#plural fiction

[edwardallenpoe]

My first ever Sherlock & Co. Fic, it's ofc about Sherlock's DID. One of Sherlock's headmates fronts after being dormant for a number of years and meets John. Very fluffy, kind of angsty but more comfort less hurt. Mentions ofc of dormancy and allusions to past trauma, plus mentions of panic attacks.

I wrote this mostly inspired by some of my own dormant headmates coming out of dormancy, it's a weird and wonderful and relieving experience for us.

This fic is now on ao3 (link)

Fic under the cut (no editing, I wrote this in a flash, do not judge lol):

When he opened my eyes, he knew immediately some time has passed since the last time he did. 

He looked around the room, trying to discern and deduce where he was- definitely an apartment, so not a dorm or his parents place, somewhere he resides, mainly. He stood on wobbly feet, noticing the tightness of his trousers on his waist- they've gained weight, how odd- and made his way outside the bedroom, finding the bathroom to be right next to his bedroom, seeing in the mirror his- no, Sherlock's- reflection. 

He touches his cheek, sees new scars, and old, familiar ones faded. He runs his hands through his hair, clean and scented and soft. It's been a considerable amount of time. 

“Sherlock? It's around that time, Mariana wanted to talk about some potential clients, remember?” He heard a voice, and he felt a small sort of panic rise in him. 

“Er, j-just a minute!” He lets out, and wonders at how full his voice sounds. 

“uh… alright, then… you alright, mate?” The voice just inside the doorframe now, the reflection of a man with shaggy blond hair and a scruffy beard leaning on the frame, his blue eyes piercing through him. The silence in his head, a void only a minute ago, helpfully supplies him with some help as he hears John play over. 

“Yes, I'm fine, John.” He says, and the man's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, his eyes wide. 

“You called me John, and it wasn't even a tense emotionally charged moment of stress and trauma, now I definitely know somethings wrong. What is it, Sherlock?” He asked, and he damned his parts. 

“I…” then, fear rises. He had no idea if this John person knew, knew of the secret that they had held since Trevor, new of the myriad of thoughts and voices this body shares. 

John's eyes softened. “Hey, it's okay, whatever it is. You can trust me.” 

He wishes desperately for someone, anyone to confirm or deny this, and he gets the overwhelming trust his host feels for this man. 

“I… I'm Scotty.” He says. “I haven't… not since…” 

Understanding blooms on John's face, and he smiles. “It's really nice to meet you, Scotty. I'm John Watson. Sherlock has told me about you.” 

Scotty crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at John's shoes. “What has he told you?” 

“He told me you left, a long time ago. Dormancy, he said?” 

Scotty nodded. “It's been a very long time. I don't know what…” he intended to add time, year, anything, but it was a given. He didn't really know anything. 

“The year's 2024, it's July. We're in London, 221b Baker Street. I'm your roommate, and Sherlock's best friend. We have Mariana, and Archie downstairs.” John explains softly. “D'you want something to eat?” 

Scotty nods. 

John smiles. “I've only just started getting Sherlock to eat, it's nice to have some cooperation, c'mon.” 

John leads him out of the bathroom and to a small kitchen area, in complete disarray but generally nicer than most kitchens Scotty has seen. It looks like the people that use it care, not only for the stationary and cutlery but for their living space, their home. It makes something warm inside of Scotty bubble. 

“This is… nice.” He says to John, and the man snorts. 

“Glad you think so, I think I about given up on keeping it tidy, keeping track of Sherlock is a near impossible task.” John motions for the and, and Scotty sits, placing his hands on the surface. “How does, um… eggs? Eggs sound?” John asked as he rummaged through their fridge. Scotty smiled at John, tried not to laugh at the effort the man was putting into this. 

“That sounds good, John.” he looked around more, peering into the living room a bit. It was also messy, papers and books and mugs and wires everywhere, hoodies and dog toys and dvd's as well, and Scotty furrowed his brow in fascination. “How long have we been living together, John?” He asked. 

“Oh, uh,” he blew out some air as he thought, clicking his tongue. “Around, I want to say, nine months now? Moved in around the end of october, I think?” 

“Wow…” He mutters. All the trinkets, all. The pieces, the papers, the studies Sherlock loves and cares for so much, integrated so deeply into John's own life. To be honest with himself, he wasn't sure where Sherlock's things started and John's ended. “You're… really important to us.” 

