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Agnes

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
🛸👽
Agemid 20s
Pronounsit/its, zhe/zhers
LocationUSA
TVBabylon 5, The Orville, Doom Patrol, Star Trek (DS9/LWD),
Charmed, Farscape, Doctor Who,  US Ghosts,
Yellowjackets, Severance
MusicBloc Party, Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys, Doechii, Nova Twins,
Megan Thee Stallion, Kele Okereke, Soft Cell, Tears for Fears, Placebo, IAMX, Purity Ring
Other mediaThe Sims 3, Palia, Star Trek Online, Monster Prom,
Little Weirds (Jenny Slate), Lifeform (Jenny Slate), Madagascar franchise, I Saw The TV Glow, The Batman, Palia
+ +

My name is Aggie and I like making websites! I've been on the internet since age six and coding since age nine, though I was much better at it back then somehow. I've had a lot of other sites on here -- notably Symphonic Surgery-- but I decided to rebuild to a quieter area with less eyes on me so I can truly express myself without anxiety. I love the internet, and I hate the internet, and I have a complicated relationship with the internet...

+

I love writing, it's my whole life, and I also love drawing, and I also love creating-in-general. I like making video games, I like making zines, I like making really bad experimental electronic music, I love sculpting, I love creating things that don't fit into one specific vibe or label. I like doing things and coming up with things and learning and making and discovering and exploring. Outside of creativity, I also have a passion for theology and science, particularly marine biology and deep sea fish.

I'm severely disabled, physically developmentally and emotionally. I'm level 2 autistic and mostly housebound/do most things with a caregiver. Fiction and the internet are my primary coping mechanisms, so I talk about that a lot here.

+ Overall, I want this website to be... a scrapbook, I guess? A time capsule? A family heirloom? A virtual nest? Something like that. I miss the internet I grew up with, even if that internet was difficult on its own. +

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My name is Aggie and I like making websites! I've been on the internet since age six and coding since age nine, though I was much better at it back then somehow. I've had a lot of other sites on here -- notably Symphonic Surgery-- but I decided to rebuild to a quieter area with less eyes on me so I can truly express myself without anxiety. I love the internet, and I hate the internet, and I have a complicated relationship with the internet...

+

I love writing, it's my whole life, and I also love drawing, and I also love creating-in-general. I like making video games, I like making zines, I like making really bad experimental electronic music, I love sculpting, I love creating things that don't fit into one specific vibe or label. I like doing things and coming up with things and learning and making and discovering and exploring. Outside of creativity, I also have a passion for theology and science, particularly marine biology and deep sea fish.

I'm severely disabled, physically developmentally and emotionally. I'm level 2 autistic and mostly housebound/do most things with a caregiver. Fiction and the internet are my primary coping mechanisms, so I talk about that a lot here.

+ Overall, I want this website to be... a scrapbook, I guess? A time capsule? A family heirloom? A virtual nest? Something like that. I miss the internet I grew up with, even if that internet was difficult on its own. +

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+ + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/ala.png b/ala.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b48b509 Binary files /dev/null and b/ala.png differ diff --git a/badges.html b/badges.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6921be1 --- /dev/null +++ b/badges.html @@ -0,0 +1,241 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
back
+

Fandom Badges

+Badges I've earned in various fandom events.
femslashfete:
femslashfete badge: soiree of the season: 10 fillsfemslashfete badge: a raucous revelry: 25 fills
fresh femslash salad bar:
2025: image 2024: image

+July Break Bingo: +
(at request of the reward creators, please do not reupload, alter or steal these!)
+
2025:
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+Hotties Haunting the Narrative 2025:
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+Certificates I got for supporting fujocoded! Please don't steal these pretty pretty please

Doom Patrol (TV)

The Orville (TV) +
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+ + + + diff --git a/bgs/bag.png b/bgs/bag.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9580fc5 Binary files /dev/null and b/bgs/bag.png differ diff --git a/bgs/headergif.gif b/bgs/headergif.gif new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5e49ef Binary files /dev/null and b/bgs/headergif.gif differ diff --git a/bgs/ring.png b/bgs/ring.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5264b2 Binary files /dev/null and b/bgs/ring.png differ diff --git a/blog.html b/blog.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b356d9d --- /dev/null +++ b/blog.html @@ -0,0 +1,258 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
back
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+

+Journal

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+ + +

no TWs are used here. this is my space to rant, vent, and post any thoughts i have; smaller update microblog coming soon. read with caution.

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+ + + + + diff --git a/blorbeaux.html b/blorbeaux.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2628383 --- /dev/null +++ b/blorbeaux.html @@ -0,0 +1,240 @@ + + + + agnes's blorbos + + +
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+ +
+

BLORBOS!!

+
I have, throughout my entire time in fandom, typically only been able to get attached to a piece of media if there is at least one specific character I can get attached to and unhealthily obsess over. Fictional characters bring me a lot of comfort, and analyzing the mind, thoughts and personalities of fictonal characters is a favorite pasttime of mine, and makes sense, considering I'm fictosexual (though these characters are not all necessarily characters I'm attracted to, just characters I like to obsess over). + +I tend to like characters who are alien, literally or metaphorically or both; monsters, literally or metaphorically or both; devout or devoted; awkward and shy; obsessive; quirky; loud & rough; competent, though this is by no means exclusive. Here are a bunch of characters I consider "blorbos".
+

+
Name: Claire Finn
Source: The Orville
Ships: Claire/Isaac, Claire/Timmis, Claire/Alara
+
Name: Alara Kitan
Source: The Orville
Ships:Alara/Solana, Alara/Kelly, Alara/Talla, Alara/Claire
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Name: Teleya
Source: The Orville
Ships:Teleya/Kelly, Teleya/any female character
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Name: Valentina Vostok
Source: Doom Patrol TV
Ships: Valentina/Her spirit
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Name: Laura Lee
Source: Yellowjackets
Ships: Laura Lee/Lottie, Laura Lee/Yellowjackets Enesemble
Name: Isabel Feathers
Source: Doom Patrol
Ships: Isabel/Laura
Name: Morden
Source: Babylon 5
Ships: Morden/Anna
+
Name: Anna Sheridan
Source: Babylon 5
Ships: Morden/Anna, Anna/Liz, Anna/Delenn
+
Name: Dureena Nafeel
Source: Crusade (1999)
Ships: Dureena/Sarah
Name: Mr. Yang
Source: Psych (2006)
Ships: Yang/Shawn
+ + diff --git a/blorbo.html b/blorbo.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..28187af --- /dev/null +++ b/blorbo.html @@ -0,0 +1,405 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
back
+

blorbo from my shows

+ +inspired by this page!
+I have, throughout my entire time in fandom, typically only been able to get attached to a piece of media if there is at least one specific character I can get attached to and unhealthily obsess over. Fictional characters bring me a lot of comfort, and analyzing the mind, thoughts and personalities of fictonal characters is a favorite pasttime of mine, and makes sense, considering I'm fictosexual (though these characters are not all necessarily characters I'm attracted to, just characters I like to obsess over).

I tend to like characters who are alien, literally or metaphorically or both; monsters, literally or metaphorically or both; devout or devoted; awkward and shy; obsessive; quirky; loud & rough; competent, though this is by no means exclusive. + +

blorbos of all time

+ +My love for these characters hasn't diminished at all for 5+ years. These are the only male characters I still care deeply about, honestly. +

+
+THE NEGATIVE SPIRIT (DOOM PATROL TV)
+66529bc5
the love of my entire life. we've been together since april 11, 2019 and i'm really really deeply abnormal about them to incomprehensibly vast levels of abnormal (seriously you don't even Know). the blorbo of all blorbos, my everything, the eternal number one spot of my heart.... i saw them say "torture" and it was over for me.. i have a longer page about this here hehe
+
+TOVAN KHEV (STAR TREK: ONLINE)
+66529bc5
the character i have loved longer than pretty much any other character. his expansion came out in i think may of 2013, and i started playing in august, shortly after my twelfth birthday. my love for him has not died for the past 14 years!!! he is so loyal and sweet and caring but also badass and complex in my mind & he is so so important to me...
+MR. MORDEN (BABYLON 5)
+66529bc5
i started watching babylon 5 when i was 11, shortly after me and my father went to the 20th anniversary reunion panel at phoenix comic con. i decided to see what it was all about, and got hooked.

despite a definite initial attraction to morden, my obsession with him did not take hold until 2022; before that i would be in and out of babylon 5 fandom, but when i fell in love with him the obsession took a firm hold. he's such a fascinating rat zombie undead evil corrosive bastard, and i love to pull his brain apart with my teeth heart emoji. i am thinking about him constantly and just all the time.
+ +

current blorbos

+these characters i'm obsessed with at the moment, but may pass in the future. +
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ImageNameSourceNotes
ImageAlara
Kitan		The OrvilleOne of my ultimate blorbos. She's disabled! She's insecure! She has a hard relationship with her family!!!
Kaylon
Primary		The OrvilleBIG FAMILY GUY GAVE THIS ROBOT PTSD
Charly BurkeThe Orvillesuicidal dyke rights SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ALLOWED TO KILL
ImageKelly GraysonThe Orvilleextremely shippable, extreme blorbo material. she has done nothing wrong & this show is nothing without her.
ImageTeleyaThe OrvilleGOD FORBID WOMEN HAVE HOBBIES LIKE RELIGIOUS EXTREMISM OR MURDER
Laura LeeYellowjacketsreligious dyke representation (<- to me)
Valentina
Vostok		Doom Patrol (TV)the most interesting side character ever made & she was GAY & FUCKED THAT ALIEN
Amber GemstoneThe Righteous Gemstonesi need to watch season 4 but she is everything to me i need her to shoot me rn
ImageElouisaPaliaMy precious schizophrenic representation MILF. I love her dearly. Say no bad words about her or else.
Isabel Feathers
/Immortus		Doom Patrol (TV)i would listen to her talk about herself all day and all night
Van PalmerYellowjacketsSHE IS THE HEART OF EVERYTHINGNGNGGNGNGNG
Dr. VlamSecond Best Hospital In The Galaxyshe can go crazy obsessive on me any day
+ +

long-term blorbos

+these are characters i've loved for a very long time. i may not actively discuss them, but i still love them lots! + +
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NameImageSourceNotes
Bill CipherGravity FallsI was obsessed with this guy at 14, as were many people my age. Love him lots even now!
Phoebe HalliwellCharmedI too am a reckless girl who can see the future and kick ass.
Vislor TurloughDoctor WhoIf you projected your school trauma onto Turlough in 2017, clap your hands.
SkipperPenguins
Of
Madag-
ascar		I once did an hour long video essay on why he is subtextually gay.
Shev AkriaStar Trek
Comics 2015		He's so emo and angsty and tries so hard and I lovehate him and need to see him suffer <3
Jadzia DaxStar Trek
Deep Space Nine		I AM A DYKE
Dureena NafeelCrusadeI'm so in love with her I can barely think. She stole my heart - LITERALLY!
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+ + + + diff --git a/blrobo.html b/blrobo.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..660888d --- /dev/null +++ b/blrobo.html @@ -0,0 +1,48 @@ + + + + + + The web site of alienhospital + + + + +
NEGATIVE SPACE: A DOOM PATROL FAN GAME

+ + A Doom Patrol fan-game made with Bitsy. TV based but takes the Negative Spirit lore introduced in Way's comics run (and the name Mercurius from previous comic runs, even though I.. dislike that name personally) and... goes wild with it. more information here. Play as the Negative Spirit after returning to their dimension in Vacay Patrol, coming back to find their home has changed for the worse since they left. Featuring! + +
  • -Music from someone who doesn't know music
    • + +
  • -Art from someone who doesn't know art
    • + +
  • -Vague season 3 timeline placement
    • +

    + some notes not indicated on the linked page:
    +
  • -in one of the comics, the spirits state that the negative space is "obverse to the positive place" - interpreted here as a sister dimension to the negative space.
    • +

    PLAY HERE!

    home
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    back
    +

    Button Wall

    + Websites I enjoy, friends, mutuals, etc.

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    + HOME | BACK HOME +

    +
    +
    +


    + +
    Welcome to Galactic Cliques! These are a small-but-growing list of internet cliques to join. :)

    + + What's a clique??
    A clique is a list of people who put a code on their site that shows off something they like, something about them, something dear to them, etc. See cliqued for more! For ours, you can claim something even if someone else has already claimed it. +
    + +
    + + Current cliques:
    + The Alien In Me - What fictional alien would you be? Claim one!
    +

    Are you a fan of Star Trek or Star Wars, or something similar? Do you have a favorite kind of alien? Show off your love for them with this clique! +

    + 🛸 If I was in [source media name], I'd be a(n) [alien type]. 🛸
    +

    Example:
    🛸 If I was in Star Trek, I'd be a Caitian. 🛸

    + Additional Tags - What AO3 tag would you be?

    If you have a favorite fanfiction trope, concept, tag, etc, it can become your tag!

    + Additional Tags: [tag]


    + Example:
    Additional Tags: Character Study +
    +
    + + + diff --git a/cliques.html b/cliques.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32ba619 --- /dev/null +++ b/cliques.html @@ -0,0 +1,641 @@ + + + + + + AL13NH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Skip to content + +
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    +
    Welcome to Galactic Cliques! These are a small-but-growing list of internet cliques to join. :)

    + + What's a clique??
    A clique is a list of people who put a code on their site that shows off something they like, something about them, something dear to them, etc. See cliqued for more! For ours, you can claim something even if someone else has already claimed it. +
    + +
    +
    + + Current cliques:
    + Extraterrestrial Aspects - What fictional alien would you be? Claim one!
    +
    Are you a fan of Star Trek or Star Wars, or something similar? Do you have a favorite kind of alien? Show off your love for them with this clique! +

    + 🛸 Extraterrestrial Aspects: [insert alien type] 🛸
    + +

    Example:
    🛸 Extraterrestrial Aspects: Caitian (Star Trek) 🛸
    + Additional Tags - What AO3 tag would you be?

    If you have a favorite fanfiction trope, concept, tag, etc, it can become your tag!

    + Additional Tags: [tag]


    + Example:
    Additional Tags: Character Study +
    +
    +
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    + + + + + + + + +
    +homepage +

    Media Collection!


    + +a collection of all my physical media! a lot of this is repetitive as i'm very monotropic. 95% of this is stuff i bought at yard sales, flea markets, thrift stores, etc, or were gifted to me from other people's collections.
    last updated May 11, 2025; I need to do another room search soon because I know there are more unlisted. +

    Navigation!

