#it's messing with my bodily stability how dare he

[lonely--seeker]

Going on a fucking walk with my (not mine) dog that I hate (I don't) from now on because at this point I'm not entirely sure whose emotional, physical and mental health depends on it.

I need to take a picture of him because he's gotten so much bigger than last time I showed him

[songsandsorcery]

What's the story behind Fiz and the polite-looking little fellow with the glasses? (sorry for dropping in out of the blue, I hope that's okay, it's just... they seem cute... I enjoy seeing the green bard boy pop up on my dash and want good things for him)

Uh oh. You’ve done it now. You’ve unlocked ... THE BACKSTORY. Exposition ahead!

-

A true story of opposites attract, Fizridge and Siggy entertain an unlikely romance that's no less genuine in its warmth despite the sheer incongruity of their personalities.

Fresh off the heels of love lost, Fizridge met Siggy much by chance while wandering the Mage Quarter during the month of Love is in the Air. The bard had found himself entrenched in a particularly volatile conversation with a mechagnome noble, arguing against the incensed politics regarding mechanical upgrades and the loss of bodily autonomy prevalent under King Mechagon's regime.

Siggy Mindticker, a neurologist and author currently pioneering a study on body dysphoria in mechagnomes, couldn't help but overhear the conversation and step in as a mediator. He insisted that differences would be best discussed over a drink and good company, leading the trio to retire to The Blue Recluse for a night of revelry ... and significantly less political discourse.

With tongues loosened over the comfort of a good drink, Siggy quickly discovered the source of Fizridge's cantankerous behavior. Love is in the Air had put him in a foul mood, compounded with a general feeling of being slighted by an old flame that'd pulled out of port only to never return. Sig took note of this and excused himself from the Recluse, returning within a few minutes with ... a rose?

Fizridge had admittedly pegged Siggy for little more than a nosy bookworm looking to play hero, possessing somewhat of a bias against Gnomeregan natives due to his frequent inability to get along with them. ( Condescension and haughty attitudes chief among the reasons why. ) For the plucky doctor to fly in the face of his assumption was definitely a deciding factor for him to pursue Siggy romantically, especially when Fizridge was so used to being the one that initiated flirting. The role-reversal was new ... and exciting. The nerdy little dude was maybe the tiniest bit handsome too, okay?

The two struck up an easy camaraderie, ending that night above the Stormwind Harbor overlook as they gazed at the stars. Sig proved to be a calming presence, working past those walls with little effort and encouraging conversation before the night came to a close. Fizridge extended the invitation to see each other again, discovering that the man was a Stormwind local and setting one of his many worries at ease; his last partner had been an adventurer that frequently left him on standby. Siggy offered stability. Uh oh.

In the course of a night Fizridge definitely started pining after this dude, but in a way entirely foreign to him. Gone was the smarm and wheedling flirts, no foot shoved in a potential opening as the bard did nothing to push their time past bedroom doors. At the end of the night, Fiz and Sig went their separate ways with little more than a promise to see each other again. Why did that make him feel weird?

Fizridge and Sig next met up at the Stormwind Market, allowing the doctor a chance to see Darkmoon’s Finest in action as he was treated to a game of Drunken Dragon. Following the market Sig was invited to play a round of Lucky Sevens amongst the carnival troupe ... with the ever-so-high stakes of Truth or Dare! Sig walked away with a cool three wins, leading the Finest to accuse Fizridge of loading his dice ... something he eagerly refuted by propositioning Siggy regardless of his win: Truth or Dare?

Fizridge limped away from the entanglement with more than a bruised ego, his mind swirling with a fair amount of confusion and anger. Why did something as simple as a stupid prank upset him so much? Why did Sig’s forwardness catch him so off-guard? ... Why did he want his first kiss with him to be different? He didn’t have a problem making out with strangers before. Taking things slow isn’t Fizridge’s style, so what gives?

Sig later apologized through a letter and the two agreed to meet up again. They reconciled over some tea and, hey, even made up for that kiss. A peck and nothing more. So not his style, but he’s found that he likes this guy. Likes him enough to, uh, maybe ease up the flirting with strangers just a bit. Oh no.