He hears John sputter a little. “What? I mean, not that I didn't know, just- y'know. Odd to hear it.” 

Scotty shook his head. “Even with Trevor, or all of Sherlock's other friends, things weren't like… this. We really care for you, and you care for us.” 

John clears throat. “I'mean, 'course I do, Scotty. Your system has helped me in a lot of ways, ways I'm not sure even I understand.” 

Scotty looked to John, fascinated. “You've met the others?” 

“Fleetingly,” John clarified. “I believe his name was… Arthur? He helps Sherlock go to bed, sometimes, when he stays up for longer than four days. And Shelley, she's fronted a couple times to help with my panic attacks.” 

Scotty's heart warms. To know that his parts were still around, doing good when he was away, it was reassuring to know. 

“I'm glad, then.” Scotty says. “It's good to know we've met you, John Watson. Things weren't always… like this. This nice. Things were…” he closes his eyes as he tries to not think of that night, that man, once so high, now brought down by his own hubris, and the rushing torrent of your fault, your fault, your fault- he felt that night. “Hard. It's good.” 

John comes to sit across from Scotty, smiling. “I know. It was the same for me. I'm glad I met you, Scotty.” 

John makes the eggs, and Scotty eats about two before he's finished, and John goes downstairs to explain that Sherlock was having a bad day, and Scotty stayed upstairs, petting Archie, who slobbered all over his lap, though he found he couldn't mind. 

We made it, he thought, over and over. We made it. 

By the time John had come back upstairs, The body of Sherlock's system was curled up on the couch, nuzzling Archie to find comfort. “Scotty?” He asked, and got a negative hum in response. 

“Sherlock?” He tried, and he got a nod. “Hey, how are you doing?” 

Sherlock lifted his head, his face red and tear streaked. “I'm… I'm okay. I'm good. Thank you, John.” 

John's heart melts, and he comes to sit next to Sherlock, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades. “Of course, Sherlock, of course. It was really the least I could do.” 

Sherlock sniffled. “Frédéric had said that there was a chance Scotty wasn't ever coming back. That he wouldn't until he felt complete and utter safety.” 

Realization slowly crept onto John. “I… you feel safe. Here, with us?” 

Sherlock nodded. “After what happened… I couldn't blame him. But I'm just-” he turned away from the dog and instead found comfort in John's embrace, and John immediately wrapped his arms around him. “Thank you.” 

John squeezed, rubbing his back. “Of course, Sherlock, of course.” 

Scotty popped up a couple times over the next few days, but his fronting activity dwindled. John had almost worried he had gone dormant again, but Sherlock seemed happy, whole, and good, and he found that wherever Scotty lay in that great big brain of theirs, he would do what it took to make him feel safe. 

[fenmere]

Another bit of dialog we're proud of:

“Are you still skeptical?” Phage asked.

“I’m not skeptical that you’ve created a whole new headmate for me, no,” Sarah replied. “But I want to be skeptical about all the rest of it. I’ve got shit to do, Phage. You know that. Being disabled is a full time job, and our division of labor kind of really sucks sometimes. And this body sure isn’t OSHA or ADA compliant. It’s a fucking hazard.”

[fablefoxfables]

vignette: the plurality brick

"You sure?" "I'm sure. Please." "How… hard… am I supposed to hit you?" "Um… like you're trying to knock me out, but not kill me." "… Huh… okay… I'm not going to get in trouble, right?" "Nope. You were never here." "But I am here." "Because you're a good friend." "Are you sure you shouldn't talk to a professional about this?" They hefted the rectangular object in their hand. It seemed heavy. "Still a good friend, becoming less so." "Well now I want to hit you with it." "Do it." "… You're SURE? "I'm feeling less anxious and more annoyed, will you please just-"

WHAM!! But I didn't hear it.

A crack split the mirror and I couldn't find myself in the reflection.

It was split perfectly in two halves, but the edges were jagged and shards were missing.

I got closer. When I finally found my reflection, I didn't recognize myself.

Ow. Ow ow ow. I found myself on my hands and knees, breathing heavily. My adrenaline was spiked. Just like waking up from a nightmare.