    +Music +
  • cassettes
    • +
  • vinyl
    • +
  • CDs
    • + +
    + +On DVD/etc
    +Books - WIP!
    +Comics +

    +

    music

    Cassettes:
    +
    +
  • Violator - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • 101 - Depeche Mode
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  • Some Great Reward - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Cosmic Thing - the B52s
    • +
  • Greatest Hits - Donna Summer
    • +
  • The Best Of Culture Club
    • +

    +
    Vinyl:
    + + + +
    + +
  • Doom Patrol Season One Soundtrack (my most prized possession)
    • +
  • Lay Your Hands On Me - Thompson Twins
    • +
  • Playing the Angel - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Shrines - Purity Ring
    • +
  • Speak & Spell - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Construction Time Again - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Silent Alarm Live - Bloc Party
    • +
  • Seven and the Ragged Tiger - Duran Duran
    • +
  • A Broken Frame - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Spirit - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Violator - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • The Punishment of Luxury - OMD
    • +
  • Four - Bloc Party
    • +
  • Speak & Spell: the 12" Singles Collection
    • +
    Not Pictured:
    Blasphemous Rumors Single - Depeche Mode
    +Pony - Orville Peck
    +Greatest Hits - Queen
    +Greatest Hits - The Cure
    + +
    CDs: +

    +
    +
  • Pet Shop Boys Discography: Complete Singles Collection
    • +
  • A Weekend in the City - Bloc Party
    • +
  • Intimacy - Bloc Party (my ultimate favorite album ever)
    • +
  • Catching up With Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Go On... - Mr Mister
    • +
  • Cosmic Thing - the B52s
    • +
  • Best of the Smiths, vol 2 (not sure why I have this one. I don't listen to the Smiths.)
    • +
  • Hourglass - Dave Gahan
    • +
  • Blasphemous Rumors Single - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Silent Alarm Live - Bloc Party
    • +
  • Exciter - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Tidal - Fiona Apple
    • +
  • Construction Time Again - Depeche Mode
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  • Speak & Spell - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Spandau Ballet - the 12 Inch Remixes
    • +
  • Depeche Mode - the Best Of
    • +
  • Violator - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • [A CD of live Depeche Mode shows and Depeche Mode B sides given to me by a family friend]
    • +
  • Tears for Fears - Greatest Hits 82-92
    • +
  • INXS - Greatest Hits
    • +
  • The Punishment of Luxury - OMD
    • +
  • Ultra - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Music for the Masses - Depeche Mode
    • +
  • Kick - INXS
    • +
  • Not pictured:
    Alpha Games - Bloc Party
    • +Babylon 5 vol 1 - Christopher Franke
    +Babylon 5 vol 2 - Christopher Franke
    +
    +

    +

    On DVD

    +
    + +
    +
  • Doctor Who: the Black Guardian trilogy
    • +
  • Doctor who: the Five Doctors
    • +
  • Venom (2018)
    • +
  • Depeche Mode: DVD Collector's Box
    • +
  • Community: Season One (unwatched)
    • +
  • Magic Mike & Magic Mike XXL
    • +
  • The Nice Guys (2016)
    • +
  • Star Trek (2009)
    • +
  • Doom Patrol: Season Three
    • +
  • Doom Patrol: Season One
    • +
  • Doom Patrol: Season Two (Blu-Ray copy)
    • +
  • Doom Patrol: Season Two (again)
    • +
  • Magic Mike (again) (I had a Matt Bomer obsession once, can you tell?)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Season One
    • +
  • Star Trek: Prodigy: Season One
    • +
  • Quantum Leap: Season Two (unwatched)
    • +
  • Quantum Leap: Season One (unwatched)
    • +
  • Will & Grace: Season One
    • +
  • Will & Grace: Season Two
    • +
  • Babylon 5: The Road Home (2023)
    • +
  • Star Trek: Lower Decks: Season 3
    • +
  • Crusade: Season One
    • +
  • Orphan Black: Season Three
    • +
  • Orphan Black: Season Two
    • +
  • To add pictures of: Stargirl seasons 1-2, Doctor Who: the Eccleston and Tennant years
    • +
    Not Pictured: The Untamed Complete Series, Babylon 5: the Movies Collection, Babylon 5 Seasons 2-5, Glee Season One, Community season 1, The Orville season 1
    + + + +
    + +

    Comics

    +i'm not much of a comics fan, mostly these are owned because i love different adaptions of these universes, but....
    +
    +
    +
  • Unstoppable Doom Patrol #4
    • +
  • Unstoppable Doom Patrol #2
    • +
  • Unstoppable Doom Patrol #1
    • +
  • The Doom Patrol #13
    • +
  • Lower Decks #3
    • +
  • Doctor Who - Twelve Adventures Year Three #10
    • +
  • Pollack's Doom Patrol #83
    • +
  • Pollack's Doom Patrol #69 (nice)
    • +
  • Kupperberg's Doom Patrol #14
    • +
  • Kupperberg's Doom Patrol #3
    • +
  • Kupperberg's Doom Patrol #9
    • +
  • The Doom Patrol Annual #1
    • +
  • Way's Doom Patrol - Vol 1
    • + +
    +

    + +
    +

    Books

    +I have lots of these. This is an incomplete collection; still a WIP. +

    +
    +
    +
    +
  • Irish Fairy and Folk Tales
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Clark's Law
    • +
  • Classics, But Make It Gay (Nova and Mali)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: The Scripts of JMS vol 5
    • +
  • Doctor Who: K9 and Company (Terrence Dudley)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: The Scripts of JMS vol 3
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Legions of Fire: The Long Night of Centauri Prime (Peter David)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: In the Beginning
    • +
  • Peter Davison: Is there Life Outside The Box?
    • +
  • All Creatures Great and Small (James Herriot)
    • +
  • A Practical Handbook for the Actor
    • +
  • The Fifth Doctor Sourcebook
    • +
  • The Sixth Doctor Sourcebook
    • +
  • Doctor Who Character Encyclopedia
    • +
  • Doctor Who Annual 1982
    • +
  • Doctor Who Annual 1983
    • +
  • Whographica
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Passing of the Technomages: Invoking Darknes (Jeanne Cavelos)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: The Shadow Within (Jeanne Cavelos) my Fav Book Ever
    • +
  • Babylon 5: The Scripts of JMS vol 4
    • +
  • Babylon 5: The Touch of Your Shadow, The Whisper of Your Name (Neal Barrett Jr)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Dark Genesis: The Birth of the Psi Corps (J. Gregory Keyes)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Passing of the Technomages: Summoning Light (Jeanne Cavelos)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Final Reckoning: The Fate of Bester (J. Gregory Keyes
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Accusations (Lois Tilton)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Voices (John Vornholt)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Legions of Fire: Armies of Light and Dark (Peter David)
    • +
  • Babylon 5: Legions of Fire: Out of the Darkness
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Talons of Weng-Chiang (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Genesis of the Daleks (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Revenge of the Cybermen (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Tomb of the Cybermen (Gerry Davis)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Auton Invasion (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • [Illegible]
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Tenth Planet (Gerry Davis)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Dinosaur Invasion (Malcom Hulke)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Zarbi (Bill Strutton)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Masque of Mandragora (Philip Hinchcliffe)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Android Invasion (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Ice Warriors (Brian Hayles)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Enemy of the World (Ian Marter)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Invasion of Earth (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Cybermen (Gerry Davis)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Three Doctors (Terrence Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Cave Monsters (Malcolm Hulke)
    • +
  • Doctor Who - Logopolis (Cristopher H. Bidmead)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & an Unearthly Child (Terrance Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Day of the Daleks (Terrance Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Seeds of Doom (Philip Hinchcliffe)
    • +
  • Doctor Who - The Dominators (Ian Marter)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Loch Ness Monster (Terrance Dicks)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Curse of Peladon (Brian Hayles)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Daleks (David Whitaker)
    • +
  • Doctor Who & the Terror of the Autons
    • + +Not pictured: + +
  • Little Weirds (Jenny Slate)
    • +
  • House of Leaves (Mark Z. Danielewski) - Unread
    • +
  • Babylon 5 at 20
    • +
  • Babylon 5: the scripts of J. Michael Straczynski vol. 7, 8, 10, 11
    • +
  • Crusade: What the Hell Happened? (J. Michael Straczynski)
    • +
  • The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (Becky Chambers)
    • +
    + Back to top! +
    +
    + + +
    + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/collections/misc.html b/collections/misc.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dccc580 --- /dev/null +++ b/collections/misc.html @@ -0,0 +1,663 @@ + + + + + + AL13NH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Skip to content + +
    + + + + + + + + + + + +
    + + + + + + + + +
    homepage + +

    +misc collections +

    + + Media collection page here! It was too long for this one.

    + these are transparent versions of things in my room!
    + +

    cows

    +

    + + + + + + + + + +
    + +

    toys

    +

    + + + + + + + + + + + + +
    + +
    +
    + + +
    + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/collections/r1.png b/collections/r1.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a058df1 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/r1.png differ diff --git a/collections/r2.png b/collections/r2.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..831f144 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/r2.png differ diff --git a/collections/r3.png b/collections/r3.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4dd1f1f Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/r3.png differ diff --git a/collections/r4.png b/collections/r4.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a529d37 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/r4.png differ diff --git a/collections/r5.png b/collections/r5.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34662c4 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/r5.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/1.png b/collections/toys/1.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..315379e Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/1.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/10.png b/collections/toys/10.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b203a45 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/10.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/11.png b/collections/toys/11.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3dc34d4 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/11.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/2.png b/collections/toys/2.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0968f31 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/2.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/3.png b/collections/toys/3.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..321eb63 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/3.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/4.png b/collections/toys/4.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6ed3b9 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/4.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/5.png b/collections/toys/5.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..499e7c6 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/5.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/6.png b/collections/toys/6.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..228e509 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/6.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/7.png b/collections/toys/7.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe00645 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/7.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/8.png b/collections/toys/8.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b6dd486 Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/8.png differ diff --git a/collections/toys/9.png b/collections/toys/9.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..464ebca Binary files /dev/null and b/collections/toys/9.png differ diff --git a/drawbox.html b/drawbox.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9b02ca8 --- /dev/null +++ b/drawbox.html @@ -0,0 +1,56 @@ + + + + + + DRAWBOX + + + +

    DRAWBOX

    + +
    +
    +
    + + + + + + + + +

    + + +

    Submitted Drawings ☻

    + + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/drawbox.js b/drawbox.js new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f76a26 --- /dev/null +++ b/drawbox.js @@ -0,0 +1,198 @@ +/* + + FILL IN THESE VARIABLES BASED ON THE GUIDE AT https://drawbox.nekoweb.org + + IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTION, SUGGESTIONS, OR NEED HELP, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT drawbox@jhorn.net OR @MONKEYBATION on DISCORD + + /`·.¸ + /¸...¸`:· + ¸.·´ ¸ `·.¸.·´) + : © ):´; ¸ { + `·.¸ `· ¸.·´\`·¸) + `\\´´\¸.·´ + +*/ +const GOOGLE_FORM_ID = "1FAIpQLSf_FBSe2K4lPEO3VHQCVSfkc6-lFe33O-dbp9cj6IjXQKTaOg"; +const ENTRY_ID = "entry.1334848810"; +const GOOGLE_SHEET_ID = "1nnNEU2B9tSyhp-gkxa_ug2M78WwLa2SdT7ZtgQbFYGc"; +const DISPLAY_IMAGES = true; + +/* + + DONT EDIT BELOW THIS POINT IF YOU DONT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. + +*/ + +const CLIENT_ID = "b4fb95e0edc434c"; +const GOOGLE_SHEET_URL = "https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/" + GOOGLE_SHEET_ID + "/export?format=csv"; +const GOOGLE_FORM_URL = "https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/" + GOOGLE_FORM_ID + "/formResponse"; + +let canvas = document.getElementById("drawboxcanvas"); +let context = canvas.getContext("2d"); +context.fillStyle = "white"; +context.fillRect(0, 0, canvas.width, canvas.height); + +let restore_array = []; +let start_index = -1; +let stroke_color = "black"; +let stroke_width = "2"; +let is_drawing = false; + +function change_color(element) { + stroke_color = element.style.background; +} + +function start(event) { + is_drawing = true; + context.beginPath(); + context.moveTo(getX(event), getY(event)); + event.preventDefault(); +} + +function draw(event) { + if (!is_drawing) return; + context.lineTo(getX(event), getY(event)); + context.strokeStyle = stroke_color; + context.lineWidth = stroke_width; + context.lineCap = "round"; + context.lineJoin = "round"; + context.stroke(); + event.preventDefault(); +} + +function stop(event) { + if (!is_drawing) return; + context.stroke(); + context.closePath(); + is_drawing = false; + restore_array.push(context.getImageData(0, 0, canvas.width, canvas.height)); + start_index++; + event.preventDefault(); +} + +function getX(event) { + return event.pageX + ? event.pageX - canvas.offsetLeft + : event.targetTouches[0].pageX - canvas.offsetLeft; +} + +function getY(event) { + return event.pageY + ? event.pageY - canvas.offsetTop + : event.targetTouches[0].pageY - canvas.offsetTop; +} + +canvas.addEventListener("touchstart", start, false); +canvas.addEventListener("touchmove", draw, false); +canvas.addEventListener("touchend", stop, false); +canvas.addEventListener("mousedown", start, false); +canvas.addEventListener("mousemove", draw, false); +canvas.addEventListener("mouseup", stop, false); +canvas.addEventListener("mouseout", stop, false); + +function Restore() { + if (start_index <= 0) { + Clear(); + } else { + start_index--; + restore_array.pop(); + context.putImageData(restore_array[start_index], 0, 0); + } +} + +function Clear() { + context.fillStyle = "white"; + context.clearRect(0, 0, canvas.width, canvas.height); + context.fillRect(0, 0, canvas.width, canvas.height); + restore_array = []; + start_index = -1; +} + +context.drawImage = function() { + console.warn("noo >:("); +}; + +document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener("click", async function () { + const submitButton = document.getElementById("submit"); + const statusText = document.getElementById("status"); + + submitButton.disabled = true; + statusText.textContent = "Uploading..."; + + const imageData = canvas.toDataURL("image/png"); + const blob = await (await fetch(imageData)).blob(); + const formData = new FormData(); + formData.append("image", blob, "drawing.png"); + + try { + const response = await fetch("https://api.imgur.com/3/image", { + method: "POST", + headers: { Authorization: `Client-ID ${CLIENT_ID}` }, + body: formData, + }); + + const data = await response.json(); + if (!data.success) throw new Error("Imgur upload failed"); + + const imageUrl = data.data.link; + console.log("Uploaded image URL:", imageUrl); + + const googleFormData = new FormData(); + googleFormData.append(ENTRY_ID, imageUrl); + + await fetch(GOOGLE_FORM_URL, { + method: "POST", + body: googleFormData, + mode: "no-cors", + }); + + statusText.textContent = "Upload successful!"; + alert("Image uploaded and submitted successfully ☻"); + location.reload(); + } catch (error) { + console.error(error); + statusText.textContent = "Error uploading image."; + alert("Error uploading image or submitting to Google Form."); + } finally { + submitButton.disabled = false; + } +}); + +async function fetchImages() { + if (!DISPLAY_IMAGES) { + console.log("Image display is disabled."); + return; + } + + try { + const response = await fetch(GOOGLE_SHEET_URL); + const csvText = await response.text(); + const rows = csvText.split("\n").slice(1); + + const gallery = document.getElementById("gallery"); + gallery.innerHTML = ""; + rows.reverse().forEach((row) => { + const columns = row.split(","); + if (columns.length < 2) return; + + const timestamp = columns[0].trim(); + const imgUrl = columns[1].trim().replace(/"/g, ""); + + if (imgUrl.startsWith("http")) { + const div = document.createElement("div"); + div.classList.add("image-container"); + + div.innerHTML = ` + drawing +

    ${timestamp}

    + `; + gallery.appendChild(div); + } + }); + } catch (error) { + console.error("Error fetching images:", error); + document.getElementById("gallery").textContent = "Failed to load images."; + } +} + +fetchImages(); \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/drawboxx.html b/drawboxx.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..54cdba6 --- /dev/null +++ b/drawboxx.html @@ -0,0 +1,241 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
    back
    +

    DRAWBOX

    + +
    +
    +
    + + + + + + + + +

    + + +

    Submitted Drawings ☻

    + + + +
    +
    + + + diff --git a/dressup/bg.jpg b/dressup/bg.jpg new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99b4d77 Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/bg.jpg differ diff --git a/dressup/britneyshirt.png b/dressup/britneyshirt.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf93eac Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/britneyshirt.png differ diff --git a/dressup/cshirt.png b/dressup/cshirt.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..622a2f6 Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/cshirt.png differ diff --git a/dressup/cshirt2.png b/dressup/cshirt2.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c8cde3b Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/cshirt2.png differ diff --git a/dressup/dadshirt.png b/dressup/dadshirt.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4644613 Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/dadshirt.png differ diff --git a/dressup/dmshirts.png b/dressup/dmshirts.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c86b95 Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/dmshirts.png differ diff --git a/dressup/fjf.html b/dressup/fjf.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef5af66 --- /dev/null +++ b/dressup/fjf.html @@ -0,0 +1,261 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + Windows Template + + +
    +
    + Window content +
    +
    + Second Window +
    +
    + Third window starts closed +
    +
    +

    Free Windows Template

    +

    Minimize the windows to the taskbar, make them full screen or close them.

