Work Text:
Y’know
Your hands are really somethin’ Sixer.
Don’t see why you’re so shy about it.
I’ve tried a coupla times,
Just to see what all the fuss was about.
Attempted to slip on the rags you call human bodies,
because my regular ones look so useless small compared to yours,
and I can't have that. A god should have nice world destroyin’ graspers to compliment the nice world destroyin’ everything else.
But y’know, these things are harder than you meat bags make it look.
You gotta keep your DNA in line all the freaking time unless you want cancer out the sphincter, and oh speaking of sphincters how the @$#!? do you people keep your muscles in the right places? Mine always wiggle away from me when I try to pull them on.
Makes for some awful lookin arms. compared to yours-.
Chromosomes are such a pain to format when you’re starting from scratch.
Don’t even get me STARTED on genes.
If you express ‘em wrong they get all screwy, they get ideas.
Which I don’t take kindly to, I’m supposed to be the brains of the operation here, not some ambitious protein strand.
Y’know
I looked it up.
On your primitive earth internet.
You’re an abnormality.
Yeah yeah yeah I know, no kiddin’ “my great muse” but listen.
You don’t have cancer crawling up your spine.
Your organs aren’t trying to kill you from the inside out.
You’re saying “so what”, well maybe not saying it. But you’re at least thinking it.
Or
you would be.
…
But your hands don’t come with any fun perks is what I’m sayin’.
No goodie bag of developmental disorders and genetic predispositions.
In fact, you’re the only one in your entire family line that's ever had an extra phalange or two in your body.
Isolated polydactyly is what your doctors called it.
Freak of nature is what you did.
I kept trying to make it work.
…
The hands of course, just meant the hands.
Word to the wise Sixer, don’t try to reverse engineer human intrauterine development without a curtain handy. Or maybe a blindfold. If I had your stomach acid I would’ve been hurling buckets the entire time.
Could never get the bones to sprout right. Not without cascading into CANCER!!!!! What is it with you people and cancer, can’t handle an uncapped telomere or two or a smidgen of space radiation without a metric ton of cancer.
Now at this point you might be askin’
“Bill you handsome three sided scoundrel whom I miss with every waking breath in my sad pathetic flesh prison, why are you going to all this trouble when you could just possess some stupid rube and get all ‘arts and crafts power hour’ with their mitochondria?”
And now you’ve got me all blushing Sixer, gosh what a way with words, but to answer your question.
…
It’s just.
It’s just not really…
It’s just not mine, even then.
I mean alright it’s fun, don’t get it twisted four eyes, it’s insanely fun making a man watch as you stuff teeth where they reaaaallllyyy shouldn’t be and rerouting his pain receptors so he feels every. Single. Bit of it.
But that’s just, yknow, for fun. It’s just tinkering. I want invention Sixer.
I don’t exist like you do, in your world.
Every half baked mass of stem cells I made was more like a sculpture than a real body.
So I watched yours, your own sculpture, and wanted to graft myself onto it like a tree limb.
You don’t remember, do you? The nights when I’d creep into your dreams to vivisect, when I’d put you so far under your own brain waves that you couldn’t feel a thing when I’d unwind your ribs like ribbons, when I’d watch your heart beat in the open air and wonder at how easily I could stop it.
When you’d wake up with a dull ache in your chest.
And think of me.