I felt control leaking out of my eyes like teardrops. Dripping. Seeing stars in the carpet. My body feels numb. My ears are ringing. I can't hear a thing. I was hit, hard. I felt fear, and had to remind myself that I'm safe here. I felt betrayed, and had to remind myself that I asked for this. I put my hand to the back of my head to check for blood, but there wasn't even a wound. Nothing external, at least. I'm okay. I'm safe here. But my breathing quickened. What have I done? A small me in my head crowed "Why did you do that?" again and again. Shhh, it's okay. I choked up. I felt held. I felt held close and wrapped my arms around myself. I breathed relief, and tears ran down my cheeks. I was on the floor now, staring up at the ceiling, watching the lights spin. That's right. Relax. You did very well. Smothered excitement. Giddy. The feeling contradicted my other feelings and I wished it would give me some space for a little bit longer. Oh, but I felt better. Those feelings distracted me from my own. I breathed in, deep. Oh, what have I done? I can't believe you did that… is what I would say, but you? You're ridiculous, aren't you? I was giggling, as if I was happy about someone doing something incredibly stupid. Most people wouldn't. I found myself red-faced. Would you quit laughing!? It's not stupid! … But now I felt entirely different than I did a minute ago.

I wish I could go back to being dazed. I really, really need to sleep on this…

[ashwin-the-artless]

My book is now for sale!

[cambriancrew]

Started reading The Hybrid Chronicles today and it's good. It's very YA in style which is a little startling after having read so much epic fantasy lately. It's also really good to notice that things I do in my fiction writing feel YA in a similar way, though mine is a little less contemporary, and not dystopian.

I'll have more to say on it after we've read more - and more importantly, slept more. Very tired tonight.

[writing-plurals]

unrelated to the murder subplot, but it brought up something in my brain. Ghosts how would one best represent a system as a ghost. of course there would probably need to be nuance depending on the way the supernatural was handled in the setting, but would it be one ghost that is the system, or smaller ghosts that contain specific alters, or just the one who was fronting when they died, or- like what do y'all feel would work best

Firstly, I love your brain, anon. I am going to be thinking about system ghosts for the next week.

To the actual question, though, I can see justification for a lot of different types of system ghosts. A ghost that simply is a system is the basic form I'd say. Sams as in life as in death.

Only the headmate that was fronting would be tragic and something I could see an empty system writing or just why a ghost can't move on because it misses it's headmates, it feels incomplete, if they have trauma unable to get over it because it can't remember half of it but still has the emotions connected to it or a plethora of other reasons.

Maybe they forgot they were a system because they can't acknowledge that they died. A member trapped in denial that the other system members can't reach.

A swarm of a bunch of tiny ghosts are they are awake at once. Do they fall asleep is it harder for them to make decisions now that they are a ghost?

Since they aren't physically anymore, does their body still resemble their living body, or do they resemble whoever is fronting?

If the story has ghost abilities, would they be different for each headmate, depending on how they feel about being dead?

I don't think there is a way to write a system that is a ghost that is more or less correct than another. There are a million different unique ways to portray ghosts already depending on what story is being told, and there are just as many unique plural experiences that limiting it to just one portrayal would be a disservice.

If you have a specific idea that you want to ask about you can but what would work best without any context just depends on what kind of story you want to tell and what you would think would be the most fun to write.

Again, thank you so much for this ask. My brain is buzzing with ideas now.

-Mod Sev

[interstellarsystem]

Nonhumans are here, even if you do not see us. We always will be. We are often hard to spot, but can be found doing all the things a human might.

A cat went to work at an event stall for a mental health service.

A massive sea serpent wanted to go to science class because it enjoyed it more than the rest of those living in its shared form.

The void sat down, huddled up in a blanket, to watch a tv show with its partners. It had to stop watching after a bit, but enjoyed spending time with those close to it anyway.

A wolf went to a psychologist appointment and gratefully drank the hot chocolate they were offered in the waiting room.

A shapeshifting being of pure darkness spoke publicly about trans rights in front of politicians and then went to the pride festival he helped fight to keep alive.

A dragon went to school so the others sharing his human body could have a break.

A manifestation of the fear of madness itself sat in the food court at the mall eating mochi and drinking tea while waiting for its friends to get back from shopping.

