#im so sorry hes got terminal stupid disease | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roxiera · 8 years ago

Text

i’ll give you the sun // newt scamander

request: no request in particular, just wanted to ask if you could write some Newt X Male!reader ? ive found ONE and im dying out here. help a guy out please im begging you (bonus for ftm!reader but it's cool if you don't want to) (by @vincentvangoghtthefuckaway)

a/n: username goals tbh and this request is giving me such noahandbrian™ vibes like !!!!!!!! go read this book i’ll give you the sun yall its fucking amazing

Was it wrong?

What you and Newt were doing - the way your touches lingered whenever your fingers met each other’s in class; the way Newt would wrap his arms around you when the two of you were studying a new magical beast in the empty dorm room, where you could feel the soft warmth radiating from Newt through his thin shirt; the way his smile made your veins feel like they were filled with a wonderful golden light - like Newt had put the sun in you.

Both of you were in fifth year when you two began sneaking out after curfew, spending the wee hours of the night in cramped cupboards and empty classrooms, limbs tangled together until the both of you seemed to become one, exposed skin flushed red and kissed purple and blue and black.

There were tingles of excitement shooting through your skin whenever you and Newt exchanged knowing glances across the room, and your body lived off euphoria when your were with Newt, your heart racing faster than a Snitch, but it wasn’t enough.

You wanted to kiss Newt by the Black Lake on hot summer days and snuggle up to him with your House scarves in the Hufflepuff common room in winter and let the heat from Newt’s calloused fingers seep through thick sweaters.

You wanted everyone to know that Newt Scamander was yours.

But how?

Dippet would owl your father and he would Floo straight over to Hogwarts and Avada Kedevra you right on the spot because you knew the disgusting slurs he called those couples on the street - Muggle or wizard. Your mother would try to pretend that you never existed and everyone would point and whisper at you and Newt like you two had some kind of disgusting terminal disease.

How could you put Newt through all of that?

Newt - wonderful, innocent Newt - the boy with too many freckles to count and untameable chocolate-brown hair who had an obsession with magical creatures.

Maybe, you thought, just maybe, you and Newt were just not meant to be.

(a/n: WHEN NOAH TOLD BITCH COURTNEY BRIAN WAS GAY AND BRIAN GOT VV PISSED I NEARLY FUCKING CRIED LIKE ?????????BRIAN GET YOUR CUTE GAY ASS BACK HERE?????????)

You didn’t know if you and Newt would ever be the same again.

It was only slightly less than a year ago when you and Newt had been inseparable - like two pieces of ivy intwined together, your heartbeats always in sync, and it had been heaven on earth - until it all came crashing down.

Sixth year, and your limbs were long and lean and they felt magnificently overgrown - like floppy vines of ivy held together by sticks, perhaps - and your voice had gone deep and rough. You began to hang out with those kids - the ones who got detention because they got caught jinxing first years, or trying to use incendio on professors’ cloaks as they passed by, or were busted when trying to smuggle firewhisky and mead and numerous other substances unknown to you into school grounds.

(a/n: noah’s ultra-moody teenage phase when brian left tho)

They were a brilliant distraction.

You couldn’t stand seeing Newt everyday, laughing without a care in the world with Lestrange, his azure eyes brighter than you could remember them ever being before, and the way his arm draped around her shoulders and smiled that beautiful smile of his made your heart tremble and your fists clench and your cheeks flush all at the same time.

You still loved him.

The very last day of fifth year, and you had made a stupid, stupid mistake.

It had been a heated argument in a locked compartment on the Hogwarts Express, both of you with heaving chests and sharp words and hearts racing at breakneck speed.

He called you a liar.

You called him a naïve fool.

He called you a manipulative bastard.

You called him a mistake.

And that was the end of it all.

Dozens of letters had been sent to Newt over the summer, and owls returned without a reply every single time.

You had shoved every single item that reminded you of Newt - from pictures to scarves to scraps of parchment with little conversations scribbled on them - into the deepest, darkest, dustiest corner of your closet.

But there was no hiding from Newt in Hogwarts.

And seeing him without you just made it hurt even more.

You were twenty-six when you found Newt again.

(a/n: i can’t remember the timeline help me pls omg)

You hadn’t seen Newt since the day before winter break of sixth year - he had been expelled, caught smuggling dragon blood into Hogwarts, but you knew that it had all been Lestrange.

