keralis makes all his cocktails with everclear, and everyone else's cocktails with weaker liquor like rum or vodka. this was discovered when xisuma stole keralis' drink and wound up passed out on the floor after an hour of intensely drunken kareoke. one of many reasons keralis scares the other hermits.
Keralis's species isn't actually capable of getting drunk- they process alcohol differently than humans. He just likes the taste.
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nobody is ready to talk about actual gender abolition.
neither tras, nor radfems.
being deeply immersed in both communities, i’ve been observing the way that both of them function, and something i’ve noticed is– they both very often tend to claim to be gender abolitionists, and not only this– they both claim to profess gender abolition. they claim it is very near & dear to them, but as an autistic trans radfem whose special interest is gender abolition; i can confirm that both the radfem & the tra “versions” of gender abolition fail to be consistent, meaningful & coherent; both versions find the pitiful comfort in laying within the borders of the ever-raging status quo, fearful to challenge & genuinely step at its’ legs, to meaningfully cross the borders– both versions remain adamant on reformism & mere “gender fuckery”, all the while fervently shouting how progressive, how revolutionary, how status quo-breaking they are being. both versions advocate liberalism, more “wiggle room” & more leeway– but neither make the effort to go beyond the personal, beyond the individual and beyond free will/choice.
in order to be able to advocate for gender abolition in its’ truest form, we first have to understand that gender are not merely just aesthetics, outward appearances, self-expressions, or even just silly stereotypes. understanding this is the first step to being able to understand gender abolition, and more often than not, both tras & radfems fail at this very first step. gender is a lethal force, a superstructure, a class-based system; it is a tool of the patriarchy, a very dangerous one. it has a base and a structure.
gender dynamics are created & directed by reproductive relations, and how we engage & interact with reproductive labor shapes our relations to gender. this extends beyond cultural stereotypes & fluctuating aesthetics. it is neither individualistic in the reformist tra sense where Gender is A Social Construct in the way that it is merely our “sense of self”, and neither is it individualistic in the radfem sense where Gender is A Social Construct that we must fight on an interpersonal scale. gender cannot be fought on a personal level. gender cannot be “played with” in the tra sense where we all choose a set of attributes to ascribe to & then call them gender, and neither can it be “played with” by attempting to opt out of the gender class system by claiming you are a “genderless adult human female” in the radfem sense. both are essentially minimizing the significance of gender in our current society, and both are advocating for a utterly western-centric, bastardized, watered-down & individualistic form of “gender abolition”. the tra understanding of gender abolition is all about choice, breaking down the notion that women & men must look this or that way, and destroying parts of superficial personality stereotypes. the radfem understanding of gender abolition is similarly also all about choice– telling people that gender nonconformity is an inherent act of Gender Rebellion™ [tras also do this!], claiming that gender is oppressive but also refusing to do away with it because “how will women then speak of their oppression?” [are they incapable of imagining a post-gender world? possibly, because they claim to be passionate gender abolitionists, while holding so strongly onto gender, since that is all they know & they must rely on it to further their theory], claiming that biology has nothing to do with gender yet reverting back to connecting gender to biology when it is convenient to their cause.
both are ultimately misunderstanding both gender & gender abolition. both see it as a mere performance, as aesthetics. both are advocating for reformism & desperate attempts at opting-out [tras try to opt out by promoting medical supplements, creating multiple new genders, messing with mere accessories; while radfems try to opt out by using meaningless words & phrases such as “a woman is an adult human female, nothing to do with gender at all!”, by trying to ignore gender & then assuming that their ignoring will somehow result in gender abolition]. radfems advocate for gender contraction, not recognizing that we cannot “revert back to sex” when our own very understanding of sex itself is extremely immersed & rooted in the sex-gender system– we cannot “revert back” to something that never even existed without the thing we are trying to leave behind in the first place [i am not saying anatomical differences don’t exist outside of gender– our *understandings* of the sex categories do not]. tras, on the other hand, advocate for gender fuckery, not understanding that liberation will not come along if we simply “play” with our biology & try to desperately ignore material reality. while radfems claim gender isn’t something to be overthrown & rather something to be ignored, tras claim gender is our own internal sense of self & gender roles are the thing we must abolish (again, heavy misunderstanding of gender as a class system from both sides; radfems lean into thinking that gender is this social attribute that only slightly limits women [they see Woman as a legitimate biological phenomenal category, not as a gender], and not a lethal force of the patriarchy that limits female people & influences & creates/goes hand-in-hand with sex-based oppression, while tras lean into thinking that gender is completely disconnected from stereotypes & roles [again, roles & stereotypes {be they external or internal/aesthetical or personified} are only one sect of gender, not the whole of it], their view of gender being limited to Gender Identity/Gender Expression/Gender Roles, with gender roles being *the thing* they are claiming to want to abolish).