    +

    Drag the title bar to move the windows or resize them from the bottom right corner.

    +
    +

    You can download and edit this template freely as long as you leave a visible link to HTML5-Templates.com

    +
    + +
    +
    + + + © HTML5-Templates.com + +
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    ' + $(this).attr("data-title") + '
    '); + if ($(this).hasClass("closed")) { $("#minimPanel" + i).addClass('closed'); } + $(this).attr('id', 'window' + (i++)); + $(this).wrapInner('
    '); + $(this).prepend('
    ' + $(this).attr("data-title") + 'x
    '); + }); + + $("#minimPanel" + (i-1)).addClass('activeTab'); + $("#window" + (i-1)).addClass('activeWindow'); + + $( ".wincontent" ).resizable(); // resizable + $( ".window" ).draggable({ cancel: ".wincontent" }); // draggable + + + $(".window").mousedown(function(){ // active window on top (z-index 1000) + makeWindowActive($(this).attr("data-id")); + }); + + $(".winclose").click(function(){ // close window + closeWindwow($(this).parent().parent().attr("data-id")); + }); + + $(".winminimize").click(function(){ // minimize window + minimizeWindow($(this).parent().parent().attr("data-id")); + }); + + $(".taskbarPanel").click(function(){ // taskbar click + id = $(this).attr("data-id"); + if ($(this).hasClass("activeTab")) { // minimize if active + minimizeWindow($(this).attr("data-id")); + } else { + if ($(this).hasClass("minimizedTab")) { // open if minimized + openMinimized(id); + } else { // activate if inactive + makeWindowActive(id); + } + } + }); + + $(".openWindow").click(function(){ // open closed window + openWindow($(this).attr("data-id")); + }); + + $(".winmaximize").click(function(){ + if ($(this).parent().parent().hasClass('fullSizeWindow')) { // minimize + + $(this).parent().parent().removeClass('fullSizeWindow'); + $(this).parent().parent().children(".wincontent").height(minimizedHeight[$(this).parent().parent().attr("data-id")]); + $(this).parent().parent().children(".wincontent").width(minimizedWidth[$(this).parent().parent().attr("data-id")]); + } else { // maximize + $(this).parent().parent().addClass('fullSizeWindow'); + + minimizedHeight[$(this).parent().parent().attr('data-id')] = $(this).parent().parent().children(".wincontent").height(); + minimizedWidth[$(this).parent().parent().attr('data-id')] = $(this).parent().parent().children(".wincontent").width(); + + adjustFullScreenSize(); + } + }); + adjustFullScreenSize(); +}); \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/dressup/wig.png b/dressup/wig.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c403894 Binary files /dev/null and b/dressup/wig.png differ diff --git a/dressup2.html b/dressup2.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0aa4b52 --- /dev/null +++ b/dressup2.html @@ -0,0 +1,158 @@ + + + + + + The web site of alienhospital + + + + + + + + + +
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    dress up the spirit!!

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    ENTER THE ALIEN HOSPITAL?

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    + orville model: This work is based on "USS Orville (ECV-197)(WIP)" (https://sketchfab.com/3d-models/uss-orville-ecv-197wip-8588a0617f434ceaa335b7958b4f02c5) by Nightshade3325 (https://sketchfab.com/nightshade3325) licensed under CC-BY-NC-4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/) + + diff --git a/essays/bfe.html b/essays/bfe.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..233d3f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/essays/bfe.html @@ -0,0 +1,167 @@ + + + + alien + + +
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    Agnes's Super Duper Unofficial Guide To Multifandom Exchanges

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    ON FANDOM EXCHANGE NORMS

    +

    I haven't been doing fanwork exchanges for very long. I did my first this January, Candy Hearts Exchange, and then immediately launched into High Adrenaline Exchange (the one where you have two weeks to write 10 thousand words). I have, since then, apparently made the missteps of:

    +

    -Including a reason for why I defaulted in an email (my tablet pen broke)

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    -asking dumb questions/having memory issues about rules

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    Exchange norms in fandom spaces are. Interesting. Now, let me say this: I am completely, 100% of the opinion that most people in exchange spaces mean well and just want everybody to have a good time. But Bangs, Fests, and Exchanges (as it is called on the anonymous fan forum Fail Fandom Anon) is big (2k members in the main discord server for the topic, I believe), and there are bound to be issues in any big space. Most of them arise from people unaware of unspoken exchange norms/etiquette. Recently in the the topic of unspoken exchange norms came up in aforementioned discord server, and it got me thinking about how there's no big write-up of fandom exchange norms for people new to the exchange scene —- something I massively would've benefitted from in my early days. I thought about doing one, but I came across some issues in the process of actually planning this out.

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    First, like I said, I've only been doing exchanges for a very short period of time. When I first got into exchanges, I had a massive hyperfixation on them, where they were all I thought about every single day. I ate, slept, breathed exchanges and did as many as I possibly could, pre-planned nominations and 3k-word-long letters months before exchanges began, and a lot of other subjectively-unhinged behavior surrounding exchanges. But this still does not compare to someone who has been hanging out in BFE spaces for multiple years. How much did I really know?

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    And then I realized: yes, BFE spaces are big, like I said before. Exchange spaces are massive, and there are multiple subpockets of the multifandom exchange scene, too—-apparently Minecraft Youtube fandom had its own giant Battleship exchange recently—-so how could I possibly come up with a guide to all of it? It would be impossible to write up a comprehensive guide that would help every single person, which was the original vision I had.

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    I realized that if I wanted to go through with this project, I would have to make it clear that it's not comprehensive and is highly subjective because it is based on my own personal experiences and mindset. It is not entirely based on that - like, I'm not just making this stuff up based on nothing; it would incorporate all my months of experience in BFE spaces as well as (many, many) conversations I've had with seasoned BFE participants about exchange conduct, etiquette, and norms - but it still would be, you know, one person's passion project. But I thought that might still be doable, you know?

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    SO, long 500 word introduction aside, here's…

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    Agnes's Super Duper Unofficial Guide To Not Getting Yourself Flamed On Anonymous Fandom Forums MultiFandom Exchange Norms & Etiquette

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    Here are some terms it might help you to know when going through exchange spaces.

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    anon, anon period: Most exchanges require works to be anonymous for a certain period of time, beginning at the moment of which you receive your assignment to the end of the anon period/start of the creator reveals phase. The exchange interface will automatically do this for you. This means that until the creator reveals phase, you cannot discuss who your recipient is or what you're writing for them in a public space.

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    beta: someone who reads over your work before you post it to check for spelling and grammar errors, and sometimes characterization, etc.

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    recipient, recip: Who you're assigned to write for.

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    deanoning: since 99.9% of exchanges have an anon period (see above), discussing your works, offers, or recipient in a public space is referred to as deanoning, and is very, very frowned upon, as anonyminity is most of the time central to exchange functionality.

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    noms, nominations: Refers to the nomination phase, which is when we add fandoms, ships, characters, and freeform tags to a tagset that will be the basis of the exchange. Think of it like a database - the requests you make in an exchange can take any tag from this database, but most of the time, it does not take tags from outside of this specific database (tagset), so in order to request something in an exchange, you must nominate the tag into the tagset. I go into how you do this later. (Hint: many exchanges are themed, meaning they will only accept nominations of a certain eligibility. Be sure to check!)

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    disambugating: generally, when nominating things, most exchanges require you to disambugate your nominations. This typically means adding the fandom they're from in parentheses after the ship/character/applicable freeform tag. Some examples: Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas & Ferb), Phineas Flynn/Isabella Garcia-Shapiro (Phineas & Ferb), Worldbuilding: O.W.C.A Recruitment (Phineas & Ferb), Waterbending (AtLA).

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    nominations query: When nominating, sometimes the exchange mods will need to ask questions about certain nominations, or inform the nominators of some issue with their submission. Since nominations are always anonymous, they typically do this via a Dreamwidth (or whatever social media they run the info off of) post called a Nom Query post.

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    signups: The period in which you can sign up to the exchange.

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    requests: The things you want to receive in an exchange. You input these requests on the first part of the signup form, which will usually be customized to the specifics of each exchange. You can request pretty much anything, as long as it is in the tagset and relevant to the exchange theme (if applicable). Some exchanges have a fandom minimum, which means you must request a certain amount of unique fandoms to be garuanteed a gift. Some will not require you to request multiple fandoms and will allow a single fandom signup, and sometimes exchanges will withhold gift gaurantees from single fandom signups. The ao3 interface allows a maximum of ten requests.

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    DNW: Stands for "do not wants"—a list of things you do not want to receive in a gift that your creator must 100% avoid including.

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    DNM: do not match request. A request made to the mods of an exchange typically by email that you do not match with a certain participant(s). You never have to include a reason, and most mods will prefer that you don't include a reason. All good mods take every DNM request seriously. You can do this for any reason. Many mods will ask what you wish them to do if your DNM request tries to treat you or pick up your pinch hit (e.g. tell them you've DNMed them). Not all exchanges allow these.

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    matching: Exchanges match you with a recipient based on your offers. You are matched to a gifter based on your requests.

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    unmatchable: This means no one wants what you're offering. Mods will typically contact you via the email you signed up to Ao3 for and ask if you want to add any offers. They typically have a limited response period before they move on and send out assignments (commonly 12 or 24 hours), so be sure to check the email you signed up for frequently.

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    pinch hits, PH: If you are sent for an initial pinch hit, this means no one offered what you requested. Do not fear, someone will pick your pinch hit up eventually! People very fequently pick up new fandoms for exchange PHs. This is neutral. When your pinch hit is claimed, it means someone has offered to write your pinch hit! To claim a pinch hit, you typically comment on a Dreamwidth post (comments are screened in these cases, so only the mods can see them) with your ao3 name and email address, OR you email them with the same information. Post-deadline pinch hits are pinch hits that have come out after the assignment due date, and the exchange will not typically reveal gifts until all pinch hits have been turned in. They are given their own due dates. Emergency pinch hits typically mean (I think) the gift did not fulfill an exchange requirement for whatever reason (common ones: gift included a DNW, was spitefic, did not include requested character/ship/freeform, was below minimum, was incomplete, was deleted, did not fit exchange theme enough).

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    minimum: The minimum amount of words required for your gift. For example, a 500 word minimum means your gift must be 500 words or more. Art minimums vary, but common ones are that it must be of a quality and effort level you'd be happy to receive as a gift yourself. Other medium minimums (what a tongue twister!) vary as well. High minimum exchanges are exchanges that typically have minimums of 5 thousand or 10 thousand words. Low minimum exchanges typically refer to exchanges with minimums under 1000 words, but especially ones with a minimum of 300-500 words. Maximums are not common but do happen sometimes, like with drabble exchanges.

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    permissions statement: A statement in your profile that says what people can or cannot do with your work. For example: "You may podfic or create fanart as long as you link back to me", "Do not redistribute", "Do not feed to generative AI".

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    recursive fandom: Fanworks of fanworks. Like writing a fic about a fic or original fannish piece you or someone else wrote.

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    offers: what you are willing to write as a gift for someone else in the exchange you're participating in. These are secret! You can view how many people have signed up to offer a specific fandom, but you cannot view specifically who. In addition, discussing what you plan to offer is typically considered de-anoning.

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    assignment, mint: The request that you are assigned to write! You will be assigned a request based on your offers. You can write anything your requester has asked for, even if you matched on only one request.

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    reveals, collection opens: This is when gifts are revealed! Before this point, gifts are unviewable. This means you cannot read them or see who wrote them until the collection opens and reveals are done.

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    gift shaking: You can, however, see WHAT YOUR GIFT CONTAINS. Sort of. An overview. This can be done one of two ways: on the gift page via a userscript, or by going to fandoms on the collection page, scrolling down until you find one of the fandoms you requested, and looking at the filters tab under fandom, relationship, character, or additional tag. The second method will not work if you have requested fandoms that have multiple works for them in the collection. Neither method will work if the exchange is moderated and your gift has not been accepted into the collection yet.

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    treat, treating, treated, extra gift: Gifts made for you by someone who was not assigned as your main gifter. You cannot tell what is the main assignment and what is a treat unless the author has indicated it is a treat on the work page.

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    gift guarantee: If an exchange has a gift guarantee, it means that if you do not have a gift in the collection by the time of reveals, reveals will be delayed until you are assigned a pinch hitter. Treats often do not count for gift guarantees; you typically must have an Officially Assigned Gifter before reveals can be done, even if someone has already treated you.

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    EAD, exchanges after dark: The "main" and largest exchange Discord server.

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    creator reveals: The end of the anon period. You can say the work you posted is yours now! Yay!

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    AO3 app: an external website, https://autoao3app.fandom.tools/#/, that allows you to easily search for, bookmark and sort through exchange and prompt meme requests.

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    prompt meme: A different kind of collection challenge where you leave prompts and people can claim them. We won't be going into this much.

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    podfic: An audio-only medium in which an actor or podficcer records themselves reading a fic out loud.

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    mediums: The medium in which you can create a gift. Different exchanges have different allowed mediums. [Fic in a Box](https://ficinabox.dreamwidth.org/), for example, allows an insane amount of mediums. Fic is the default in most cases, but art, comics, and podfic are commonly included as well.