A witch drew a picture of his cardinal bird and shared the work he was so proud of with his friends.

A cockatoo borrowed the next book in his favourite series from the school library and almost couldn't wait the whole day to go home and read it.

An alien went camping and watched the birds outside and the way the wind made waves and patterns on the water.

A fallen angel went shopping for sunglasses to shield his eyes from how bright the sun was.

A harpy went shopping for new plants to look after. He named a few because he loved them so much, and sent pictures to all of his friends.

An anthropomorphic hedgehog traded Pokemon cards with his peers at school. He was happy with his collection.

You may not see us, and you may feel alone, but you are not. We are just hidden. We are in more places than you'd think, and in the places you'd least expect. We are complex, we are valued, and we are here.

[thetransfemininereview]

My new essay about the interconnections between transmisogyny and pluralphobia is live right now! It's titled "Transfemininity and Dissociative Identity Disorder: An Undertheorized Intersection," and you can read it here ✨

[fenmere]

We are not diagnosed with DID, but we have taken the self reporting schedule and fully qualify for a diagnosis - and when it flared its strongest, it did (heh) completely disrupt our life, losing us our career, marriage, and house (though other disabilities contributed to the career part). Avoiding the diagnosis was part of having a successful transition, too.

Every DID system is very different, though. We recovered from the most debilitating symptoms very quickly, for instance, and consider ourselves mostly a functional system now.

But, we're huge and continue to grow in number, and are belligerently out as plural and overt in presentation in order to maintain that management.

Also, we write about plurality a LOT, and approve of keeping your character's system smaller to make writing about them easier.

Also, communication via sticky notes is not something we've had to do, but it is something we really enjoying seeing in representation because it seems fun and cute to us (possibly because we don't know how much of a pain in the butt it can be). We use a whole slew of other communication methods from just talking out loud to each other, to journaling on social media and writing novels and then rereading what we've written over and over. Writing comments about our day and then rereading them when people react to them turns out to be a pretty good and organic way of keeping track of what we've done.

Anyway, the questions: ---

What do you consider yourself to be? A host with alters? A living conglomerate? A person with a condition that you've adapted to? We are a mid sized nation of people in a human suit. We are individuals with no host (never was one), who can trace our inner lineage to two individuals (Jenifer and Eh) who were born with the body. We have a huge population that just kind of chill in our subconscious and have fun (we hope) living their lives by dreaming and playing memory support while a small few of us share fronting duties. We are also autistic, trans, and therian, all of which contribute to the feeling that we're outsiders to the rest of the world, and that our real world is the one in our head.

If you're comfortable, can you describe the triggers/experience of switching? Most of the time, we are fairly coconscious, blurry, and highly switchy. In this state, we can switch fluidly and lucidly, whenever we want. We think of the person we want to front and basically pull them forward. If we need some kind of focal action to help facilitate it, swiping our hand across our vision works really well for us. But, there are involuntary triggers. And also, when we've been highly stressed and distressed for a long period of time, we get very strongly separated and start experiencing blackouts and other types of amnesia, and our switches become almost entirely involuntary. Even then, unlike a lot of other systems, they happen without us even noticing. There's no pain, no headache, no period of dissociation (that we can remember). We just suddenly become another person. These switches are usually triggered by the following things: - walking through doors - talking to a new and different person (changing our social situation) - listening to a different type of music - starting a project - a loud noise or unexpected question - generally any situation that requires what other people experience as code switching - some (but not all) of our C-PTSD type triggers Our DID seems mostly to be triggered by our autistic/ADHD needs (overstimulation, emotional dysregulation, switching special interests, etc.). We have C-PTSD, and a whole host of triggers for that, but having that triggered often doesn't increase our amnesia or fugue states. We're maybe an outlier in this regard, but it would be cool to see a system like us in someone else's writing some day.

