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Art by
Moved to Or-Fi-S
Editing by
fzygal
Image featuring special guests:
Balina
Meitheal
Kyera Angelus
LittleMacha
Llyric (OC Eris)
Drgn-Mom Pathia
- - -
Reeking of clove smoke and faintly of cinnamon—but for once, not whiskey—Vy stumbled soberly off the dance floor and into the circle of symbionts—some standing, others seated in the pleather upholstered couches in the lounging corner of the club. Succubats mostly, but one Crown Crab—all of their distinctive features ethereal in the shifting and pulsing lights. They were all smiling.
“Holy shit, Vy,” came one laughing voice, “you dance like you’re possessed.”
“More like he’s trying to exorcise himself,” quipped another.
“I think…,” Vy began, panting, “that’s about as much as I can handle tonight.” He tugged the t-shirt loose from around his waist—he’d removed it earlier and had been dancing in a mesh top and ridiculously impractical pair of pleather pants—and dabbed the sweat and black rivulets of eyeliner from his face. “It’s been fun, but I need to head home. I—uh—I liked doing this again. Thank you for having me.”
Vy retrieved his coat from the nearby rack, adding in an anxious, uncertain mumble to no-one, “You...um...you’re all really cool.”
He threw on the jacket and made to quickly depart when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Despite his best efforts to be stealthy, and even beneath the rumbling bass from the sound system, apparently one of the succubat symbionts had heard him.
Though the hand-paw was uncharacteristically large, he could tell it was a succubat and not a crown crab as the touch was still light, measured, and more familiar—rather than resembling being playfully swatted in a pillow-fight with a pillow made of iron and meat.
Vy turned his head to awkwardly face the hands’ owner.
Kaylee’s appearance was breath-haltingly fierce; the tigress’ features had been notably enhanced to an almost primal state by her symbiotic pairing with the succubat, and her harsh dark makeup—an amusing affectation she had chosen to indulge in just for this particular outing—made her visage all the more intimidating.
Her grin, however, full of long razor-teeth as it was, was quite the opposite; warm, calming, and compassionate.
“Vy,” she began, “it was good to see you. You’ll come visit, sometime, right?”
Vy tried to hide his hesitation, “Uh...yeah, I’d love to...”
“Don’t worry,” she giggled. “No one gets accidentally ‘batted under my watch, hun.”
Vy sighed, clearly projected even under the wash of noise from the club’s speakers. “I know. I just...I don’t know if I should…”
Kaylee gave him a measured look; she seemed to be processing how best to address the troubled gremlin. “Look Vy, just be kind and be yourself. You’ll find and love and acceptance here.”
He couldn’t respond, his words choked on the bittersweet ache elicited by Kaylee’s kindness.
“Th-thank you,” he finally managed.
They hugged for a moment before he released the embrace—Vy awkwardly uncertain as what was the appropriate time to maintain a hug—before he waved to the others and departed the club.
-
Vy meandered into the street, the autumn chill drawing the faintest mist from his body and breath—the steam drifting up and dissipating in the light of the mercury-vapor lamps. His heart was warm, too, subtly heated by social acceptance he’d experienced tonight. But despite this small, unfamiliar elation, he could feel the cold vacancy of self-doubt begin to open within his chest.
He hadn’t earned this. He didn’t belong with them.
Vy felt as though he had always been at conflict with himself in one way or another. The recent realization of how intense his desire was to associate with the other symbionts had shaken him; it was at odds with his self-image and seemingly inexorable fear of change. While he seemed to have earned their trust, he did not understand how he had done so. It felt unwarranted, especially considering who he had been and how he had behaved.
When he thought back to who he was before—and immediately after—NeAnne’s transformation, he recoiled at the person he had been. And for what had happened to NeAnne, he was still sad, but it was no longer from the ignorant belief that he had lost her—or even a part of her—when she had encountered the succubat symbiote, but it grew instead from a deep, shameful sorrow at how he had failed to be more supportive of her when she needed it most.
If he had ever truly lost her, it was when he failed to be someone who could buoy her in this new reality with validation, respect, and love. No one should have to endure that kind of rejection for just for being who they were, especially from someone who supposedly cared about them.
