SomeKindOfJester

A fork and spoon were placed in front of you neatly.

There was expectation behind this action, a silent plea to comply. This plea was followed with a sad determination, the determination to convince you finally.

To allow them in.

They placed themselves across from you at the table, their hands folded in their lap. You didn’t answer their greeting, nor did you listen to their casual chatter about what they ordered for you both to eat.

Their plate was filled with “normal” food. Food that a “normal” body should have. One that you wished you could have.

Your plate had a bowl of semi clear fluid.

The fluid was gel-like, viscous in its nature, and blatantly disgusting. The taste was metallic, a faint coating of manufactured “berry flavor” was added after various complaints, but it hardly helped with the bitterness to swallow. Only a sugary and syrupy excuse to coat the horrid flavor.

Your eyes never meet theirs fully. You can’t, you choose not to. It was an act of defiance you had control over.

“There is a 13% chance of rain tomorrow, perhaps our allotted time outside may be cut short. I can’t afford any chance of your stitches loosening to excess moisture within the atmosphere. So, I apologize, perhaps another day we could go outside, beloved?”

There was a burning feeling in your chest. Not from any sign of indigestion or any form of acid from your stomach traveling up to your esophagus. However, the feeling did make you want to vomit.

None of this was normal.

You hated how they pretended like it was.

That a barely alive corpse would care about how it was less than 20% chance it will rain tomorrow. You weren’t going outside anyways. You never do. That promise was an empty and hollow one. The only filling or substance to it was lies.

This was all a lie.

You weren’t alive anymore. Not in the way you used to be, and never in the way you should. It ate at you, like a parasite slowly feeding off your organs, burrowing through your veins to find its next home. It did not care about the damage left behind, the pain, or the confusion. This lie was eating at you alive, because it was never your lie to begin with.

This façade, the song and dance you were in, was not of your complicit control.

Your vision focused on the bowl in front of you. It was staring back at you, mocking you.

“You rely on me to be alive. You know if you do not consume me, you will die. They won’t let it happen.”

You were alive against your will, saved against your better wishes, and surviving against your better judgment.

The mocking words from the bowl of “food” in front of you were not just shared between you and it. But also, you and them.

The conversation was one sided. Just like the current development of your relationship.

Mac acted like it was another day. A Friday to be more precise.

You felt like it was another day of hell.

They talked about their errands, going outside, doing their experiments down in the lab, Mac even mentioned how if they have time, they may find you some new clothes to wear around the house. Simple things that under any other connotation would be fine.

Unfortunately, it would never be fine.

“Dearest? My circuit? Would you like me to feed you? You’ve barely touched your dinner? Is something wrong? Can you feel your extremities, do you need me to run another test for you? I can gather more materials-”

“I…. you…”

The voice your body made now, was foreign. It did not feel or sound like it used to.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and repeated your sentiment. Mac rolled themselves closer to you, their chair angled for you, their hands cup your face, making you look at them.

“Yes? [Name] I’m right here, what is it? Tell me.”

“I hate you.”

There wasn’t any sign of hesitation.

No sign of a pause.

It was clear as day. Probably as clear as the forecast for rain tomorrow.

You hated them.

You hated Mac.

You hated them for not letting you die. For creating whatever the hell any of this is. You hated it. Therefore, you hated them.

Mac stilled, their head lowered.

Their thumb tenderly rubbed your cheek with kindness that made your skin crawl. Their digit traced the faint scar under your eye, a slow calming touch. In another life if could have been sweet.

But not now.

Mac pulled away from you, possibly understanding after interaction and interaction, anything they say to you will lead down the same road. There was no convincing you or quelling your feelings against them. For as logical as Mac prides themselves to be, as calculating, they had wishful thinking stuck in their mind to even think, that this too will pass.

After all of this, after all the empty conversations, arguments, and statements laced with venom, you’d forgive them. You’d see that they still love you, they worship and adore you. They did this for you, all out of love.

