The Mask of the Novel Corona Virus
An homage to (rip-off of) Edgar Allan Poe.
[Trigger warning for Covid & pandemic.]
The “Novel Corona Virus” had long devastated the world. No recent pestilence had ever been so widespread, or so frightening in its many metamorphoses. Air was its terror and its medium—spread by a pestilential breath, later to kill by suffocation. There were aches, and fevers, and then loss of taste and smell, and finally failing lungs. The elevated body temperature, the first sign, was the pest ban which shut the victim out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of a long and miserable fortnight or two. At least at first.
But the Prince Donnie was smug and oily and unconcerned. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hard-hearted and light-minded friends from among the grifters and sycophants of his circle, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his exclusive country clubs. This was an extensive and very large structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric lack of taste. A strong and lofty fence girdled it in. This fence had gates and a crown of barbed wires. The toadies, having entered, brought guards and weapons and welding arcs with which to seal the gate (but not trained metalworkers, with the result that the plan to weld the gate shut was quickly abandoned). They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within, excepting those who insisted on bringing their private helicopters, the better to retreat to their luxury yachts should anything untoward occur. The club was amply provisioned with such things as the Prince cared for, and naught else. With such precautions the Prince and his followers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. These had always been the cardinal sins, signs of weakness. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons aplenty, there were golf clubs, there were electronics, there were guns, there were comely hired companions, there were various recreational substances prohibited to lesser mortals. All these and security were within. Without was the “Novel Corona Virus”.
It was towards the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Donnie entertained his thousand friends at a costume party of the most unusual magnificence.
It was an extravagant scene, that unmasked masquerade. But first let me tell of the seven rooms in which it was held. As in many nightclubs, such suites form a dark and disorienting space. Here this was the case, as might have been expected from the prince’s lack of imagination and love of the gaudy. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a piece of cheap decoration painted gold or an overpriced work of art acquired from a money-laundering scheme. Now in not one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or bulb, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or suspended from the ceiling. There was no light of any kind emanating from within the suite of chambers. But in lawns that surrounded the party wing, there stood, opposite to each window, a pair of bargain-basement tiki torches that projected their rays through the tinted glass of the windows and so poorly illumined the rooms.
Such was the prince's contractor's foresight and compliance with local building codes.
This colorful and ill-lit space produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western chamber, upholstered in black velvet and lit by scarlet windows, the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark walls through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all. And, considering the color of human veins, none of the party-goers saw much of a point to a room of that color anyway.
It was in this room, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. It was arranged with taste inversely proportional to its expense. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the DJ was forced to acknowledge the passage of time, wishing fervently for the sweet release of death or at least a smoke break; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole company, as those disconcerted by the sound expressed annoyance, and the remainder of the company mocked them out of cruelty. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a bragging laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the DJ took another drink and turned the volume slightly louder, avowing that the next chiming of the clock should be its last; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and casual mockery as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a Very Straight and expensive party. The tastes of the prince were peculiar. He had no eye for colors and effects. He embraced the decora of mere fashion beyond the most strained definition of “taste.” His plans were bold and gaudy, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric luster. There are many who would have thought him mad. His followers cared not.
He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fête; and it was his own guiding lack of taste which had given character to the partiers’ costumes. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm—much of what has been since seen in “Hernani.”* There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was little of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these—the dreams—writhed in and about taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the DJ to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the black velvet. And then, for a moment, the annoyances of the previous hour repeat. But the echoes of the chime die away—they have endured but an instant—and a shrill, mocking laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music pulses, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro, taking hue from the many tinted windows through which stream the rays of the ineffectual tiki torches. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, none venture—forsaking that damn clock and the red lighting for the wanton delights of all the other rooms.
But these other rooms were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the party went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the gyrations of the dancers were paused; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapproval and surprise—then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth, the licentious license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince’s own lack of decorum. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and behavior of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in personal protective equipment. The mask which concealed the visage was marked “N-95” on one side. This could not be endured by the mad partiers around. But the figure had gone so far as to assume the visage of A Person Taking the Novel Corona Virus Seriously.
When the eyes of the Prince Donnie fell upon this frightful image (which, with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the partiers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
“Who,”—he demanded hoarsely of the toadies who stood near him—“who has a mask at my club. No respect! No respect. That's what wrong with people. They see me and my friends, they see we're great, and they want to be all 'oh no you're not great because of COVID!'.There's this thing, you know, totally a hoax, this fake thing called the Novel Corona Virus, and they want to say I'm not great because of the fake COVID hoax. It's fake. LOCK HIM UP!”
It was in the eastern chamber in which stood the Prince Donnie as he uttered these words. They were noted by few, as the prince blustered with volume but did not enunciate, and his companions were far from sober.