He had spent so many years serving as an example of what not to do, saturated in an excess of vice to keep some wounded part of himself suppressed; yet this had only served to make him act and feel even more like absolute trash. The memories were always confusing and convoluted, but he knew he hadn't always been this way, that maybe it was a different person, perhaps even a more honest, earnest self that had been locked away, but instead of nurturing and healing that side, he'd kept it caged, starved, and shamed.
But while he had changed a great deal in such a short time, he was who he was, and there seemed no escaping that.
Vy tuned-out the thoughts, focusing instead on the click-scrape of his boots across the slick pavement, staccato steps marching onward on his predictable, predestined, and inexorable path.
-
Vy found himself staring in the mirror of his bathroom at home, and could only vaguely recollect his walk from the club. A few jagged fragments of memory replayed like badly spliced film, scattered jump cuts running together. he barely recalled arriving at his home, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. He did not remember doffing his coat, boots, and shirt, leaving him in the fishnet and pleather ensemble in which he’d been dancing earlier that night.
He’d also poured himself a drink. Maybe more than one.
So much for sobriety.
He leaned forward and examined his reflection. It was a familiar face and body, and he felt incredibly attached to it in that regard, at least. Vy knew he was vain; it wasn’t that he felt his appearance warranted such egotism; in fact, it was never feeling even remotely pleased enough with it that drove his persistent obsession with his presentation. While he could point out several specific physical “flaws,” more than anything his body just sometimes felt like a prison, while other times just curiously incongruent. But what it always felt like was that he was damned to be trapped-in-tight with all the most disdainful parts of himself; deeply flawed mental systems, malfunctioning, maladaptive neurotrash.
He paused for a moment, uncertain if the next sudden thought was a perverse, alcohol-influenced fantasy or a serious contemplation, but he knew now that the symbiotes not only healed and reshaped the body, but also addressed neurochemical issues that affected the mind.
Was being a chronic asshole a biochemical condition? Could it cure that? What would happen if he were to…
...if he took a succubat symbiote
His stomach twisted from the reflexive fear, chest tightening in animalistic instinct.
No, it snarled. Mine. My body.
His hand clutched the marble counter to brace himself as he buckled forward, struggling to get his breath back from the sudden anxious attack.
Why did this frighten him so much? Why did he have this vicious recoiling response? He knew his life had not always been static, no one's life was, yet he was so emotionally allergic to the very concept of change.
cry
An indistinct blur of a childhood memory chose that moment to come into focus.
He remembered crying as the remodeling crew began breaking apart his family's old kitchen for a much needed renovation; his flummoxed parents trying to console him, asking why he was so upset. All he could manage to explain between earnest sobs was that he "didn't want it to go away."
Unbidden, other memories came. All the times he faced change, dreading it regardless of whether it was something negative or positive: Deaths in the family, going to college, leaving a miserable job for a more promising path.
There was the end of a toxic relationship—one which left him broken and stumbling for years after, a booze-filled and overmedicated mess of a person. Both the relationship and the chaotic years that followed its demise were covered in a thick haze that actively resisted his attempts to understand completely what had happened, he was only aware that he came out the other side a much different person than he had gone in.
He knew he had already changed, really; everything had and always would, it was the only constant in life, and it always felt like a trauma to him.
Vy thought he was world-wise and reasonable when, armed with only a baseball bat and a wealth of ignorance and misinformation, he had gone out to defend the neighborhood from a sudden flood of symbiotes. Instead, he witnessed NeAnne's sudden transformation and felt the first tremors in the only stable ground he had known as his closely guarded reality began to shift, buckle, and collapse beneath him..
And it had led him to where he was now, actively entertaining the idea of willfully going through with an even more substantial shift, to potentially put himself somewhere he was quite certain he didn't really belong, and where he might find himself shunned by both sides: From asym society for being too different, and from the symbionts for...
...what exactly? Not being different enough? Doing it for the wrong reasons? Both, possibly, he couldn't say for certain. By some absolute fluke—for what else could it have been?—he'd managed to find himself accepted well enough through his online interactions in the Roost chat to have earned the requisite trust to socialize with the local members in person. He had tried to feed the broken but empathetic side of him for once, and he worked in earnest to be kind, considerate, and to keep his mouth shut—and instead listen—when he had knew he could not speak from experience or knowledge. In return, they had been been kind and welcoming, and he had learned so much, feeling enriched by each encounter…
...and also increasingly jealous.
