FSE

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These are not his fingers, not his hands, feet, toes. No they are someone else's and yet what relief it is to have these things again. Solid, structured, assured, to be so in flux. Sometimes it can be a relief to have these choices taken away from you. When you can be anything, it can be such an oppressive choice. There is such bizarre comfort in what you construct with what you're left with. Does he feel envy for those with the complete spectrum of choice? Well absolutely, but here right now these ARE his fingers, his hands, feet, toes. It's comforting. The colour is unknown, as it is distorted inside her, everything is overcome with an amber shade inside the... Uh annemic fluid? Ameboeatic? Amiibotic? Well it was just another thing to look forward to; knowing the colour of the fur which now covers his palms, his paws? His fingers feel more nail like then they do digits, they seem to bend and twist as fingers do. He rubs his paws up and down his now fur covered belly, they seem to feel like fingers do too. There's not much space to manoeuvre, but every now and then, he likes to feel the shape of his new form. He is so much more bulky than he was, it's only brief but sometimes the side of his brushes up against the walls of his confinement. His ears! He has new long ears, kind of goat like if he had to guess, the top of his lip brushes on the bottom of his nose, also kind of animal like, more round than thin, as a Human nose was. Then there were the Things, sometimes he can spot them curling around his arms and knees, or landing on the base of his belly. At first, he mistook this for am umbilical cord of some kind, well that was until he spotted the second one, and the third and finally a fourth. No it doesn't seem like a cord is how nutrients are delivered in here, after a while he figured it out, after some suspicious twinges came from the base of his back: These things ARE him, perhaps his back is where they come from? I suppose it makes sense, enough time in here he had to take on some traits of Neptunians. After some practice, he was able to influence their movements somewhat. He used this to trace the edges of his new self.

Galasgey can feel him trying to feel the shape of his new body again, as he presses up on the sides of her stomach. He can feel a nurturing hand press up and try and grasp the side of his face he was rubbing on the sides to feel his ears. He can just make out the silhouette of her palm tracing the shape of her womb. He outstretches his arm as much as he can, to meet his palm with hers. Was there any greater ecstasy than this? The relentlessness of this unshakable assurance of safety and security, after the months he had of not knowing if his body would even stay together, he never grew complacent with it. He was not a child, and she was not his mother, but someone who was willing to share his transcendence with him. Thoughts of when he emerges from this womb, and he shows how the beautiful body she let him create inside her, he hopes she will explore every inch of what is rightfully hers. No matter what relationships will come to define the rest of his life, this will always be a right she has to come take from him, an eternal debt. His appendages quiver at the thoughts.

But he can see her hands rub, up and down in a sense of rhythm, to calm his thoughts. He cannot obfuscate his thoughts from her right now after all. But it is time to wake up from this dream, for she is ready to mediate his thoughts to the outside world. But he protests, shuffles within his chambers a little to convey disagreement. Something about maintaining a presence out there fills him with irritation and discomfort. Why does it matter? Why does he ever need to leave? It's only now does [XALA] really get a grasp that his life was just... Going. Grasping whatever identity, he had to, in order to thrive in the world he had been so cruelly placed in: The World of Unqueer Cis Men. There is no thinking, feeling, pausing, just GOING. Now the moment he can just STOP, just fucking stop, well returning to the passage of time felt just that. Cruel.

Oh, but to indulge in such a selfish world view permanently, as he spots a new shadow placed on to the walls of his bed. Another hand, more animalistic in nature, a hand he knew well: Took's paw. There's people waiting for him, so another day of enduring the worst horrors possible awaits him: The Horrors of being known.