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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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Hi!!!!!!!!!! I just saw your playlist for the indruck rockstar au so naturally I had to go and reread the whole entire thing in one go this morning and I just wanted to say how much I Love it and the way you write that whole scenario, especially with the way you incorporated the music lyrics??? (Especially since you wrote a bunch of those????) chefs kiss. I was wondering if you had ever written or planned out any of the sternclay that happened before this story took place because the way you described what we got of how they got together sounded so amazing and I would Die to hear their point of view. Hope you have a wonderful weekend!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so much! I’m really proud of that fic, and it seems to have been one a lot of folks really enjoyed. And well, when you asked this, it got me thinking. So here’s a brief history of how Stern and Barclay got together in this universe. Heads up: it is NSFW

That didn’t go as planned.

Joseph only meant to alert The Cryptids to the fact their manager was clearly skimming off the top and downplaying offers for further connections in the business before turning every ounce of charm he could muster on Barclay. He came to fuck bigfoot, not change careers.

Now he’s packing up the second of his two suitcases, conversation with his parents still ringing in his ears. They’re not taking the fact that he’s dropping out of college to manage an up and coming, horror rock, very gay band particularly well and have tried twice to talk him out of it. Which is why he’s glad he went through all the bureaucratic steps before calling them.

He’s never been more terrified or excited in his life. He’s sure he can do this, he’s already booked them four more gigs in a logical tour path, found a better system for making their merch, and is tracking down a promising P.R lead. It’s the close quarters that scare him the most; he’s certain he could charm Barclay for an evening, could get the others to like him enough to hang around back stage once or twice. But for months on end? What if they think he’s prissy, or too perfectionistic, or too normal?

What if Barclay hates him?

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“I must admit, I’d have thought you would have made a move on Joseph by now.” Indrid says before pulling a sweater on over his head. It gets caught on his glasses, and he flails until Barclay helps it the rest of the way down. They’re somewhere south of Madison, the van cutting a lonely path down the dark road; it’s so late, and they’re on one of those vast, distinctly midwestern stretches where there’s nothing but night sky and fields. Jake drives, tapping the wheel in time with the radio while Joseph sleeps in the passenger seat and Vincent sprawls on the far back one.

“Kinda weird to hit on your manager, right?” Barclay peers warily around the passenger seat to be double sure the manager in question isn’t listening. He isn’t, lips parted slightly and dark hair falling in his face as his sleeping body is tilted this way and that by the motion of the car.

“Not when the manager looks like that and has already broadcasted his eagerness to fuck you.”

Barclay can’t really argue that first point; Joseph walked into that sorry excuse for a dressing room looking like centerfold come to life. There’s a certain kind of fan of theirs who spends their daily life buttoned up and following the rules, and Joseph struck him as exactly that kind of self-repressing, well groomed gym bunny. They’re always the most fun fans to fuck, in his experience. Couple that with the fact Joseph was (is) hot and willing, Barclay would have happily called dibs on the van for an hour to fuck him senseless that first night. But now…

“I dunno, he hasn’t really flirted with me since we met. And even then he didn’t flirt much.”

“The lecture on Haye’s deficits did start about two seconds after he entered the room.”

“Yeah” Barclay sighs fondly at the memory, “maybe he’s just not interested now that he’s seen me offstage.”

“Or maybe you’re both acting from the same vein of professionalism. Which is not terribly punk rock.”

“I’m being myself” Barclay grumbles “that’s-”

“The most punk rock thing you can be.” Indrid finishes, nodding sagely. Then he smirks, “but that doesn’t change the fact Joseph wants to get into those leather pants of yours. Why do you think he keeps recommending the stage outfits that involve them?”

“Hey, I like that look too. It’s my idea as much as it’s his.”

“Mmmmhmm.” Indrid yawns, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder. Then he sings in his ear “Baby you got the clothes, baby he’s got the romance, you’ve got the moves so while you’ve got the chance, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna-”

Barclay elbows him sideways onto the seat, making them both giggle like they’re ten and wrestling on the trampoline in his backyard.

“Enough with the prophecies, Mothman.”

“That was hardly a prophecy.” Indrid sticks his legs into Barclays laugh, “but very well. I will leave you to pine for as long as you please.”

Barclay spares another glance towards the front of the car.

“I’m not pining. I just want him to like me.”

A snore in reply, Indrid out with his arms sprawled in different directions. Barclay chuckles softly, roots around for one of their two pillows, and settles his head against the window. He doesn’t shut his eyes right away; instead he watches the lights of distant houses and stars race past, melding into the reflection of Joseph’s sleeping face.

------------------------------------

“I bought us ten more minutes, I cannot believe they didn’t warn us this was a double appearance. I’ll-” Joseph finishes shutting the van door and promptly grips it so hard it leaves an indent in his palm.

The band is in various states of rapid undress, trying to get back into their first set of outfits, and smack in the center of the tableau is Barclay, naked from the waist down.