And even their occasional teasing “threats” of pairing him with a symbiote, while initially shocking, weren’t threats at all, especially not now that he’d finally realized that being a symbiont was just something that happened—it was natural. Unlike how Vy saw himself, the symbionts were happy with who they were.
For some, it was a sudden and unexpected shift, a twist of fate, and while the resulting social turmoil was not something any of them ever would have wanted for themselves or others, it seemed to Vy the only real conflict came from the recalcitrant attitudes of an asym society that actively resisted any change to the status quo—a society that actively sought to stamp symbionts as though they were a malevolent threat.
Despite this, others actively sought-out the change, fully aware of the resultant stigma and potential for persecution. But for them it was worth it. Vy tried to wrap his mind around that concept; the idea of wilfully discarding the security of complacency and familiarity to embrace what must be—for them—a more authentic and fulfilling life. They were placing themselves in danger, subjecting themselves to ridicule, derision, and even violence for daring to be themselves.
The liquor in his system had reached his head and began to hum there, a chorus loud enough to drown out some of the anxiety—as well as nullify a bit of inhibition. He pushed back his fair to dab at a trickle of sweat there and paused for a moment while he worked up the nerve to entertain his ridiculous idea. Then, before the notion could leave him, he turned to exit the bathroom and made a brisk, determined path for his bedroom closet.
-
Vy had been curious before, though he’d never managed to seriously voice the question to himself even in his own head, stymied by that possessive aversion to change—but he’d certainly looked. While he had gleaned quite a bit just from hanging-out in the Roost chat, he had gone beyond that, trying to gather as much as he could about the symbiont experience. He wanted to know—as much as any asym could understand—just what it was like; mentally, socially…physically.
He’d wanted to see what was possible.
Research. Purely academic. For the sake of knowledge, empathy, he’d told himself one evening as he’d spent hours browsing through blogs and social media for symbiont photos. He’d seen succubats and crown crabs both, hanging-out with each other and sharing selfies of daily life, just being people.
He’d had trouble shaking-off the guilt from what felt like voyeurism—or worse—objectification, but many of the symbionts were fairly casual regarding showing-off their bodies—they were quite proud of who they were, and many considered their natural chitin corset as clothing-enough—and as such, he’d had no dearth of consensually and casually shared images as examples.
What he did seem to have trouble finding were examples of succubats with masculine features, as an overwhelming number seemed to be quite overtly feminine, at least in the traditional sense. Even all of the succubats he’d met in person up until then had been...well...buxom. Not to mention, he’d already been familiar with NeAnne’s features, probably more than he could recall, having been absolutely plastered that night the two of them…
Anyhow.
Though he knew better—there were nearly as many male or masculine-leaning succubats as feminine and female—he had started to fear this was the most likely outcome when he happen to chance upon a lupine succubat in the background of a group image: They were leaning against the wall, wearing a leather jacket, sunglasses, and a smile as the only accessories to their intrinsic modesty-plating. His eyes dropped to the comments below..
Vy had looked at the figure again—he’d initially regarded it as another feminine form, the chitin corset and wide hips keying that reflexive instinct to place all things in those traditional mental boxes. But this was different somehow, and the more he looked, the more he saw. All symbionts were unique in their own way, but this one…
...something had clicked in his mind at that moment, and he rapidly cycled through several previous images until he could verify what he now suspected.
Sure enough, as he’d paid more attention to the comments, he had discovered more of the same: Masculine-aligned symbionts from all parts of that range of the spectrum, binary and non—he’d only overlooked them because he’d been viewing everything through the fixed-lens of an asymbiotic person...
...and the left him feeling ashamed and ignorant. Again.
Even though symbionts shared common physical features with asyms, it was within an entirely different context—one in which the simpler perspective so ingrained within him no longer really applied. He’d heard, of course, that the symbiotes sought hosts with genders matching their own, and the resulting symbiont form was simply the most appropriate physical manifestation of that person’s gender. And if gender existed on a spectrum…
...then the bodies would exist along a spectrum as well.
While the revelation had been enlightening, had it really served any purpose for him specifically? Masculine, feminine, or some combination, it wasn’t as though any symbiont body would look appropriate for him, he knew....
(cont.)