She had been bragging to whoever who had been deceived by her manipulative self that she had been preparing to brew an extremely valuable and horrendously difficult potion for months, but you had never taken her seriously - since everything that came out of her mouth was nothing but lies - and Newt had paid the price.

You made it a point to jinx Lestrange whenever her Slytherin friends weren’t looking for the next year and a half you spent in Hogwarts, but watching her head swell like an ugly balloon never did much to calm the rage in your blood.

It had been a month after graduation of Hogwarts, and you had nearly frightened the absolute crap out of your owl as you knocked over your constantly-malfunctioning Sneakoscope, the bits of fake gold and glass crunching beneath your feet.

FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM

BY NEWT SCAMANDER

You knew what you had to do.

You stared at the mahogany door less than two inches away from your nose, your fist hovering mid-air, poised to knock.

It had been nearly ten years.

Ten years and you still loved him.

You ignored the shrieking thoughts in your mind and the storm in your heart and let your fist knock heavily onto the wood.

“Coming!”

Your froze, your breath hitching in your throat, your palms clammy and sticky and cold.

Before you could gather your wits together to Apparate out of there like a wimp, however, the door flung open, and your found yourself staring into the sky as you met Newt’s eyes.

The sound of your heartbeat seemed to echo throughout your body, making your bones tremble and your fingers shake as sweat began to dot your forehead, and it felt like you were standing on a fireplace.

hedoesn’twantyouherehedoesn’twantyouherehedoesn’twantyou-

Newt’s lips were on yours - fierce and soft and calming all at the same time - and you felt you respond almost instinctively to his touch as he pulled you through the doorway, rough, calloused fingers making their way through your hair as your hands slipped under Newt’s thin shirt, your spine tingling as you felt smooth skin and hard muscle, a sharp breath leaving his lips as your fingers danced across his tense abdomen, lips never leaving his.

You had Newt back, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

a/n: still haven’t gotten over i’ll give you the sun mng krjg erjgerbgeb also really sorry we’ve been so slow in posting imagines !! ~~school~~ and our brains are already dead after two weeks whoops

- roxanna

MASTERLIST | REQUEST SOMETHING !! | REQUESTING GUIDELINES

#newt scamander #newton scamander #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander x reader #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts and where to find them imagine #fbwtft #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and where to find them x reader #hp #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #roxiera writes

30 notes · View notes

crown-eater · 8 years ago

Text

A maze of pain and insane fantasies

Over the course of the past week, ‘Choly had been making a genuine effort to start moving into Cecil’s apartment beyond simply leaving a few belongings here and there as he came and went. Things hadn’t quietened down on the Bell front, but his landlady had served him yet another "final notice” that felt more ominously terminal than the others that had come before it. So between acclimating to his metagenesis and running errands for Bell, Chalcedony, and the Tellurides, he had found himself doing his best to at least scavenge the important things.

Like the leg lamp.

The leg lamp caused a huge fuss, and it ended up in the garbage at least twice. Cecil hated the thing, but it was one of ‘Choly’s most cherished possessions, one of the few things he felt his mother’s hoarding habits had yielded to benefit. He had no idea why it existed, or what cultural significance it might have had, but it was his and he loved it. Ultimately the lovers had to agree to disagree, and the leg lamp moved around the apartment as Cecil repeatedly disowned it. ‘Choly always returned it to the side-table beside the daybed he’d taken for his own.

'Choly had a sizable collection of physical copy novels, including his most prized possessions Roadside Picnic and Crash, the former of which being a nearly verbot relic and thrill token, a tangible piece of Quarter history. But, the stack of roughly a dozen novels paled as child’s play compared to the walls of Cecil’s apartment so densely lined with bookshelves that he also used them as sectional dividers. Cecil had been spelunking to rescue books since childhood, and he cultivated two very different collections from the life’s work: one at the physical copies wing of the library, a good third of it his own additions, and a second at home. His private collection was comprised of books which catered to his own personal interests, including many books too damaged to donate or too controversial to air in public.

Unprecedented for ‘Choly was the experience of a good Wi-Fi signal in a private setting. Cecil had left ‘Choly to the task of unpacking a couple of boxes while Cecil went to work for the day, and once ‘Choly felt like he had gotten sufficient progress, he treated himself to Web surfing unabated.

The notification sound of his chat app startled him, and at first he was disgruntled because an unfamiliar username was messaging him.

9augen: hey you havent been posting very much lately

9augen: everything all right?