And so, there were found none who put forth hand to seize the Masked Person so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince’s person; and he made his way uninterruptedly, from one room to the next, six in all, before a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Donnie, maddening with rage and the shame of his own lifelong cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon them all. He had grabbed from somewhere, likely the security detail, a police baton, and had approached with what for him passed for rapidity, the Masked Person on the threshold of the western chamber. There was a sharp cry—and the baton dropped with a dull thunk upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Donnie. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the partiers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the Masked Person, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the personal protective equipment, which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Novel Corona Virus. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the partiers in the close and ventilated halls of the county club, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the torches expired. And Darkness and Decay and the latest mutation of the Novel Corona Virus held illimitable dominion over all.
*This Hernani name-drop is directly quoted from Poe's original.
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Greetings From Austin
Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC
Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.
Word Count: 2616
Warnings: a/b/o, homophobia, bisexuality, biphobia, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility
*additional warnings to be added in future parts.
A/N: Here we go again with one my weird as hell dreams, series Inspired by this art.
A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.
*no beta-all mistakes are mine
*divider by @writeyourmindaway
*images found online
Prologue
Austin, TX
Mid July
“Babe,” Jensen softly says in a low voice to the person seated next to him in the waiting room, “Babe,” he says a bit louder, still getting no response. Leaning close, he blows into their ear.
Jared starts, his “what” muffled by the finger he’s been chewing on.
“You know you can’t do that, don’t want you getting sick.” Taking his hand Jensen pulls it away from his pretty pink lips, gently caressing the finger. Jared had finally stopped chewing on his hands when Covid-19 became widespread.
“Where’s your gum?” Jared bite his lip not answering.
Sighing, Jensen shifts retrieving his pack and hands a piece to him. “What’s got you masticating again?” He inquires as Jared pops the stick in his mouth.
Jared chews the gum nervously weighing how to answer the question knowing Jensen won’t accept anything less than the whole truth. “What if something goes wrong again because of me.”
Jensen’s brow furrowed. He learned years ago that while their relationship is one of equals, he had to be lead Alpha when Jared’s mental state overwhelmed him as it had the last few weeks.
***
After the public announcement in March 2019 that season fifteen would be Supernaturals last, they had agreed when finished with the pickups they would take an extended break, return to Austin and concentrate on their marriage.
Jared intended to stop acting indefinitely, pursuing other interests and Jensen wanted to concentrate on his music.
Of course, things didn’t quite end up how they planned.
Jared entered negotiations to star in the Walker, Texas Ranger reboot, along with being an executive producer. Jensen got a call from Kripke wanting him for the role of Soldier Boy in The Boys third season.
But by March of 2020, everything came to a halt thanks to the Corona-virus.
The shutdowns left Supernaturals final two episodes with no definitive filming date and their seemingly never ending last season put their other projects on hold.
For the first time in years they had the luxury of a leisurely schedule, not having to be somewhere on a timetable, they could communicate with friends and family uninterrupted, deal with their other businesses, charities, etc, leaving most days free to enjoy being together without constraint.
But even amazing, awesome, vigorous sex on every horizontal/vertical surface that could support the two big Alphas only filled so many hours and like many couples, they started getting each others nerves and looked for other ways to stay occupied.
By late May, Jared was unable to sleep or eat, even going out of the house became a chore. When he hit a consecutive fourth day in bed, Jensen bodily dragged him into the bath for a desperately needed shower and loaded him in his truck driving to his doctor's.
Upon checking in they were told patients only allowed in the facility. Jared started panicking, saying he was having chest pains and couldn’t breath. He was rushed in with Jensen hot on their heels after morphing into an overprotective Alpha mate no one was stopping.
Jared’s doctor deduced with the lock-downs prohibiting him from his routine checkups and periodic adjustments needed to his medications triggered this episode.
The first step was to wean him off his current prescriptions and change to a newly approved, alternative regime. He was checked in a facility for ten days under observation while detoxing off his meds.
His therapist switched his twice weekly tele-counseling sessions to daily for the foreseeable future and Kodas certification as an emotional support animal was approved. His progress was slow but he was returning back to his sweet natured, big hearted, exceptionally tactical, overgrown puppy self.
When the surprise call from the clinic came a few days ago about an appointment opening, Jensen initially didn’t want it, still in his overly excessive protective Alpha mode. Jared’s outburst made him relent, fearing they were on a collision course for a major setback if he didn’t.
And Jensen, being Jensen, went overboard to ensure the appointment was absolutely private.
Part I
Jared was about to speak when a woman in scrubs called out, “Mr. Bonham and Mr. Page.” they got up crossing over to her, “Hello, I’m Sissy, Dr. Rodgers nurse, please follow me.”