In the weeks that followed the two men found that they enjoyed one another’s company past tea and idle chit-chat. Siggy offered Fizridge a space to let his walls down and be vulnerable. Fizridge encouraged Siggy to get out of his shell and start pursuing his passions again. The bard found he adored the man’s stupid jokes, or the way his eyes lit up when he enthused him about the inner workings of the Gnomish brain ... everything so ridiculously, properly gnomish seemed to, against all odds, be a draw. Which made it all the more exciting when the doctor subverted his expectations and brought a more devious side out to play in private.

Siggy had Fizridge pinned as polyamorous from day one and broached the topic eloquently, initiating an admittedly painful conversation wherein Fizridge agreed to give monogamy a shot, just for him. The flirting would remain a staple of his show persona, but once the spotlights dimmed and the curtains fell, he’d go home to Siggy. No one else.

This ... admittedly brought with it some difficulties. Do remember the heartbreak that Fizridge had been nursing his heart over when he and Sig initially met. Vaskel, a Blackwater Raider who Fizridge had an on-and-off relationship with, reared his head when the bard was already well into his relationship with Sig. Facing an impending relocation to Kalimdor, the pirate returned to bid farewell one last time ... and proposition Fizridge to run away with him.

He said no.

Despite still loving Vaskel deeply and sorely wishing things had ended up different, Fizridge knew it was extremely unfair to Sig to even consider the idea. For him to turn him down spoke volumes about the depth of his loyalty in regards to Siggy, particularly because of Fizridge’s still-present feelings for Vaskel.

Their relationship has followed a pattern of push and pull, a never-ending game of discovering one another’s weaknesses and accounting for them. Fizridge finds it difficult to slow down, but finds Siggy’s companionship worth the effort. There’s still that omnipresent fear: what if he moves too fast? Comes on too strongly? What if he messes things up? He always does, after all. That’s why Posy left. That’s why things with Ziti never worked out. That’s why Sparksie won’t talk to him. How can the hands of a thief ever hold him like he deserves?

Part of him wonders if those fears will ever abate, but for now, Sig is there to help him every step of the way, and Fizridge thinks himself the luckiest gnome in the world for it.

Presently Fizridge and Siggy are in a committed monogamous relationship, though most of the carnival circuit isn't aware of such. Fizridge has proven to be rather secretive of the whole affair, though not purposefully so. A womanizing stage persona acts as quite the red-herring. Who could be the mysterious mainland paramour that’s snared the heart of none other than the Darkmoon Devil himself?

The fact of the matter is: Siggy is probably the closest thing Fizridge has ever had to a good, stable partner he has a real future with. He's fiercely protective of this part of his life and, as it stands? He's more than satisfied with their private affairs to feel like the whole world needs to know. ( He'll still eagerly regale you with anecdotes should you ask politely, and never fails to bring Sig up when speaking of things that remind him of the doctor. )

[iximaz]

Blood-Forged ch7

Summary: Din takes his young charge to a new planet with a new plan to hide. It quickly goes sideways after he meets another Mandalorian who has never seen her own kind.

Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Baby Yoda, enby!fem!OC

Pairings: Slow burn Din Djarin/OC because it turns out I’m a thirsty hoe

Warnings: Eh, right now it’s just in light PG-13 territory. Mentions of family death, some blood/violence/bodily harm. Will probably end up becoming smut later.

Word Count: 1751 (indefinite chapter count coming)

Part 1, Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (you’re here!)

They ditched the speeder in the undercity slums and proceeded on foot. Din wrapped the kid safely against his chest so one hand was free to hold his blaster and the other arm could support Aysa as she limped along. She didn’t make any sounds aside from whispered directions, but he could feel her trembling under his arm. The tips of her fingers were worryingly pale against the black leather of her gloves.

“You with me?” Din asked, and Aysa responded with a faint nod.

“Almost there,” she said, barely audible. He felt her falter and caught her before her knees hit the ground. “Yellow door.”

Din helped her over to it and Aysa feebly rapped her knuckles against the metal.

A slat in the door opened and a pair of vivid purple eyes peered out, framed by green skin. “Aysa?” the woman gasped, and the door was wrenched open.