Art by
Moved to Or-Fi-SEditing by
fzygalImage featuring special guests:
Balina
Meitheal
Kyera Angelus
LittleMacha
Llyric (OC Eris)
Drgn-Mom Pathia- - -
Reeking of clove smoke and faintly of cinnamon—but for once, not whiskey—Vy stumbled soberly off the dance floor and into the circle of symbionts—some standing, others seated in the pleather upholstered couches in the lounging corner of the club. Succubats mostly, but one Crown Crab—all of their distinctive features ethereal in the shifting and pulsing lights. They were all smiling.
“Holy shit, Vy,” came one laughing voice, “you dance like you’re possessed.”
“More like he’s trying to exorcise himself,” quipped another.
“I think…,” Vy began, panting, “that’s about as much as I can handle tonight.” He tugged the t-shirt loose from around his waist—he’d removed it earlier and had been dancing in a mesh top and ridiculously impractical pair of pleather pants—and dabbed the sweat and black rivulets of eyeliner from his face. “It’s been fun, but I need to head home. I—uh—I liked doing this again. Thank you for having me.”
Vy retrieved his coat from the nearby rack, adding in an anxious, uncertain mumble to no-one, “You...um...you’re all really cool.”
He threw on the jacket and made to quickly depart when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Despite his best efforts to be stealthy, and even beneath the rumbling bass from the sound system, apparently one of the succubat symbionts had heard him.
Though the hand-paw was uncharacteristically large, he could tell it was a succubat and not a crown crab as the touch was still light, measured, and more familiar—rather than resembling being playfully swatted in a pillow-fight with a pillow made of iron and meat.
Vy turned his head to awkwardly face the hands’ owner.
Kaylee’s appearance was breath-haltingly fierce; the tigress’ features had been notably enhanced to an almost primal state by her symbiotic pairing with the succubat, and her harsh dark makeup—an amusing affectation she had chosen to indulge in just for this particular outing—made her visage all the more intimidating.
Her grin, however, full of long razor-teeth as it was, was quite the opposite; warm, calming, and compassionate.
“Vy,” she began, “it was good to see you. You’ll come visit, sometime, right?”
Vy tried to hide his hesitation, “Uh...yeah, I’d love to...”
“Don’t worry,” she giggled. “No one gets accidentally ‘batted under my watch, hun.”
Vy sighed, clearly projected even under the wash of noise from the club’s speakers. “I know. I just...I don’t know if I should…”
Kaylee gave him a measured look; she seemed to be processing how best to address the troubled gremlin. “Look Vy, just be kind and be yourself. You’ll find and love and acceptance here.”
He couldn’t respond, his words choked on the bittersweet ache elicited by Kaylee’s kindness.
“Th-thank you,” he finally managed.
They hugged for a moment before he released the embrace—Vy awkwardly uncertain as what was the appropriate time to maintain a hug—before he waved to the others and departed the club.
-
Vy meandered into the street, the autumn chill drawing the faintest mist from his body and breath—the steam drifting up and dissipating in the light of the mercury-vapor lamps. His heart was warm, too, subtly heated by social acceptance he’d experienced tonight. But despite this small, unfamiliar elation, he could feel the cold vacancy of self-doubt begin to open within his chest.
He hadn’t earned this. He didn’t belong with them.
Vy felt as though he had always been at conflict with himself in one way or another. The recent realization of how intense his desire was to associate with the other symbionts had shaken him; it was at odds with his self-image and seemingly inexorable fear of change. While he seemed to have earned their trust, he did not understand how he had done so. It felt unwarranted, especially considering who he had been and how he had behaved.
When he thought back to who he was before—and immediately after—NeAnne’s transformation, he recoiled at the person he had been. And for what had happened to NeAnne, he was still sad, but it was no longer from the ignorant belief that he had lost her—or even a part of her—when she had encountered the succubat symbiote, but it grew instead from a deep, shameful sorrow at how he had failed to be more supportive of her when she needed it most.
If he had ever truly lost her, it was when he failed to be someone who could buoy her in this new reality with validation, respect, and love. No one should have to endure that kind of rejection for just for being who they were, especially from someone who supposedly cared about them.
He had spent so many years serving as an example of what not to do, saturated in an excess of vice to keep some wounded part of himself suppressed; yet this had only served to make him act and feel even more like absolute trash. The memories were always confusing and convoluted, but he knew he hadn't always been this way, that maybe it was a different person, perhaps even a more honest, earnest self that had been locked away, but instead of nurturing and healing that side, he'd kept it caged, starved, and shamed.
But while he had changed a great deal in such a short time, he was who he was, and there seemed no escaping that.