“-I’ll be more thorough going, um, going forward. See you all backstage.”

He can’t scramble out of the vehicle fast enough, finds one of the two functioning bathrooms in the place and locks himself in without a second thought. Leans against the graffiti coated door and shoves his hand down pants, a little embarrassed at how turned on he is just from one peek at Barclay’s dick. That doesn’t stop him from picturing it as he shoves two fingers into himself and jacks off like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. The smell of two kinds of smoke, the half dead bulb, the din of the crowd gathering in the building all make him harder; he’s so desperately horny for his bassist he’ll make himself cum in a shitty dive bathroom. The thought has him moaning, and he covers his mouth with his free hand as he cums.

With a much clearer head, he washes his hands and leaves to round up his band. It’s better this way, better for him to get off alone than put Barclay in a weird position by his manager coming onto him. That’d be weird for everyone; this way is much easier.

Ten minutes later, standing in the shadowy steps and watching The Cryptids perform, Barclay growling and sweat-soaked, giving Indrid a messy, open-mouthed kiss when the singer initiates it, he knows it won’t be easy at all.

---------------------------------------------------------

They’ve done it; Joseph helped the others successfully sign with Amnesty Records, securing them a re-release of their first album at higher quality and with wider distribution, a massive U.S tour, and more money up front than any of them have ever seen. Amnesty sees promise in them, and Barclay knows they can deliver. They celebrated for two nights solid, and now reality sets in; Indrid is locked in a hotel room, writing like he’s possessed by the ghost of several rockstars at once, Vincent and Jake are trying to find places to live now that they’re based in Atlanta, and Barclay…

Barclay is standing in a half-furnished apartment that doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Joseph, currently hopping on and off the phone while Barclay waits for dinner to arrive. In a perfect world he would have just cooked, but given how Joseph’s been the last few weeks, he’s worried that gesture of intimacy might freak him out. The manager was in meetings all day and is still in his suit, a forty dollar one they bought in a strip mall at the edge of town. On him it looks like it cost a thousand dollars just for the slacks. The slacks Barclay is failing very hard at not staring at. Joseph isn’t even twenty-one, but he’s been working deals like a pro, and it is the hottest fucking thing Barclay has ever seen.

He tries distracting himself from his unhelpful gay thoughts via distressing images. All he comes up with is having to steal Indrid’s phone from him after the singer called his family for the first time in almost three years. Whether that was to deliver a final fuck you or toss a hail Mary of reconciliation their way, Barclay isn’t sure. All he knows is he watched Indrid’s face take a turn, old hurts smothering the spark in his eyes, and he took the phone away while someone yelled on the other end of it.

“How are your parents taking it?” Joseph looks up from the laptop on the kitchen table where he’s entering dates into a calendar.

Barclay smiles, “Good. Pretty sure they’ve told everyone in the family the good news. Alice can get a chain email out like nobody’s business. They say they love me and are proud of me and that I have to promise to still come home for Christmas every now and then.”

Joseph smiles back, open for a moment before a guard slips back up. Barclay tucks his hands in his pockets, psyching himself up. He has to do this. He has to know.

“Have I, like, made you angry or something? You’ve just been standoffish lately.”

“Working out everything for the contract has been so stressful I’m not sure anyone but the execs have seen much of me.” The answer is well-rehearsed.

“Oh.” Barclay nods, hands still in his pockets and shoulders slouched.

“And, um, and they haven’t gone away. My feelings for you.” This answer is far quieter, the other man looking up from the screen with fearful eyes.

“That’s a...bad thing? But I, uh, I, like you too. I like so fucking much.”

A little puff of laughter, “I can tell. Believe me, I can. It’s just that being your manager is different than being a random fan looking for a hook-up; I might want something you’re not ready to give, or vice versa, and if we rush into things it could fuck up everything you guys worked for. Everything we worked for.”

Barclay cautiously steps forward, “What if we took things slow? Like, really slow.”

Hope sneaks into the corners of Joseph’s eyes, “What would that look like?”

“Like we go step by step, with first dates and like, hand holding and shit. We can take as long as we want; I mean, unless you’re planning on ditching the next big thing in the music world, think we’re gonna have plenty of time to spend together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Barclay circles the table as Joseph stands. He cups his cheek, running his thumb up his cheekbone.

“Hey.”

“Hi” Joseph’s eyes have taken on a distinctly Bambi-ish shape.

“You wanna go get dinner tomorrow?”

The other man loops his arms around his shoulders, “Absolutely.”

Their first kiss comes less than twenty four hours; they may be taking it slow, but there’s only so much two men who’ve been pining in the confines of a van for months can take. It’s soft and popcorn scented and Joseph holds his hand the entire time.

---------------------------------------------

Joseph waits in the dressing room, ears ringing from the sound system and the screaming crowd. It’s the first time The Cryptids have played any sort of true arena, and they sold out the show a week in advance.