“If you do not choose to eat, I will have to supply your supplements in a more direct was for your body. Injections are the last result of what I initially wanted. I wanted to give you a choice, options so you could feel…”

The sentiment of that statement, to you, was a sugary lie.

They were already going on about how they intended for you to feel “normal” eating with a bowl and spoon. That the effort put into this demonstration was an effort for you to feel “normal”. By rejecting this, another choice was made for you.

Not that you had a choice anyways.

You knew after several times, they would have already begun preparing ways for you to get the supplement into your system. To give your body the nourishment it does not need. You do not need this; it keeps you alive but at what cost?

Mac takes the bowl away from you, they whispered about how they are not explicitly upset, just that over time you’d understand. You’d see why they care so much.

~

The rain belted against the windows of the house. In your mind you cackled at how “proud” Mac must have felt for over preparing. How “I told you so” they must have been when they woke up to the weather.

It wasn’t like they would’ve let you outside anyways.

A part of you knew, that they knew.

They knew this wasn’t the normality you both deserved.  Mac knew.

They knew from how your body twitched in silent pain, how your eyes carried a dark, empty, hollowness in the pupils. There was no light to be reflected, no shine to be seen.

You knew it when Mac would just stare at you, like a slowly dying dog.

That look of “I can’t let them suffer, but I can’t let them go” type of dying dog look. It was selfish, they knew it. To keep something that was never theirs, someone that wasn’t going to be reclaimed as theirs again.

It amazed you, the fantasy in their head that you’d be fine with this. With any of this. Who would? Who would be fine with this? Being a barely living corpse. Your breathing was automated by machines; your heartbeat was a rhythm made in a simulation. Your existence at this point was made from “hope” and machinery.

This was not living, you knew. Mac knew.

But they pretended otherwise.

Mac was “kind” enough to sit you in front of the window; your body was propositioned to face the window. Your eyes watched the outside world continue. Like it should be. Everything should continue on; your death had no need to pause life. More specifically, you did not think life should have allowed your resurrection.

Allowing this abomination of “living” to fly under its radar had to be a cruel joke. It had to be.

Eyes trained on the droplets that slowly traveled down the panes of the window, you could feel their presence before seeing them. Or like again, you choose not to look at them. Mac stopped their chair beside you; their presence wasn’t welcomed with a greeting. Not like you used to.

At some point long ago, you used to light up when they came close to you, your eyes searching for a room for them out of hundreds. But now, your eyes did not carry that look of love, only replaced with…

With something they refused to believe was real. Much less truth.

Nothing was said, but everything was heard.

You didn’t have to look at them to feel that look again. The “dying dog” one. It sounded cruel and cold, but it was true to what was perceived. Even with all the misfires of your nerves, the pain dripping slowly down your spinal cord like molted wax. When it hardens, it felt sharp, uncaring to was it stabbed at. It was also carried in that look.

Like it pained Mac to see you, to exist with you.

That you were a ghost, haunting their home and life. But that narrative was filled with delusion.

“I want to apologize…I want to apologize on behalf of the rain.”

Their voice croaks out, it bounces and echoes in your mind.

“I do think your sentiment was a slight exaggeration on how upset you must have felt about the weather analysis I spoke to you about yesterday evening. Hence I apologize, for upsetting you and simultaneously ruining our dinner, this has been on my mind all night.”

A sound of frustration bubbled out of your throat.

“You…you thought my sentiment about hating you…was about the rain? To you telling me I couldn’t go outside because of the rain?”

“Beloved, I understand you have been wanting to interface in a new environment, to…enjoy our time outside the house. So, I wanted to voice my concerns and apologies. I know that this possibly upset you. I found it unsettling to be honest with you.”

“What’s unsettling. Say it.” It sounded like you spat the words at them.

“That you hated me…I found it unsettling…I know in the better part of myself and in our relationship, it possibly came from a part of you that was frustrated or tired. More precisely from the pain, but I promise…it will get better. I promise [Name], I will make this better.”

A chuckle bubbled from your throat, it was a condescending laugh, not at Mac, but at yourself.