9augen: this is rev by the way

«There you are, you stupid ghoul,» he thought to himself. «So you went silent for over a month and came back with a new username. Clever.»

ketherphorbia: *i* haven’t been posting much lately?

ketherphorbia: welcome back to the land of the living

9augen: not quite

9augen: i was just wondering. isnt like you. didnt even make a journal post

9augen: usually you vent if somethings wrong?

ketherphorbia: you’re honestly the only person who’s noticed the radio silence, ironically

9augen: why wouldnt i notice? youre my favorite for reasons you know

ketherphorbia: ...i guess if i can dish to somebody, it’d be you

ketherphorbia: i, well

ketherphorbia: i did it. i tried it.

9augen is typing...

9augen: whatd you get your hands on???

ketherphorbia: the junk that’s making all the stalkers sick. fluxeldrin. turns out my assumptions were wrong. it’s not what made the supermarket geek

9augen: ...

9augen: the slag does it do to a dreg then

ketherphorbia: a lot of what it did really slagging sucks. i’ve mentioned my joint disorder before. all those symptoms are magnified to a fault. i...

ketherphorbia: i kinda literally fall apart now

ketherphorbia: on the plus side, it did make me a meta. a really shitty meta, but ME. a META.

9augen: magic fall apart powers sound incredibly useful to me

9augen: haha pics or it didnt happen

ketherphorbia: yeah i thought you were as hard over this as me, you dreg

ketherphorbia is sending a file DSC39082_100-3493.JPG.

ketherphorbia: it stretches pretty far actually

9augen: fuck--

9augen: shit--

ketherphorbia: did i break you? you should see tricks my dick can do now

9augen: i--

ketherphorbia: i really need to take pics of that, but i’ve been kind of nervous to post ‘em anywhere

9augen: slagging cocktease the fuck man. im at a finnegans

ketherphorbia: sorry

9augen: no you arent. one of the reasons i love you

ketherphorbia: yeah no you’re right. you know me too well

9augen: ive told you before i think youre cute right

ketherphorbia: slag, the skin thing makes it hard to disagree with you

9augen: i never sent you a pic of me did i

ketherphorbia is typing...

ketherphorbia: i’m taken, y’know, but no. you haven’t.

9augen: i know. youre a chouay nasty little creature now like youve always wanted. maybe not the next clayface. but you still have got this teratophilic dregs heart pounding hard tonight

ketherphorbia: ...i try

9augen: theres a reason i havent sent you a pic before, but the reason i was quiet for the past month makes things a little more comfortable. i used to be pretty selfconscious about photographs

ketherphorbia is typing...

ketherphorbia: i have no idea what you could even possibly be going on about. you trying to tell me something happened last month? are you going to tell me what happened or not

9augen: The vampire stuff isn’t an act anymore.

ketherphorbia is typing...

ketherphorbia has stopped typing.

ketherphorbia: WHAT

9augen is sending a file DSC92734_101-2245.JPG.

ketherphorbia cancelled the file transfer.

9augen: the slag did you do that for

ketherphorbia: vampires don’t show up in pictures

9augen is sending a file DSC92734_101-2245.JPG.

9augen: very funny bugdick

ketherphorbia: ...a hybrid...?

9augen: im more lamprey than anything else. but theres a lot of nuance to the cocktail. fine tuning

ketherphorbia: ...gives a whole new meaning to ‘body modification.’ how the slag did you even get that done last month? isn’t that stuff banned?

9augen is typing...

9augen: slag i hear somebody griping at the waitress about the smell of me. like some dead thing crawled out of the bay. shes probably going to kick me out. i should get going anyway

ketherphorbia: rude. you a wifi hopper too then?

9augen is typing...

9augen: parting thought for you though. i want my mouth all over every inch of that metahuman skin of yours. just imagine all the perfect lancet marks making lace out of you.

ketherphorbia: you show up in pictures. i really doubt i could keep you away just by not inviting you in.

9augen: im pretty sure they just called the cops. not the evening i was anticipating

9augen: i gotta get a bite to eat. later dreg

9augen: and would you really do something to keep me away? ;)

ketherphorbia is typing...

9augen is offline.

ketherphorbia: did you just--

‘Choly nearly flung the reader once his friend logged off without further answers. Had Rev just implied what it had sounded like? After a minute of trying to calm down, he opened the vampire’s selfie again and stared. He’d snapped that picture in the Finnegan’s. Time-stamp aside, ‘Choly could recognize the newsprint-plastered walls in the background--that was a frequent Wi-Fi lurk for him. The fact the two shared a stomping ground but had never initiated meeting in person haunted ‘Choly a bit. But now, his friend was a lot less inconspicuous.