Barclay clomps into the room in his combat boots, grinning as soon as he sees him. He’s dripping with sweat, his eyeliner is a little smudged, and even though he isn’t the lead vocalist, he has enough backing vocals that his voice is a touch raw when he speaks.

“Fuck that was fun.”

“You all did so well. I, this is going to sound corny, but I’m so proud of you.”

“Should be proud of yourself too, babe. Without you, we’d probably still be playing no-name bars in Des Moines or Fresno.”

“Managing is easy when the talent’s this good.” He runs his hands up Barclays’ fishnet-clad chest.

“Take the compliment, blue eyes.”

High on pride and the knowledge that at least a third of the crowd would commit a felony to take his place, Joseph pinches Barclay’s left nipple, “No.”

Barclay growls, grabbing his lapels and yanking him into a salty, toothy kiss. He moans in reply, drops his hands down to undo Barclay’s fly so he can grind against him, feel him getting hard through his dress pants.

“You really wanna do that here, babe? Don’t wanna make our first time all soft sheets and candlelight?” Barclay rubs the top button of Joseph’s shirt between his thumb and finger.

“Yes, I want you and I want you now”

Barclay lunges, shoving him back until his ass hits the dressing room table.

“Fine” he grunts, getting his cock out while Joseph kicks one leg free of his pants, “can’t take a compliment, gonna take something else.”

“OHmylord, fuck, fucking finally.” He thunks his head back against the mirror as Barclay sets a ferocious tempo.

“Shit, you feel even better than I thought you would, and I’ve been, fuck, thinking about it for a long fucking time. Ever since you walked into that shitty dressing room in those tight shorts and shirt with my name on it.”

“Nnhng” He spreads his legs wider at the memory.

“Oh you fucking like that, don’t you babe? That why you wanted to do this here? So I could treat you like the horny fucking fanboy you really are?”

“Yes, ohmylord, yes, yes.” He can’t feel anything but the points where they connect, can’t hear anything beyond Barclay’s growls in his ear and the slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck” Barclay pulls his hair with one hand, shoves his knee further up with the other, “shoulda known, even with that fancy suit all you wanna be is my fucking toy.” It’s a snarl, the hottest sound he’s ever heard and he drags Barclay into another kiss, amazed that he feels close to cumming already.

Knockknock.

Barclay turns his head towards the door, Joseph muffling his panting breath in his shoulder.

“Uh, who is it?”

“Mothman. The winners of that drawing are back here to meet us.”

“Shit” Joseph hisses, starting to sit up only for strong hands to trap him in place.

“Cool. Uh, gimme like” Barclay looks down to where his cock is buried into Joseph, “three minutes?”

The smile in Indrid’s voice is unmistakable, “Of course. I still need to find Vincent. See you soon.”

“Three minutes seems optimisticAH, ohgod” He holds on for dear life as Barclay fucks him with sharp, deep thrusts. A calloused hand finds his dick and Joseph bites down on a broad shoulder to keep from alerting everyone in the vicinity to his impending orgasm.

“That’s it babe, cum for me, cum on my cock in a backroom like the horny, needy thing you are.” Barclay stills his hips, hand working with slick, messy movements until Joseph cums. He doesn’t wait for him to finish all the way before slamming into him for ten of the best seconds of Stern’s life and cumming with a deep moan.

“Fucking-A that was good.”

“Good is an understatement.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

A kiss on the head as Barclay helps him onto the ground, a flurry of putting their clothes into a rough approximation of order. Then Barclay kisses him again as Joseph strokes his hair.

“Offer of soft sheets and candlelight still stands.”

Joseph holds him tighter, smiling against his neck, “I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow night.”

----------------------------------------------------

It’s the last day of recording the tracks for “Blood on the Mirror” and the mood is bittersweet. After this, there’s one more tour and then The Cryptids go their separate ways. It was time, everyone but Indrid and Jake ready to move on to other projects, and Joseph is already on board to manage Indrid’s solo career (“I’d trust it to no one else, Joseph. I mean it”). All the same, when the final track is deemed done, everyone applauds and embraces like they’re going off to war.

He heads down to his office to finish reading over venue contracts while the band packs up, but he only gets through one before Barclay appears.

“Hey, blue eyes.”

“Hi, Bigfoot.” Joseph stands and comes to the door to kiss him, “are you already set to go home.”

“More or less” Barclay rubs his arm, his most consistent anxiety tell, “uh, there’s just one thing I gotta ask before we leave.”

Hushed voices down the hall, but no one there when Joseph looks behind him to check. When he turns back, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Barclay is down on one knee.

“I, uh, I know this might not be the most, uh, traditional spot to do this but it feels right. I’ve just been thinking about how a huge chapter of my life is coming to a close and there’s this whole new, exciting, terrifying blank page where I have to write the next one. And I, I realized that I want you to be in that chapter with me, and the next one, and the one after that. So, uh, what I want to know is: Joseph Stern, will you marry me?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to come out with intelligible words.