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    defaulting: If you cannot complete your assignment FOR ANY REASON, you hit the default button on the AO3 interface. **You do not have to explain why you default and mods prefer that you do not explain.** Assignments that are defaulted on will be sent out for pinch hits. Some exchanges have a deadline where, if you default by that time, you must complete a gift or request in order to participate in the next round, but this is not that common.

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    extension: If you need an extension (extra time to complete an assignment), you may ask the mods for an extension (via email or comment-screened Dreamwidth post), but not all exchanges grant them. Read the rules first before requesting.

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    FFA, fail fandom anon: a Dreamwidth community where anonymous discussions are had about fandom, and which BFE participants commonly frequent and create threads for. It's anonymous, so.. you can imagine the kind of things that go on there.

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    Dreamwidth: an online journaling service and Livejournal code fork that is where information for many exchanges are hosted.

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    letter: a letter of likes, interests, thoughts on requests, etc that you can include in your signup to allow your gifter to get a better idea of what you'd like in a gift. Commonly hosted on Dreamwidth Tumblr or Google docs, but I like to use notion.

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    Etiquette

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    • Never harass another participant, especially over their interests. This is a good way to get yourself banned and hated on in FFA.

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    • ODAO, meaning Optional Details are Optional—-your recipient may include a list of things they like, or a letter, but these are optional and as a creator you are not bound by them. You are only required to not include any of their DNWs.

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      • +

    • Additionally, as a requester, do not attempt to "box in" or force your creator to make a specific kind of work by utilizing your DNWs (e.g. no DNW that's, like, "DNW fics where Perry the Platypus isn't carrying Doof's hybrid babies").

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      • +

    • When you need a clarification on a recipient's DNW or likes or something, you must ask through the mods via email. They will contact your recipient for you. You cannot contact the recipient directly, unless it is an exchange with no anon period. This is deanoning and Bad.

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    • Kinkshaming is never cool; see first entry. Also referred to as KINKTOMATO/YKINMKATO (Your Kink Is Not My Kink And That's Okay).

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    • Don't Like, Don't Read. Simple as.

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      • +

    • Never say something in your signup like, "This is ordered by which fandoms I'd like to receive most!" When you signup you are open to receiving anything in your signup equally. If you don't want something, don't request it.

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    • Never say something in your DNW section like, "DNW: Phineas/Ferb (eww!!)" or "DNW: Hanahaki (ugh i HATE that trope)" or "DNW: piss kink (ew who could ever be into that LOL)". Basically, don't judge. Actually, don't explain why you DNW something at all.

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    • Typically most exchanges ask that you ask questions about the exchange on Dreamwidth or email, and not over Discord.

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    • Don't, like, trauma dump to mods, and don't lie to them. They receive a lot of weird emails, don't be that guy.

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    • Don't get in over your head or overwhelmed by signing up for too many exchanges.

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    • NEVER sign up for an exchange with the intention of defaulting so you get a gift without making something. Ever. If you default later, that's fine, but doing so with this deliberate intention is another good way to get banned.

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    • Don't try to pick up a PH for the same exchange if you've already defaulted on your original assignment. This is one I learned recently.

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    • If nominating a recursive fandom, you should check that the creator of the piece allows recursive works in their permissions statement.

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    • Don't use generative AI. Ever. Also don't trace or steal art.

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    • And most importantly: READ THE RULES. READ THEM FIRST. READ THE RULES THEN READ THEM AGAIN. THEN READ THEM ONE MORE TIME.

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    That's all I can think of for now. I was also going to include a technical guide to using the interface but I fear I am too lazy.

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    Anyway, as you can see, exchange norms are pretty complex, and I've DEFINTIELY forgotten a few things, too! But I hope this helps someone out there.

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    Essays

    +

    On Deconstructing "Tumblr Brain" & Learning How To Fucking Have Fun With Media +
    + + | Content warnings: Mentions of child abuse, abuse, and incest. +

    Houseboundedness & the Small Web + +

    + Agnes's Super Duper Unofficial Guide To Multifandom Exchanges +

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    +Do Not Interact: People Who Say "Do Not Interact" +

    + + On Tumblr & Small web "DNI" lists & performative activism.
    +

    I first saw ‘dni’-type lists pop up on Tumblr around the end of 2016, but it probably started a bit earlier than that. I remember when people would put ‘read my links byf’ on their promo posts (back before we had pinned posts and you could only view a person’s blog via their actual HTML page theme). I remember making my first one. In fact, the archive of one of my old blogs still has my old one up, in which a 15 year old me lists all of his triggers plainly and openly for all to see.

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    I don’t remember seeing DNIs quite so widespread until the past couple of years, but over time they went from "BYF (before you follow)s" - “a way to display information people might need to know before interacting with you” (for example, maybe that you don’t often get social cues and need a bit of help with that, or maybe that you work a lot so might reply a bit late) to “a way to display your stances on discourse-related topics”, to what they are now, which is… basically a list of every group said individual hates, oftentimes including phrases of wishing violence against those groups. And some of these groups definitely deserve hatred, but seeing ‘racist/transphobe/homophobe’ and ‘fan of [fictional ship between adults that has a slight age gap]’ listed on the same page as if violent bigotry and enjoying a tv show are equally bad is very odd to me. This nonchalant comparison, whether intentional or not, says a lot to me about how many individuals view activism.

    +

    Also: they don't Work. But I think most people with DNI pages do know that. It's not about usefulness, or explaining boundaries---oftentimes it is not about bigotry at all, not at the core, not really. It's about Looking Unproblematic. It's performative.

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    Yay: I stand in solidarity with trans people, including and especially transgender women. Yay: I will always support the transgender community unconditionally. Maybe not yay: a page where you beg transphobes to not interact with you & liken disagreements over fiction to real world atrocities and prejudices that cause genuine life-destroying harm.

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    These days, most social media has a block button that is extremely easy to utilize. I think most app distributors require a blocking feature in order to have social media apps listed. You Can Just Block People. You can also report them if they break the sites TOS.

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    But on here... I have seen an increasing amount of DNI pages posted to websites on Neocities, and I honestly think that having them kind of… misses the point of having your own personal website, in a way.

    +

    Tumblr and Twitter are cesspools of drama. But not only that, they are also full of phenomenons very concerning and upsetting, such as rampant racism, ableism, and transmisogyny that is encouraged by not only the userbase but also the staff of the websites themselves. And what is done about it? What is done to help the trans women who have been banned from Tumblr, removing their entire platforms which many used to sustain themselves financially? What is done to help the Black individuals who were banned from that site and labelled terrorists for discussing Black life? What do we have to say to all of that? A lot of people make meaningful commentary and keep the memory fresh, some donate and help, and that is wonderful and I do not intend to downplay or not acknowledge that--yet I still feel that not enough people fit that category, and the racism and transphobia can frequently drown it out. So what is the overwhelming response to these things, even when they are widespread across my Tumblr dash and everyone is talking about them---what do most of the people talking about it have to say? Pretty much just "Friendly reminder my blog is not a safe space for TERFs." And like, it shouldn't be. But that cannot be all that you do. You have to make your presence safe for marginalized individuals by showing up for them, welcoming helping and supporting them when they struggle. It's a good sentiment, but it cannot stop there. On Neocities, a place for hosting personal websites, I think it would be much more efficient to create a page listing what you do support and why, and phrase that positively. When all the focus is on a reminder that the Bad People exist, it can be kind of depressing; "Hey, did you know people out there want you dead? I'd like to ask them to not view my page!!" vs. "I will always support queer people, disabled people, people of color etc. no matter what." is a big difference, I think. + +

    Also... Neocities isn't focused on interpersonal interaction. It's a great option to have the social media aspect, but it's optional - the focus is on individual personal sites. Even if you use the social media aspect frequently, there's a great "block site" button you can use for bigots and harmful people.

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    And, honestly, those people probably aren’t even going to read your DNI page/section. I know it sucks that we can’t do much else to rid the small web of bigots—I’m reminded of a certain webring with a queerphobia requirement that I very much loathe—-but, unless there’s content that violates the Neocities terms of service, there’s not much else you can do. But you know what you can do? Block them and donate to a Black trans woman's transition fund, even a few dollars helps. Block them and check up on your transfem friend and ask her if she wants to hang out or if she needs anything. Block them, then go read about how you can be more caring to the disabled & create a more accessible environment, either IRL or online. At least do something. Please do something. +

    (An aside: I’m on Neocities because I want a place to put my eccentricities without fear of being told I’m an embarrassment, or I’m in the wrong for doing something harmless, or I’m cringe for not going to the club, or I’m a bad person because I think my 21 year old OC and 47 year old OC should kiss a little. DNI pages that go past bigotry & real life harm can foster an environment similar to mainstream social media, where there are "in-groups" and where people who are genuinely different from the norm get ostracized). +

    Neocities is a network of mostly unrelated independent personal websites with an optional social feed that is mainly used for website updates. People use their sites for all sorts of things, and Yes, you CAN put whatever you want on your site - that’s the point - but in the personal website sphere, I just have to ask: if you’re spending your time here coding "don't look at me" pages rather than focusing on independence, creativity, passion, supporting marginalized individuals, and so on and so forth - is Neocities really the right website for you? Maybe you’d prefer Carrd instead.

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    Houseboundedness & the Small Web

    +

    I recently joined the Melonland forums, and I’m enjoying myself there. It’s a community full of likeminded individuals who have the same interests as me, and I am always deeply appreciative of internet communities that value kindness and discussion. But as I scrolled around the forums and the site, I noticed a common theme - unplug and go outside. The forums even close on Mondays to encourage people to do that! Which… is a great idea in theory, and I 100% understand why it is implemented, but as a housebound individual who is sometimes even bedbound, it did get me thinking about disability representation and accommodation in the small web.

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    See, in theory, I love the idea that the internet should not be your whole life. And I do believe getting outside in the real world is extremely important. But I would like people to understand this: not everyone is capable of leaving the house, not everyone is capable of getting out of bed. The internet is my only connection to the world outside of my house. I love the fucking internet. I love the people I have met on the internet and the community I have formed. Many other friends I have are in a similar boat, too disabled to do a lot of things outside of the house. The internet has many downsides. A lot of them. But for many people it is a lifeline, a tool, a freedom.

    +

    This idea that using the internet too much stains you somehow confuses me. At times it can remind me of the way my Christian aunt talks about “not getting distracted by Earthly things” and tells me “don’t enjoy things too much or you’re sinning”. The internet’s existence is not the problem. The problem is, of course, capitalism. It’s been talked about to death, the commodification of the internet and the focus on profit above literally anything else driving authentic communities to their graves. The problem, on a more micro level, is also that the internet being everywhere these days means a lot of bigots are around to infect it. But if you wouldn’t make the argument that learning is bad because some people learn chemistry or engineering to make weapons, why argue that the internet is a blemish just because terrible people use it? There are also a lot of cool people on the internet! What about them?

    +

    I joined small web spaces to get more into web dev, self hosting, small game development, etc; computer hobbies are the one of the only hobbies accessible to me as a disabled person who often can’t leave its bed. So it is a little hurtful that a common message among abled or even non-housebound disabled webmasters is now “Unplug! Go outside! Make friends in the real world!” 

    +

    So I propose this instead: adding on to the encouragement to unplug. Giving suggestions to people who can’t leave their house or bed - things to do besides scrolling mainstream social media or contributing to the “wider web”. Encourage them to diversify the websites they spend time on if they cannot go outside, or to try a new hobby if that’s accessible, or to spend time talking to a beloved friend, or call their pets up for a cuddle, or… you get the idea. I’ll pull a few things from Sky Stanton’s The Bedbound Activities Guide, but meditation is a great one you can do anywhere, you can also make gratitude lists, fantasize and daydream, if you can use devices, go on itch.io and check out some indie art/games/books! You don’t have to make going outside the end all be all of Healthy Internet Usage.

    +

    There are more housebound and bedbound people than you think.

    +

    + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/essays/tumblrbrain.html b/essays/tumblrbrain.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39d2549 --- /dev/null +++ b/essays/tumblrbrain.html @@ -0,0 +1,88 @@ + + + + alien + + +
    home +

    On Deconstructing "Tumblr Brain" & Learning How To Fucking Have Fun With Media +

    +

    originally posted on Dreamwidth in 2024, with minor edits made since then. Mentions of child abuse, abuse, and incest.
    + If you've never been on Tumblr (and I envy you deeply if this is the case), it's a cesspit of judgement and harassment. Suicide-baiting over fictional disagreements runs rampant there. I have been on there since 2010 (and yes, I'm only 23, so do the math). I have seen things.

    Because of my severe disabilities, I can't really leave the house or socialize IRL often. So, I rely on websites like Tumblr for socialization, and I pretty much always have. Sometimes I wonder: if I never joined my school's "Tumblr craze", would I be a completely different person today? I think I absolutely would. I think I would've ended up there eventually, but I don't think I would've joined it so young, because joining it at nine whole years old really messed me up.

    For my first few years, I was in what I like to call "real fandom". I didn't have a LJ account, but I frequently checked it for Classic Who and Spike/Angel fanfiction. I followed mainly 25+ year olds on Tumblr (who, bless them, did not know my real age during this time because I was smart and lied about it, which I would stop doing once the "you HAVE to disclose your age" discourse blew up. Yeah.) I wrote whatever kind of fanfiction I wanted to write, because I didn't have people in my ear going "if you portray anything darker than a florist AU you must be a terrible abuser IRL". I didn't feel a need to clarify I don't agree with a villainous character's actions whenever I discussed them---I assumed, well, he's not real and I am, so it doesn't actually mean anything. I didn't feel a need to constantly censor myself, and drastically self-correct/forcibly change aspects of myself based on any criticism I received regardless of its validity or authenticity---this is what is expected of you on there. I also didn't feel a need to care much about what other people thought of me. I just did my own thing in my own corner.

    I miss that time so much.

    From what I remember, Tumblr was sort of always toxic (barring maybe during the quiet first period of its initial founding in 2007), but it really started to get bad around 2016, which is... interesting, considering what other things were going on during that time in its very US-centric userbase. I talked to my therapist today about this whole phenomenon, and while she didn't really Get it (which I absolutely cannot blame her for, because it is batshit impossible to explain to someone who isn't experiencing it firsthand themselves), she did point out that a lot of it is fear-based, a lot of it has to do with this blind fear that conservatives have intentionally crafted against this exaggerated narrative of a Child Abuser, which is something that all normal people find revolting, except they don't really mean child abusers, they mean queer people. To them, it's one in the same, even though they're statistically more likely to be the abusive ones. Being queer is inherently abusive to conservative ideology at large. I was talking to some friends today about how this is completely intentional, and two-pronged: they want us to in-fight as a distraction and they Also want everyone else to see us as inherently pedophilic too. So why are we pushing this narrative for them? Why are we running around in circles calling each other abuse supporters over fiction, when we could be fighting against actual, IRL abuse?