“I said I hated you, for disregarding my better judgement and wishes to die Mac. But no, treat me like a dying animal, one that you hold onto out of selfishness. Like killing me is worse than whatever this is.”

Mac’s hands shifted in their lap. Tangling with the worry, the undeniable truth, but also doubt.

“It’s selfish. You know this, you’re smart enough to bewitch life and death, to look past the curtain, but you choose to think otherwise. You are acting on human nature, to be this selfish, is pitiful Mac. We both know it. No one deserves this. But you convince yourself you do.”

You could give a speech on how you felt, but you know. It was not going to land. They choose to ignore this, to act on this behavior.

No longer was this out of a sick sense of scientific curiosity, it was selfish. Mac was selfish, the knew this, they knew when they held your awakening body in their arms, sobbing, begging, and crying. Those emotions were not for you; those emotions for them.

Because they just can’t bear the idea of loosing you, and they can’t stomach the truth of killing you.

A loop they had complete control over, but no sense of guidance in it.

The guilt was enough to swallow Mac alive, and now as punishment and retribution, they choose to drown in it, by dragging you along with you too.

~

A searing pain melted into your skin as the needle found the correct artery to house itself. A struggling cry tore from your throat.

Sweat clung to your skin, dripping along your stitches and seams.

Your fingers grip the armrest of the chair, nails scratching at the leather. Your jaw was clenched tight, so tight your teeth shook from the pressure. The pain was unbearable.

Your back arched in the chair, air being forced out of your lungs in loud pants. Every muscle in your body tense. A strangled moan of pain leaves your lips. The tears that collected in your eyes run along your face.

A hand, covered in black rubber, wipes away those tears. A soft kiss is placed on your cheek. Whispers of praise fail to hit your ears.

Minutes feel like centuries, their voice felt like the worst record you have ever heard. It’s like the softness adds to the discomfort, another coating of sugar to a salty wound.

The sweat dripped from your brow, mixing with your tears, hunched forward your breaths felt ragged, your heart was throbbing out of your chest. Your heartbeat was too loud in your ears, the sound was unnatural, a constant reminder of the “wrongfulness” that was being communicated. Mac patted your back, their hand in a way, added to your pain.

The way they were so calm made you bear your teeth. How they looked so unaffected by this, the worry on their face, as well as the “this is just to help you beloved”, the “I just want to help you [Name]” but they were not experiencing the pain of your body being mechanically forced to jumpstart.

If you cursed at them, spat to leave you alone, oddly they’d respect it.

Almost like it’s the only thing they could allow.

~

A fork and spoon are placed neatly in front of you. Along with an empty plate.

A napkin was folded neatly beside you, your beloved sat across from you. They did not speak, neither did you.

The dinner was quiet; the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife and be served cold. Mac’s eyes never met yours. Your eyes never did.

Their food was untouched; you already suffered through a “treatment” earlier that day.

The clock ticked against the wall.

You’d rather count every second of the last few weeks of your awakening than play whatever this display was. You both have already established how “not normal” this was. To repeat it to Mac would be to yell at a wall.

But unlike other dinners, this time you could feel how uncomfortable they were. Ever since the treatments began, Mac could barely meet your eye. Like they were upset, unsettled, or specifically.

Disgusted.

The irony left a laugh in your lungs, and some vomiting in your throat.

“You are quite quiet this evening. Did you not want to share your work findings, or talk about what the weather will be like tomorrow? You could even recount one of your other experiments.”

Mac shifted under your words. They weren’t condescending, but the earnest in the questions was lackluster.

“I have nothing to communicate, nothing to share.”

A laugh left your lips.

“What a blatant lie! You haven’t changed that! You did suck at lying to me before. Lying about something upsetting you.”

“I am not lying.” They whispered.

You could goad them into telling the truth, but you knew it would go on and on.

“Look at me and say it then.”

Mac opened their mouth, but the words die upon delivery. They slowly raised their gaze to you; green eyes meet your paler ones. The vibrant color they once faded due to decomposition, and the chemicals used to keep you alive. Your vision was shit, you couldn’t see well in your peripherals. Like the lens of a camera, where everything hyper focused on one thing and everything around it was dark and blurry.