He decided to make lunch instead of try to linger on the chaos that just thrust itself upon him. Hours later, he was checking his mail on his reader, and had gotten correspondence from a 9augen email. The following thread of emails were exchanged over the course of just over two months.

▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Sorry to have cut out on you like that. —————————————

I suppose I do owe you an explanation, Kether. We’ve known each other long enough, and we trust enough enough. Yes, I did get the work done last month. Yes, that kind of work is verbot. Yes, I’m supposed to keep hush-hush about it until the coast is clear. But, I know I can trust you with the knowledge that the movement is still very much alive and kicking.

You like stories. How about some non-fiction for a change?

I didn’t know what to expect when I went to see him. Aside from what little understanding of splicing I had through news coverage, all I knew of it had been vampires in my coven who’d had the fortune--and I use that word in both senses--to have had work done while it was still legal, to become more like themselves and live as the creatures of the night they were in their souls.

There’s still a lot of under the table activity. Alleyways, clinics. People get work done however they can sneak it. One girl came into this one club a few months ago, even, said she’d traded a few sexual favors for the funds to get a splice that’d emulate albinism for her and would cut her teeth. She was having great difficulty keeping herself from feeding directly from the flesh afterward. They hadn’t used sterile equipment, and the last thing she wanted was to contaminate the coven or its donors. She became a pariah for her limitations after the coven learned of the blood disease. Requiring blood be drawn, rather than be capable of drawing it oneself, is weakness, and in one of us weakness is revolting. And she wasn’t strong enough to accumulate the funds to go about seeking a cure, to dig herself back out of her self-imposed grave.

I was so wary of botched jobs, of diseased implements, of cut dosages... Everything after the ban went into effect sounded too good to be true, that anyone might ever have the chance to get work done again by someone with both the credentials and accommodations to do it and do it well. A friend of a friend was in with one of the underground grafters, got us private referrals for a new project, at a cut rate due to it being a test procedure. None of us was given the same time. The location was a residential address, an apartment in the lower-mid of Union City. Nice, but still obviously it was an aging complex. A feathered girl greeted me and, after confirming I was alone, ushered me inside. Despite being a residential space, the whole place was set up like a laboratory. It was prodigious.

I went in with a lot of specific plans in mind. I told the grafter the things I wanted. Heavy on the bat serum. Wolf eyes. I had the money and the opportunity, and I was going to get exactly what I wanted out of it.

Turns out, I only thought I knew what I really wanted out of it.

Let me tell you. This Linnaeus is the most intimidating, persuasive, and completely dominating individual you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. He’s also probably the most brilliant. I couldn’t even begin to guess what species he’s got in him. In the month since, I’ve been told he specializes in splicing with extinct species. I would call bollocks on such a claim, but it sounds crazy enough to be one-hundred percent true.

After hearing the particulars of my desires, he thought a moment, paced. He pulled up a chair next to me and coolly asked me what vampire species I could name off the top of my head--besides the vampire bat. On the spot and overshadowed by his overwhelming aura, I could only stammer out something stupid, like mosquitoe or flea. I can’t remember exactly what answer I gave him, but I clearly remember his trite, patient laugh that came of it. At that point, he pulled out a graphics reader and tried to pitch to me an entirely different angle. I can only guess that an artist can draw so many of a thing before becoming tired of repetition, regardless of it being a commission. And I am starting to believe that the species I desired for the work simply didn’t push the envelope enough to fit the bill of his particular... project.

This was so much more than just getting the features of bat and wolf. This was about becoming myself. He’d deliberated the best way to give me what I’d be happiest with, and I had the impression he had the entire animal kingdom to sample from--within reason, of course, as he’s working within the shadows of the law. He told me briefly, without going into significant detail, that he was working on harnessing the strengths and idiosyncrasies of all life, going beyond the animal kingdom. It certainly sounds promising, whatever he means.

Ultimately, we came to the agreement that my splicing job would use the pacific lamprey as its base, but that I would get the vampire bat ears I’d sought coming to see him. The underlying work is complex, but everything is so finely tuned to enhance everything else. Cave salamander, and a strange anemone-like creature called a tunicate. Did you know the cave salamander has cultural roots with the Roma? The gills along my neck are mostly superficial, and the lungs don’t do much either--all that’s in my skin now. The nasal structure has a bit of a sonar thing to it, from both the salamander and lamprey; every smell is intense now. Slag, my mouth is filled with teeth now, cheeks ringed with lancets. Linnaeus tells me the tunicate helps with bloodborne pathogens. I later found it also helps with whatever I get exposed to in the bay.

