another vertical mattress suture, he remembered that he’d have to sneak the brine kit, and swallowed hard.

“Oh yeah. I was gonna chuck that stuff. Slag. Uh.”

The sentiment of rejecting the years long project had only intensified since what people now called Central Day, but he had to figure out how to navigate it into the garbage chute without Cecil seeing it.

The garbage chute smelling like his leg. He thought to all the purulent napkins in the trash, and to how the chute wasn’t emptying correctly. Of course it smelled like his leg. He hadn’t really noticed. Had he just gotten that used to the stench?

He ran Cecil out and the bathroom door shut behind him. He then finished up the stitches, dressed the fresh edges of the seam, put his blood-vessel print leggings, and clamped the series of straps and buckles of his leg brace over them. His glasses went back on his face.

He leaned into his reflection with a detached sneer, and with both index fingers adjusted to make sure the hinged shades were erect and out of the way.

He opened the bathroom door, and with a wheeze scrutinized how distracted Cecil was. Through the modular shelving, ‘Choly could only identify that Cecil was arguing with his reader and a cube, which was likely an instruction manual, and that Cecil’s halo still lay in the charging pad on the kitchen counter. Emerging at a caution, he rounded the corner to kneel at his side table and dig the aluminum box from the back of the bottom drawer. He rushed it into the bathroom, and scooped the flesh off the counter into the trash can, then took out the entire bag and the box, and rounded the other way out of the bathroom to shove them both down the garbage chute.

He held every ounce of exasperation and relief in his shoulders, and stood there for some time marveling and loathing in alternations that he’d actually done what he just had.

“--There, it handshaked,” Cecil announced. “What’d you throw away?”

‘Choly nearly fainted, whirling about to find Cecil had put his halo back on and looked on expectantly from where he sat in the kitchen.

“I, it was the pieces of skin. The whole trash bag. I was just cleaning up. I swear.”

Cecil frowned.

“Do you... have to do that often? Cut off part? Seems awful.”

“I have my moments.” Sweating, he tried to shift focus to what Cecil had been unboxing, only to go slackjawed and hobble over. “I, uh. Forgive me but wHAT. the actual fuck is that doing in our apartment.”

“The way things are going,” Cecil replied, with a small resigned smile, “we’re going to need to be able to defend ourselves. And this is the best I could do in terms of protection, without access to an Underweb app. I shopped for a real gun, but ex federal employee or not, the bullets are the hard part. So, I settled on this moment’s crowd favorite: the tranq gun.”

‘Choly picked his jaw up to smile, smitten as Cecil started compiling the various components to resemble the device that had been indicated. It scared and delighted him a bit, that Cecil of all people would have obtained such a thing.

“We could... put something besides tranq in it,” he suggested.

Cecil nearly laughed, only to frown harder.

“Don’t let Augen hear you say that.”

“Or else what? He’ll jerk off in our bathroom? Again?”

Another knock on the door. They both looked at each other swearing innocence. Choly got it, to find Linnaeus and Augen stood in the hall, carrying large woven totes. When he saw who stepped inside, Cecil hastily stashed the fully constructed gun in the space between the bookshelf and the fridge, and came out into the hallway track to greet the pair.

“Well, someone’s ears sure were burnin’,” ‘Choly quipped with a long face. Once the door shut, he greeted, “Good to see you again, Linnaeus.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the vampire muttered, not stopping between the doorway and the kitchen table. He indiscriminately shoved off all the unboxing trash into the other chair. Most of it ended up in the floor. He plopped his pair of totes on the table and divorced himself of them at last. “Never mind. I don’t care enough. We came bearing botany.”

Augen had come in a white asymmetrical vinyl-placket cowl-neck button-down, his gauzy dark grey vest, and aproned drop crotch pants, and had his hair tucked into a low loose bun. ‘Choly eyed his dark penny loafers, noting that his shoes and feet were dry, belying how awfully Augen’s flesh shone. Heavy bags darkened the vampire’s distracted eyes.

Meanwhile, Linnaeus dove into a fierce hug, and Cecil shoved down his agitated sputtering. The thylacine wore a coffee-colored asymmetrical vinyl-placket short sleeve button-down with vinyl sleeves, iridescent emerald slacks, and flip flops that only barely cleared the pads of his feet.