“Oh thank god.” Barclay springs up, cupping his face and spinning him in a kiss. Joseph laughs as whooping cheers echo towards them. Indrid, Jake, and Vincent, are peering around the nearest corner, beaming.

“Indrid is for sure going to say I told you so the second he gets me alone” Barclay chuckles, “I was so afraid you’d say no because things will be kind of up in the air for the next few years.”

Joseph turns his face back towards him, “You’re right, they will. But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #rockstar au #TAZ amnesty

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the-uptake · 6 years ago

Text

An Unknown Sustenance

The Uptake, The Sarpashana Solution. Book IV, Chapter 1(?)

I’m all over the place. Grunt.

Several figures, clad in white suiting with tailored clean silhouettes, collected near the observation window of their research facility. Some looked on in anticipation, some in boredom. One could not help but pace.

"Sit still, Tis'a."

"I can't. This doesn't matter."

"They already know there's more of them than themselves," the first continued. "It is an inevitable development."

"Let them eat together," a third commented, near the back of them, only vaguely attentive. "We've already seen they form social bonds within their sectors. It's plausible that even at a sector level they will play nice with one another."

"They might even encourage one another to branch out where they've been averse to it prior." A fourth weighed in, agitated. "Where's all the contention coming from, Tis'a?"

"It's taken us so long just to get this far. I'm having reservations about the risks here."

"We've determined a reliable pattern of repeatability." The fifth of them snorted at Tis'a. "If there's a problem, we will simply replace the subjects."

"There's no replacing one of them." The second grunted, seeming to understand Tis'a's agitation. "The zero patient still exhibits mutations and adaptability the others have not. We established the sectors for a reason."

"And ideally, bringing them all together socially will help coax them in the right direction." The fourth pointed out into what had once been a courtyard, now an organized mess of drums, metals, plastics, and indeterminate debris. "Even if they haven't exhibited adaptive traits yet, I'm still confident they have simply thus far been shy to push their limits."

"Hamsa is right. Perhaps if Sigma and Theta see one another... remediating different substances than one another, they might be more inclined to sampling the other sector's comfort zone."

"I still rather hate that you call it 'eating,' Arba'a," Tis'a mumbled. "It's just... unnatural. I don't understand how any of you can stand to watch."

"You know what you signed up for when you took this position." The fifth radiated the authority of a senior figure, and shepherded them nearer the observation window. "Come on now, the staff will be releasing them in waves any minute now. The Betas first, then the Gammas, and so on. Not at all unlike cafeteria shifts in a high school, except the shifts today overlap."

Tis'a's face curled in displeasure but they said nothing.

____________________

The Beta sector subjects shuffled in through the pocket door to the north end of the rectangular courtyard, oblivious to any change in their daily habits at the complex. The ten of them, arthritic and despondent, sat around a sizable pile of small metal bits and set to rummage through it. Nuts and washers, screws and bolts, tailings, all manner of shapes and functions and alloys. They would put a given piece to their mouths, then decide to pass it to someone else, or swallow it themselves without chewing. It rarely went that a given piece passed hands more than two or three times, and it was common for a recipient to be fed the piece by the one who gifted it. The wefts of a deranged social intimacy shuttled the group together through action and few words.

The Gamma sector entered from the East end, and they descended upon one of the stacks of plastics. They rifled through it for the rubberiest parts, and gorged themselves. Occasionally, one might pick out a piece another of them would enjoy more than they would, and they'd toss it unceremoniously in their direction. Over time, the pile flattened from their scattering methods, though it did not draw attention to themselves, the Betas too absorbed in their saturnine ritual. The twelve Gammas, too, remained oblivious to sharing a space with anyone else.

The Deltas and Epsilons filed in from East and West, and served the catalyst for the encounter. They saw one another upon entry into the yard and stood staring, not going to their delicacy without prompting.

"What gives?" an Epsilon called out. He noticed the other groups already present, along with the one that had arrived along with his own, and pointed at them with incredulity. "They told us there was other groups but they never let us see each other!"

"Yeah, this is weird," a Delta agreed. She walked up to him and looked around with a vague consternation. "It's almost like they had some kind of scheduling flub..."

"What are you starin' at!" another Epsilon hollered, glaring at the Betas. But they hadn't stopped eating just to stare listlessly at the Deltas and Epsilons, but rather had their faces set upon the newest arrivals: the Thetas from the South. The third and fourth groups looked behind them to discover a group of distinctly asymmetrical individuals, who had frozen in place the instant they realized they were not alone.

"--Ignore them," one insisted, struggling with a limp gait to drag the rest to a mound of bottles. "We need to..." They insinuated toward the bottles, which upon closer inspection could be determined to be discarded prescriptions and medical waste. "If we don't now, it'll be hours before the next chance to be still."