What is your relationship with your alters? Do they fall in the archetypes certain people talk about in certain circles online? For most of us who front regularly, we're a tight knit team of romantic couples and polycules who experiencing running our life much like drifting in jaegers is depicted in Pacific Rim, or fusing gems in Steven Universe. We're an experience. However, we have had some members who fall into the something close to the persecutor role, particularly during our times of turmoil before we figured out we were plural in the first place. And we definitely have our protectors. We generally like to use our own terms to describe the jobs we often take on or switch up. Very few of us are fundamentally a Thing. We're people, and we each grow and change. But, we do have id monsters, as sort of a gender and a role, who are closer to our system's basic needs and like to play monsters in our nightmares, to bring messages about what we fear or require. We like to give them a constructive outlet in our writing whenever we can and celebrate them as admirable and needed members of our culture. And the vast majority of us, particularly that mostly silent huge population, are what we call liaisons (effectively introjects). They autistically special interest their subjects, each one having a person, animal, or fictional character that they study and learn how to imitate. But since most of these members come from people we just glimpse on the street, they don't really have a chance to play that role, so they retreat back into our subconscious and seem to form communities there and become extras in our dreams and fiction a lot of the time. And then we have the liaisons of people like Trump. And we don't know what to do about them. We don't let them front, at all, which seems like a violation of their human rights. But fronting is participating in our government, and we can't have people we don't trust doing that. These liaisons need to do things to prove to us that they are not their sources and that they have grown to be better people. It's really unfortunate, but it's also where we get some of our more annoying intrusive thoughts, so we do have to manage them in this way. They are really super rare, though. Otherwise, those of us who front most frequently call ourselves the Senior Officers. And the roles we play while fronting include pilot, captain, and operations. And these are just seats we each temporarily take. Pilot fronts, captain manages, and everyone else is part of operations and support, ready to switch out with either the pilot or captain as needed. Most of the time, talking to us is like talking to the entire bridge crew of the starship Enterprise, if it was run by anarchist pirates.

How would you describe DID joy? Oh, OK. For us, there's so much of it. There's the humor inherent in realizing that you outnumber just about anyone (Tril outnumbers most any given person they're talking to, we outnumber Seattle). But, it's humorous, because despite outnumbering someone, in practicality it doesn't matter (there's the bottleneck of just one body). So you get to joke about it without it being an actual threat to anyone. It's kind of fun to talk about being a clown car of sorts, or breaking the fire code of a room or building. Then there's realizing that you're never alone, and that you have each other's backs, and that you got through the roughest parts of life by supporting each other. It makes you a powerful team, and there are things you can do that no singlet can do, and it's worthy of pride. Sometimes you might think of your fellow members as siblings, or best friends, or partners (it gets fuzzy a bit, because the outworld rules of relationships do not practically apply or matter). And that's a powerful feeling when you can sense each other.

What do you absolutely hate in representation of DID in media? That DID requires recovery, and that recovery must involve final fusion. This is just not true. Final fusion can be a beautiful thing and some systems strive for it and are thankful that they've achieved it (and it's usually something they have to keep working on. But it only succeeds for about 12.5% of the cases that strive for it. The norm is that most systems have to work toward functional multiplicity. And the media focuses so much on final fusion that it basically serves as propaganda for the saneism of neuronormativity. Depictions of functional multiplicity are much needed. We also strongly dislike the idea that DID requires some kind of really bad trauma, and the focus on dredging up that trauma and making it part of the plot of the story. This isn't so much to push for depictions of endogenic DID (DID that arises from causes other than trauma), so much as not making the trauma the center of the story. In the vast majority of cases of DID, systemic and repeated childhood trauma is part of their history and it can make for a tempting story to write. It's just been done so much, and so intensely (Doom Patrol is a really, really good example of this being done well, too). But once a system reaches some sort of stability and starts to get on with their life, it becomes a backdrop, something they still deal with regularly but that doesn't actually dominate their every conscious or subconscious moment. If you have a system who is successfully working as a professional, they've largely dealt with their past and have figured out how to adapt and move on.

Questions for DID Writers/Readers!

Hi friends! So as I reach the end of Migration Patterns, book two in my series, I've settled on introducing Trillium, or Trill. Trill is a birthright, meaning they are a part of the community of people in my magic system who were born with a disability that allows them access to a specific and innate magic. But they are also untapped, meaning that - even though they identify with the culture - they don't have the ability associated with birthrights of the dissociative variant.

They have DID, and I imagine them to be a smaller system with three or four members. In the role of the story they all work on the legal team for an outreach center that provides representation to birthrights and other underserved communities. I saw them as having minimal connection to each other, but they manage to communicate enough to work together in research, drafting, and ultimately presenting their cases.