Vy tuned-out the thoughts, focusing instead on the click-scrape of his boots across the slick pavement, staccato steps marching onward on his predictable, predestined, and inexorable path.
-
Vy found himself staring in the mirror of his bathroom at home, and could only vaguely recollect his walk from the club. A few jagged fragments of memory replayed like badly spliced film, scattered jump cuts running together. he barely recalled arriving at his home, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. He did not remember doffing his coat, boots, and shirt, leaving him in the fishnet and pleather ensemble in which he’d been dancing earlier that night.
He’d also poured himself a drink. Maybe more than one.
So much for sobriety.
He leaned forward and examined his reflection. It was a familiar face and body, and he felt incredibly attached to it in that regard, at least. Vy knew he was vain; it wasn’t that he felt his appearance warranted such egotism; in fact, it was never feeling even remotely pleased enough with it that drove his persistent obsession with his presentation. While he could point out several specific physical “flaws,” more than anything his body just sometimes felt like a prison, while other times just curiously incongruent. But what it always felt like was that he was damned to be trapped-in-tight with all the most disdainful parts of himself; deeply flawed mental systems, malfunctioning, maladaptive neurotrash.
He paused for a moment, uncertain if the next sudden thought was a perverse, alcohol-influenced fantasy or a serious contemplation, but he knew now that the symbiotes not only healed and reshaped the body, but also addressed neurochemical issues that affected the mind.
Was being a chronic asshole a biochemical condition? Could it cure that? What would happen if he were to…
...if he took a succubat symbiote
His stomach twisted from the reflexive fear, chest tightening in animalistic instinct.
No, it snarled. Mine. My body.
His hand clutched the marble counter to brace himself as he buckled forward, struggling to get his breath back from the sudden anxious attack.
Why did this frighten him so much? Why did he have this vicious recoiling response? He knew his life had not always been static, no one's life was, yet he was so emotionally allergic to the very concept of change.
cry
An indistinct blur of a childhood memory chose that moment to come into focus.
He remembered crying as the remodeling crew began breaking apart his family's old kitchen for a much needed renovation; his flummoxed parents trying to console him, asking why he was so upset. All he could manage to explain between earnest sobs was that he "didn't want it to go away."
Unbidden, other memories came. All the times he faced change, dreading it regardless of whether it was something negative or positive: Deaths in the family, going to college, leaving a miserable job for a more promising path.
There was the end of a toxic relationship—one which left him broken and stumbling for years after, a booze-filled and overmedicated mess of a person. Both the relationship and the chaotic years that followed its demise were covered in a thick haze that actively resisted his attempts to understand completely what had happened, he was only aware that he came out the other side a much different person than he had gone in.
He knew he had already changed, really; everything had and always would, it was the only constant in life, and it always felt like a trauma to him.
Vy thought he was world-wise and reasonable when, armed with only a baseball bat and a wealth of ignorance and misinformation, he had gone out to defend the neighborhood from a sudden flood of symbiotes. Instead, he witnessed NeAnne's sudden transformation and felt the first tremors in the only stable ground he had known as his closely guarded reality began to shift, buckle, and collapse beneath him..
And it had led him to where he was now, actively entertaining the idea of willfully going through with an even more substantial shift, to potentially put himself somewhere he was quite certain he didn't really belong, and where he might find himself shunned by both sides: From asym society for being too different, and from the symbionts for...
...what exactly? Not being different enough? Doing it for the wrong reasons? Both, possibly, he couldn't say for certain. By some absolute fluke—for what else could it have been?—he'd managed to find himself accepted well enough through his online interactions in the Roost chat to have earned the requisite trust to socialize with the local members in person. He had tried to feed the broken but empathetic side of him for once, and he worked in earnest to be kind, considerate, and to keep his mouth shut—and instead listen—when he had knew he could not speak from experience or knowledge. In return, they had been been kind and welcoming, and he had learned so much, feeling enriched by each encounter…
...and also increasingly jealous.
And even their occasional teasing “threats” of pairing him with a symbiote, while initially shocking, weren’t threats at all, especially not now that he’d finally realized that being a symbiont was just something that happened—it was natural. Unlike how Vy saw himself, the symbionts were happy with who they were.