Those who heard the Theta nodded silently and all went about their business. Many still eyed one another as they fed. Over the next thirty minutes, six more groups entered, and with each subsequent arrival, each withdrew from one another's line of sight, the shame of their condition outweighing the exigence of absolving their many months of loneliness. What brought them all together only served to further isolate. Somewhere about ninety subjects crowded in the courtyard. For twenty minutes or so, the twelve groups continued on in communal isolation as they bioremediated their respective commodity of waste.

For the most part, everyone tried their best to ignore the mere concept of what the others around then consumed.

The door to the north end produced a single subject the next time it opened, and the figure descended immediately upon the haystack of crusted drums no one else has dared touch. His wiry, naked frame bent at odd angles to facilitate identifying their contents by smell alone. Once he came upon a satisfactory stuff, he put his mouth to the cap and sucked and lapped at it until the fluids within flowed readily down his throat. The sheer quantity of liquid wastes he knocked back got everyone's attention, and soon everyone watched in a mixture of horror and fascination.

The Alpha subject got his fill of drum contents after the third, and moved toward the pile of metal junk, only to realize he wasn't alone. He looked to the plastics pile, the pharmaceuticals, the solar glass... His one-eyed features gnarled up in self-revulsion as he could tell these other figures were also consuming in kind, and he shrank from their sight.

"--You ARE here." The cracked voice of a Theta disinterred himself from the pharmaceuticals. Seemingly unable to stand, he still insisted to close the distance between them. "It took me... way too long to understand... what I'd gotten myself into... They wanted... Wolfrin victims... for the trial... But I couldn't have dreamed you were... still alive..."

The Theta's long, dark, stringy hair obscured his face as he lay at the Alpha's feet, and he parted it to stare longingly up at him with cataracted, oleous eyes.

"Dunno if you remember me, but I could never forget you." The dreg smiled in a warm delirium, complacent to how dragging his body along the ground had contorted his tank top to expose a nipple through its neckline. "...Supposing I did get my wish, after all, to become like you, Galen."

The remark shot through Galen to the marrow, and he couldn’t still his shaking rage and confusion and hurt. Before he knew it, he’d smashed his bare heel down on the Theta’s shoulder and dislocated the arm and collarbone all. The Theta lurched in a stifled wheeze, and rolled in a flinch to shield his face.

“–I, I’m sorry. Y’didn’t deserve th–”

“–You really don’t remember me, if you don’t think I didn’t deserve that.” The dreg curled up tighter and coddled his shoulder when he realized Galen had not continued into a full assault, and he sniffed and fell to flat affect. “Did the ghouls even give you the books?”

“...Ghouls?” Galen sat, his brain swimming too hot to remain steady, and he shook his head in dismissal. He looked around a moment to see the others had mostly resumed eating rather than continue staring. “What are y'even on about?”

“Painted ghouls. The stalkers with their faces covered in spray paint. They steal from all the low-level places they can to smuggle stuff back inside the walls? I… never mind. I never learn my lesson.”

“…Runners. They’re runners. The city calls ‘em ghouls? The fuck.” The wiry naked idiot lay back and stared up at the mesh mezzanine acting as a lid to the container which was the courtyard.

“City thinks of ‘em like bogeymen. Like they couldn’t possibly be real stalkers. Just punks dressed up to scare folks or somethin’.”

“They all might as well be dead either way.”

“...You don’t have to tell me, but I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“They got that paint all over their faces from huffin’ it. If a stalker leaves the Quarter anymore, they can’t breathe without paint, or maybe canned air. Dunno why I’m an exception to that. Maybe ‘cause I died way before all this shit started.” He squinted, face struggling not to screw up over it. “I don’t get it. The air in there’s all wrong now. It’s a wonder spray paint’s got enough… whatever in it to sustain runners long enough t’get outside the walls, then do a grab an’ run. I… I don’t wanna talk about how bad it is inside the walls. Not right of me to.”

“That’s fine. …You… you really don’t recognize me, though?” The Theta turned onto his back to give him a crestfallen, soulful pout, and slowly his dearth inflection broke into sentimentality. “It has been since before the walls. I guess I’ve changed just as much as you have. I mean, just… look at you. At the same time you don’t look like you’ve aged hardly at all, your body has just… continued… adapting… And I’ve just… continued falling apart… Going on forty now...” He reset his shoulder and didn’t even hiss. A quiet laugh came from him as he looked away, rubbing the joint. “Melancholy.”

“Are y’gonna just keep mopin’ an’ givin’ me coded hints or are y’gonna tell me your goddamn name? Maybe ring a bell? Y’drivin’ me loon.” Galen wiped the sorry from his face, and made vague circular gesticulations as he spoke. “Tch, it’s not much use anyway. Head cheese’s comin’ up all Swiss lately.”

Rather than form a rational response, Melancholy choked on laughter, then held his mouth and the tears just ran out of nowhere.