    And further, why am I expected to partake in the discourse just because I want to use a website? I don't want to be part of any discourse or moral crusade against a fictitious Scarymonster---I do experience a real Scarymonster in real life every day. I want to post about my favorite shows and talk to my friends. When there are extremely drastic world events, I raise awareness for them! But mostly I just want to mind my own business nowadays. Not to mention I myself am a survivor, so it is deeply triggering to see this discourse.

    On Tumblr, this is also seen as equivalent to taking a stance in support of hurting others. I am not even fucking joking.

    Anyway, after my very few years in Real Fandom, the harrassment campaigns began, and then I began this cycle of viciously self monitoring to ensure I didn't do anything anyone could potentially interpret as offensive or harmful. There was a reason for this: left and right, people (even children as young as 13!) were getting called out, publicly humiliated, targeted, suicide-baited, and even doxxed for infractions that, honestly, had either no real effect on the IRL world or were just taken completely out of context/were misunderstandings. Except no matter how much people tried to inform them that they were misunderstandings, that things could've been solved had they just talked to the callout post maker, there was still pushback, assuming that any defense of the self was malicious and therefore further proof that the individual in question was Wholly Entirely Bad. There would be frequent "um, you reblogged from someone who reblogged from someone who did/liked xyz thing" anonymous asks during this time, and while that's mostly rightfully seen as embarrassing now, it still happens with some discourses. People making mere mistakes, even with intent to do better, were still eternally bad and didn't deserve friends.

    I'm someone who seriously struggles with OCD. I first began showing symptoms of it when I was 8, and these tendencies have been extremely distressing ever since. So I was the exact kind of person to fall victim to this mindset so deeply. I had nothing besides Tumblr, I couldn't bear to lose my only friends! I had severe obsessive compulsive disorder! I was stuck in a bad living situation, it was my only escape! Of course I was going to constantly try to reshape myself to fit this ever-changing ideal of the most Unproblematic Person. I had, in my eyes at the time, no choice.

    Now, of course, I try to be the best person I can be. I genuinely don't ever want to offend anyone or do anything unintentionally harmful, and I do appreciate genuinely being informed when I've done something wrong. I never have ill intent and I always want to make things right. But for these people, it stopped being about that long ago, and now it's a morality competition.

    I think I finally began to realize how bad it was only in 2020, when my best friend of many years got harassed for posting about a ship I liked.

    The ship is between two unrelated characters who have a rocky relationship within canon. One of them crashes a bus while the other is in it; one of them puts the other on the ceiling when he's asleep; it's canon one of them unintentionally psychically tortured the other for six decades. But the criticism wasn't about any of that, it was hatred because, in one issue in a different adaption of the characters --- a comic from around the 1960s--- one of the characters gave the other a father's day card. This made it equivalent to incest and therefore liking it made you worthy of being called a freak and harassed.

     
     
    (The characters would then go on to have a child together in the future of the show. I am still ecstatic about being avenged there.)

    But instead of speaking up about it, which is what I should've done, I joined in. I did NOT join in the harrassment. But I did outwardly adopt the mindset that anyone who liked that ship was weird, while going in cycles of secretly liking it and attempting to force myself not to like it. It sucked the life out of me, because it involved a character I was deeply in love with and hyperfixated on, who I desperately wanted to see loved. Later I would discover I'm fictosexual, and that my feelings for that character were very real and very personal. But I would frequently meanly vague post about anyone who even implied it as a joke, and I regret my actions during the time so so much. I wish I hadn't done any of it now. But this kind of judgement has seeped into not even being a norm anymore; it's an expectation. There's absolutely nothing controversial about the ship I liked. That instance happened once and never again. They're an alien and a human, not related. But it still "counted" as "bad". Anything, then, can be spun into being problematic and it'll catch on if the claimant has a big enough following.

    I didn't begin to seriously deconstruct this mindset until 2022, when I joined the Babylon 5 fandom. I met a lot of people there who were much older than me, and who had been and still were in Real Fandom. I realized that most of the time, the people I thought were weird were just. Normal human beings with jobs and school and friendships and pets and lives. None of them ever wanted to hurt anyone. I made a lot of friends who were against this mindset, and I began to seriously be ashamed of how I generalized and dehumanized these strangers for their interests. What made me different from a high school bully? Nothing; I was the equivalent of one. I hate it so much.

    Now I'm slowly figuring out how to enjoy things and exist authentically. I'm finally allowing myself to openly like truly irredeemable characters again, and ships involving them. A lot of things still make me viscerally uncomfortable, and will never be things I want to read because they seriously trigger me. But I don't think the people who create this stuff are automatically inherently evil irredeemable IRL abusers who genuinely want to hurt others. Finally, after almost a decade of this issue absolutely eviscerating my mental health and making me suicidal, I am embracing the nuance. And there is nuance! The only way to know what someone is truly like is to know them in real life. The majority of people making "immoral fictional content" have been victims of those immoral things themselves, and we cannot deny victims their voices just because we find what they're saying unsavory; it is then we feed into the "good/bad victim" mentality, which is only harmful to survivors. Even if someone making the art isn't a survivor - and that information is by default no one's business anyway - the human mind is complex, and never as simple as "thinks about = wants to do." Believing it is is how you get the following: ableism and harm against those with OCD, "video games cause violence, not societal problems :))" mindsets, etc.... It's just not a place to go, not just because it is untrue but also because it is unkind, presumptuous, and a very slippery slope into some very bad places. Have your discomfort, but when you let personal disgust over things that cause direct harm to zero people (no, being made uncomfortable by a fic you chose to click on is not direct harm and you know that, too) get in the way of how you perceive other individuals' humanity, that does far more harm than good to the people you believe you're protecting. I'm embracing the nuance, and there is a fuckton of it, and if I, a severely autistic person, can see it, then you can learn to see it too. I believe in you.

    It still seeps in sometimes. On an earlier post of mine, I still felt a need to go "but what this villain did was obviously wrong", even though I was clearly speaking from their POV and no one would've assumed I thought they were right. I didn't even realize it until I got a (much appreciated) comment. I think, after 14 almost 15 years on Tumblr, deconstructing this deeply-engrained  mindset is going to be kind of perpetual for me. An endless process.

    But I'm confident I'll make it through.
    +

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    +

    Preface

    + +

    + whispering cosmos (talking right through me)
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/55322680. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    F/M
    +
    Fandom:
    +
    Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Relationship:
    +
    Mr. Morden/Anna Sheridan
    +
    Characters:
    +
    Mr. Morden (Babylon 5), Anna Sheridan (Babylon 5)
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2024-04-19 + Words: 670 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    whispering cosmos (talking right through me)

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    And then she asks him the dreaded thing, the shell of his past he just cannot shed: “And you were really her friend?”

    + +

    Notes

    +

    Since this scene was written from Anna's POV and I always found Morden's actions there REALLY interesting, I tried writing it from his POV. Its 5am

    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    whispering cosmos (talking right through me)

    +
    +

     

    At a time when they were both different people—too alien, too similar, too familiar, too far gone---there was a Something there. A force of energy that pulsated when she held his hand, an array of obstacles between their hearts that formed connecting pathways beneath the rubble. Dr. Morden had found this insurmountable.

     

    There had been a Something. She walked into his quarters on Station Prime with an evolving mission, a determination to succeed in their trip to the Rim, a fascination with the boundaries of the unknown. Was he a dead civilization to her? One of many lost worlds to dive into, excavate, and study? Something so dangerous even after death that it can only be weaponized? On second thought, the weaponization was only on his shoulders, his work for New Technologies. Whatever lured Sheridan to dead planets---it was purer than he ever could be, purer than he would ever want to be.

     

    Or was he something endangered, on the brink of extinction, something that she had to Save and Fix and Keep? Dr. Morden was never something to be kept. He refuses to entertain the idea that she simply wanted him to want him, that it was just her own loneliness that anchored her to his cause. It would make her seem human, and she is no longer human. 

     

    They are unrecognizable now, scorched beyond recognition and puppeted lifelessly over surgical tables like burnt corpses. Mr. Morden does not find this insurmountable—he doesn't feel anything at all.

     

    He tells her about herself because he has to, because this is his inverted divine purpose, and because he is addicted to the striking, druglike euphoria of obeying. This Anna doesn't understand—she shivers when he touches her palm, she sees no value in the past, finds dead civilizations worthless. He sees the past now as something to learn from, to analyze, to figure out what kills and what doesn't and what factors lead to their ruin. It's, hm — important to understand how it happens, how things die out. Exactly when the body starves and suffocates and what it feels like to starve and suffocate and how the younger races can avoid—or embrace, in their stupidity—the same actions. 

     

    This Anna only questions him, and not in the way Sheridan used to question him; when this Anna asks for an explanation, she spits it out with vitriol towards the former resident of her body, unable to parse the person that Sheridan had been. Sheridan had been good, and his associates cannot translate the concept of good. He feels himself getting angry and angrier as the facts spill out of his mouth, spit out like broken teeth or rotten, rotten food. 

     

    Anna has the one thing his associates refuse him: the privilege of forgetting. And she thinks her former self a fool.

     

    “It's not your place to make judgment,” he snaps, but something sick embedded in his mind forces him back into composure. “There's no point to it,” he finishes. 

     

    And then she asks him the dreaded thing, the shell of his past he just cannot shed: “And you were really her friend?”

     

    Mr. Morden looks away, just as he had long ago under the harassing gaze of the ISN reporters—he cannot look at her. There had been a Something between them—something that turned them into nothingness, little organic capsules of void. They ruined each other, and now they must rebuild.

     

    “Not a very good one,” he says, facing the wall and finally, finally looking back, “but yes, I was.” 

     

    They have to finish getting her ready for John. They have to commit now.

     

    She asked him if humans can connect with each other the way she had connected to her machine. He must look at it the same way, he knows, to serve them better. They can influence him, but it doesn't matter now. All connection is machinery, clusters of glitching and sparking circuits that rest beneath both of their grins. It's all they have.

     

     

     

     

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/enlightenment.html b/fic/b5/enlightenment.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc0b84a --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/enlightenment.html @@ -0,0 +1,1945 @@ + + + + + + A Contrast of Enlightenment - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + A Contrast of Enlightenment
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40543173. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    Other
    +
    Fandom:
    +
    Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Characters:
    +
    John Sheridan, Susan Ivanova, Stephen Franklin, Londo Mollari, Delenn (Babylon 5), Lennier (Babylon 5), Kosh (Babylon 5), G'Kar (Babylon 5), Michael Garibaldi
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Screenplay/Script Format, it's a whole ass episode because yeah, Species Swap
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2022-07-25 + Words: 5,384 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    A Contrast of Enlightenment

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    A strange cloud envelops Babylon 5, and changes the species of every alien on board. They have to figure out how to get things back to normal, but in order for the spell to be lifted, they must each experience a personal revelation.

    + +

    Notes

    +

    here's a pdf version of the script, properly formatted
    i set every scene at night because it's always night in space lol
    "Where is this set in the timeline??" Who knows! I sure don't!

    i wrote most of this while stoned so if it has any typos/inconsistencies let me know. this is also the longest script i've ever written. babylon 5 has consumed my brain. enjoy.

    +
    + See the end of the work for more notes +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    A Contrast of Enlightenment

    +
    +

     

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - COMMAND AND CONTROL - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Commander Ivanova stands at her station. Her eyes flutter shut momentarily; she’s exhausted, it’s too late for this. When she realizes she’s drifting off, she puts her hand over her mouth, and yawns.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    She’s about to leave for the night - to finally get that precious, treasured sleep - when–

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Jumpgate activated.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    And her head snaps back, her eyes roll. She approaches the console. The jumpgate certainly has activated, but there’s nothing there. It closes just as fast as it opened, and Babylon 5 space is very much empty.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Computer, scan for nearby ships.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Commencing…

    +
    +

    (pause)

    +
    +

    No ships found.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Are you sure? Then why did the jumpgate open?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Unknown.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Scan for any life sign in the area not currently on Babylon 5.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    No life signs detected.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Ivanova pauses. Stares off into the distance, her expression pure concern, until it hits her again - she’s tired.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Computer, check for any malfunction in the jumpgate.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Estimated time for requested scan… 1.5 hours.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Are you kidding me?

    +
    +

    (to herself)

    +
    +

    Fine. I’ll set my alarm for two hours from now. Two hours. At least I get two hours. It’s probably just a glitch, anyway. Probably.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    He can’t sleep. Sheridan sits, watching the screen ramble on and on, news updates and horrific events drilling into his mind. He sighs. Forlorn. Something’s haunting his thoughts.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    And then the screen turns to mere static. The station begins to rumble, wall decorations falling, glasses diving from his cupboards and shattering on the floor.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    EXT. BABYLON 5 SPACE - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    The station vibrating and rattling as a PINK CLOUD OF ENERGY envelops the entirety of Babylon 5. 

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - LONDO’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Londo awakens to the sound of glass breaking and trinkets crashing. It takes him a few moments to realize exactly what the sounds are, and the fact that the station is shaking.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    What–

    +
    +

    He runs out into the front of his quarters; all of his belongings have toppled over.

    +
    +

    LONDO (CONT'D)

    +
    +

    Seriously?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - DELENN'S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Delenn does not seem to notice the trembling as she meditates. She closes her eyes and keeps them closed. At peace.

    +
    +

    Until her door chimes, and her eyes open. She takes in the sight of her surroundings, and brings her hand over her mouth briefly.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Enter, enter, quickly.

    +
    +

    Lennier enters.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    LENNIER

    +
    +

    Delenn, are you alright?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    You should be somewhere safe. You shouldn’t have come.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    LENNIER

    +
    +

    My… personal safety is secondary.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Delenn smiles. 

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    And the shaking stops.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    And they fall to the ground, like angels, unconscious.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan taps on his link.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Sheridan to C&C. What the hell was that?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    C&C OFFICER (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    We’re not entirely sure. For a moment, when the shaking started, everything turned… pink.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Pink?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    C&C OFFICER (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Yes, sir. Like we were in a cloud.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    What do the scanners say?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    C&C OFFICER

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    They haven’t found anything. Except…

    +
    +

    (pause)

    +
    +

    We’re reading a foreign energy field surrounding the entire station. We’re…

    +
    +

    (pause)

    +
    +

    We’re in a force field, sir.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Are you sure?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    C&C OFFICER (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Positive. It’s the only thing these readings could mean. We can send a maintenance bot out to test how big the field is and what happens if you try to get out of it.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Good, get it done as soon as possible.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - MEDLAB - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Franklin hard at work on patients injured in the quake. Other medical officers are cleaning up the aftermath.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Delenn enters, Lennier, clutching his side, in tow.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Dr. Franklin?

    +
    +

    He looks up, transfers care to a nearby doctor, and approaches them.

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    What can I do for you, Ambassador?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    This is when he notices the tears in Delenn’s eyes. 

    +
    +

    Lennier slowly removes his hand from his right side, and in doing so, reveals a large shard of glass embedded in his abdomen.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Oh, jesus christ. Hey, I need help over here! Come on!