Mac’s eyes faltered. Your face held no emotion.

But your eyes stung, the same stinging way you looked every night at every dinner you two had.

The same way when you tell them you hate them.

“I am not lying…I am…nothing is wrong.”

A low chuckle left your lips, your brows pinched in confusion, the emotion you wished to conceive wasn’t there, instead it looked like you were in pain. The laughter left you hunched over in your chair.

“You are such a terrible liar. You are…and don’t tell me you aren’t. You fucking forget I know you Mac. I know who you are, what you are, everything about you, I know. So I know when you are lying.”

Mac sealed their lips, they adjusted their glasses, lowering their gaze to the table.

“You can’t even look at me…you see how disgusting I am.”

Their teeth grit, their jaw clenches. The hands that sat in their lap were clasped so tight together that their nails dug into the flesh.

“Stop…”

“You see the abomination you made…you see the filthy animal you won’t let go of. Now you can barely stomach to look at me.”

“Stop it [Name]….”

“Stop?! Why isn’t this what you wanted? The normalcy you wished to cling onto. How can I stop when you finally see the truth! You see it now and you can barely handle it! You can swallow the pill or lie in the bed you made!”

“Stop! Stop saying that, stop saying that about yourself!” Their voice was tight, tight as a rubber band was about to snap.

“You say it as if I’m talking about you. Is that what this is? Your selfishness mirroring into me? That you see how your own doing led to this? Is this what you wanted Mac? A corpse to make you feel human?” You never raised your voice. Not that your vocal cords allowed it. You spoke in a low tone. A low, dreadful tone.

“I…”

“You couldn’t stomach being alone, so you chose this. You couldn’t stomach the idea that I wouldn’t love you anymore, so you chose for me. You could have left me for dead, but because you loved me, you went against my wishes.”

“I do love you! I do! Everything, all of this work was for you! Why would I do any of this if, my feelings for you did not matter, or I didn’t take them into consideration?!” Mac snapped back, their voice wasn’t loud, but it was on the brink of something.

“You say this is out of love…but for who? Who is this love for? No one deserves this as love. You and I both know it.”

Mac’s jaw was left open, their eyes searching for a response, their brain quickly trying to formulate an argument.

“You did this because you are selfish. You carry my corpse with you like some form of divine punishment. One no one told you to do. You played God and now can’t handle the consequences.”

Their hand reached across the table to hold yours, the warmth of their living flesh felt like fire against your cold flesh.

“I…love you. I love you [Name].”

“Then be a merciful God and kill your creation. Free yourself from this punishment. Otherwise, you do not love me Mac.”

Their grip on your hand was feathering light. Faint, like a whisper in the wind.

The food on their plate was cold, untouched, undisturbed.

You envied it.

~

The writhing pain was not something you could get used to.

The twisting of your extremities, the muscles taunt and unyielding, causing you to buckle under your own weight.

Mac quickly hurried to your aid, holding your face in their hands, placing your head in their lap as your body writhes against the tiled floor.

Your throat was sore from screaming and yelling in pain. Your tongue is bruised from biting down so hard. Curdled and old dried blood oozed from your nostrils, thick and clumpy. It plops onto the floor with a splatter.

Mac’s thumbs wiped your tears, their voice warm against your hair. Their breath fanning over the strands.

“I’m so sorry my love, it will be over soon…”

You wished that statement was applied where it mattered. Tears spilled from your eyes, the emotions swirling in your eyes were a mixture of confusion, pain, and anguish. You were beyond angry; anger could not define the bitterness you held for them.

How could they act so benevolently? So kind, as if this pains them too? Your voice, hushed, sore, and exhausted repeats a mantra.

“Kill me.”

“Why won’t you let me die…”

“Why won’t you let me die…”

“Please let me die…”

Their hold on you tightened, the tile floor of the lab was cold, the smell of chemicals is unforgiving, and the burning pain crawling out of your spine was relentless. If this was the gift of existence blessed upon you, you would question the love behind such a gift.