“…Finally seeing me again for the first time in over a decade, and you don’t even remember the asshole you took out all your sexual frustrations on while you were working for the EPA…” Melancholy sniffed and looked to him with a limpid sense of humor. He parted his greying undercut to slick down some approximation to bangtails, and pinched his thumbs and forefingers to hold circles to his eyes, intimating glasses with a stupid smile. “Maybe now?”

“Stop bendin’ like that. Don’t like that.” Galen rolled over so he didn’t have to keep looking at the sallow, horrid Theta. He hated being pushed for recollection he clearly didn’t have, being reminded just how little he remembered before the walls. How much of his brain had he lost after being beaten a dozen inches past his life, years ago? “I don’t even clearly know how I ended up in here. Just know they feed me. Today’s first I ever knew there was anybody but me here... You said you was just like me now. Tell me just exactly what you think about you’s just like me, yeah.”

“Well, that’s an exaggeration, I guess. I haven’t exactly gotten as far along as you, though I doubt I could ever catch up. I can knock back... a lot though. Most plastics don’t give me too much trouble now, either. They mostly give the Thetas medical and pharmaceutical discards. Olen over there, she can even handle the sharps bins no trouble. To be perfectly fair, this is the first I think any of us has known there was anyone else here... like this... Dunno how anyone else got here. I only know the folks who were in the same trial as me--and this is a million times better than anything they tried to sell me to hook me.”

To punctuate the statement, ‘Choly turned over and tried to spoon Galen, who allowed it from the stranger in the hopes proximity would help him feel better, even if it didn’t help jog his memories of him. ‘Choly’s face ended up in the crook of Galen’s shoulder.

“I just... Why are they collectin’ people who can eat like me? The fuck purpose is that? --An’ you mentioned you’re in here ‘cause they lied to you an’ told you this was some trial? You tryin’ t’tell me y'wasn’t always like this?”

'Choly turned his head so he didn’t bark another laugh right into Galen’s ear, but settled down again quickly with a nostalgic body beside him. He’d lost track of how long he’d been in the facility, how long it had been since he’d lain beside Cecil, or any of the Potluck. He nudged Galen onto his back and knelt atop him with an apathetic whimsy, his shoulders rolled and head a bit lolled.

“My chasing a way to become more like you has forever gotten us tangled up in each other’s chaos. Even now. I think I’m the only Theta happy to be here. Even happier, knowing I’m here with you... Say, I might not be able to stomach everything you can yet, but I can still...”

And ‘Choly hooked the corners of his mouth to force a smile across the entire span of his face. He recalled Galen disliking just the double-jointed display before and he quickly dropped the distortion with an embarrassed brow. When Galen only reacted in dumbstruck revulsion, ‘Choly ran a hand down Galen’s chest and left it atop the defined, warped abdominal muscles which formed a shape which was neither quite a paunch nor quite a potbelly. Galen shuddered a breath, shoulders in rigor as he frantically looked around to see if they still had any onlookers.

“The idiot from the library,” the Theta whispered desperately. “The idiot stalker stalking you for months on end before you caught me, and flung me into your apartment, and...” He trailed off and put his fingertips to Galen’s mouth, heart stitching knots like a sewing machine with a jammed bobbin. “We can... always make new memories...”

“Are you sure you actually handle all those bottles of other people’s drugs? You are fucking high as shit.”

“I’ve always been like this. I like to think it’s the one thing you liked about me. Gave you an excuse to feel justified roughing me up. Fuck, the shiner you gave me the first time I--” A halted moan came out of ‘Choly as he coaxed his fingers against Galen’s tongue. “I, you. You wouldn’t want to see if we have... that in common, would you? I was always so happy to oblige you, that I never really asked you to reciprocate...”

When ‘Choly moved to run his fingers even deeper into Galen’s mouth, Galen wrenched the hand from his lips by the wrist and glared up at him, haunted. That face. Something clicked in Galen’s head and flashed pieces of connected thoughts together. Fuck me, you’re perfect, he could hear in ‘Choly’s broken, unmodulated voice. This dreg had had his entire arm down Galen’s throat once--at least once--knew everything about him if he knew the lack of features on the outside belied the presence of internal genitalia. The dislocated shoulder, that hadn’t been the first time Galen had popped it out of joint. His face ran metallic, and his mouth in lieu of tears suffused with drool and panic.

“--Nn, not here. I don’t want this. Not like this. Hff-- fuck. Fuck fuck ffh--”

If this ass knew what Galen’s stomach lining felt like, surely he knew how loud Galen could get without something down his throat choking out the sound of it. In front of a hundred people, maybe more watching from observation windows. He flushed deep blue in the face just thinking about it, and did his best to swallow his upset.