    +
    +

    (to Delenn)

    +
    +

    We’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    It’s strange, doctor. Before this happened, we… lost consciousness for a moment. That is how the glass got there; he fell on top of it.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Are you okay?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    No. But I hope to be–

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    She’s interrupted by the lights flickering into darkness, sudden and fast. They’re completely drenched in the dark. No light, no light to be found. No light left.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    And then the darkness lifts, the room bright again.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Franklin looks up—

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    and then he looks at Delenn. She’s floating, now. Enclosed in a beam of light. Her light the absence of any darkness, any pain. His mouth opens, dropping in surprise. She looks ethereal. 

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Oh, my god…

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Doctor?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    I…

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    What is wrong?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    I can’t believe it.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Delenn looks down at her arms, notices the light.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    What is this?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    I don’t know. But I have an awful feeling that whatever that thing was, whatever shook the station… is behind this.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Franklin hands her a nearby mirror. She looks into it, gazes at herself, the way she shines.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    I am… Vorlon?

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - LONDO'S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Londo - Narn now - who has fallen face-first onto the floor,  rises back to consciousness slowly.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    He pushes himself up. And then he looks at his hand.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Great maker…

    +
    +

    He opens his eyes, rubs them, blinks repeatedly. Maybe he’s hallucinating this. 

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    He’s not.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    I am dead. I have to be. And maybe I deserve it, but I never thought evil could be cruel enough to do this.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - G’KAR’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    G’Kar - Centauri now - has passed out over his desk, and jolts awake into a fighting stance. He glances around, studies the room to ensure its safety, and then stands up, slow and strained. 

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    He looks at the mirror behind him once, and he doesn’t parse it until his eyes dart back and his heart burns in his chest as he witnesses this new version of him. This version that is the enemy.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    This cannot be…

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    He runs over to the mirror, stretches out the skin of his face, feels his hair. 

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    (frustrated)

    +
    +

    Oh, come on…

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - MEDLAB - NIGHT

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    Delenn rests on an exam table as Franklin scans her.

    +
    +

     

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Well?

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    As far as I can tell, from the limited knowledge we have of Vorlon biology, you’re a perfectly healthy Vorlon. And somehow, you are reading as purely Vorlon, and I have absolutely no idea what is going on.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Nor do I. 

    +
    +

    A woman pokes her head out of Lennier’s operation.

    +
    +

    MEDLAB DOCTOR

    +
    +

    Dr. Franklin?

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Yes?

    +
    +

    MEDLAB DOCTOR

    +
    +

    I think you should see this.

    +
    +

    BABYLON 5 - ISOLAB - NIGHT 

    +
    +

    Franklin enters, and sees Lennier on the operating table, but he’s different now; the bones of his head are gone, and he has wavy brown hair.

    +

     

    +
    +

    He’s human.

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +

    (gesturing to Delenn)

    +
    +

    Ambassador…

    +
    +

    Delenn rushes behind him. She looks into the room, and her shock is obvious when she sees him. Human. Human. Human. 

    +
    +

    MEDLAB DOCTOR

    +
    +

    We got the glass out, and he collapsed… and then he turned human, and he was fine. He went from an injured Minbari one second to a perfectly healthy human the next.

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    How is this possible?

    +
    +

    She shrugs.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN'S OFFICE - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Ivanova, Garibaldi, and Sheridan sit at Sheridan’s desk.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    So all of the aliens just… swapped species?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    It seems so. Every scan Dr. Franklin has done, they read as not their actual race, but the one they’ve turned into. It’s real. And I don’t like it.

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI

    +
    +

    I don’t either. Do you think it has something to do with this force field thing?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Probably. But we need to know more. Status of the maintenance bot?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    It reached the edge of the force field about ten minutes ago, sir. The good news is that we have quite a bit of room. The bad news is that when the bot reached the edge of the field, it was incinerated.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Cancel all incoming and outgoing transports now. Lock down the station. Nobody gets in or out. 

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Already done. 

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI

    +
    +

    Once the alien population realizes what’s going on, it’s gonna get real nasty out there.

    +

     

    +
    +

    His link beeps.

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI

    +
    +

    (on link)

    +
    +

    Garibaldi.

    +
    +

    SECURITY OFFICER

    +
    +

    There’s a massive fight going on down here. We need you, we need more–

    +
    +

    The link goes silent.

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI

    +
    +

    I gotta go. Keep me informed.

    +
    +

    He leaves.

    +
    +

    Sheridan looks at Ivanova.

    +

     

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Is it true that Ambassador Delenn is a Vorlon?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    From what I’ve heard, yes.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    And if she’s a Vorlon… then… keep an eye on things for a bit. There’s something I have to do.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - DELENN'S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Delenn helps Lennier into her quarters, helps him lie down.

    +
    +

    LENNIER

    +
    +

    I’m well, Delenn. I promise.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    You should still rest. 

    +
    +

    Lennier gazes up at her, witnesses her vastness and beauty.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Lennier?

    +
    +

    LENNIER

    +
    +

    I apologize. It’s just… I’ve never seen a Vorlon before. You look… truly celestial.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    It’s very different. If we can ever return things to normal… I will never forget this…

    +
    +

    (a pause, a smile)

    +
    +

    How do you feel about being human?

    +
    +

    LENNIER

    +
    +

    To be honest… I am not sure.. how to feel. I look at my reflection and it seems empty. Unrecognizable. And when I reach out to touch the glass… the person that touches me back is cold and foreign.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Oh, Lennier. Get some rest. We’ll find a way out of this. I know we will.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - LONDO'S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Londo, on a com call with Sheridan.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    Why didn’t you come see me directly?

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Come on. You know I can’t be seen like this.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    It’s happened to every alien on the station. No one would recognize you, and if they did, they’d be too busy panicking to care.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Still.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    What did you need, Ambassador?

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    I know exactly who is behind this.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    Let me guess. The Narn?

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Of course it’s the Narn. They’re… trying to torture us. To punish us. Humiliate us! I won’t have it, Captain. I will not allow this.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    Why would the Narn do something that would also affect their own people? There’s a chance you would turn into Narn, they would have to know the Centauri might attempt to use their new appearances to cause problems among the Narn population here.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    To point the suspicion elsewhere. They’re very sly, Captain. They would resort to anything.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    Sure. Well. I’m very busy, Ambassador. I have to figure this out, and fast.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    But–

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (on screen)

    +
    +

    Goodbye. 

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - KOSH’S QUARTERS - Night

    +

     

    +
    +

    Sheridan puts the mask on, and rings for Kosh. And rings, and rings - no answer.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Kosh, you there?

    +
    +

    KOSH (O.S)

    +
    +

    You may not enter.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Is everything okay? 

    +
    +

    KOSH (O.S)

    +
    +

    No.

    +
    +

    (then)

    +
    +

    Why?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I’m not sure. It’s happened to everyone on the station. We don’t have much to go on yet besides a weird pink cloud and a force field that’s been set up around the station.

    +
    +

    KOSH (O.S)

    +
    +

    It is.. intolerably uncomfortable.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I’m sorry. We’re working on it as quickly as we can. Someone’s doing an analysis of the station to see if they can identify the - the cloud - as we speak.

    +
    +

    KOSH (O.S)

    +
    +

    Good.

    +
    +

    Sheridan turns to leave, but something remains in his mind - a curiosity.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Can I ask you something?

    +
    +

    KOSH (O.S)

    +
    +

    Yes.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Delenn turned into a Vorlon. Londo into a Narn… and so on. What did you become?

    +

     

    +
    +

    There’s an uncomfortably long silence until the door opens.

    +
    +

    KOSH (O.S)

    +
    +

    …Enter.

    +
    +

    Sheridan obeys.

    +
    +

    When he walks through, he sees an impossible sight before him: Kosh, human. Kosh, in a white robe. Kosh, without his light. Kosh, human. Human. It is breathtaking.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - COMMAND AND CONTROL - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Ivanova opens communications to the scanning vessel.

    +

     

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Any results on the scan yet?

    +
    +

    PILOT (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over com)

    +
    +

    Negative. So far, everything is normal. 

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    You're sure?

    +
    +

    PILOT (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over com)

    +
    +

    Yes. There’s no remaining debri or particles out here.. There’s nothing.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Okay. Head back, I’ll inform the Captain.

    +
    +

    An officer next to her stands up.

    +
    +

    C&C OFFICER

    +
    +

    Commander, we’re picking up a signal—someone’s trying to contact us.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Show me.

    +
    +

    The screen flickers on, revealing - an alien unlike anything known. This is a first contact situation. The alien is humanoid, but also mothlike, complete with antennae and wings. 

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Ivanova to Sheridan. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Sheridan.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA 

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    We need you here now.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    On my way.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - G’KAR’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +

     

    +
    +

    G’Kar gets a com call.

    +

     

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Answer, hold video. Yes?

    +

     

    +
    +

    It’s a member of the resistance back home. G’Kar barely recognizes him.

    +

     

    +
    +

    NARN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    G’Kar, we’re having a problem with some shipments—why do I not see you?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Not feeling very well today. I look rather unpleasant, best not to see me like this.

    +
    +

    NARN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    Are you alright?

    +
    +

    (whispering)

    +
    +

    Has something happened to you?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    No. I assure you, I am fine.

    +
    +

    NARN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    G’Kar, I worry. If anything-

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Nonsense, I should be worried about you. Please, continue. How are things?

    +
    +

    NARN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    I’m sorry, G’Kar. I don’t know who could be with you right now. Since I can’t see you, I have no way of knowing if this is a trap. For all I know, some Centauri could be forcing you to say this.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    What? It’s not a trap. No one’s forcing me to say anything!

    +
    +

    NARN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    We can talk later.

    +
    +

    The call ends. G’Kar slams his head into his palms.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - COMMAND AND CONTROL - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan enters, and takes in the call on screen.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (to Ivanova)

    +
    +

    Can they understand us?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    I don’t know. They haven’t said anything. They’re just sitting there.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Alright, this has to be a first contact situation. Let’s find out what’s going on.

    +
    +

    He approaches the call.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Hello. I’m Captain John Sheridan of Babylon 5. Welcome. Do you mind sharing with us your species name?

    +
    +

    The alien’s eyes blink, eyelids closing vertically.

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    We are the Xels’Av’Ox. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    It’s nice to meet you. And your name is?

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    Irrelevant.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Okay…

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    You may have noticed some things on your station shifting and changing.

    +
    +

    Sheridan melts into a more serious tone.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Are you the ones responsible for this?

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    Yes. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Why? Why do this? Do you just like the chaos?

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    We feed on enlightenment. We have the tools to bring it to those who need it, and we go to any length to obtain it. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Right. So, what do you want? What do I have to do for you to undo this?

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    Nothing.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I don’t understand.

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    We will reverse our shift once you have reached collective epiphany.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Collective epiphany? What does that mean?

    +
    +

    ALIEN

    +
    +

    (over call)

    +
    +

    That is for you to discover. Good luck, Captain John Sheridan of Babylon 5.

    +
    +

    The alien disappears off screen, the call flickering out.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Do you know what just happened?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    No, sir.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN'S OFFICE - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan, at his desk again, this time alone.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Computer, search for any known files on a species called the Xels’Av’Ox.

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Commencing.

    +
    +

    (then)

    +
    +

    One match found.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Display.

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Xels’Av’Ox. A mythological figure in the folklore of several extinct species. These creatures find nourishment by draining the psychological realizations of other species directly from their minds.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Any weaknesses, wars, ways to outsmart them?

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Not found.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    What is their technology level? How advanced are they?

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Data insufficient.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Come on. Anything? Anything at all?

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Continuing file narration. While highly feared, the Xels’Av’Ox are essentially harmless. The fear surrounding the Xels’Av’Ox is due to a fear surrounding their main method of feeding. To feed, these creatures force their victims to confront things they do not want to acknowledge, over and over until an epiphany has been made. Then the creatures remove the epiphany telepathically and consume it. In historical accounts of this species, several have described the process as torturous and intolerable. They-

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Computer, end narration.

    +
    +

    His door signals him.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Come.

    +
    +

    In walks G’Kar, but Sheridan doesn’t recognize him in his Centauri appearance.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Can I help you?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    It’s me. G’Kar.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Sorry.

    +
    +

    (then)

    +
    +

    How are you taking it?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    This is a traumatizing experience. But I’m positive I know the cause.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Oh?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    The Centauri have done this, they have turned us into them, to confuse and divide us! In turn, they have become Narn to infiltrate us. No one will know who is who until it’s too late.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Yes, but not every Narn has turned into Centauri and vice versa. Medical says that it seems to be a random selection.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Part of their plan as well! Avoid suspicion.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I’ll look into it.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Thank you, Captain.

    +
    +

    He leaves.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - RESTAURANT - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Ivanova, Sheridan, Franklin, and Garibaldi sitting in a very empty restaurant.

    +

     

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    They seem to be harmless. It’s just what they do to you.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    What do they do?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Well, it seems like they put you through tough situations, trying to make you confront your demons until you finally overcome them. 

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    And then?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    And then, I don’t know. I just know that they feed on these revelations.

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI

    +
    +

    Great, so we’ve got some moth guys who don’t seem to be anywhere we can detect in Babylon 5 space, who are going to force us to face our demons, essentially torturing us psychologically, just so they can eat our bravery. I just want one boring day.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Hey, wait, I just remembered something.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    What?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    I forgot because I was tired, and at the time I thought it was nothing, but the jumpgate opened when there was no scheduled incoming ships. And Captain… there was nothing. Not a single ship came through. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Not a single ship that we know about. Remember, we’ve never met these guys before. They wouldn’t show up on our scanners because we wouldn’t know what to scan for.

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Do you think they’re using some kind of cloaking device, then?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I don’t know yet.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - HALLWAY - NIGHT

    +

     

    +
    +

    Londo wears a cloak over his head as he attempts to sneak into the transport tube without being seen.

    +
    +

    But when he commands it to open - G’Kar is inside.

    +

     

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    (to himself)

    +
    +

    Okay, maybe he won’t recognize me.

    +
    +

    Londo enters the transport tube, and when G’Kar’s eyes find him, Londo is recognized instantly. So much for that. 

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Mollari.

    +
    +

    -and the transport tube slams shut.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - TRANSPORT TUBE - NIGHT

    +
    +

    G’Kar and Londo leaning away from each other. Sizing each other up.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Emergency stop. Well, I must admit, you make a fine Centauri, G’Kar.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    And you make a pitiful Narn.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Stop it. Why did you do it, hm? Revenge? You want to torture us? You want us to suffer as you believe you have suffered?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    I’m not stupid. I know you did this. You want to break us, to strip us of our confidence, to… to slowly drain the life out of our people. It’s not enough to torture us, to murder us by the millions, to destroy our cities. You have to break us, too. You have to suck any remaining hope we have out of us like it’s venomous. But you will not succeed.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    You are insane.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    I’m not the insane one here. I would never do such a thing. How would I? Where would we get the resources, the power, when you have your hands around our throat?