“--But we don’t even keep the fridge plugged in anymore,” Cecil objected, finally breaking out of his brother’s grip. “Unpreserved stuff spoils too fast with the rolling power.”

“We must green up your apartment,” Linnaeus insisted. “I know you won’t come live with me in Premier, so we must make your living space as habitable as possible.”

The thylacine glanced to ‘Choly just long enough to communicate a mixed emotion over being identified correctly this time, then worked to unpack potted plants from the totes and set them out throughout the apartment wherever he could find the room to. Cecil followed trying to meter exactly where the greenery found homes, failing to do much more than simply keep them off anything that wasn’t waterproof. Most of them overtook the modular shelving, though many also ended up beside ‘Choly’s daybed, around Cecil’s bookshelves, and even the bathroom.

“Stout, low-light plants. Daisies. Lilies. I knew the air quality would be awful with the intermittent power, but my word. I’ll have to come back with more chrysanthemums. And ivy. Soon.” He sniffed unpleasantly, noting his rapid congestion. “Vek cultivars. These will filter your air, and increase your available oxygen. Many even flower. A few bioluminesce, to ease your dark shifts. And this one. I’ve got friends in the agricultural frontier. Hybrid bamboo. In case you need to charge your halo without Tesla.”

Cecil squirmed at the remark, knowing it illustrated just how uncomfortable the thetic prosthesis made his brother. Linnaeus still grasped for ways to give him autonomy on Linnaeus’s terms, rather than his own. His brother did not mourn the disability, but rather the accommodations and treatment. Circumstances had neutered Linnaeus’s choices in solution options at the time, and robbed the ideal fix from Cecil in the process.

Breathing heavy, Augen helped himself to a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the kitchen sink. ‘Choly supposed that he just got really dried out from carrying all that stuff as far as they did, but then the fish did not rehydrate externally as he usually did by pouring it all over his face and neck, instead downing three glasses of water before setting down the glass, tugging at his collar, and wheezing.

“I got the care that the HP felt I needed,” Cecil snipped, glossing over Augen’s distress. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It works. The thetic stuff works. But you want to talk people who needed and got care. What the fuck! You re-grafted Augen?” He threw his hands at the vampire, incredulous. “Did you do that for free! How did you get him so perfect again? That doesn’t seem plausible, for so many reasons. Even if you had his exact serum formulation written down somewhere. I know the same formula won’t take the same way twice--”

“--’Choly didn’t tell you about my little April Fool’s Day prank, then.” Augen folded to a coughing fit. He sat on the kitchen counter, and began disrobing starting with the vest and moving on to unbuttoning his shirt. “Uncharacteristic of him... not to wax anecdotal over the little things... Guess everything that transpired on Central Day pales... in comparison.”

Another coughing fit cut him off, and he chuffed weakly with a groan.

“What gives, man?” ‘Choly asked at last. “You’re acting weird. Weirder than you did at Finnegan’s.”

“Finnegan’s was formulaic,” he croaked, letting out a tic. “This is. Something else.”

“He’s some of my finest work,” Linnaeus interjected, tone deaf to his object d’art’s apparent drug conflicts. “Excepting the bizarre habit of intentionally seeking humanization therapy, he’s only been grafted the once. Do a job well enough, and it only must be done the once. It’s not my fault, whatever other chemical alterations he samples.”

“Don’t you rib me for being hooked on therapy darts-- When it wears off, I get to re-experience-- your-- immaculate work seize hold of me over. and over. AND--”

Augen stiffened with a seethe, increasingly struggling to control his gross motor skills. He fully removed his shirt, and stood to start removing his pants, only to collapse in a writhing seizure, contorting in the floor face-down.

That got everybody’s attention. Murmuring oh shits, they all crowded close into the tiny kitchen, but not too close, unsure what to do. His shoulder was pitted in a deep cluster of kumquat-sized holes, many of which gauzy mucus filled.

“What is. Wrong with his shoulder,” Cecil uttered when the vampire’s seizure calmed.