This is a really important character in the third book, and even though I don't really consider myself capable of presenting the DID experience in the pages of some genre epic as someone who is a different type of dissociative, I would really love to do my best to make sure I provide a cool character for people to enjoy. And I'd love some help and insight so I could make that happen!

So if you identify as having DID, can you give me your answers to the questions below?

What do you consider yourself to be? A host with alters? A living conglomerate? A person with a condition that you've adapted to?

If you're comfortable, can you describe the triggers/experience of switching?

What is your relationship with your alters? Do they fall in the archetypes certain people talk about in certain circles online?

How would you describe DID joy?

What do you absolutely hate in representation of DID in media?

Thank you so much in advance for your help! If this sounds weird, you're welcome to learn more about book one of my series here. I know it's a weird thing to pitch what if all sorcerers were disabled, but the magic is not really focused on as much as the characters just living their lives and interacting with each other. It's less fantasy and more magical realism. And food descriptions. And asexual tenderness oops.

[leviafin]

Exotrauma

Having exotrauma from a "cringe" or "silly" source sucks. It feels like you're taken infinitely less seriously than those who have trauma from grittier, adult-geared and/or "acceptable" sources. Which in and of itself just isolates you and makes it worse.

I'm not just a silly little thing from your silly little Roblox game that could never show signs of trauma because it's 'just a kids game'--and I'm not your blorbo either. It feels like there's 2 common options for how people treat fictionkind with exotrauma:

Oh my poor little scrunkly, my little cardboard box meow meow.... Going to hold you because I love babying you and treating you like you're not even a person because I see you only as my favourite character. (Mind you, this is distinctly SEPARATE from actual friendly support, you can tell the difference.)

You're not a fictional character, get over it lmao. Yeah I know you are them but like you didn't ACTUALLY live through that, stop claiming it, it's disrespectful. Why are you upset at my memes about your death lol. Get a life.

So like... Maybe fictionkind are people. Maybe I don't want to think about the worse parts of my source. Maybe I don't want my trauma shoved in my face as a little funny joke, even if the context is changed. Maybe, just maybe... Leave alterhumans with fictional sources alone. Even if their source is lighthearted, even if it's for kids, even if it's the most "cringe" media you can think of.

Sonic the Hedgehog might've seemed fine in-source but maybe he's fucked up from all that he's been through. That warrior cat alterhuman isn't just being edgy, maybe they're suffering from the memories of fighting to survive day in and day out. Bluey is allowed to be not okay, and their source shouldn't dictate their experiences. Do you ever think that some Pokemon or trainers don't have amazing, adventurous lives travelling around with their best friends? Mario might have nightmares and flashbacks from his source. Mickey Mouse is allowed to be hurt, and allowed to express that. That MLP alterhuman isn't always going to be just a happy colourful magic pony with no issues whatsoever.

We are PEOPLE, and our sources being "happy", "for kids", "light-hearted", "fun" or anything of the sort should NOT dictate how we are treated here, what our experiences are "allowed" to be, or how we are expected to act. Treat fictionkind--of all sorts--like PEOPLE.

[fenmere]

The print edition of this book is such a satisfying and visceral way to read this story.

We weren't originally going to do a hardback edition, but we think now that we will, as that will be more archival.

Paperback will be released on July 31st, in less than a week!

Hardback may take longer, since we're experiencing computer troubles.

We chose a cream paper, to make it easier on the eyes. And we believe that the font we chose makes for better readability at the size it is printed at. We have dyslexic dysgraphia, which makes these choices critical, and it's very easy for us to read with no strain on our 49 year old eyes.

We'll do a large print and an epub edition as well, released along with the hardback.

But back to the paper. It's thick and smooth and luxurious, which is probably why the book is around $19. This is a choice that Lulu has stuck us with while other publishers are opting for thinner, fragile, cheaper paper.

This stuff is smooth and wonderful to touch, and quite hardy.

If you wanted to get a book that you could truly enjoy, but also trust the text body would be well preserved, you could hardly do better than this.

We have some quibbles with the paperback cover, but they’re really minor, and part of why we'll add the hardback casebound edition as well.

[sophieinwonderland]

You know, it's actually surprising that, for all the times science fiction has grappled with the question of "at what point does a simulated consciousness become real?" this isn't ever applied to imaginary friends in fiction.