They pass through the doorway leading through a maze of halls like that of any other medical clinic except this one specialized in a very specific service.
The nurse opens a door near the back of the clinic gesturing for them to enter the spacious office, “Please have a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly.” She closed the door and they sat down in the pair of chairs directly in front of the large, dark mahogany desk.
Jensen, scenting Jared’s nervousness, lifts his right hand kissing his palm, making him chuckle at the tickle of Jen’s soft beard before twining their fingers together and setting them on his left thigh, smiling reassuringly.
There was a brief knock before the door opened and an older, silver haired Beta entered. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rodgers, how are we doing today?” He asks, moving to his chair behind the desk.
Jared gave him a tight smile and Jensen remained placid.
The doctor raises an eyebrow, “Relax Mr. Page, this is just a visit to go over the paperwork before deciding about how we proceed, not the Spanish Inquisition.” Jared releases his held breath but couldn’t completely calm himself.
“I know the process can be overwhelming but I must ask, is there something we’ve done to make you uncomfortable?” Dr. Rodgers inquires.
“No, everyone’s been really nice, very professional. It’s just we..we had issues the first time we attempted to do this.” Jared finished his sentence quietly, in the recess of his mind; something bad is gonna happen and it’ll be my fault.
Jensen squeezes his hand tighter, instinctively sensing Jared’s mind was trying to spiral again, “When tried this before someone leaked our plans to the media. It wasn't ever proven the clinic was involved but...”
“We do everything possible to keep our clients anonymity protected here. All of our staff have been thoroughly vetted and sign NDA, given your professions, you're familiar with how they work. Your real identities will remain completely confidential, even if you choose to not proceed. It is why you chose this particular clinic, yes?”
“Yes, it is.” Jensen replied.
“How about we get this bit of paperwork out of the way, then we can have a more relaxed visit. I’ve gone over the applications you both submitted and have noted a few discrepancies in the medical section that need clarification before we proceed,” He opens the top file, “Mr. Bonham, why did you omit Genu Varum from your medical history?”
Jensen kept his expression neutral as he felt his stomach automatically clench. He had been mercilessly teased throughout his childhood about his bowed legs by his older brother Josh and later his buddies from school when they’d come over to hang out. By the time he was in high school Jensen’s extraordinary looks and personality were what got people’s attention first. Nowadays, many a fanfic waxed poetic about those bowed legs.
“The questionnaire inquired about inherited genetic medical conditions and since mine isn’t, I didn’t think it was necessarily applicable.” Jared hears an edge creeping into Jensen’s voice and gives their tangled fingers a quick squeeze.
“Did you see an orthopedist and were they able to determine what caused the condition? Did they suggest any surgical procedures or therapies to straighten your legs?”
“I was born a preemie, the orthopedists my parents consulted decided my condition was attributable to that.” Jensen replies tersely, dropping his vocal range. Jared gripped his hand harder, telling him to cool the attitude. “The doctor didn’t recommend surgery but sent me to physical therapy, thought it would help them straighten as I grew.”
“So no others in your immediate family have this issue?”
“Everyone my family has straight legs, including my three children.”
Jared piped in, “He hates it but he does have an exercise regimen; stretching, strength training. Oh, he also takes several different vitamins, omega oils, turmeric and extra vitamin D to support his joints.” They watched the doctor scribble a few more notes in the file before closing it.
“Mr. Page,” Jared sits up straighter in his chair, “I appreciate that you went into detail about your mental health status. I see you’ve recently been hospitalized, your medications have been changed to an alternative regiment and you’ve also increased your therapy sessions?”
Jared’s interview continued for another twenty minutes as Dr. Rodgers questioned him in depth about his depression and anxiety, feeling said anxiety ratcheting up so he focused on Jensen’s thumb rhythmically moving over his hand and used every ounce of his acting skills to appear confident and in control.
Dr. Rodgers closed his file, “I only have a few general questions left then we can discuss how you wish to proceed.”
After a more relaxed, genial conversation with the doctor, Sissy took them to a couple private rooms with paraphernalia to help stimulate them into producing a couple semen samples.
Jensen was getting close to finishing with his favorite spank-bank fantasy when he felt Jared’s frustration across their bond.
~~~
Jared couldn’t get aroused.
He felt as useless as his flaccid cock.
His doctor warned him that loss of sex drive could be a possible side effect of his new regiment until his body adjusted to it. He had struggled with temporary impotence a few times on his old meds, always fearful Jensen would finally see him as undesirable, no longer a satisfactory mate.
Rationally, he knew it was his illness causing these exceptionally hard to deal thoughts recently and the nagging idea this wasn’t the right thing for them to attempt again continually kept creeping in.