“Where else, then? I don’t think they’re going to let us see each other in private. You make it sound like you would want it on different terms, at least. Perhaps just... keeping the stimulation external for now?” ‘Choly traced the chain of nodes where Galen’s navel had once been. Then, when Galen struggled not to cry out, he took Galen’s free hand and guided it up under the hem of the tank top, to touch him in kind. A ragged breath came out of ‘Choly as Galen tried to appease him by focusing such attention on him rather than himself, and ‘Choly fell to choking whispers as Galen traced his navel with a thumb. “Slaggit, if this even feels a fraction as good to me as it does to you-- Ugh, how I’ve missed the smell of your sweat.”

“Have you always... greeted me with sex... or am I just this unlucky?”

“Hhh, hha. I get the, impression, we’re all hardwired this way now. Look. I always thought it was, just the Thetas, blowing off steam after eating... but look.”

The two of them stopped to observe similar interactions, in various stages of disrobing. The Epsilons lounged in pairs across the piles of broken solar glass, grinding against each other, against a shared panel between each of them as they suckled on the edges. The Betas had progressed from feeding each other bits and pieces, to languorously effusing metal directly from their palms into one another’s wanting mouths. The Gammas took to opposite ends of lengths of rubber pipes and let their mouths linger in one another’s when they met in the middle. All manner of lawless orgy bloomed up around them, a topography of derangement fueled by a gamut of appetites.

“They’re... They’re... Why...” In particular, Galen watched the Betas in abject fascination. He barely contained voicing the nascent desire that someone feed him in any such way.

“I’ve lost track of the number of times they’ve told my sector to knock it off. Something about the vagus nerves gets scrambled with the primary mutation... Seems understandable now why the white coats are so jealous. Positive feedback reinforcement, though, I suppose--if they could breed it out of us, we’d have no reward for performance.”

“--Ju --jus --sst, ssssh shut up. Y'sound like one a those freaks in white, but broken.” Galen squinted and shuddered, then felt very small. “Can... can you ss, sweat... like that? The metal? Probably a stupid question, ss, sssince you said they feed you drugs. Don’t got a lotta metal in drugs...”

‘Choly became animated at the thinly-veiled request, pressing his free palm to Galen’s lips and smearing lithium all over them. He could tell exactly what had captivated the Alpha’s attention.

“Pharmacology uses a lot of metals, actually.” He grinned, absolutely drunken on obliging Galen’s appetites in such a precise but multifaceted way. “They do have a grand idea. Do you want me to--”

Dropping all reservations, Galen forced ‘Choly’s hand down his throat and let ‘Choly guide himself all the way down inside. Whereupon, the cowed Theta unloaded every metal he could muster directly into his idol’s gut, all the while stroking the distended stomach lining. However new it was, it was still the most familiar thing either had felt in ages, and Galen blissfully reciprocated the attention by petting ‘Choly’s abdomen. And they remained passionately tangled up in such a way, until the orderlies filed in to pry everyone apart with a firm gentleness, to escort them back to well-rehearsed isolation.

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #white hamsa #white tis'a #white arba'a #white waahid #white ithnaan #white thalaatha #those in white #the sarpashana solution #galen miner #melanochro kara #the uptake

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divagonzo · 7 years ago

Text

10 years

10 years ago today, it was my 33rd birthday. For reasons stated below, it's one I will never forget.

10 years and 7 days ago, on another Sunday, I was called to my Dad's house. He'd fallen and they needed my help. I rushed over and tried my best to help but due to his size and condition, we needed the brute strength of the fire department guys (whom to this day I still go out of my way to thank profusely) to get him back up off the floor.

I left and went home and was quite anxious that day. I was full of nervous energy, to the point of re-arranging the living room. Maybe I knew something was going to happen. I won’t spend time pondering this incident.

About 5pm, I got a frantic call to come over. I think I broke every single speed limit to get there, and possibly running the occasional red light, too. O_O I don’t recommend it - ever.

I walked into my nightmare. I had seconds to prepare, seeing the faces of the guys from the fire department.

That nightmare was that Dad died. He fell asleep in his chair and didn't wake.

My (former) step-mother was a wreck. There was no one else to help. I had to make snap decisions on what to do and how to go from there. I had to turn off the emotions, put them aside, and be an adult. That give-a-damn stayed broken for about 3 months.

My Sis, God love her, was willing to drive 9 hours to be by my side. I told her I'd need her desperately the next weekend.

I was a complete mess and had to strap on my dragon sized britches and make decisions, some of which were financially crippling for a time.

He had no will, no power of attorney, etc etc etc. 3 weeks before, he'd filed for bankruptcy, because of medical bills. (FYI - having a respiratory arrest when you aren't working will do it. He didn't tell me everything and I only found out these things afterwards. Call that another shock.)

That week, my SM was of little help. Everything fell on my head. So many decisions had to be made, so much to accomplish those days. I couldn’t fall apart. Too many needed me to be strong, accomplish too much, and not take the time to grieve immediately.

I called work and spoke to someone, explained I wouldn't be in for a while, and didn't bother with them again. There were banks to deal with, funeral homes, paying for everything, including the bankruptcy lawyer (caveat - those guys only take cash - not a check. No installment plans there, folks.)