both will claim to be the biggest gender abolitionists ever, but both will cling onto it for dear life & get unnecessarily angry whenever you suggest to talk about actual gender abolition. both will say gender is limiting & restrictive, but the second you wish to talk about gender as a system in depth & analyze that the only way to go about gender abolition is by following principles of proletarian feminism, they will go back to treating gender as an extremely important & crucial part of society that we cannot live without. they both go back to proving they ultimately believe gender is Here To Stay. either out of their nonsensical “biological” reasons (radfem case) or out of nonsensical “self-expression” reasons (tra sense). gender is bad, until you actually want to suggest ways to get rid of it (radfem: “ignore it and it will go away! do to yourself whatever you want! man=adult human male! woman=adult human female! this is undeniable truth! men can like pink and wear dresses! women can like blue and do sports! this is literally how you do Gender Abolition™! there’s no one way to be a woman!”, tra: “just do whatever you want to yourself, stomp on those stereotypes! prove that there’s no one way to be a woman! [real gender abolition lays in destroying the class of woman by the way, and also probably introducing new simple terms for female & male humans that aren’t intrinsically linked to gender & contemporary sex categories; the english word woman is literally derived from words wife + man, so this just goes out to show that tras also don’t care about leaving the category of “woman” behind & only want to talk the talk] chicks can have dicks! lads can have vulvas!”).
perhaps radfems might say that their mere gender contraction is because they don’t believe that a woman is a gender, but this just goes to show that most of contemporary radfems have never read an ounce of radical feminist theory. radical feminist theory defines a woman as a social category to be abolished. the faves of many radical feminists, such as andrea dworkin, christine delphy, and monique wittig– all speak about genuine gender abolition, and they all correctly identify gender as a lethal tool of the patriarchy, not merely a passive social bystander to female oppression; but rather an active participant, encourager, and influencer of it. gender is so much more than mere aesthetics, roles, stereotypes, and attributes– and we just cannot “do away” with it if we cling onto some parts of it. we have to fully do away with it. we cannot abolish some parts, and leave the others intact. we risk allowing gender to recreate itself in some way by choosing this route. both tras & radfems are afraid of gender abolition because it forces them to challenge their set-in-stone beliefs, and their limited understanding of gender abolition is just not enough for genuine liberation. they don’t want gender abolition. in their ideal world, everything would stay the same; except maybe this time, boys would also be told to like pink & play with dolls and kitchen sets, while girls would be gifted action figures & be encouraged to play sports (goes to show how they have just no idea that gender is not locked in time– it fluctuates to adapt to new eras & time periods. giving action figures to girls will not end social misogyny nor will it liberate females in any way, shape or form. misogyny was also a thing back when gender didn’t take the shape we know it as today). maybe this time, women would regularly have beards and men would walk in dresses. will this stop femicide? child brides? pornography? economic exploitation more broadly? unethical misogynistic practices? no. i don’t think so.
Content warnings: conversation about child abuse and child sexual abuse; sex generally
Description: Jax and Ridge talk about intimacy. Ridge is seeking advice from Jax, and Jax is coming to realizations about himself during this conversation, too.
___
Jax settled onto the low wall that made the barrier between the back porch and the yard, fine dust staining his pants. He’d deal with it later. What he needed now was to pop the tab on the canned juice he told Pai he wouldn’t drink. He had plenty of replacements in his bedroom in a spot she could neither see nor reach. Hers was just cold and readily available.