For some, it was a sudden and unexpected shift, a twist of fate, and while the resulting social turmoil was not something any of them ever would have wanted for themselves or others, it seemed to Vy the only real conflict came from the recalcitrant attitudes of an asym society that actively resisted any change to the status quo—a society that actively sought to stamp symbionts as though they were a malevolent threat.
Despite this, others actively sought-out the change, fully aware of the resultant stigma and potential for persecution. But for them it was worth it. Vy tried to wrap his mind around that concept; the idea of wilfully discarding the security of complacency and familiarity to embrace what must be—for them—a more authentic and fulfilling life. They were placing themselves in danger, subjecting themselves to ridicule, derision, and even violence for daring to be themselves.
The liquor in his system had reached his head and began to hum there, a chorus loud enough to drown out some of the anxiety—as well as nullify a bit of inhibition. He pushed back his fair to dab at a trickle of sweat there and paused for a moment while he worked up the nerve to entertain his ridiculous idea. Then, before the notion could leave him, he turned to exit the bathroom and made a brisk, determined path for his bedroom closet.
-
Vy had been curious before, though he’d never managed to seriously voice the question to himself even in his own head, stymied by that possessive aversion to change—but he’d certainly looked. While he had gleaned quite a bit just from hanging-out in the Roost chat, he had gone beyond that, trying to gather as much as he could about the symbiont experience. He wanted to know—as much as any asym could understand—just what it was like; mentally, socially…physically.
He’d wanted to see what was possible.
Research. Purely academic. For the sake of knowledge, empathy, he’d told himself one evening as he’d spent hours browsing through blogs and social media for symbiont photos. He’d seen succubats and crown crabs both, hanging-out with each other and sharing selfies of daily life, just being people.
He’d had trouble shaking-off the guilt from what felt like voyeurism—or worse—objectification, but many of the symbionts were fairly casual regarding showing-off their bodies—they were quite proud of who they were, and many considered their natural chitin corset as clothing-enough—and as such, he’d had no dearth of consensually and casually shared images as examples.
What he did seem to have trouble finding were examples of succubats with masculine features, as an overwhelming number seemed to be quite overtly feminine, at least in the traditional sense. Even all of the succubats he’d met in person up until then had been...well...buxom. Not to mention, he’d already been familiar with NeAnne’s features, probably more than he could recall, having been absolutely plastered that night the two of them…
Anyhow.
Though he knew better—there were nearly as many male or masculine-leaning succubats as feminine and female—he had started to fear this was the most likely outcome when he happen to chance upon a lupine succubat in the background of a group image: They were leaning against the wall, wearing a leather jacket, sunglasses, and a smile as the only accessories to their intrinsic modesty-plating. His eyes dropped to the comments below..
VorpalWingz: Hey, is that Strahl in the back there? When did he take a ‘bat? (Or she? They?).
C-Lessed: Yeah, that’s him (and yeah, it’s still “he/him”). Apparently it was a month or so ago! =D
VorpalWingz: Cool! I thought I recognized the jacket and that shit-eating grin. =) He’s looking good, as always.
StrahlightRun: Ha! Damn right I look good! I made sure to not be wearing that jacket when I took a ‘bat! XD
Vy had looked at the figure again—he’d initially regarded it as another feminine form, the chitin corset and wide hips keying that reflexive instinct to place all things in those traditional mental boxes. But this was different somehow, and the more he looked, the more he saw. All symbionts were unique in their own way, but this one…
...something had clicked in his mind at that moment, and he rapidly cycled through several previous images until he could verify what he now suspected.
Sure enough, as he’d paid more attention to the comments, he had discovered more of the same: Masculine-aligned symbionts from all parts of that range of the spectrum, binary and non—he’d only overlooked them because he’d been viewing everything through the fixed-lens of an asymbiotic person...
...and the left him feeling ashamed and ignorant. Again.
Even though symbionts shared common physical features with asyms, it was within an entirely different context—one in which the simpler perspective so ingrained within him no longer really applied. He’d heard, of course, that the symbiotes sought hosts with genders matching their own, and the resulting symbiont form was simply the most appropriate physical manifestation of that person’s gender. And if gender existed on a spectrum…
...then the bodies would exist along a spectrum as well.
While the revelation had been enlightening, had it really served any purpose for him specifically? Masculine, feminine, or some combination, it wasn’t as though any symbiont body would look appropriate for him, he knew....
(cont.)
Category Artwork (Digital) / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 569px
File Size 535.4 kB
Comments