Aysa stumbled over the threshold and a Mirialan with a cybernetic arm and long black hair tied in an elaborate weave of braids caught her. Din hurriedly stepped inside as well, shutting the door behind him.

“Need to lay low a few hours,” Aysa mumbled as the Mirialan led her over to an upturned crate that was doubling as a bench, helping her to sit. There was the faint hiss of the neck seal as she removed her helmet, setting it to the side.

Din’s eyes widened in alarm when he got a good look at her face. She was white as a sheet and her lips had a faint blue tinge to them. “We need bacta,” he said as the Mirialan let out a shrill whistle. She helped Aysa lay back against the containers behind her as a GH-7 droid came zipping up to her.

Din pursed his lips as the droid began administering a bacta spray.

“She needs fluids,” the droid hummed, bending over Aysa to work.

The Mirialan looked up at Din, glowering at him. The glower softened when she took in his armor. “Another Mandalorian?” she asked in awe.

Din just watched her from behind his mask. Every line in his body was taut, and he shifted so Baby was held on the other side of him, away from the droid and the stranger.

“He’s a friend,” Aysa said faintly, and the Mirialan took her hand, running her thumb over the back of Aysa’s knuckles. “Mando—Fareesi. Fareesi, Mando.”

“Don’t you have a name?” Fareesi asked, eyebrow quirking up.

Din ignored her question. “We need to get back to the Dusklight Hangar as soon as it’s safe,” he said, but Fareesi crossed her arms.

“Look, I don’t know if you’re her long-lost dad or what, but she’s in no condition to move any time soon,” she said. “How’d you two meet, anyway?” she added, glancing back down at Aysa.

“He punched me in the face and then I tried to shoot his kid,” Aysa said, chuckling weakly.

Din tilted his head. It wasn’t technically incorrect.

Fareesi looked between the pair for a moment before shaking her head. “Right, forgot your lot were supposed to be warriors,” she said. “So what, you two are friends now or something?”

“Or something,” Din said when Aysa’s eyes fluttered shut again. “Droid—how’s she doing?”

“Her vitals are stabilizing,” it replied as it carefully stitched up the cauterized wound on her leg. “She lost a lot of blood.”

“Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know,” Din muttered.

“That would be a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality,” the droid droned, and faltered when Din pointed his blaster at it.

“Don’t be funny with me,” he said shortly. “I’m the next best thing to family she has, so—“

Fareesi barked out a laugh as she moved to stand in front of the blaster. “You? Her family?” She was barely five feet tall, but she carried herself with a presence almost commanding enough to make him take a step back. Almost. “I don’t know where you’ve been all her life, but as far as I’m concerned, pal, I’m her family. I’ve been looking out for her since long before we came to this skughole, just like she’s been looking out for me.”

Din hesitated, glancing at Aysa. Her face was white as a sheet, and she seemed barely conscious. “Aysa—“

“Trust… Reese,” she whispered. “Trust D… Mando. Guys…”

Fareesi sized Din up. “Fine,” she said, a little sourly. “But I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

Din stifled a groan of annoyance. He had better things to do than explain himself to this child, but it looked like she was Aysa’s best chance of survival, and he wasn’t about to lose her so soon after finding her. So he talked, describing their encounter in the bar, Aysa agreeing to shelter him, the hunters that had interrupted him.

“Why’s the kid so special, anyway?” Fareesi asked, leaning slightly to the left for a better view of Baby. Din shifted, trying to block her, but Fareesi moved with him so she could see. “Looks a bit like a pond-hopper.”

“I don’t know,” Din lied. He had some idea at this point, but he certainly wasn’t about to go blabbering it to everyone. “But whatever he is, he’s got a hefty price on his head. I thought we’d be safe moving away from the Outer Rim, but that’s been a bust. We’ll head out once Aysa’s back on her feet.”

Fareesi’s face fell. “She’s going with you?”

Din nodded.

“But she—“ Fareesi bit her lip. She glanced back at Aysa and sighed. “She always hoped she’d meet more,” she said quietly. “Kept taking jobs I told her were too dangerous, but she said it was the best bet to find another Mandalorian.”

“I’m not forcing her to come with me,” Din said. The child began to fuss, and he glanced down at him, shushing him gently.