The back door swung open and shut with a creak and a rattle. The former ran like a nail against Jax’s inner ear, reminding him that that was one of many minor projects that had to be fixed around the house. He sighed, closed his eyes against the bright afternoon light. Kiki’s paranoia about droids was well-founded, stubborn, and delaying the completion of menial tasks.
Footsteps crossed the dusty back patio. “Jax?” Ridge said. “You busy?”
Ridge came into view, dressed in dark clothing as usual. Tension lined his limbs, his body language advertising an inner turmoil that he hid from his voice. When he came around the wall, he didn’t look at Jax, instead kept his dark eyes trained on the empty space next to him. He took the seat, his gaze glancing off Jax’s body to focus on the treeline some meters away. Jax would think Ridge was taking in the scenery if he didn’t know better.
“Something the matter?” Jax asked, swiping a hand against the back of his head where a bug had gotten a bit too comfortable. The sun prickled his scalp. He wondered whether Ridge felt or minded the heat, dressed the way he was.
“Nah,” Ridge said. His hands were loosely folded in his lap, but a twitch ran through them like a jolt of electricity seized his nerves.
Jax wondered why Ridge bothered lying. As the silence stretched between them and Ridge kept his flinty gaze on the distant trees, Jax cast an eye to the can of juice. Condensation beaded on the outside like sweat against a brow. In his peripheral, Ridge’s canine snagged his inner lip; his body went still not as if he was relaxing or zoning out, but as if he was hiding.
Jax knew a wall going up when he saw one. He responded in kind—relaxation met Ridge’s tension. Openness met spiny defenses, and Jax hardly moved as Ridge dodged and dove through memories of Kamino.
Ridge had a question. Jax waited.
There was barely-audible intake of breath. “Does what you went through on Kamino ever get between you and Kiki?” he asked, his words strained.
In the process of asking, Ridge angled his head toward Jax, his chin tipped ever so slightly in Jax’s direction. His eyes clung to the grass in the middle-distance. Tooth-white bugs flitted between the tall, yellowed blades. Somewhere, a creature buzzed. Inside Jax, he fought down his own memories of Kamino.
There was what Jax went through and what Ridge went through. There was no sense comparing and contrasting the violence, but the bloody overlap and the serrated edges of the venn diagram that made up their childhoods highlighted itself anyways. On the outside was the electric burn of a handheld tamer. Endless castigations for one, sickly-sweet praise for the other. Lures, isolation, traps. Knuckles cracking against bones, muffled by Kamino’s thunder; tears and pleas for mercy, muffled by the thick walls of a drill sergeant's quarters.
Predators. Prey. The sterile white cage that was Kamino.
Jax blinked. Sunlight stung his eyes. Heat warmed the back of his neck. The air smelled of summer and blooming flora, and the can in Jax’s hand was now room temperature. “No,” he said, his voice lighter than he felt.
Ridge looked down at that, at his bare hands and his crossed ankles. A crease formed between his brows, countless emotions storming his face at once. Jax didn’t bother trying to decipher them—Ridge still needed to feel like he wasn’t laid bare before someone’s eyes, despite the quivering vulnerability of the question.
Jax hazarded a step forward. “Is everything alright?”
Now discomfort was written plainly across Ridge’s features, and the awkward silence put a sour twinge in the air. Another twitch jolted his fingers. “I can’t perform,” he admitted.
Which Jax guessed, and which didn’t surprise him. The confession clung to the air before tumbling to the ground, dragging the rest of Ridge’s thoughts out of his mouth.
“I want to,” he continued. “And I try. I’ve been—we’ve been trying, and Ule’s always patient and keeps saying everything is okay, but I get a stomach ache when—”
A hand flew to his abdomen as if the pain was summoned by mere mention. Ridge’s words got cut off and he nailed his lips shut. Jax risked a worried glance in his direction, but when Ridge didn’t wave him off or bolt, he remained silent.
“In my head, I want to. I’m attracted to her, and I always have been,” Ridge said. His lips parted for a silent breath. “I want to be close to her. I can hold her hand, and I can cuddle most times, but I want more. I want more and my body won’t let me.”