“What do youmean what iswrongwith my-- aUGH”

Augen’s shoulder seized up, the musculature contracting the deep oversize pores to effuse their contents. From one wriggled forth a small creature with translucent veiny skin, a boxy snout, no eyes, large broad pointed ears, two front limbs, a fleshy nape, and a stout tadpole-like tail. It routed blind with its snout for a safe place to get, and found such in Augen’s armpit.

“What... is that,” ‘Choly whispered, unsure if the thing needed squashing or coddling.

“Augen,” Linnaeus started at a caution, crouching and holding out a hand to coax the creature to crawl up. “I do believe you’re the first fertile hybrid.”

Everyone collectively marveled in repulsed fascination.

“You went back to the Lazarus Hall, didn’t you. After I told you to leave the Volumizer alone.”

“Again,” Augen added. He turned over on his side with a grunt, his features as sallow as his salamander flesh would permit. “I know I only asked permission the first time, but slag it’s so raw. I couldn’t not.”

The creature lost interest in the thylacine’s arm, and wanted to get back in Augen’s armpit.

“What do you mean, I’m fertile,” he continued. “I didn’t--”

“Slag it all, I wish I could keep it for study in good conscience. You don’t understand. In a normal batch of Vek serum, Volumizer controls the sequencing potency of the genetics being grafted. From what you’ve told me, exposure to pure Volumizer post-grafting maximized the expression of each genetic donor to the end the human features all but drowned altogether. But this, this would be fascinating if it weren’t so terribly perfect a punctuation that your reckless abuse of the gift I’ve given you has started catching up with you.”

The creature found Augen’s axillary nipple, and it objected to the piercing by biting him. In a kneejerk he almost smashed his armpit tight shut, but instead scooped it up in his closed webbed hand. He snaked up to the counter without fully standing, deposited it in the glass he’d been drinking out of, and reached to refill it slowly. As the water filled the glass, it vacuously suction cupped its buccal funnel to the glass in contentment, and he slouched in exhaustion.

“The vampire bat, the Pacific lamprey, the olm, they reproduce sexually.” Linnaeus just couldn’t stop trying to explain away what had just transpired. “The tunicate, however. I have to have given you Didemnum vexillum, I recall. It’s what I was studying at the time. It reproduces both sexually and asexually, depending on the track of its life cycle. If the tunicate genetics expressed at a high enough potency, your flesh may very well have transformed into a colonial fabric of thousands of tunicate-like structures. Which... from the look of your shoulder,” he leaned in to gesticulate at the bruised, pocked shoulder with a clawed finger, “you must have ejaculated like a tunicate. But, you weren’t underwater at the time, I’m supposing, so it just spread all over your skin. You inseminated your own flesh. But, even after the Volumizer wore off, the tissue didn’t reject the life form gestating in your cutaneous tissue. It’s been theorized that hybrids are infertile due to individual genetic isolation, even between those grafted with similar constituents. But you, Augen, you’re a genetic match to yourself.”

“So you came all this way just to give birth in our kitchen?” Cecil quipped, adjusting his glasses dryly. “What is it with you and covering my place with slime every time you come over, huh?”

“Oh, fuck off.” The vampire pouted, curling up in the floor and tucking his head between his arms. “Are you sure I didn’t just... bud off or something? Like, a piece broke off?”

“If so, that’s only that much more captivating a discovery, to research more thoroughly in the future.”

“Does that mean it’s all right that I went down to the Lazarus Hall, like, four times in the past month. Or does that mean that you’re going to Volumize me and observe the results?”

Linnaeus’s ears folded, and he resumed pacing the hall track.

“If you’re keen to the idea of volunteering for it, my studies would greatly benefit from it.” He paused, to look to him. “If you’ve... Volumized... that many times, are you certain this is the only time you’ve...” He gestured to the creature in the glass.

“As far as I know. But you’re right... No way for me to know whether there’s more... Körbls.”

“You’ve stayed out of the waterways, haven’t you?”

Augen floundered in the floor in a deadweighted incredulity.

“...Of course I haven’t fucking look at me I’m thE FUCKING HUDSON RIVER FISH MAN.”

Linnaeus’s features tightened.

“Didemnum is an invasive species. If even one... Körbl... got into the bay, it’s soon to be covered in you.”