Suffice to say, there wasn't much I really remember now of that week. I was drinking, sometimes heavily. This went on for months. Not at work. Not before 5pm. In the midst of intense grief, I kept some discipline. Go figure. I quit drinking heavily a week before Christmas. My Sis was there those two nights. I don’t remember them in my drunken haze. She can’t remember them either, thankfully.

What I do remember is my husband being my rock that week, including finding a way to pay for the funeral. (that wasn't cheap at all, b/c of SM insisting on some things.) I remember that my husband willingly gave his body to fuck me daily, so I could function with some normalcy. (We didn’t know ‘til years later he was Autistic.) That was the only way I could sleep - and he couldn’t.

I remember crying on my BFF’s shoulder for an hour the next morning.

I remember my Sis coming into town, and doing things that I couldn’t do at the time - grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, and cleaning the house. She saw a need and did it - unasked.

The visitation was on a Sunday night. Dad’s best friend drove 9 hours to be there. Cousins came up. Step-siblings were there. So many lives he touched over the years.

So many were there, including some I didn't expect, like my father's former step-mother. Growing up, he was bounced around between families, because his mother was a Jehovah's Witness and the parents didn't want her to have custody of him, taking him off on her missionary trip with her new husband to South America.

So the second wife of my grandfather abused him - horribly. Granddad was off in Korea, in the Navy. My father rarely spoke of those days but when he would, there was a rage that I didn't fathom or comprehend 'til I was older. Those abuses shaped him in ways I didn't understand 'til these intervening 10 years.

Dad’s former step-mother showed up to the visitation. This elderly woman, probably in her mid 70s, begged my forgiveness because she couldn't do it to my Dad. I could have been an asshole but I wasn't. I took her at her word and thanked her for it, and buried the hatchet on his behalf.

I realized only later that it was cowardice on her part, begging my forgiveness, when I wasn’t the one who was hurt, and wronged.

My grandmother wasn’t there. Alzheimer’s already took hold and she wouldn’t haven’t understood well enough. I made the hard decision that she wasn’t to be told.

It would have upset her greatly, with her not realizing why. I wouldn’t do that to her not in that condition.

My sis was there, along with my BFF. They are amazing, were then and still am.

Thanks to another Aunt... we had bar-b-que from a good place. I dunno how i remember that. There was also a huge birthday cake. There were a slew of birthdays to celebrate the night of the visitation. This included giving my nephew (with his parents permission) his first beer. I also let him cut the cake, reserving the only piece for my Dad, who had his birthday 1 month later. The nephew was turning 18. His younger sister, 11. My favorite Aunt (the following week) - 75.

Dad would have been 59.

The next day, I buried my father - on my 33rd birthday.

He always did make a spectacle of it, one way or another. And the last thing I could do for him, even if it was full of surreal irony - is that he always asked for a posh address.

I gave it to him, as his resting place. It’s nice out there. It was part of a dairy farm. The wildlife out there can roam. The feel safe that Dad doesn’t have a gun in hand, hunting impotently.

It went as best as I could manage things, including getting bent over a financial issue that the institution wouldn't bend on. I had to go back to work - eventually - and it sucked so hard for a week.

Out of his pride, he let others take financial advantage of him. When he did ask for my help, Hubs and I paid for most of their bills for about 8 months - gladly. That's how they kept the house and the lights on, and food on the table.

I tried to make amends with the financial institution, but to no avail. They wouldn't deal with me, only him. They were assholes. I relished fucking them over, like they did to my dad when he was financially bereft.

10 years...

And I've learned that I needed a second baptism in fire. I learned compassion, a little more patience, and that wrath is a poison that only affects you, not the one you are furious at.

He never forgave his abuser. That was his right, including never dealing with her. I still don't blame him for it. I blame her for being a witch to him, when he was a child in need of support and protection. I blame my great-grandparents, who (in their opinion) were protecting him from my grandmother, even if they abdicated raising him, leaving him for his absent father.

The step-family is gone, severed. Things happened in the intervening years. I don't miss them. I do miss my dad, only to have someone to bicker with. I miss his generosity - which he was almost too much with. His giving nature was taken advantage of repeatedly, but he still would open his door and his dining room table for anyone in need. He needed it, the validation of giving.

I still have my Mom - a pain in the ass sometimes but I actually like her. But the ones I cherish are my found family. They are the ones who have been there through the painfully thin, and the best of the thick. The Hubs. The BFF. The Sis.

Y'all ask how I can be so wise, sometimes? Because I lived through my nightmare and while tempered in fire, I survived it and am better for it.

My boggart changed after that moment. I will have other testing moments, which I don’t want to think about. Those boggarts have yet to come.

But ‘til then...

#Dragon's thoughts #Highly personal #replies only please #Queue up for the Dragon #Will eventually delete

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