Doesn’t help with the smell, though.

I’m glad that I could reach out to you, and keep correspondence with you. It’s taken a lot to get used to being aquatic, but I regret absolutely nothing that I’ve left behind. Living near the docks has been a slagged blessing. Perfect hunting grounds, and nobody bothers me so long as I stay off shore. I think you’d love hearing about the weird shit I find at the bottom of the bay. Believe it or not, it’s good money. Pawn shops hardly ever have the nerve to question where I got waterlogged goods. Not that it’s smart to question me. With this lean, cartilaginous skeleton, the splicing also yielded me significant height gain, mostly in my torso. The lengthening of my body was necessary to accommodate swimming muscles, but I slouch horribly so it’s hardly obvious just how tall I stand until I straighten up.

I so enjoy the shock value of doing that. Norms haven’t seen the likes of this nascent wave of chimeric hybrids, so I must be some kind of unholy cryptid to them. As though I’d continue unfolding in other ways were they to truly rile me. Admittedly, I do. ...But it’s rare to get a glimpse of the inside of my mouth.

I would love to meet you in person finally sometime. Get acquainted with one another’s new-found inhumanities. Get to play with that skin of yours. Show each other in person what the other’s body’s limits are. Maybe include your boyfriend in fooling around, if he’d be interested. I promise I won’t eat you, either of you, except perhaps in the most platonic sense. I cherish you too much.

Though really, I must admit, the hardest thing about adjusting to this wonderful luck of mine was finding a waterproof reader. Not that I get good Wi-Fi reception in the better half of the bay, nor that I’m able to recharge it without venturing onto land. I just don’t want to slag it up if I get it wet, you know?

This got meandering. I’m going to cut it off here, and leave everything open to discussion. It’s good to be back in touch with you. I wonder if, now that you’re what you write about, that you’ll write about yourself instead of just for yourself.

--Don’t be shy.

▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Sorry to have cut out on you like that. —————————————

>I suppose I do... >You like storie... >I didn’t know w... >There’s still a... >I was so wary o... >I went in with ... >Turns out, I on... >Let me tell you... >After hearing t... >This was so muc... >Ultimately, we ... >Doesn’t help wi... >It’s taken a lo... >I so enjoy the ... >I would love to... >Though really, ... >This got meande... >--Don’t be shy.

I hope you understand how overwhelmed I am with all this.

I still don’t get how I didn’t pick up after all this time that you were in the vampire scene. That... kind of actually manages to make you even creepier than before. In a good way. I promise in a good way.

Understandable, then, I hope, just how jealous I am of you and what you have. This skin and bone deformity is nothing compared to having become an outright monster, complete with the appetites of one.

Slag it all, man.

You’ve got to tell me everything.

What was it like? To have the serum take effect? You must have been conscious.

Describe it to me.

Your semen must be very salty.

▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Re: Sorry to have cut out on you like that. —————————————

>>I suppose... >>You like s... >>I didn’t k... >>There’s st... >>I was so w... >>I went in ... >>Turns out,... >>Let me tel... >>After hear... >>This was s... >>Ultimately... >>Doesn’t he... >>It’s taken... >>I so enjoy... >>I would lo... >>Though rea... >>This got m... >>--Don’t be...

>I hope you unde... >I still don’t g... >Understandable... >Slag it all, ma... >You’ve got to t... >What was it lik... >Describe it to ... >Your semen must...

Spouting off Ballard quotes at me. You must be a wreck...

Creepier than before? I suppose. You’ve always known my predilection for the classics. Fang and claw have always been a preference over tooth an nail.

What was it like? It was an utter entheogeny, my friend. Do you know what a grafting gun is like? To aid in the serum’s administration, it isn’t a single needle but six very fine-gauged needles, in a pneumatic hypodermic gun. In that medical implement, the approximation to vaccination is one which makes me smile to this day, chemicals which carried with them the proverbial antibodies which would make me capable of fighting off the plague of a chronic illness otherwise known to the public as “humanity.”