I mean, when you think about it, the "imagination" is just a simulation the brain makes.

So when the brain can make a simulation that is both independent and self-conscious, seeing itself as separate from the creator, and it's obviously capable of passing a Turing test, what makes that simulation any less of a person than the one that pilots the body?

I'd love to see more fiction writers take on topics like this.

[hi-im-kaybee]

And when I opened my eyes, it was quiet again.

I took stock of the environment. The sun was rising, a beautiful orange glow blanketing the field stretched out in front of us, tendrils of purple and blue streaking their way across the waning night sky. The land in front of us abundant with grasses and the occasional tree, all waving in the hands of the cool wind washing westward. The soil beneath my body, firm and comfortable. The tree my head resided on solid and encompassing of our view, shielding us from anything overhead. She was bearing fruit.

Memories started to claw their way back into my waking mind. A terrible droning, an incomprehensible rift stretching and splitting and splintering across my world, my home. My parents and friends and protectors dying, decaying. A being, not unlike me, but somehow entirely different to anyone I had ever seen. An outstretched hand, guided with a promise.

"We need to depart now. Please, come with me."

Their voice echoed in my head, faintly. It was hard to recall the events between then and now. I looked down at my form - the same earth tone skin, the same clothes shrouding my body as I had before. But they were different. Larger, more defined and intricate. Swaths of ink across my skin, moving and shifting before my very eyes. Had I always been this way?

We have now.

Their voice found its way into my mind again. This one was more succinct, however - still just a little foreign, but present. Alive. I start to wonder where it's coming from...

Inside us. Our heart. Our mind.

A warmth fills my chest and goosebumps crawl up every inch of my skin. My vision blurs ever so slightly. I feel... something... akin to the sensation of a headache, but pleasant. Encompassing, but reassuring. A mental blanket. My hands have found their way around my body, hugging my self and resting on my back.

This is no longer just my world, my creation, my body. It is ours.

A sigh escapes my... our lips. The waves of warmth and pleasure coalesce as we take a deep breath in and find our footing. The soil, cakey and soft under our feet, sprouts grass before our very eyes. It's surprising, initially, but assurance and comfort wash over the reaction.

We feel a pang of longing, for what we were before, for the lives that we wish were not cut so short. We indulge it the feeling a moment - to grieve, to remember, to love. And in order to love fully, we accepted it and let it go.

A flock of birds circled overhead as we made our way onto the plains.

Prompt #861

The child sobbed in God A's – well, not arms, exactly, they didn't have those, but – limbs, wails interspaced with gasps and sniffles that surely couldn't have been providing them enough air to scream the way they were doing. But humans were an odd species at the best of times, so God A ignored it and turned their gaze from the child fruitlessly trying to wipe away their tears, and to the tear in reality a few meters away.

It pulsed and bled, a purple ooze spilling whenever a new crack appeared, which turned everything it touched to nothingness before it faded. The only thing left was void; the absence of anything and everything reality should be. The blood of reality, ironically enough, only furthered the damage done to it.

That wasn't the only blood present, though. Red stained the ground that remained, although most of the bodies that had produced it had vanished by now, taken by the same tear steadily growing across the sky. Some of it was even on the child; God A absently wiped some of it away, but when the child hiccuped they brought their full attention back to them.

How ironic, that the youngest of the humans that had come here had been the only one to survive. How tragic, too, that they might be the only survivor when they never asked to be dragged into this. How... cruel of the human that had set all this in motion.

But now wasn't the time for that. There wasn't any time, actually, and that was the issue – as the tear in reality grew, God A could feel the damage spreading to more and more areas of reality, chipping away not just at matter, but at time, too. Soon enough, there would be no "soon" at all.

But all was not lost. For this world? Yes, it was doomed. But God A was not, and now this child was not, either, if they chose to come with them as they fled through the cracks in space and time to somewhere, anywhere else.

The only problem was God A knew the child couldn't make the journey as they were now. Even God A was at risk of falling apart the way they were now; they may not be doomed, but that didn't mean they were safe, either.

So, how to explain to a sobbing human child that you need to combine both your bodies and souls to survive the end of the world?