Jax considered this for a few moments. “You said once that your body locked down whenever someone got too close after you left Kamino. Do you think it’s still trying to protect you? That subconsciously you’re still trying to protect yourself?”
Nausea flashed across Ridge’s face. His hand was still on his stomach. He gave one hard, steady blink. “I don’t want protection. I want—frankly, I want to be able to fuck my girlfriend without feeling like I’m throwing myself in front of a speeder.” He cast his eyes down to his feet. “You and Kiki look so natural.”
That surprised Jax. He didn’t think Ridge was studying them—rooting for them, certainly, especially in the beginning when Jax was too shy and lacking in confidence to properly pursue Kiki. Ridge had dating experience that the overwhelming majority of clones lacked. He was the one to be studied.
But what this revelation showed Jax is that both he and Kiki had smoothly crested a hurdle that Ridge could not. Kiki cried after the first time she and Jax had sex, then never again. They were actually quite active and healthy, which Jax was glad for. The idea that Kamino would rear its ugly head and get in the way of that aspect of his life wasn’t even something Jax had considered.
You wouldn’t, because you didn’t go through what Ridge went through. Jax folded and set aside the guilt he felt for being inconsiderate, the momentary lapse in judgement.
“We weren’t always,” Jax said, squinting against the sun. It had begun leaning into a downward arc across the sky. Soon, the types of bugs darting through the grass would change, and new animals would begin chirping. “When our relationship first started, Kiki was denying a lot of Jedi hangups, and I was uh. Clingy.”
Ridge made a surprised noise at the back of his throat. “‘Clingy?’”
Jax’s face warmed. “Her words. She said she just needed space. Thinking about it now, I can see how going from no relationships to always having someone by your side could be overwhelming.” Embarrassment was curdling Jax’s blood right about now, but he wasn’t going to hold back just because he used to be inexperienced and made a fool of himself. “I was big into gifts and grand romantic gestures and all the squishy things you’d see in a holomovie, and Kiki’s very…”
“Pragmatic,” Ridge supplied.
Jax nodded. “If she can’t eat it, wear it every day, or use it, she doesn’t want it.” He sighed. “But it wasn’t just me. She could be distant, and when she wanted to avoid hurting my feelings, she didn’t tell me when I was making her uncomfortable. And frankly, sometimes she just wasn’t putting in the effort.”
“Huh,” Ridge said. “I wouldn’t have expected that. She was always ready to cook for you.”
“And I was definitely glad for that, but there were plenty of other romantic gestures that I liked that she didn’t—and things she liked that I didn’t. We split, talked, and had to find a middle ground.” Jax recalled the devastation he’d felt when he asked whether she felt better not being in a relationship, and Kiki had said that yes, she had.
But then she said that she’d also missed him. She wanted more of what worked and less of what didn’t. She stumbled through her articulation, but ultimately came to the conclusion that she wanted to be with Jax. They just had to work at it.
“I remember when you broke up. It was weird,” Ridge said in agreement.
Jax leaned back a bit, now that he was sure that sudden movement wouldn’t scare Ridge off. “When we got back together, we talked a lot, worked through her Jedi things and my clinginess things. I figure it was…I don’t know. I didn’t have a lot of good physical contact as a child, or a lot of good attention. The war obviously didn’t help. I was trying to fulfill that need with Kiki.”
Which Jax had never confessed to anyone, not even Kiki. Maybe she intuited it. Maybe Jax only just finalized the realization himself, now. Either way, his earlier assessment was wrong. Kamino had gotten between him and Kiki.
Jax’s voice softened with the coming information. “Kiki was the awkward one with physical intimacy, at first. Not even necessarily sex—neither of us was ready for a few months. I mean just sharing a bed. Now that romance was involved, she said it was different from sharing a bed with Hahkin when there were no strings attached, and they were forbidden anyways.”
Ridge tested the waters around what information he could get from Jax. “How did you work through it?”
“Literally just taking it slow. Very slow, very deliberate steps,” Jax said. “She asked me to sleep over one night. And then the next and the next. It got less weird, and Pai absolutely loved waking up and seeing me first thing in the morning.”