“Wait.” ‘Choly pulled up the picture from his cube storage. “Wait wait. This stuff just made all the different things you’re made of manifest. Literally. Explosively? That’s what happened?” Wow, I’m not the only one with pieces of my body coming off.

Linnaeus snatched the reader from him to glare at the photo.

“You took a picture while you were in the La--” his muzzle tangled into a furious snarl, “--Augen you took my brother’s boyfriend down there!?” He snarled and shoved the phone back to a doe-eyed ‘Choly.

“Told you it was a bad idea to chaperone me while you had your little field trip,” ‘Choly uttered in lyric, pocketing his reader.

“It was only a little semen,” the vampire defended, curling his face up under the counter’s edge to face away from everyone in shame.

“A LITTLE!” ‘Choly cried. “Are you a lamprey or a slagging hAGFISH!?”

Linnaeus couldn’t not laugh at it cast in this light.

“I knew there was Volumizer down there, but I never kept it in these quantities. With it so closely related to Vek use, it’s illegal to possess that much, let alone all in one place. I don’t like the thought of so much of it stockpiled ‘in plain sight,’ within city limits, no less.”

“Can’t be an isolated example,” Cecil said, having felt like this all had been a fever dream. “The only place things have been stored like that.”

Linnaeus paced again.

“There’s a lot of speculation that upsets me. Where else it might be stored. No question whether there is more. Who’s buying all this stuff from BH Meehl, and why are they turning a blind eye to their buyer? They’re either letting one client buy in bulk far in excess of what’s legal per purchase, or they’re letting one client buy however many drums they like provided they don’t exceed the legal limit per purchase. Who could possible need that much Volumizer besides the agricultural industry! The Lazarus Hall may have used that much in three months, during its golden days. Before the bombing flushed the city of most of my clients, it would have easily taken me five years to use that much down at my current parlor.”

“Maybe Meehl, or whoever bought this stuff from Meehl, rented the storage for it on the cheap.” ‘Choly gave a noncommittal shrug. “Repurposing structures for storage, without declaring what’s being stored. Happened all the time in the Quarter. Still happening in the Quarter, from what I understand. Stuff being illegal’s never stopped anybody in this city before.”

“And now, within city limits. The most concerning question, then, I’m thinking... is whether they were looking for a place to discard it, or whether they were looking for a place to hide it with the intent to return to it later.”

“Lots... of vacant real estate with Tri-City largely a ghost city for the time being.” Augen flopped in the floor again for emphasis.

“Wh. While we’re on the subject of Vek...” ‘Choly nudged the topic away from what was making everyone so uncomfortable. “You still graft. Would I... be able to get a consultation from you?”

Linnaeus approached him, and leaned in to remove his glasses. He scrutinized the oleous cataracts staring back at him fearfully.

“You’ve been mutated by Wolfrin exposure, correct?”

‘Choly squirmed where he sat on the daybed. “Wolframite. Yes.”

“--Then your genetics are inoperable, I’m sorry to say.” He straightened and returned the glasses. Once upon his face, Linnaeus flicked the shades down and resumed pacing. He softened to contemplation, welcoming the distraction of working out the logistics of a hypothetical grafting client. “It would likely take years of corrective humanization therapy before you’d be viable for it. Humor me... What would you have liked?”

“He’s obsessed with insects,” Cecil jabbed, failing not to roll his eyes. At this point he just wished the two of them would just leave, but he couldn’t turn down a slightly lighter subject first.

“I would’ve sold my soul for bug grafting donors to have been available during Vek’s legal life span.” ‘Choly nearly cried, his filter fluttering. “I did this to myself, for a lot of reasons. The Wolfrin exposure was voluntary. I figured there’d never be a cicada, moth, beetle or even fly in my future. Not even a mealworm. I’ve spent a lot of the past seven years mourning that I didn’t just settle and get something. Anything. When it was legal. This...” he gestured to himself like he’d just been drenched out of nowhere, “was the best I could do. Knock off hairless mammal. Awful.”

“We’re still not to the point of insect donors, if it’s any consolation. The exoskeleton just doesn’t take properly in mammals.” Linnaeus glanced between 'Choly and Cecil, who’d leaned against the modular unit. At this point, ‘Choly started on a bargaining track.