Jensen’s unspoken reluctance about having more children at his age was also weighing on his conscience, warring against his own biological longings.
They had a humongous argument when he told Jensen about taking the appointment. Jen thought this was the wrong time to attempt it again, pointing out he was just getting his equilibrium back setting Jared went off on a rant about how he no longer wanted him and would leave him like Genevieve had because he was too broken to deal with anymore.
Unmitigated anguish was written across Jensen’s beautiful features, the very notion that Jared could conceivably believe that he’d ever abandon him made his soul hurt in such a way no verbal language on earth could ever express his devastated feelings traveling across their bond.
***
Everything they’d been through; from that bar fight solidifying their friendship, Jared’s first breakdown, the years of living as roommates while secretly a couple to finding wives who understood their unique relationship and still married them both in 2010.
The joyous arrival of JJ three years later that unfortunately exacerbated Genevieve's frustration of not being able to conceive coming out with a vengeance at Jared. His unexpected breakdown in Switzerland was the final nail in their marriage. Gen was there for him but in the end it was all too much and she filed for divorce.
Shortly after, Jared’s iCloud account was hacked. It was believed, but never conclusively proven, that Gen was behind it since her lawyer was trying to break their prenuptial agreement, the videos documenting his private and explicit sexual relationship with Jensen were legally considered adulterous. In the end, the court upheld the legal document but the ramifications...
They were summoned to L.A. for the meeting from hell with WB executives, both convinced it was the end of Supernatural and their careers.
After the reaming out, they each received a weeks pay suspension to cover some of what it was gonna cost PR in time and money to deal with the inevitable repercussions and placate the show's sponsors.
How would the show’s fans react? Would they still be able to accept them as brothers only on TV while in real life they were involved in a highly stigmatized relationship?
When they returned to work there was an atmosphere of tension that hadn’t existed before. It was an open secret that all shows had their share of bitchiness and backstabbing behind the scenes. Jensen may have the thicker skin, keeping tighter control on his emotions, but Jared knew it hurt him just as deeply the loss of some of their friends because of prejudicial, social beliefs that two Alpha males shouldn’t be involved.
Jensen’s parents showed up unexpectedly in Vancouver a few weeks later. What started out as a not quite comfortable visit quickly deteriorated with his religiously conservative parents. They had not raised him like this and blamed Jared, saying he had corrupted him, leading him into a sinful lifestyle. He needed to repent and return to his wife to whom he had made a commitment before god.
Jensen blew up, replying it was none of their business, it was between them and oh, yeah, Danneel knew about them before marrying him and they better not say anything to her. Without another word his parents left. When he later called them to make amends, his mother coolly stated that he was no longer part of their family and to never contact them again.
Three months after the twins were born in 2016 came the finalization of Jensen’s divorce from Danneel, painful but congenial. They easily agreed on joint custody and still spent most holidays together. Jensen gave Dani financial security in their settlement, he wanted to make sure she didn’t have to worry about working again unless she wanted to.
All these years later, Jared continually has nagging thoughts that they had let everybody down. They received support when they publicly came out as bisexual then lost some of it when they married, being mocked for not coming out as gay.
***
There was another knock at the door and Jared ignored it, it was that nurse checking on his lack of progress again. The knock turned into pounding, “Jared, open this door now dammit!” He flinched realizing Jensen knew what was going on with him. Releasing the privacy latch and opening the door a crack he saw concerned green eyes only.
“Sorry, I thought you were that nurse,” he stepped away and sat back down as Jensen came in and re-latching it behind him. “She came to get me when you stopped answering,” Jensen said, walking over to him and started running his thick fingers through his husband’s long hair, “what’s going on babe?”
He glances up knowing that Jensen already knew, “It’s okay Jay, take as long as you need.” He paused at the unpleasant scent wafting around him. “If you’d be more comfortable we could do this at home…” Jared shakes his head, “There’s the risk of damage, contamination and or not able to get it back in time that could make the semen unusable.” Jared quotes from a website.
Jensen softly chuckled, “Nerd.”
Jared notices the bulge in his jeans, “You didn’t...”
“Drain the snake..choke the chicken..spank the monkey.”
“Fuck, okay, you didn’t! Stop using old man slang.” He shook his head smiling at Jensen intentionally goading him.
Jared reached up for the hand playing in his hair, grasping it to draw Jensen down next to him.
“Jack, I don’t want to wait any longer on doing this. I love JJ and the twins, you know I do, but they'll always be yours and Danneels. I know the timing could be better... but I'm almost thirty-eight and I want my..our own pups running around the house driving us crazy.”
“For the next eighteen years?”
“Minimum.”
tbc
Part II
SPN: @donnaintx @lyarr24
GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest
Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid
Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva
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