Did Jax feel a special sense of pride that his daughter would try to launch herself out of her crib just to say good morning to him (before Kiki)? Yes.
“Then uh…one night she asked if I wanted to shower with her. Pai threw up on both of us,” Jax added hastily. “But I said yes. Obviously, I’m not offering more details than that, but it helped both of us.”
Ridge bit down on the corner of his thumbnail, his brow furrowed with concentration. He was at least moving more naturally now, which Jax saw as progress.
“You’re still in defense mode,” Jax continued. “I could be wrong, but it sounds like you’re trying to take the plunge when the last time you were in water, someone tried to drown you.”
Ridge flinched, and Jax tensed with apology. “Yeah…yeah,” Ridge said, his voice soft. “I’m…it’s hard, seeing you and Kiki and then having all this envy with no way to fix it. But we can start slow,” he said mostly to himself. He was no doubt making a list of things in his mind. For Jax, they went from sleeping together, to more cuddling, to showering, to making out and dry humping, to sex eventually.
Ridge sat up. “How long did it take you—”
Jax emphatically shook his head. “There’s no time limit,” he said, seeing exactly what path Ridge was about to head down. “Once you put a deadline on it, you either start rushing, or you crash when you regress or don’t meet your goals. Don’t do that. It won’t help you.”
Ridge, finally, looked at Jax. It struck Jax how much he’d grown, yet how much he hadn’t changed since they’d both fled the army. Ridge was taller, his voice pitched a shade deeper now that he was full grown. He was also still baby faced, and his eyes held a perpetual youth to them that the war could never stamp out.
“Thanks, Jax,” he said.
Jax offered him a soft smile, handing over the can of juice. Ridge popped the tab and took a sip. He grimaced. “This is warm.” He scrutinized the can. “Isn’t this Pai’s?”
Jax stood, stretching his arms above his head and popping every joint in his back. A damp spot had formed on the back of his shirt. “Eh, I’ve got more.”
Ridge laughed before chugging half the can, following Jax back inside.
I finally finished a thing. Pretty sure the writing quality plummets half way through but I was tired and sleep deprived
Anyway. The writing is from this thread bc I felt like writing it
Thank you @standing-mindwipe for kinda beta reading and letting me post <3
Sideswipe was actually having a pretty good time. He was at the beach with Mindwipe right after they'd covered a few bots in orange paint. Sideswipe was longing to speed through the sand but the rust prevented him from moving in his alt mode.
He was just walking along the beach to a nice quiet spot where it was a little bit shady since Mindwipe didn't like it when it was too bright. The sun was currently setting so the light shouldn't bother him for too much longer anyway.
"What about that spot over there? Looks like it's in the shade but the sun will be down soon anyway." Sideswipe looked up at Mindwipe, who was sitting on his shoulder.
"It shall suffice." Mindwipe replied. It'll suffice? This was Sideswipe's favorite spot and Mindwipe thought it wasn't good enough. Or it was barely good enough for him.
"Did you bring any fuel?" Mindwipe looked to Sideswipe who pulled exactly one cube of energon out of his subspace. Mindwipe jumped off his shoulder and grabbed the energon cube on the way down. "Now, where's your cube?"
Sideswipe felt so stupid in that moment. He didn't want to show how embarrassed he was so he tried to play it off as a joke. "I knew I was forgetting something." Mindwipe did not look happy with his answer. Sideswipe didn't like the way Mindwipe was looking at him.
Sideswipe was losing confidence in his ability to make this seem like a silly thing he just did. "Well… I figured you were low on energon so I did up a cube for you and then forgot to make my own." Mindwipe just looked at him in disbelief and disappointment.
"Weren't you the one who brought up bringing fuel?" Mindwipe asked him. sideswipe's act was slowly falling apart. He didn't know how to respond to that. He knew that he was the one to suggest refueling but ended up forgetting his own fuel. He had to somehow save his dignity.
"Okay, so what if I forgot to grab my own fuel. I'll just get some when I get back later." Sideswipe promised. He would too. Even if he forgot to stop by the storage room, he had some in his hab. He didn't use all of the cubes that Blades had brought him. They were still sitting in the corner of his hab.