Fareesi looked at the kid, at Din, at Aysa, and sighed. “I know,” she said grudgingly, and stood up. “You couldn’t force her to do anything if you tried.” She gave the droid a small pat on the head as she passed, moving deeper into the warehouse. “Come on, I’m sure there’s something the kid can eat.”

Din followed her with one last look at Aysa, hand drifting towards his blaster in a clear warning for the droid. Try anything funny with her. I dare you.

“Sorry about the mess,” Fareesi said, stepping over a pile of scrap metal. “Wasn’t expecting guests.”

“What is this place?” Din asked, stepping over it as well.

“My workshop,” Fareesi said, flashing a grin at him over her shoulder. “Black market cybernetics. You won’t find these mods in any respectable merchants’ hands.”

“I assume you’ve modded Aysa,” Din said, and Fareesi nodded.

“Kitting out hunters is fun,” she said, and eyed his own armor. “If you wanted any work done…”

“No thanks.”

Fareesi grinned. “You probably couldn’t afford me if you’re hiding out, anyway.”

“No special rates for friends?” Din said dryly.

“Ooh, friends. That’s a good one,” Fareesi said, kicking aside an empty crate and wrenching open a door that led to a grimy kitchen. “Look, Aysa’s been like a sister to me for ages now, but I can’t hide you guys here for long. Last thing I need is the New Republic breathing down my neck for helping you.”

“I understand,” Din said, distastefully eyeballing the bowl that Fareesi pulled out. “We’ll be out of here before long.”

Fareesi took a grimy rag and wiped down the equally-grimy bowl, squinting at it before shrugging and opening up the cooler, beginning to mash up some meiloorun with a fork. “Got anywhere you’ll go?”

“Not yet,” Din said. “Besides, I’d rather not say.”

Fareesi snorted. “I’m not going to tell anyone who’ll come looking.”

“Maybe not willingly,” Din said darkly. “There’s ways of getting information.”

“You can say torture, you know,” Fareesi said, glancing up at him. “I’m not so delicate you gotta dance around the subject.”

“Torture,” Din said. “Truth serums. They might destroy your workshop.”

Fareesi was quiet.

“Where are you from?” Din asked.

Fareesi shrugged and handed him the bowl of mashed fruit. “Don’t know,” she said. “My parents sold me off when I was born. Aysa and I met on Nal Hutta when we were ten.”

“That’s a long way from Mandalore,” Din said quietly, not sure he liked where this was going.

But Fareesi shrugged and headed back out into the workshop proper. “Doesn’t really matter now it’s gone, does it?” she asked. “You ever see it, Mando?”

“Yes,” Din said, balancing the kid on his hip and supporting him while he ate. “I was a Foundling—I only lived there a few years before it was destroyed.”

“That must’ve been awful,” Fareesi said.

Din remained silent, a heavy cloud settling in his stomach. He’d gained a new family and lost so much of it so soon after. And now the tribe needed to flee their stronghold because of him. He could only hope that most of them managed to survive.

Aysa was sitting up when they reached her again, and a little color had returned to her cheeks. “How long was I out?” she asked. Her voice quavered, but it was stronger than before.

“Not long,” Din said, sitting down beside her and adjusting Baby so he was settled comfortably on his lap. “You look like hell.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Aysa muttered. “Reese—“

“Glad you didn’t die on me,” Fareesi said. “I’d have killed you if you did.”

“Not if I killed you first for letting me die on you,” Aysa said, reaching out to punch Fareesi’s arm. “Listen—I know your specialty’s cybernetics but we could really use an engineer for our getaway ship.”

Fareesi’s eyes lit up. “You’ve got one, then? What model?”

“Razorcrest,” Din said, and Fareesi snorted.

“Well, at least it’s off-grid,” she said. “Aysa, you know I’d do anything for you, but—“

Aysa reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a handful of credits, tossing them over. “I know. I got you.”

Fareesi grinned as she counted out the money. “This’ll do great. I’ll fix you up before you go, if you like.”

In response, Aysa unlaced her flak vest, tugging it over her head before unzipping her flight suit down to her navel, shrugging out of her shirt. Fareesi’s arm whirred as a multi-tool extended from her fingertips, and the skin on Aysa’s arms unfolded.