Linnaeus and his technician had before the procedure harnessed me like a modern Saint Andrew, the cross-like restraints having evolved thoroughly alongside the medicine which required them; their robotic cuffs could expand or contract, as could the distance of each of the hydraulic arcs of its aureole, which envelopd the entirety of the body of the device and acted as its structural integrity in the absence of a characteristic saltire structure.

He’d said that it had been difficult to replace this harness in particular after the ban, also said it had been necessary to be procured again. Implications lingered that the ban had bankrupted his agency, though there was something more to the specialty of this device. There had been incidents in the movement’s embryonic state, before he had implemented such measures as protective bondage.

He did not, however, go into further detail.

In deliberate irony or not, he went for the throat for the injection site. The serum itself felt much like a typical intravenous application, well-chilled and somewhat astringent. Heavy in the veins. Its seeming effervescence was not from gases, but of its heterogeneous components under high pressure. The syringe hisses pneumatically when it fires its contents into you One would suppose that someone with an aversion to needles would panic at hearing that sound in the sense of an injection; though, panic might be too considerate a word. Especially inches from one’s ear.

If he had not been referencing a phobia of needles in his practical necessity for the ring-like restraint system, however, it was the resultant agony of a teenage growth spurt, magnified across the span of the boughs of species, and sped up within a frame observable to the naked eye. It was as though I’d never truly experienced the metamorphosis to the adulthood I’d been meant to undertake. As a normal human being acclimates to his changing body, he might have his shins ache, or be inexplicably hungry, or suffer from bouts of hormone swings. All these things are exponentially worse when your cells are shifting between species, and trying to settle comfortably somewhere in between.

I never realized just what kind of masochist I was until that night.

Bone became cartilage. Skin became mucous membrane. Entire organs restructured themselves. There were entire minutes I could not breathe. My jaws dissolved, for the most part; simultaneously, the total surface of my expanding mouth sprouted dozens of rings of razor-sharp thorns. Nearly three times the vertebrae now comprise my spine. I was suffocating, and I was starving.

The metamorphosis extorts a great energy from a hybrid.

The feathered woman was the one to release me from the cross, whispering forth pedantic blandishments as I sank to rest on all fours. As I glared up at her, the extension of my external gills must have seemed more a threat display than a cry for oxygen. My head swam, but all of me needed to. I was too dizzy to take in anything either of them said, though I clearly recall the doctor finding some distinct pleasure and pride in how completely the serum had taken. “You’ll learn to breathe again,” I remember him admiring as the two of them permitted me at last to shove myself out the door and down the street.

I was fortunate that their secret clinic was so low in the city’s bowels, so close to the river. I didn’t care then how rank the water was, how I knew in my heart even just a fraction of the stuff might kill me. Water. I needed water. I don’t remember how I ended up at the dock, or how I ended up in the bay. I imagine I mostly flopped by inertia. The salt only stung for a moment, as it caught me off-guard; but then, as my faculties began to seep back into me, I could tell that the saline levels were facilitating my ability to breathe and take in the water.

So I was a saltwater fish now? I remember asking myself. It’s a good thing I’m a Jersey devil, then, I guess. I remember the insistent hunger, too, and that even then, my veins burned violently, especially those in my skull.

You know me well enough to know what state in which that experience left me. You also know me well enough to take pride in knowing this is an erotic work crafted for ketherphorbia, written for your own eyes only.

I suppose it’s not entirely out of line for me to return the favor, and ask you to describe your metagenesis.

A celebration. A coronation of wounds inflicted against the iniquity of manhood.

We’re both creatures now. More alike than either of us thought previous. Am I right?

I want to see more of you.

▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Re: Re: Sorry to have cut out on you like that. —————————————

>>I hope you... >>I still do... >>Understan... >>Slag it al... >>You’ve got... >>What was i... >>Describe i... >>Your semen...

>Spouting off Ba... >Creepier than b... >What was it lik... >Linnaeus and hi... >He’d said that ... >He did not, how... >In deliberate i... >If he had not b... >I never realize... >Bone became car... >The metamorphos... >The feathered w... >I was fortunate... >So I was a salt... >You know me wel... >I suppose it’s ... >A celebration. ... >We’re both crea... >I want to see m...