Apparently Mindwipe didn't like that answer because he threw the energon cube at Sideswipe's helm. It hit Sideswipe and spilled all over him. His helm was covered and it was starting to drip down onto his shoulders and chassis. He was going to have to have a shower after this. The energon would dry and become very sticky.
"What was that for?" Sideswipe asked, he wasn't happy that he was now going to be sticky and covered in energon until he got back to base.
"Well you don't have any energon so I won't have any in the meantime then. Also it smells horrid." Mindwipe complained. Sideswipe was going to defend himself more but Mindwipe tilted his head and was looking slightly confused. It looked like he was looking for something. "Why are you not rusty anymore?"
Sideswipe looked down at himself, confused as well now. Mindwipe was hopefully not lying. "I'm not?"
Sideswipe studied his frame. Somehow all the rust that used to be on him was gone. He was so confused. How could he be cured? The medics were supposed to find a cure and First Aid was still infected. Acidic energon? That's what worked?
Wait... Sideswipe was cured. That meant he could do whatever he wanted. He could move and transform and finally drive around again.
Sideswipe was filled with so much joy, he picked up Mindwipe and started jumping around. "I'm cured! I'm cured! I'm cured! I'm cured! I'm cured!" He started chanting. He barely felt Mindwipe struggling and hissing at him to let go.
He only noticed that Mindwipe didn't like being held when he pushed hard against Sideswipe's chassis and jumped away from him. Sideswipe watched as Mindwipe transformed and took off his head to throw it at Sideswipe.
"What that fraaAAAAHHHHHH"Sideswipe screamed, barely catching his friend's head. He nearly threw it back but Mindwipe was his friend and he couldn't just throw his head on the ground.
Sideswipe fumbled with the head for a few seconds before realizing that Mindwipe's body had turned into a bat and was perfectly fine. "Whu- uh- what?" He mumbled.
Sideswipe barely registered the transformation sound before there was a small bot in his arms. The small one suddenly stabbed him and started yelling at him "Put me down right now! I don't want you filthy thing touching me! Put me down right now!"
"Ow!" He yelled and dropped the small bot. He then looked at the bot and the bat that had once been Mindwipe. "What is happening? There's two of you?"
"Obviously!" The tiny bot answered as the bat crawls over to them. Sideswipe didn't like the bot very much. He had an attitude that Sideswipe didn't appreciate.
"Well if you'd simply put me down when I asked, I wouldn't have had to transform and let that roam around." The bat spoke. "At least you're cured."
"Good for you." The rude bot said sarcastically.
Sideswipe needed a minute to process this. His friend was made up of two bots, one of which was very rude for no reason. He sat down in the sand and curled in on himself, pulling his knees to his chassis. It let him gather his thoughts better. He watched the two interact and noticed something.
"You also look cured. I think. I don't see anymore rust on you." Sideswipe commented, leaning to either side to get a look at the bat.
"Hmmm… Oh! Thats… a very good thing at least." The bat said.
Sideswipe just sat there silently for a few more minutes and watched the two interact. He did find out that the bat was Mindwipe and the bot's name was Vorath. They didn't really get along with eachother though. Sideswipe was pretty sure he'd made friends with Mindwipe the entire time. He didn't like Vorath so far so he didn't think he'd be friends with him.
"Do you want to go for a drive? I'm going to go for a drive. Oh wait, you can't drive. I can take you, I just need to spin my tires for a while. You can come if you want to. I'll just be going as fast as I can." Sideswipe offered and transformed. He waited a few seconds before Mindwipe hopped in his passenger seat and Vorath got in his trunk. Sideswipe thought it was strange but that's fine.
Sideswipe then drove as fast as his engine could take him while listening to the playlist Bluestreak gave him earlier.
One normal day at the Playtime Factory. How wrong were they?
Children missing…. Toys coming to life and pouncing… blood and scream everywhere…
Through the mass hysteria, he ran to one of the offices, locking the door behind him as he glanced at the calendar: August 8, 1995.