[nebula-starlight]

JSE Fanfiction - Fractured (Part 4: Guilt)

First: [P] / Previous: [3] 

Warning! Mention of torture and bodily harm below. Read at your own decision.

Entry Log _ 

I hear it... That noise burrows deep in my mind... I must understand why he is the only one able to produce it. Did I do something wrong creating them like I had? Did I stretch myself too thin? My magic seems to be the same... 

There must be a way to silence that static before it drives me mad!  

“Brother? Are you okay?” Anti looked up from where he’d been laying on his stomach, eyes drifting to his taller sibling who had sat down on the floor with his back resting against the bench. Did he dare tell the truth? That he hadn’t slept much since that day in the den out of fear of what his dreams would show him. He hated being afraid but what else could he do? Their Creator had made it clear what the price of disobedience was and he never wanted to go through that again. And not just for his sake but his brother had watched it happen. The one being he wished more than ever he could protect from any and all further tests. “Hmm... Oh, yeah, I’m good.” The look he got told him that his lie wasn’t convincing enough. “You’ve been quiet as of late. You sure everything’s ok? We can talk if you want.” “What would we talk about?” He scoffed, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the dark corner of the ceiling. “How we barely get food? Or how he hasn’t come to see us for a few days because I messed up.” “No... We said I’d take blame for that.” “Why? It doesn’t change anything! Just admit it, bro. He screwed up making me. Stretched that soul too thin.” He sighed, eyes closing briefly. “Wonder what happened to get someone to do that though? What they went through?” “We don’t know. Now come on, talk to me!” It was almost cute how his brother begged... Well normally he’d indulged such a request but not now. He couldn’t do that to him with what was running around in his head. To break that sense of innocence would kill him. “I am or, rather, was. Might get a bit of shut eye since it doesn’t seem like he’ll show again today.” He yawned, hands twitching slightly - something he managed to hide from the inquisitive eyes watching him. “Can I...?” The question didn’t need to be finished as he nodded, making room on the shelf for the two of them to curl up together. Neither were awake for long before drifting into far more pleasant dreams... ——— “Subject 1.” He should have known something was up the minute their Creator showed up without warning several hours later and asked he come along alone for a test. Never did he think things could go wrong as he reluctantly got up and obeyed, leaving his brother behind to reach out towards him from inside the cell. The soft pleading He faintly heard tugged at his heartstrings the farther they walked but there was no way he would ever verbally confess to their captor that he wanted to stay back in that small space instead of getting to go out and get some sort of painful experimentation done on him. “The glitching is still there, isn’t it?” He kept silent, unwilling to answer a question with what he suspected his Creator already knew would be the response. With a soft sigh, the two stopped briefly to allow a nearby keypad to be activated before the steel slab in front of them slid away to allow access to the room beyond. Even before he started forward he recognized the space, fear crawling up his spine at the memory of the last time he was in the room. Not this place again! The same one he first had been in to get that blasted tracker. Why were they back here? Had he really messed up too badly this time around? “Go inside, 1-A.” He obeyed because he had to or risked facing even worse punishment for failing to comply. Yes he hated what their lives were treated as but he had no way of changing it. Magic didn’t even seem to exist in him and his brother... he wouldn’t hurt anyone. It just wasn’t in his nature to be mean. Truly a bright beacon in the dark depths of their stone-clad hell. Anti said nothing as he was strapped down, noticing the thick strap across his throat this time to prevent additional movement. Just what was going on? What test was he planning on doing? He hadn’t asked but figured it better not to at this point. It was rather likely he wouldn’t have received an answer anyway... “You hear it... don’t you?” The low, almost wishful tone caught him off guard as he blinked, unsure what his Creator was going on about at first. “All that noise buzzing through the otherwise silent refuge you call a mind.” He chuckled, the sound a bit too non-detached for Anti’s own liking as he stiffened uncertainly under the touch of fingers pressing into his skull. “I know you do and just choose to stay quiet about it because you’re scared of how I’ll react. Don’t be shy, 1-A... I promise I only do this for the purpose and advancement of science. It’s how I learned to recognize the sound after all. Even being in stasis cannot stop an instability like yours from becoming a threat.” He tried to shrink down, struggling against the restraints as he wished more than ever that he was back in the cell with his brother. What had happened to their Creator? Surely he wasn’t in his right mind. He had to say something! Make him try to see reason or realize he wasn’t at his best. Anti looked up into the bright bulb hanging above with hope that maybe speaking up might be enough to make a difference as the fingers lifted from his scalp. “I... I don’t understand. What are you-?” “You poor thing. Such naivety must be cured. The world cannot afford idiots bumbling around without a clue as to what they’re doing. Already five are learning that lesson as we speak and it will not become seven!” The others were