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    You always find a way.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Computer, open doors before I end up doing something I will regret. 

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Unable to comply.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    What?

    +
    +

    And the lights go out.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - DELENN'S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Delenn, in her quarters. Unable to rest. Unable to meditate. Her eyes open, unblinking. Just floating there. 

    +
    +

    There’s an ARRAY OF GARBLED VOICES.

    +
    +

    VOICE #1

    +
    +

    We didn’t understand what we were seeing. We acted as all humans do, we were so human.

    +
    +

    VOICE #2

    +
    +

    We destroy everything we don’t understand.

    +
    +

    VOICE #1

    +
    +

    You destroy everything too. It is a contrast of enlightenment.

    +
    +

    VOICE #2

    +
    +

    We are so different, and yet, we all find similarity in destruction.

    +
    +

    VOICE #1

    +
    +

    It is, perhaps, our only uniting trait.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    No. No. I do not seek to destroy.

    +
    +

    VOICE #1

    +
    +

    But you chose to. You made your decision. The pain rests on your shoulders.

    +
    +

    VOICE #2

    +
    +

    What have you done?

    +
    +

    VOICE #1

    +
    +

    Oh god, please, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.

    +
    +

    VOICE #2

    +
    +

    Please, have mercy, please don’t-

    +
    +

    VOICE #1

    +
    +

    (now childlike)

    +
    +

    I don’t understand what’s going on, mommy. When is dad coming home?

    +
    +

    VOICE #1 & VOICE #2

    +
    +

    What have you done? What have you done? What have you done? What have you done? It’s your fault. You know that. You did this.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    No!

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN’S QUARTERS - Night

    +
    +

    The door rings.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Enter.

    +
    +

    He’s speechless when he sees Kosh move into his quarters. Kosh, in sort-of his true form. Kosh, so cryptic, now so revealed.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Kosh? What are you doing here?

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    Observing.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I thought being seen was a strain for you.

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    This is necessary.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Do you… understand any of this? What’s going on, I mean. They say things will go back to normal once we reach ‘collective epiphany’, but I have no idea what that means.

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    They seek understanding. We all seek understanding.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I just wish I knew how to fix this. How do you create epiphanies? And who has to have them? I just don’t like it. We could be here forever.

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    Yes.

    +
    +

    (pause)

    +
    +

    Epiphanies are created by love.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Love?

    +
    +

    Kosh turns to leave.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Wait.

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    You have a question.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Yeah, I was wondering… what is being human like for you? Does this help you understand us better? Hell, will this help me understand you better?

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    I have always been human, perhaps. The experience is subjective.

    +
    +

    And he’s gone.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Love…

    +
    +

    His eyes widen. An idea.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - TRANSPORT TUBE - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Londo and G’Kar, still in the dark.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    You know what will happen if you kill me.

    +
    +

    G’KAR

    +
    +

    Kill you? Yes, I do.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    You understand the repercussions.

    +
    +

    G’KAR

    +
    +

    Yes, I do.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    I will be found and avenged.

    +
    +

    G’KAR

    +
    +

    I am not going to kill you.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    I’m vulnerable in this darkness. Why wouldn’t you?

    +
    +

    G’KAR

    +
    +

    The consequences, as you said. Mostly that. But death is the easy way out. You deserve to be held accountable for what you’ve done. May we give to you what you have given us, one day.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Is this a threat?

    +
    +

    G’KAR

    +
    +

    It is the truth.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - COMMAND AND CONTROL - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan, unkempt now, worn down from the stress. He presses on his link.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Sheridan to security.

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Security. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Any updates?

    +
    +

    GARIBALDI (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Not much. A transport tube is down so we’re looking into that now. Meanwhile, Earthforce wants to know why we’re not letting any transports in, and they’re not the only ones. There’s been dozens of complaints, and they’re turning into violence real fast. We’re doing what we can.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Good. Update me if anything happens. Sheridan out.

    +
    +

    Commander Ivanova approaches him from her console.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    You’re stressed.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I don’t know what to do. Soon, people other than Earthforce are going to find out about this, and I won’t know how to explain it to them.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Why don’t you get some sleep? I can take care of things for a while.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I don’t want to sleep until I know this is over.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Captain, with all due respect, you’re no use to us if you’re not functioning at your best. You need sleep. We’re perfectly capable.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I know, but… fine. If we hear anything, any new contact from the Xels’Av’Ox, any change at all, I want to know the minute it happens.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Understood.

    +
    +

    int. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN’S QUARTERS - Night

    +
    +

    Sheridan enters his quarters to find a terrified Delenn, waiting for him. She’s making sobbing noises, but in her current state, no tears can escape her, for her kind has evolved past the need for them.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Delenn?

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    I’m sorry for disturbing you at this hour, John. This is… becoming a problem for me.

    +
    +

    He moves to stand next to her, to comfort her.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Are you alright?

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    I am not. Whatever this is… it’s using my past against me. Reminding me of things… I would rather not remember. Haunting me for its own entertainment. I fear it will destroy me.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I won’t let that happen.

    +
    +

    He stares at her, just as Lennier had, and smiles. He tries to hide his awe, but he’s very bad at it.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    I appreciate it. Some things… are better left behind.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Whatever it was, I know who you are. You’re a good person, Delenn. I believe that.

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Thank you.

    +
    +

    They have a moment. Sheridan takes in the sight of her, remembers the beauty Kosh had when he had revealed himself. She holds a similar beauty, but it’s different, something he can’t quite discern. She’s just beautiful. An utter blessing.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (to himself)

    +
    +

    Epiphanies are created by love…

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    John?

    +
    +

    He doesn’t respond. He simply presses his hand against her cheek as if he was wiping away her tears. Her frame tingles against his touch, like he’s touching something truly divine. She looks over at his hand, smiles. They move closer…

    +
    +

    and closer…

    +
    +

    and closer..

    +
    +

    their faces almost touching…

    +
    +

    And Sheridan’s link goes off.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I should…

    +
    +

    DELENN

    +
    +

    Of course. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Sheridan.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    We’re receiving a recorded message from the Xels’Av’Ox.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Patching it through.

    +
    +

    XELS'AV'OX ALIEN

    +
    +

    (through link)

    +
    +

    Well done. You’re getting closer. When all has been revealed, we will release you.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA (V.O)

    +
    +

    (over link)

    +
    +

    Should I send a response?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Not yet. I want to see how this plays out.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - TRANSPORT TUBE - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Still dark.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Computer, open doors.

    +
    +

    No response.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    (firmly)

    +
    +

    Computer, open doors. Open them now.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    It’s not going to work.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    And what are you doing, hm? Nothing. We’re trapped in here and you’re doing absolutely nothing to get us out.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    That is correct. I’m enjoying seeing you squirm.

    +
    +

    LODNO

    +
    +

    I could kill you, you know. And I should.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Then do so. 

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    I should, but I won’t. Not today. Not yet. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Well, if that’s the case, can you be quiet, then? Surely someone will find us sooner or later. Stop panicking.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    I’m not panicking.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Look at this. The true cowardice of the Centauri.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    You’re not helping. Mind you, this is the second time we’ve been stuck in a transport tube together.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Yes, and unfortunately, we survived the first encounter, so unfortunately, we shall survive the second.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    And you know this how?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Through belief.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Belief. Belief! Faith, G’Kar, is a very fickle thing. The universe will eventually disappoint you. It has already, has it not?

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    I’m very familiar with the universe’s disappointments, thank you. But I keep going because I must. Because there is nowhere to go but forward. And for you, there is nowhere to go but backwards.

    +
    +

    There’s a protesting sound from Londo–

    +
    +

    and then a sawing noise at the ceiling. A piece of the top of the transport tube falls through, revealing light, and hits Londo over the head, knocking him to the ground. Garibaldi peers in.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    Thank you, Mr. Garibaldi. Truly, thank you.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - MEDLAB - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Londo sits on the medlab bed, holding a pack of ice to his neck, as Franklin scans G’Kar.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    I promise you, doctor, I am fine.

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Sure, but it’s my job to check.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    (looking at Londo)

    +
    +

    Oh, trust me, Mollari in pain, I’m better than ever.

    +
    +

    FRANKLIN

    +
    +

    Right. Well, everything about you seems fine, for the current situation, at least. You can go, but the Captain wants to see both of you. And try to stay safe, it’s a mess out there.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - SHERIDAN'S OFFICE - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan sits at his desk, fidgeting.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +

    (to himself)

    +
    +

    Get some sleep. Get some sleep, she says. 

    +
    +

    G’Kar and Londo enter.

    +
    +

    G’KAR

    +
    +

    Why have you called us here?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    The transport tube you were in was down, but during an analysis we found no apparent cause. No malfunction, no glitch. I think they did it.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    They?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    This.. swap was caused by an alien race called the Xels’Av’Ox. They feed on psychological epiphanies.

    +
    +

    LONDO

    +
    +

    Oh, how wonderful. Can you make them stop? Drive them away, shoot them away, change me back to Centauri?  

    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I don’t know yet, but I have some thoughts. They haunted Delenn with memories from her past. They stick you together… probably because you’re enemies. They want you all to come to some sort of understanding.

    +
    +

    G'KAR

    +
    +

    That is impossible.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I know. I think I’m ready to send them a message.

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - COMMAND AND CONTROL - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan storms through the room.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    (to Ivanova)

    +
    +

    Commander, can we contact them?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    We can try. Sending signal… sending… we’ve got them.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    On screen.

    +
    +

    XELS'AV'OX ALIEN

    +
    +

    Why have you disturbed us?

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I’m here to tell you, no deal. You will release us or we will open fire.

    +
    +

    XELS'AV'OX ALIEN

    +
    +

    You cannot detect our ship.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    We’ve done our research on you. We’ve learned. You don’t know what we’re capable of.

    +
    +

    XELS'AV'OX ALIEN

    +
    +

    I don’t have time for this.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    You take us hostage, change us, all for what? To torture us for our sins? To force us into an epiphany? Well, I have news for you. You cannot heal from trauma that easily. You cannot fix one hundred years of oppression and violence that easily. You can’t just wave a wand and make everything okay. No conversation, no threat or force field, and certainly no torture is going to make this better. We have to make it better for ourselves. You don’t know anything about humans, I get that. But I’m here to tell you to back off. Let us go. This has gone on long enough. No one should be forced into healing; that isn’t healing at all. That’s not an epiphany. That’s just torture.

    +
    +

    The alien pauses, considers this, and then it smiles wide, revealing sharp, sharp teeth.

    +
    +

    XELS'AV'OX ALIEN

    +
    +

    You have passed. Goodbye, John Sheridan.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    What–

    +
    +

    Another blinding pink cloud envelops the station, but this time, nothing shakes. When the light melts away, Sheridan looks confused.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    What… is going on?

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    Last thing I remember, I was about to leave for bed. Now, I feel an odd amount of tension in my body.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Computer, what’s the time?

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    1100 hours.

    +
    +

    IVANOVA

    +
    +

    That’s not possible. A few seconds ago it was 0400. 

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Computer, check time again. Are you sure?

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Current time 1100 hours.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    Has anything abnormal happened on the station in the last seven hours?

    +
    +

    COMPUTER

    +
    +

    Negative. Nothing recorded during given time period.

    +
    +

    Sheridan and Ivanova exchange a worried glance.

    +

     

    +
    +

    INT. BABYLON 5 - KOSH’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

    +
    +

    Sheridan enters Kosh’s quarters. Kosh has returned to his encounter suit - Vorlon again.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    You wanted to see me?

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    Yes.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    I just found out the entire station is missing seven hours from their memory. Do you know what happened during that time?

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    During that time… I realized.

    +
    +

    SHERIDAN

    +
    +

    What did you realize?

    +
    +

    KOSH

    +
    +

    Everything.

    +
    +

    CUT TO BLACK.

    +

     

     

     

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + +
    +
    +

    End Notes

    +

    what did kosh realize? up to your imagination. for now i am going to bed

    +
    + +
    + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/fineshrine.html b/fic/b5/fineshrine.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d494172 --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/fineshrine.html @@ -0,0 +1,105 @@ + + + + + + a fine shrine in me - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + a fine shrine in me
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/45686737. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Categories:
    +
    F/M, Gen
    +
    Fandoms:
    +
    Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Relationship:
    +
    Mr Morden & Anna Sheridan
    +
    Character:
    +
    Mr. Morden (Babylon 5)
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Character Study, character is a bad person! does not reflect authors views, Extended Metaphors, trigger warning for metaphors about animal death, oh and also mentions of suicide
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2023-03-12 + Words: 765 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    a fine shrine in me

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    The choice was only for his family in the collision of his words. They're dead. No one can confirm it. They're not dead. They might be dead. They're dead. They're in a stasis of torture, they're dead, they left him. It's really all the same. They won't be coming back until all of this is over and he rests comfortably not at Their throne but at its side on his knees, prostrated in reverence, "praying".

     

    (Morden thinks of Anna, and of his family, before the machine remnant of her is retrieved.)

    + +

    Notes

    +

    most of this references his backstory in Jeanne Cavelos's novels for the series, all to my knowledge considered canon? Idk. This is the first thing I've been able to write in ages because of my own mental health issues so. Yeah. May be some inconsistencies This will not make sense without knowledge of that plotline, JSYK.

    +
    + See the end of the work for more notes +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    a fine shrine in me

    +
    +

    They're dead. That's the zenith of it all, the midpoint of the entire epic of tragedy his story is woven into - they're still dead. They're dead. He is, ostensibly, still alive, and perhaps this is the setting of the tragedy - his story being framed entirely around framing, on the cage of cards that he was, long long ago. In the past, before Them. Before he became what he is now, before and after they died and a larger They revived him.

     

    Morden's lungs still flutter. He imagines it sideways sick: like a tired hummingbird with only one shattered wing. The other still beats on, but as a drumming now, a dissonant and unbalanced rhythm rooted in the fear of being touched by the unfamiliar hands of the humans it evolved around. If it doesn't die of this injury, it will die eventually, as most things do. They won't; They are eternal, and They will find victory as his chest expands in its repetition. It should be put out of its misery, perhaps, in this scenario. It doesn't even know that inevitably it is going to die. Not an impressive lifespan by any means.

     

    He was always too selfish when it came down to it, still full of mangled hope scattered through his mind like shrapnel. Maybe the Icarus, he told himself, will be it - the purpose to freeze his finger before his tendons tighten up and the bullet escapes.

     

    He didn't kill himself. His death was forced over him, like an unexpected horror, the worst and only possible outcome, like being trapped in hyperspace.

     

    Hm. It might taste good, he thinks, the hummingbird as a delicacy. The metaphor works if you're him, if your hands feel too exposed when they aren't stained and tarnished. Something so frail even in its healthiest form - he thinks the thing would crunch when bitten into. Ortolan, he knows, is eaten whole, and the bones have a distinctive, pleasant crunch. The experience of asserting your superiority over this creature is intoxicating. Unlike him, it once sang, and its song carried beauty to the soft.