There are no words to convey just how arousing that sounds. I guess the best compliment I can give is to divulge the mighty fine time I’ve had rereading that last email. I can only imagine how the fuck the man knew how bad your autoerotic asphyxia was. Maybe he noticed the rope-like bruising on your neck... I’ll get off your case, but I won’t stop getting off on your case. :)

You want to know how it went? The story’s one testament after another of my own clumsiness and stupidity. It started with a date with Cecil at the coffee shop on Garden Center. The woman spearheading Tri-City’s EPA presence had decided that same shop would be where she would unwind after the day she’d been having, and a point of conversation with Cecil resulted in her burning ears shouldering in to both drop information and grab some of her own from us. One thing led to another, and I ended up with enough information to suggest not just where the Supermarket Geek had taken his spill, but what it had been he spilled in.

I vacillate whether I have hindsight not to have researched my facts further before acting upon them. But it was enough for me, that the conversation had yielded an unprecedented factoid, to the point that said information spurred a particular writing session.

I don’t know if you read the “Quarter Oysters” wip I threw up on my blog a while back. I’ve written more recent things, but there are a number of reasons I can’t share them. Really, though. I don’t know. Maybe I can share them with you. You’ve already made me an accomplice to slag all of verbot shit. Turnabout’s fair play...

Any rate... After writing “Quarter Oysters,” I snuck out of the house and broke into the dump site I’d had described to me. The place was littered with toxic waste drums. In several spots, they were stacked up over a story high. I’d never seen such a thing be so organized as this. Many of them were leaking to spite their order. Some of them even glowed. There were two guards stationed, and I managed to duck them once; they’d almost found me the first time because I’d slipped and thrown out my knee, but I chewed on the shoulder of my shirt and reset it while in hiding. I found a drum of Fluxeldrin cordoned off by tape, and I had my tippling cane with me, so I had a vial to sample of it. I’d have taken more than one, since the cane contained four, but I already heard them coming for me, and I couldn’t hide fast enough. So, I only took the one and hastily reassembled my cane, rather than risk getting caught actively stealing it. They threw me out of the Yard, but they thought I’d just been a snooping idiot cripple. For once my youthful look and decrepit demeanor benefited me. They had no idea I’d smuggled my prize.

I shambled down the street and found myself a safe place where I could mull things over in private. The place was run down, even for a half-completed apartment complex. I’m not even joking, it was creepy as hell. Someone had been living there, I’m sure of it, and from what I saw in the rotting pressboard cabinets, I’m sure they were cooking drugs or bombs or something. There was even a nasty spring-box mattress there. And a bathtub, but not attached to anything. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the kind that installs into where the floor and wall meet when it’s just a free-floating hunk of fiberglass, but they are unsettling as hell when they’re not installed.

My reader was going dead because I’d used it as a flashlight while retrieving my prize, so I couldn’t really research after the fact. I knew Cecil would freak if he found me in possession of the stuff, so I had to act on it then and there. I didn’t have enough to rub it into my skin and get even coverage, so I decided like an idiot I had to drink it for maximum effect. Fluxeldrin glows an aggressive lime green, is oily like antifreeze, and smells like rotten cut flowers but worse. The consistency of it made it cling to every surface of my innards that it came into contact with, and the smell and taste of it had me fighting all compulsion to regurgitate every last drop of it along with all my organs. I flung the vial after downing its contents, too caught up in the moment to realize the recklessness of it. Fighting the urge to vomit, hands on my mouth trying to keep my lips clenched tightly together, I ultimately collapsed on the mattress, not even caring about the grime.

When I awoke, there was blood on the mattress where my face had been, crusted up around my nose and mouth. I threw out the same knee again upon trying to stand--but this time, I threw it out as though the joint weren’t actually connected, and I spilled out on the cement floor. I really wish my reader hadn’t been dead by then, because I would kill right now for a photograph of something that can make me vomit. And I mean I puked to the bile, the way that the fall had disheveled my leg. Couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I managed to get it back together, and gather my belongings. Putting my cane back together, I barely managed to get to my date with Cecil for lunch the next day.

I bullshat some stupid excuse about having had to hit the yards early that morning for something time sensitive. The night before he’d suggested that he could get me a job working at the Central Library, and after lunch he dragged me up there to show me around. I was interested in doing all this, really I was... but it was so hard with all my joints feeling like every surface was over-oiled. With fifteen minutes to closing time, I ran into the Geek trying to use his library card for the first time. Meeting him, I can guarantee you he’s a stalker too. ...I made an idiot out of myself and really shook him up trying to get him to eat my finger splints. I’m still messed up over that.