“What about... insects without one? An exoskeleton? Caterpillars. Worms. Maggots. I’d risk being a larva the rest of my life. Or a nymph. If it held a speck of possibility that the grafting would give me the chance for an eventual true metamorphosis.”

Linnaeus stopped pacing altogether, cowed by the remark. Surely, what Cecil could see in ‘Choly was the desire to have been grafted.

“All insects have an exoskeleton. Juveniles’ are just more pliant. Albeit scientifically ill-informed, I’m moved, though. I wish a method as poetic as that were the solution. You’re... you’re a good mate for George.”

Cecil only thought he’d had enough.

“As glad as I am to have it, Ben, I don’t need your approval who I fall in love with. I appreciate the greenery you’ve brought, but don’t you think you should just--”

A third knock on the door, this time impatient and extensive.

“Just fucking get it, ‘Choly,” the ex-librarian snapped, flapping a hand toward the front of the apartment.

‘Choly raised up on the balls of his feet to look through the peephole, but had absently been turning the door handle all the while, and Jacob immediately started to push himself in. When ‘Choly tried to slam it shut in a panic, Jacob jammed his foot in the way with a flinch. ‘Choly jerked in guilt at having done so, and gave him a little room, to which he slowly stepped inside, and shut the door behind himself to lean back against it.

“Good afternoon, Melancholy-- Oh! You have company.” Sweating, he struggled to breathe. “So sorry. This’ll only take a minute.”

All color washed from ‘Choly’s face. He backed up and shrank into the oversize armchair in the bookshelf area that surrounded Cecil’s walk-under loft bed. Jacob had the brine kit box under his arm. Full of doubt in the situation, Cecil slipped into the kitchen for a moment, and nonchalantly grabbed for his new weapon, and he stood sternly in the back of the apartment to observe. Augen looked up to see what Cecil had and rose to his feet in front of the sink, impulsively putting himself between Jacob and Körbl, sensing the potential for conflict escalation.

With a wild-eyed grin, Jacob glanced around the apartment, eyeing the greenery but also the individuals gathered together.

“Well, if this isn’t a motley crew,” he laugh-sweated. “I remember you from April Fool’s.” He feigned warming to the situation when he pointed to Augen, then wagged a finger around to each of them in turn. “Course you were wearing clothes last time I saw you. Let’s see. A Wolframite stalker. A librarian who, from the look of it, I know right where you were on April Fool’s. And correct me if I’m wrong. My biology’s not so great. But I have no idea what either of you two hybrids are made of. Neither of you can have legal grafting, so I doubt you’re documented either.” He let out a hoarse, vulnerable laugh. “Repairman fits perfectly with this crowd.”

Cecil had heard enough. A tranquilizer dart hit Jacob in the right side of his chest. Linnaeus flinched, but Augen writhed at the pneumatic sound of the tranq gun being fired. ‘Choly and Linnaeus both grasped the stimulus and gave the vampire the stink eye, torn between shame for Augen and anxiety for Jacob. The repairman glanced down, deadpan, then back up to confirm that it had been Cecil who had done it.

“I. Tranq gun. Right. I said I was gonna make this quick, but sure. You-- You’RE A lot scarier than I thought.”

“George, those things aren’t formulated to shoot humans with,” his brother hushed, horrified. The thylacine skirted slowly to the back of the apartment.

“Then I suppose he should get to the point,” Cecil retorted, not even looking behind himself.

Jacob would progressively slur more and more as his tone and volume ratcheted out of modulation, but he persisted. He cleared his throat, brushed the dart off his contrast-collar polo, and pulled the box to his front to open it. ‘Choly’s mouth dried beyond the ability to swallow when he saw the leather patchwork drawn out.

“This isn’t vINyl. Or eveN MYCOvek. It’s leather. A slaggin’ king size sheet of leather. In the traaAAsh. And do you want to know how I know that? You probably understand HOOow rhetorical this all is.”

With his gloved hand, Jacob produced the napkin with the freshest bits of excised flesh. ‘Choly looked and felt like he was going to throw up.