“I love you…”

“Then kill me.”

“…”

It’s selfish.

It’s greedy.

And it’s terrifying.

You rely on them to keep you alive, begging, pleading on the floor. Your life held in their hands as you cry to let them crush it. To finally let go.

But it was a pit Mac wasn’t ready to face.

They know. You know, they know.

But Mac would rather let this form of existence continue then every say they loss you. To say that they lead you to your death, and then to kill you a second time.

They know you are in pain; they know that this is disgusting and cruel to them. But in some way, it was a blind feeling they confused for happiness. This wasn’t happiness however, your body did not feel like yours, it felt foreign.

This was beyond Mac being stubborn, they were being willingly ignorant to your pleas, they loved you so much that is blinded them.

“I hate you.”

“I love you.” They whispered into your hair, warm tears rolling down their cheeks.

“I hate you…I hate you…why won’t you just let me go…just let me die. Please…there is nothing worse than this…”

Mac swallowed hard, their eyes flickered to things within the laboratory. Anything to distract themselves.

They couldn't let you leave yet—they need you.

Who would love them like you did? Who would care for them like you did? Who would laugh with them like you did? Who could replace the love you filled their heart with?

Your death was a burden they could barely atone for. A wrong they needed to fix, to correct.

This was them fixing it. You just needed more time. You just need a little more time with them. They knew your pleas, they heard them, they could feel the stinging glares you shot their way. Every dinner you both had was the same dance.

Mac rubbed your back, careful to avoid the injection sites of each needle pressing into your spine.

They closed their eyes.

Mac was logical in every aspect of their research and knowledge.

They pride themselves on their knowledge and understanding of ethics within their field. They used to laugh and mock others who grew too attached to their research. Harboring a form of bitterness to the lack of distinction between reality and fantasy within those individuals and their experiments.

But here they are.

Holding onto you like you were a lifeline. Pleading for you to forgive them, to forgive them for killing you, leading you to your death by a minor miscalculation. One you could forgive if they hadn’t gone this far.

So far that your body no longer felt like your own, they the “work” and “effort” they put into you wasn’t just a way for them to busy themselves. To avoid their grief, to avoid the consequences that come with a dying lover.

And it was pathetic, frankly. You both knew that.

They were terrified of the grief they had to face; you could tell.

Mac held you as close as your bodies allowed, their voice echoes in your mind.

“Forgive me…please…just forgive me…please…[Name]”

They repeated it, like a prayer, what was once a worship, was now a cry for help.

But what could you do?

“I hate you…”

things added:

> patches ('silence is compliance', 'RAWR XD', </>, 'top text', 'bottom text', 'cripplepunk', 'you are not immune to propaganda', 'welcome to dystopia', 'certified sleepy bitch', 'system error', '404', a pair of cherries, a floppy disk, half a kiwifruit, a constellation, 'PCs against AI' and one of their name. A lot of them are directly inspired by socialrebellion's designs on etsy)

> ring splints

> sparkly rainbow nail polish

> sparkly eyeshadow and heavy-ish winged eyeliner

> punctuation dangly earrings (!?)

> snake bites, nose, eyebrow and secondary ear piercings

> sunflower lanyard & pins (AO3's logo, rainbow flag, date everything's icon as a pin, and a purple they/them pronoun pin)

> matching glasses on their mouse, Roni

> rainbow shoelaces matching their pushrims

> round pride badges (modern polyamorous flag, eyestrain safe disability flag, progress pride w/ the intersex flag)

> medic alert bracelet

> a thin scar to the back of their hand

> beaded kandi bracelets in pink, green, the disability flag and one that's intended as a friendship bracelet.

> hair dye inspired by the inside of stripped wire

> rainbow glow to the footplate bracing

Have fun trying to find all the additions, I'm sure I forgot a few.

note/disclaimer: this isn't 100% my art by any stretch of the imagination, I used one of Mac's realized sprites as a base and added to it :)