But that doesn’t even get to the verbot shit. The stress of having slagged up first impressions with the Geek had me pretty literally falling apart. All the physical problems my joint disorder’s inured me to, that all’s magnified by what the Fluxeldrin did to me. Worse for wear, I ended up trying to get in with Dr. Bell before the All’s Well Clinic closed for the evening. I didn’t manage it. So, I did the logical thing and broke in through the back door with the intent to “borrow” some pain pills, and wait out the night to see him first thing in the morning. The first week I was like this was the most excruciating, man. This condition has the unprecedented ability to drive me to do just about anything to alleviate these systems, when they flare up. And breaking and entering a pharmaceutical storage wasn’t outside the realm of what felt acceptable in my present state that night...

I fell face-first into Bell’s racket. He’s the only doctor in the city with knowledge of the metahuman condition, and the only one whom I can reasonably see helping me cope with what the Fluxeldrin did to me--but it comes at with a high price tag. I know his deal, but he has that B&E hanging over me. If I don’t do exactly what he says, he’s got ways to make my life hell. And he’s got me running shopping errands for him for the truck he cooks for his projects. He’s the heart of the Quarter, I just know it.

I’m so torn on the right thing to do because my dick doesn’t want what’s taking place to ever stop. I guess I’m telling you not just that I trust you not to tell anybody, but that I want some input on what kind of person it makes me, to be going along with this madness to avoid the fallout of shaking the foundation everything’s tentatively scattered upon. I’m scared, Rev. For Bell’s victims, for me, for Cecil. For everybody who’s ever gotten sick in the Quarter.

This got really long-winded and meandered into a “from one friend to another” situation. So, to make it up to you, a quick and dirty recap:

I broke into a stalking yard and stole a flask of fluxeldrin. And drank it. I drank something that fluoresced neon lime green, smelled and tasted like rot, and felt like gasoline. Something I knew could kill me. Something I knew was banned in its industry of origin due to its health hazards. I drank that. And it made me the shittiest meta that will likely ever be.

It’d be nice to meet, but I’m not sure how that would even work. You said you’re a fish now, but you’d be a fish out of water... Even I know better than to go anywhere near the toxic soup that dares to call itself Hudson Bay...

▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Sorry to have cut out on you like that. —————————————

>>Spouting o... >>Creepier t... >>What was i... >>Linnaeus a... >>He’d said ... >>He did not... >>In deliber... >>If he had ... >>I never re... >>Bone becam... >>The metamo... >>The feathe... >>I was fort.. >>So I was a... >>You know m... >>I suppose ... >>A celebrat... >>We’re both... >>I want to ...

>There are no wo... >You want to kno... >I vacillate whe... >I don’t know if... >Any rate... Aft... >I shambled down... >My reader was g... >When I awoke, t... >I bullshat some... >But that doesn’... >I fell face-fir... >I’m so torn on ... >This got really... >I broke into a ... >It’d be nice to...

Delight is in the details. Oh, would I have never expected a short story written explicitly for mine eyes alone--let alone with such minutiae of gauche detail! Were it under suspicion of being fiction, I would think you a master for the unfortunate believability of your tale; that the course of events you’ve described can’t not have happened.

I’ve been around the coastline of the Quarter since my rebirth. The scent you described is very potent for this nose, these gills. If I were to hazard assumptions, I do believe the stuff has begun to seep into the water table, into the river. Of all the areas of the waterways around this city I can’t tolerate, it’s there, believe it or not. Something about it is fundamentally repulsive, and no matter what it is, I can’t shake what feels like an archetypal fear of it. So, for you to so casually narrate your deliberate pursuit of obtaining this Fluxeldrin business, and so flippantly have imbibed it... Well, I harbor a revolting admiration for you.

You do find yourself between a rock and a hard place, I imagine. Several. Or maybe, you simply find yourself hard between all these rocks. I won’t force details, though I can certainly read between the lines. It’s difficult to say. But, knowing you...I needn’t remind you how often we’ve shared the fantasy of some pandemic mutating the masses like some fabric-rending reality, culling the unfit. Everything is perfect.

The world is fluorescing into wounds, as you so describe.

To say you’d kill for something graphic enough to make you retch. I’d love to see it, too. Systemically disarticulate you, just to watch what you’d do. Stretch out that stuff that used to be your skin, curious how translucent it is, admire the veins.

Calling the bay an unapproachable toxic soup, though? I survive just fine in it. It’s all I have, Kether.

Regardless.

I’m sure we can determine a way to make this work.

#the world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds #neinaugen #9augen #melanochro kara #a maze of pain and insane fantasies

2 notes · View notes