alive! He’d been right after all but how did the Creator know? Had he purposely lied to them so he could crush their hope further? But then there was a way out of the endless cycle of pain and suffering. Oh, if his brother only knew... When the pressure of contact returned he knew it was different from the second he felt tiny sticky circles being applied to his forehead and temples. Even without a word being spoken, he deduced there were wires of a sort connected to the tiny electromagnetic pads through subtle vibrations he felt. How he figured this out he wasn’t sure but it seemed right... not to mention how it sent a cold chill down his spine in nervousness. What was going to happen next? “This will stop it. Stop the noise and the pain, I promise. We can both go on like nothing ever happened and Subject 2 won’t even need to know about what was done.” He wanted to trust the words but, for some reason, he was hesitant. Leaving his brother earlier had hurt worse than he thought and at the time he hadn’t known why. Now he did and it scared him. What if what was done changed him? Or what if something went wrong and he didn’t wake up? Not that it would happen but the thought was there in the back of his head as he heard the low hum of a machine turning on. It was going to help, his Creator had said, so he didn’t need to be scared... And yet he couldn’t stop the shudder that raced up his spine at the thought of something messing with his head. There wasn’t anything wrong with him! Sure the glitching happened sometimes and the noise was starting to be audible on occasion but he had it under control. The humming only got louder as a hand rested on his shoulder with an annoyed huff, his eyes squeezing shut in nervousness. Not much longer. He could handle whatever it was... no problem! At least he hoped that was the case. Staying around for his brother was his goal. Hurt him as much as possible but leave his sibling out of the pain and punishments. Far too quickly it seemed the next thing he knew was his head felt like it was burning. He heard the static crackle in fear, once a comfort but now pounding through his skull as though it was a living force incapable of being removed. The machine was turned up higher, more noise surrounding him as the sensation only got worse in a seemingly endless cycle. He jerked, spasming under the twitching of pain that just kept building and building and building until... Until he lost his resolve and grip on reality as everything crumbled into blackness and eerie silence. He failed. They both had. Now what would become of him was anyone’s guess. “No, no, no! How could this happen? Everything was calibrated perfectly! I had checked and double checked all the numbers. So why did it...?” There was panic in that voice... sounding so far away as he felt a numbness start to settle over his mind. Already it was becoming difficult to think. Despite the quickly thickening fog one thing remained clear, he had to hang on! His brother needed him to be there. He needed to... ———- As his vision slowly came back and his mind cleared, he fell back in shock at what the surge had done. Panic swept him into a frenzy, crawling over to the table where he no longer heard anything from the test subject since the explosion had gone off. Too much power... too strong a blast... Was he okay? Had he merely been knocked out? Seán’s eyes widened in shock as he pulled himself to his feet and stared down at the horrid sight before him. Burns all along Anti’s forehead but his eye... Not that! Anything but what he saw there meeting his mismatched gaze. How the exposed bone was continuing to crack apart even as he stared down speechlessly. His years of being alone forced his stunned mind to respond, words tumbling from his mouth as the full depth of the situation came crashing down. “Stabilize! I have to get him stabilized. I can’t lose him from my stupid error. Come on, think!” Hands shaking, he unbuckled Anti’s limp form from the table while trying not to stare at the burn marks and exposed, cracked bone surrounding his nearly obliterated eye socket. He thought trying to stimulate his brain would have caused the static to fade but that hadn’t worked at all. Instead it blew part of his skull to pieces and he needed to get him stabilized! Rushing from the room with the young ego carried close to his chest, he tried again and again to get his magic to respond. It had been strangely fickle as of late but now was one instance he needed it to work! He could lose him if too much time passed. Then what would he tell Jack. “Come on, dammit! Work for just this once... please?” Tears started to drip from his eyes, although whether they were clear or blood-red he wasn’t sure as he headed for the same room he first had the tanks in. Why had he done that?! He put the whole plan in jeopardy just because of his own selfish need to stop the static from messing with his mind. It wasn’t Anti’s fault that he had no conscious control over how far it spread. If anything, he was to blame for sitting at his desk and watching them for hours while that noise burrowed deeper into his skull. Had Subject 1 known though? Was that why he tried to talk to the one who had only ever showed them pain and lack of attention? Stopping only long enough to punch in the code to unlock the main room with far more force than necessary, he ran in and placed him in the same tank he’d been grown in, starting to fill it with nutrient-laden liquid even before he raised the glass to seal it shut. It had to work! He couldn’t lose anyone else after everything he’d gone through. Sure Anti might wear on his nerves some but he was still his son by definition. And if he couldn’t make anymore life then he’d sure as hell fight to keep those he had created alive! 