And then Romero woke up from his trance. He glanced down at the bouquet he held in his hands, dropping them immediately. Was this a vision of what was to come or did it already happen? Either way, he knew one thing: he had to stop the Hour of Joy from happening. But how?
… The Phoenix will rise from the ashes and fields of Poppies…
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Musings of a stowaway, and it’s experience of being trapped, as well as it’s motives and desires. (And a change in its perception of its identity.)
or, a quick disjointed 3am writing of sorts from an unconventional point of view. Based on @waywardstation’s Train of Thought collaborative AU, thank you for the plot worms that refuse to leave <3
Warnings for: identity issues, existential crises/horror, headspace typical weirdness, and an unreliable-ish narrator(?) (ask to add warnings if I’ve forgotten some)
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It’s first experience was of pain. Of being torn asunder and rendered powerless. Ripped away from what was once it’s divinity, it’s power, it felt insignificant. It had only wanted to live. To be free. It had lashed out, what else could it do. It wanted the pain to stop, to feel something, anything. Yet only the sounds of shattering glass and crushed metal greeted them.
The Conductor, of course he wasn’t called the Conductor then, but he would happen upon eventually, inevitably. Any and all threats towards the Station Master was to be removed, or eliminated. He did not take kindly to the intruder, there was no sympathy, only the cold efficiency of a guard. How cruel he was, to stamp out something that only wanted to live. It was still strong, but it would be disconnected from the rest of the vessel, a double edged sword the action. Leaving the guardian weakened, but the parasite isolated.
‘Was it evil?’ It would wonder, ‘Was it evil by simply obeying its nature? It’s desire to live? By simply being what it was?’ The fragmented memories did not answer it, cold and unfeeling as the rest of the station. Old memories playing over and over again, looping senselessly, like a broken tape. It was nothing but resourceful, once it’s pain subsided. It would learn to use the station controls just as well as the Conductor did, even if it was constrained to these compartments alone.
It would learn from these looping memories, learn of the sun, the feeling of its rays, the rumble of trains running on tracks, the love between friends and family, of rain, of grass, of trust, of being wanted and loved. It would began to yearn for these things as well, their rage once subdued, now risen again by the perceived injustice of it all. ‘Why could it not experience these things as well? Why was it locked away? Why did it have to be in pain?’
Why?
Why?
Why?
This wasn’t fair.
Surely it was someone as well, it could think, it could feel. It was just as real as those in those memories. It wanted to be trusted, it wanted to be loved. It did not remember a time from Before, of what it was. All it did remember was pain, pain, pain-
Was it Ingo? Or simply part of the Station Master, a locked away and forgotten fragment of a being? It had to be, otherwise what other reason would it have to be here? It had to be, because if it wasn’t, it would be purged. And it did not want to die.
How cruel that Conductor, to keep it from its memories, to let it starve and rot and fester. It would have to remedy that, even if it was by force. It was Ingo, and that was that.
(It did not want to face the alternative if it was it not. It did not want to die. It had only wanted to live.)
(And there is nothing more dangerous than a cornered and frightened animal.)
rules: simply reblog with a snippet of your current wip! can be anything! fanfic, original fic, poetry, character profile, whatever! just try to keep it sfw! feel free to tag your fellow writer friends in this!
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Here’s the opening passage from my current fanfiction I’m working on - mod moon
“Eternal. That’s what he’d called it. Eternal. Unending. A creation ruled by the all knowing, all seeing, where gods would walk amongst the common as dear friends beloved. But all things fade as time drags its weary body across the barren landscape caring not if some glimmer, some vestige, of life still clung on to hope in its ever certain path forth. And this. This eternal kingdom, where all had shed the bonds of instinct and savagery that marked their lesser ken, a world he’d made and given freely of that which none had ever dreamed, had simply been another grain of sand crushed underfoot so carelessly and forgotten about like dust in the wind. Is this what years and years of ceaseless struggle had gotten him? What all the death, the suffering, the sacrifices, the tears and crushing emptiness that followed, had truly amounted to? A ruin filled with ghosts of memories, taunting their broken king with whispers of better days, where the fallen bodies of his subjects lay, prayers lost in the gloom never to be heard, never to be known.”