[ashwin-the-artless]

Here's a bunch of press release style description of my novel and its sequels, complete with release dates. If you are trans, autistic, and/or plural, and into science fiction, you may appreciate what we've made.

The Tunnel Apparati Diaries Book Release

With the guidance of Mau (a.k.a. Phage), Ashwin Pember, recently ascended Ancestor of the Sunspot, projects their mind to Earth via the Tunnel Apparatus. Only, they do this to become the new headmate of the twenty-seven year old autistic transgender plural system of Sarah and Goreth Ampersand of Portland, OR, who think that Phage is their old imaginary friend.

Unfortunately, Sarah and Goreth struggle to manage their already difficult life.

They’ve been leaning on their housemates and friends for support, but playing host to an alien being challenges them all.

Furthermore, there's an important reason Phage came to Earth in the first place, and it needs Sarah and Goreth to cooperate with Ashwin in order to achieve its goals.

The Tunnel Apparati Diaries tell the story of how the Sunspot Chronicles came to be translated and published on Earth, but what does this mean for humanity?

Because there’s a probe full of construction nanites left somewhere in the mountains of Washington State and someone needs to take responsibility for it before it falls into the wrong hands.

—

Release Dates for the Tunnel Apparati Diaries:

Book One: The End of the Tunnel - July 31, 2024

Book Two: The Sun Also Hatches - October 21, 2024

Book Three: The Dragon in the Dining Room - November 27, 2024

Available at http://www.sunspot.world or http://www.lulu.com

—

The Tunnel Apparati Diaries take place on Earth between the years of 2023 and 2025, in Portland Oregon, and follow the lives of Sarah and Goreth Ampersand, Erik, and the Audreys – a friends group of transgender plural systems – after they make contact with an alien visitor to Sarah and Goreth’s psyche, Ashwin Pember. 

Soon it becomes clear that this is not a product of their trauma or mental illness. It is a real event, actual first contact, and the fate of the Earth is on the line. But the personal impacts of this contact end up taking priority.

Their personal accounts, each book written by a different system member (Ashwin, Goreth, and then Sarah), explore the challenges of building community and relationships while being multiply disabled, transgender, queer, autistic, and experiencing a consensus reality that does not match that of most of the rest of the world.

It is a sequel and a possible entry point to reading the Sunspot Chronicles, and the two series together combine themes of plurality, neurodiversity, biodiversity, and the exercise and protection of personal consent and autonomy in the face of past and rising fascism. Every book has its own unique focus and take on building and keeping found family and community here on Earth and out amongst the stars. And what it means to be person, whether human or otherwise.

Written by different members of the Inmara Fenumera, an autistic transgender plurality living in the Pacific Northwest, the Tunnel Apparati Diaries offer genuine personal insight into the lived experiences of diverse plural systems (people living with DID, OSDD, and other forms of plurality), but with a strong dash of wish fulfillment, light romance, and adventure.

The Future is Plural. It deserves good plural fiction.

[moonpool-system]

I love you fictives with problematic or hated sources. I love you fictives that're terrified of showing up and existing around others because of terrible things that your sourceselves, source content, or creators have done. I love you whether or not the hate toward that fiction is justified because you're not your exact fictional source. You're real. I love you fictives that desperately try to explain yourselves and your situation because it was so different from the inside and you're trying so hard to be better. I love you fictives whose identity and experiences still mean a lot to you, and you're working every single day to balance that with the reality of media either harmful or perceived as harmful.

You're real. You're people. Your existence is not inherently terrible or amoral- only you decide your impact on this world.

[All plurals can interact, singlets can too if you don't clown]

[interstellarsystem]

Fictives are so fucking funny. Like, we'd been in a period of burnout for months, going downhill, falling behind on all the things we cared about and needed to do. Hell, we'd ended up being so fatigued we didn't want to get out of bed and that process alone took hours.

So one morning we wake up with a new headmate--as you do in periods of high-stress--and the new guy is god damn Bakugo from MHA and he does more self-care and general life shit than anyone in the past three months combined. Straight-up fixing our life.

How am I doing this? I have no fucking idea but I'm being productive about it and it's hilarious if you think about it for more than a few seconds. The brain was struggling so it was like "Yeah, didn't wanna do this but we gotta bring out the big one. Get The Anime Boy." Like what.