Next: [5] 

[melmakeshavoc-blog]

Finding a New Balance On how to not punch boys you’d like to kiss instead

It’s spring in California which means a lot of rain interspersed with weird warm snaps that aggravate my already too heavy load of on-and-off-again layers.

It also means I’m feeling restless. Like, can’t figure out if I need to shed my skin or pick up running again or cut my hair or punch a wall or god knows what else. I settle for pacing my house, a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth, punching the air. This sounds like the antics of a crazy person, but, despite what poets tell us about spring, it is not a time for lovers--it is a time for crazy people.

It is this craziness that causes me to make plans with a boy from tinder despite my exhaustion and frustrations and claims of “I’m done dating for awhile.” I’m a sucker for a boy who can make RPG puns, what can I say? 

He makes me laugh so hard I can’t breathe and somehow coasts through a candid conversation about pegging (see: Amber Dared Me), so I ask for a second date less than a week later. This would be the kissing date--an agreed upon timeline according to numerous girl group texts I have going--and I think that I’m playing by the rules that I’ve been given. I fiddle with my keys, announce that I had a great time, stand by my car expectantly--no kiss, just like the last round. 

Cue a week and a half of internal screaming. 

I meet with G for what Mrs. Artis back home calls “Couch Time.” I go twice a month to keep myself honest and on track with some of the heavier internal mess I’m trying to clear out. Part of this mess is learning to be vulnerable--like in giving the cue to kiss at the end of a good second date. 

Recounting the end of the date to G, I realize that this new boy and I hugged, we stood close, and as I started to pull away I felt his arms stay around me and pull me back in, in that way that suggests bodily that there’s gonna be a kiss now and in the split second it takes to decide whether or not to stay for said kiss I...

I shoved him. Not like so hard that it was jarring but enough to firmly put back the space between the two of us that I needed to be comfortable.

Here’s the fucking kicker though (brace yourself it’s awkward)--

After this little snuggle-shove dance I THEN began the wiggle-your-keys-make-big-eyes routine.  New Boy had the grace to say good night and walk away.

G falls out of his seat cackling, smacking a hand on the window sill to stabilize himself. He apologizes while he takes a minute to compose himself and then suggests, in his therapist voodoo speak, that I “throw the guy a bone” if I actually like him. 

This is terrifying. Leading up to date number 3--my group texts say it will happen for sure this time--I spend a fair amount of spare moments planning how to gracefully walk away from a rejection. Because I am incapable of being without a plan B in literally any situation (see: anxiety). 

Turns out I don’t need it. Just needed the ability to take a deep breath and tell that little voice in the back of my head that says “why bother all good things end anyway” to fuck off for at minimum 15 seconds. See! Bone-throwing is easier than I thought it was and the payoff is worth it. 

So I’ve successfully kissed a boy without making him fist-fight me first--log that one in the books. Now, how to channel my peanut butter air-punching sessions into something productive. Except running. Fuck running. 

I give unwarranted advice once a week and my ask box is always open.