“You get caught doing arts and crafts this morning?” Jacob continued, his eyelids drooping unevenly. “Is that it? Had to dispose of it before yOU GOt caught? You’re lucky as sin that I was doing garbage chute maintenance today. That I found this, not the city.”

“It’s mine--” ‘Choly squeaked, trying to voice culpability. “It’s--”

Cecil rushed Jacob to snatch the leather from him. Jacob didn’t let go readily, but Cecil had enough of a grip to wrestle it from him to scrutinize it. ‘Choly was frozen while Cecil processed what he held in his hands. Incrementally, he gaind more and more of the tapestry by tugging firmly and not yielding the progress, Cecil eventually came to the patch with ‘Choly’s triangular forearm tattoo. He croaked, speechlessly furious that Jacob might have tried to take the kit for himself. He ripped the leather from Jacob’s grip with both hands, burning him down with a death glare, leaving Jacob holding the box with everything else in it.

“Your-- No. This is mine now.” Cecil whipped around to glare at ‘Choly with intensity. “You got this tattoo when we were first dating, ‘Choly.”

“I-- I know--”

Augen couldn’t contain an incredulous fit of hilarity at Cecil’s reaction to it all, nearly mirroring how entertain Jacob was remaining.

“Fuck, ‘Choly,” the vampire started, as he put his shirt back on, “You were churning out homebrew leather all this time and you never told me?”

“Never told me, either,” Cecil mumbled softly, rubbing the leather against his cheeks and staring off in a distant possessive hurt.

As Cecil unfolded it to look at it in entirety, the tapestry struck Linnaeus haunted. The thylacine frowned, eyes wide.

“How is that all--”

“--I told you, I’m a Wolframite.” ‘Choly tugged at the corner of his mouth for emphasis. “Doesn’t always go back. And I wasn’t billable until last year. From all my years dealing with All’s Well, I got used to... handling my health problems myself.”

“...TriplY GRAaateful that I found that and not someone who’d be mad,” Jacob quipped. He had to lean against the door again, for his constitution. “Can you imagine if it got out to the HP that you did your own surgery? You like tHE IDea of going to jail?”

“Hey can I have the freshest bits?” Augen joked. “A bit peckish.”

“You should... sit,” Cecil said softly. Then, he added, mostly to himself, “I had no idea you were keeping it.”

Jacob did not, in fact, sit.

The redhead struggled to calculate all the reasons ‘Choly would have kept every piece... all the reasons ‘Choly would have needed to remove it.... the cascade of criminal activity that had gone into crafting the tapestry, from start to perpetually-unfinished product... His eyes glossed over in horrified awe as he looked back up to the group, and he absently wrapped himself up in the thing, unable to recognize how he looked until his eyes met Jacob’s again. Rather than apologize or remove it, he simply wrapped himself up tighter in it, and gave him an angry fat lip.

“I know I’ve loNG Since worn out my welcome. I JUst... had to make sure you meant to throw that away.” Jacob sniffed away drainage and grinned dopily. “oNE Last thing before I go, though.”

‘Choly’s face couldn’t get any longer.

“What.”

“If this is all somehow you...” he produced a specific item from the box, “where did this spent bullet come from?”

“That’s my fault,” Augen chirped, deadpan. “We were playing William Tell. ‘Choly, do you want that box back?”

“If it’s all right with Jacob,” the dreg squeaked.

“It’s all right with Jacob.” Jacob pointed to Cecil, then to ‘Choly when he knew Cecil was still in orbit running his hands all over the leather. “Hit me up sometime, if you want me to fix that HVAC unit filter, will you? Those things are doing three times the work, and only given a third the time to do it. And somethin’ tells me this apartment develops a lot of... sTUBBooorn... unique... odors. Iiiiii’m...” He teetered a bit. “Slag you all act like goddamn serial killers.”

When Jacob stooped to put the box by the bookshelf, he collapsed in the floor before he could process another thought. Cecil approached the unconscious body and glared down at him. And the haloed redhead murmured, deadpan,

“I knew I liked him.”

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#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #dystopia #body horror #the uptake #with symbiotic self indulgence #melanochro kara #george cecil #august ritter #benjamin cecil #linnaeus #jacob thorn #declensions #strange declensions of skin and musculature

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