     

    The point is this: he himself shattered. Both wings, in his case, but embodied as innocent mother and child. There was no reason, after the loss, to control himself, to swallow down the insatiable and carnivorous wholeness of him. When an animal must be mercy-killed, it often finds renewal in being consumed by something higher on the food chain, in serving survival and luxury. The same is true for Morden, alive only in the definition of lungs spreading oxygen through his body in small doses of plague. He does it for Them.

     

    Maybe he can accept the truth here, temporarily. They are retrieving Anna Sheridan for the mission. His decision to devote himself to his associates is only a sacrifice in the eyes of someone who is too weak to be salvaged.

     

    It was only for his family in the collision of his words. They're dead. No one can confirm it. They're not dead. They might be dead. They're dead. They're in a stasis of torture, they're dead, they left him. It's really all the same. They won't be coming back until all of this is over and he rests comfortably not at Their throne but at its side on his knees, prostrated in reverence, "praying". 

     

    He thinks about her. Anna, not his — only her. To think of anyone else now would be futile; soon he must face the shadow of Anna Sheridan. He remembers his life before Them like picking memories out of a criminal lineup. She was compassionate. She loved her husband, though he struggles to grasp the appeal, especially after meeting him. John Sheridan and all of his true potential just discarded, buried in trash like bad meat.

     

    Anna had been kind to him, which landed only as disturbing. He didn't deserve it. He wouldn't now, either, but she will be disoriented upon awakening. He thinks of compassion simply as passion, and passion can be weaponized with carefully chosen words and intricate preparation. She refused Them out of principle and he embraced Them out of despair, seeking relief for his ache. She can be convinced. There is a chance her personality may be irretrievable; he knows this. It is nearly definite, but that doesn’t matter; she can be convinced regardless.

     

    Sheridan - not John Sheridan, but what Morden had called Anna Sheridan - will still ache. It is the downfall of every humanoid. Her hands will still be callused from her work, from the grit of his own essence. That, in itself, will be enough.


    +
    +
    +
    +

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + +
    +
    +

    End Notes

    +

    its not woobification if you are entirely unsympathetic to his depression. like me too but i didnt join an ancient evil about it

    kudos/feedback appreciated 😭

    +
    + +
    + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/leaves.html b/fic/b5/leaves.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3226675 --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/leaves.html @@ -0,0 +1,139 @@ + + + + + + white, white leaves - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + white, white leaves
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40427541. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    F/F
    +
    Fandom:
    +
    Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Relationship:
    +
    Susan Ivanova/Talia Winters
    +
    Character:
    +
    Susan Ivanova
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Poetry, Inspired by Richard Siken, POV Second Person
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Collections:
    +
    Allbingo
    +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2022-07-20 + Words: 925 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    white, white leaves

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    I loved you, but you can’t have your wine glasses back. I have reduced them to powder and let them dig into our graves. Protection. There’s simply nothing left to remember you by.

    So, says her ghost. You loved me. What are you going to do about that?

    It depends on which side of the bed you’re sleeping on.

    + +

    Notes

    +

    inspired by straw house, straw dog by richard siken

    for my allbingo card, prompt: oleander, caution

    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    white, white leaves

    +
    +

    + 1. +

     

    + You watch space’s nebulous spiral unfold in front of you, beyond the observation deck and stretched even beyond the rim of reality and the last fingertip of reality’s hands. / You have a drink with her in the loneliness of your quarters, still your fingertips trying to grasp ahold of reality, still your fingertips brushing down your nightclothes, against the wine glass, against the sharp edges of her Psi Corps pin, against the fragments of discomfort. Glass has one purpose to its existence; to protect, to keep something in. Telepaths are like this, too; surrounded by an impenetrable field that you could almost see through, + + almost, + + if you didn’t know better. If you were just a bit more malleable.  / You have two dreams where you are with her and you have two dreams where she is gone. In one of them, you are mirrored across the kaleidoscope of minds, connection like blood mixing into blood, like thought melting into thought into thought until there aren’t     / any thoughts at all, or there is every thought at once, or her thoughts have become yours. In another dream, she never came to Babylon 5. In the final dream, Talia Winters has never existed at all. +

     

    + Here you are, she says, in my mind, in our mind, in a mind that doesn’t truly belong to anyone. Here you are, feeding our collective delusions treats like violent dogs. My teeth gnawing through the bones of stability until they become dust, mere dust. Wouldn’t that be something? Wouldn’t it be kinder, wouldn’t it be beautiful, if we could all consume ourselves until we’ve become something else. No, she says, don’t talk about becoming. Don’t ever Become. Here you are, she says, on the wrong station touching the wrong person. You have one glass of wine and she gazes at you for too long before returning to her quarters. You have one glass of wine and she gazes at you like she’s trying to enter you, to Become you, to wear your skin because she is no longer comfortable in hers. You have one glass of wine and you have another glass of wine. You have two glasses of wine and you have four dreams that merge into one another, seamless and holistic. You have six dreams and you have zero glasses of wine because she drinks it all, blocking out even her own thoughts, deconstructing herself within the ruins of her trust. You don’t drink any wine, you have work soon. Surely, she does, too, but this does not stop her from sewing herself onto you, a pocket, a cocoon. +

     

    + She wants to be watched, or perhaps she wants to be wanted. Here she is in your doorway, projecting into your mind a sole thought: + + save me, just save me. + +

     

    + 2. +

     

    + You have so many dreams and not enough space for them to blossom. Stop right there, put your hands up, we’re taking you in, we know. You want to invoke her name as the cuffs cut flesh but you know she won’t catch you because this violation has suffocated her and now you’re just dreaming. You crush the wine glass and swallow its remains and it doesn’t take you back to her, it only takes you back to the dream, the dwindling dream. Mind to mind. Destruction to destruction. +

     

    + She is a scar that hasn’t yet learned how to heal, and everything is happening in that same spiral—everyone is destined for something, and every destiny is unfolding quickly. Again like the spiral. Again like space. It’s always like space, a lack of oxygen, a lack of mercy that paradoxically holds mercy trapped within its arms. Trying to escape, trying. +

     

    + 3. +

     

    + You leave before she wakes up in the morning and you don’t want anything, can’t have anything anyway, can’t let her touch you in the one way she hasn’t already touched you. Everyone makes mistakes and everyone looks back. She looks back and you look back and you still cannot bring her back. +

     

    + And you can’t move, can’t get your brain to fire itself up, and the armor around you is turning to puddles of silver against this heat. She’s still gone and somehow she’s still feeding on you, she’s cutting you in half to put her body onto yours like an old broken doll or a literary monster. +

     

    + It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Burn the station down along with Talia Winters. It doesn’t matter. +

     

    + 4. +

     

    + You blame the Corps and you blame Talia but mostly you blame yourself, and no, you tell her memory, I loved you, but you can’t have your wine glasses back. I have reduced them to powder and let them dig into our graves. Protection. There’s simply nothing left to remember you by. +

     

    + So, says her ghost. You loved me. What are you going to do about that? +

     

    + It depends on which side of the bed you’re sleeping on. It depends on which side of the bed is empty. It depends on whether or not the suffering lingers. It just depends, damn it. It’s not something you can admit out loud. +

     

    + 5. +

     

    + Here you are, with her, in the glassed over transparent grave. No way out, no way out, no way to recover from this. You’re going down together. It’s cold down here. +

     

    + But thanks, you tell her, for giving me what you have given me, for being mine, for allowing me to believe. You can’t sleep now. You have an unlimited amount of dreams. You won’t ever be able to sleep again. +


    +
    +
    +

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/light.html b/fic/b5/light.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e7267b --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/light.html @@ -0,0 +1,132 @@ + + + + + + light and shade (the void is clean) - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + light and shade (the void is clean)
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40517403. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    Gen
    +
    Fandom:
    +
    Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Character:
    +
    Mr. Morden (Babylon 5)
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Introspection, Episode: s2e16 In the Shadows of Z'Ha'Dum
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Collections:
    +
    Allbingo
    +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2022-07-23 + Words: 648 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    light and shade (the void is clean)

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    They can’t touch him. Knowing this fact is like knowing darkness. The shadows and the Shadows.

     

    (Morden, in the holding cell, for hours and hours.)

    + +

    Notes

    +

    for a prompt on my allbingo card: partial shade

    idk what this is but

    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    light and shade (the void is clean)

    +
    +

     

    + They can’t touch him. Knowing this fact is like knowing darkness, intimacy without touch, intimacy without kindness. Darkness is a trust fall for him now. The shadows and the Shadows. +

     

    + And there’s something intimate about darkness, too, isn’t there? Where he rests, it is dark. It is always, always dark. Here, in this cell, the lights nearly blind him—-his eyes melting from his skull, leaving void where his vision should be, John Sheridan like a bird holy-dedicated to pecking up the remains of his efficiency. This seems familiar, this metaphor carved into him, under the embalming fluids he drowns in now. John Sheridan wants to know the truth. He wants to know how Morden survived. He isn’t ready for the answers, and Morden is a dead man if he splinters under the pressure of Sheridan’s threats. They’re empty threats—he is convincing himself of this. +

     

    + He is their emissary, but he’s not stupid. He’s expendable. Mere convenience. His body is wading through the freezing lakewater of borrowed time. His body on the table, prepared for the autopsy at the right words. Cut into him, and what floods out? Darkness, he supposes, which is what it always circles back to, this circular narrative. Life’s decay, maybe, the remnants of his old life skeletons within—almost skeletons. There are still a few shards of meat left on their bones, a tragedy. He tries to eat it, to suck the bone clean, free of remaining desires, but these desires simply get stuck between his teeth, his teeth, his teeth. It’s unsightly. +

     

    + Londo Mollari will hear of this, and he’ll get out. They can’t touch him. +

     

    + The Vorlon will hear of this, too. There’s a strange sense of evisceration when Morden thinks of him. He can’t quite discern what Kosh will do, when he finds out—but they had sparred once, the shattering of his outer shell. He’s nothing more than cryptic light.  +

     

    + But, he reminds himself, the light is the enemy of darkness. And so he must do his job. They’re two sides of a coin; again, he is not stupid. The Vorlons and the Shadows. Pure light, pure obedience; pure darkness, pure chaos. They fit together in ways that the universe cannot parse quite yet. +

     

    + Morden is very good at following orders. +

     

    + + Ah, + + he had said, gazing at Sheridan with an acidic, destructive stare. A smile resembling a dog with its teeth bared—-and life, for him, always returns back to teeth. Ouroboros, the capacity to consume oneself without fear. + + That.  + +

     

    + He doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t need to. He focuses his thoughts on his inevitable release, meditating with his fingers folded triangular. When he attempts to make the position, his hands first rest against one another, forming a gesture of prayer—how sick, how sickening. The things he has learned since the Icarus have drained any possible belief directly from his essence, his onyx lifeblood. +

     

    + But he changes back, swift and calm and pumping raw like a torn-out heart, a core discarded, and it’s — it’s okay. It’s fine now. No memory of gentleness remains. This is required. +

     

    + This universe is not gentle. This universe takes and takes and takes. Selfish universe, with its death and its inevitable tragedy and its inherent suffering. Selfish Morden, who has transformed himself into something stronger than the shine of diamond. He enjoys it now; the taking and the taking and the false giving and the debt. He buries himself in the comfort of chaos. If suffering is universal—well. We all die at some point; might as well speed up the process.  +

     

    + He doesn’t know if they’ll keep him around once the catalyst unfolds. But he’s right about one thing: a security guard comes in, and escorts him out. + + It was all a mistake, sir. Captain didn’t mean it. You can leave whenever.  + +

     

    + They can’t touch him. Nothing can touch him.  +

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/natural.html b/fic/b5/natural.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74fa61d --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/natural.html @@ -0,0 +1,109 @@ + + + + + + man made natural disaster (keep the past, the future is ours) - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + man made natural disaster (keep the past, the future is ours)
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/64855144. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Explicit
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    Gen
    +
    Fandom:
    +
    Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Character:
    +
    Mr. Morden (Babylon 5)
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Character Study, Masturbation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Afterlife
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2025-04-20 + Words: 1,435 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    man made natural disaster (keep the past, the future is ours)

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    Snippets of an undeserved afterlife.

    + + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    man made natural disaster (keep the past, the future is ours)

    +
    +

    Sometimes, if he concentrates hard enough, he can see reality through the eyes of his formerly-hallowed corpse.

     

    Where the eyes would rest, anyway, if they had not been consumed by maggots. Tiny, negligible creatures that exist in their miniscule presence solely to be an annoyance to some higher being. Their entire purpose — and purpose, what an easily weaponized concept, what a naturally wounding concept — is to repurpose the dead into nutrient. To the majority of the universe, to more intelligent creatures who would look like titans in the eyes of a maggot -- these little lives are nothing beyond repulsive.

     

    He must be similar to the maggots, he must have annoyed some truly higher being with his objectively repulsive essence, because the afterlife is neither paradise or eternal scorching punishment.

     

    It’s darkness.

     

    There’s just enough light for him to see the endless. The infinite expansion of this lonely realm. There’s just enough light for him to see his hands, the pilled cloth of his suit around him that flattens when he tries to touch it, to experience some kind of sensation in this void. There’s just enough light for him to see his hands and recall what they’re responsible for. There’s too much light.

     

    It can’t be like this for other people.

     

    Can it?

     

    Perhaps if he had been a better man when he was alive, he’d get to experience something with more substance than this. Maybe he’d be rewarded, even! If he had refused them, he would have died right then and there, a stubborn martyr. Willing to face erasure rather than cause harm. Maybe God would be kinder. A lot of people assume you get some sort of confirmation when you die, that the existence of God or lack thereof is revealed after you pass and you’re enlightened, but Morden has found nothing to either prove or dispute this theory. Maybe, he thinks now, this is where everyone else ends up. Maybe there’s a sense of humor; maybe there’s nothing at all. Maybe there’s only cruelty.

     

    He still doesn’t regret any of it.

     

    --

     

     

    Adira Tyree had convulsed when the poison was introduced to her system. Seized. Her eyes dead before the rest of her body. Her body jerking and flailing in uncontrollable movement until its rapid sinking - until it’s contrasted by a freeze, an exile, a limp crash. 

     

    Oh, well. Pity. 

     

    It had to be this way! The Shadows wanted Londo dead, but he’s still useful. Still necessary. Still entertaining as he tries to find his way around in the dark, in oblivion, feeling the surroundings he cannot see or identify even by touch. Stumbling. This was tragic, Morden supposes, but sometimes you have to go to great lengths if you want to succeed, if you want everything in the universe to serve you. He’s still so fun to play with.

     

    It’s nice to have Londo Mollari back in his grasp. Refa lacked that spark - he touched with a cockiness too similar to Morden’s own - he wasn’t quite as fun to mold. It’s challenging, to feign sympathy, to avoid taking credit for his accomplishment, but Londo either doesn’t care or is too distraught to notice. Objectively, it should be obvious - the ability to form sentimental connection was banished from his personality long ago, and while he is a good liar, he is less skilled at pretending his corruption away. But there it is, that omnipresent foolishness yet again. The mistakes. He is the only exception to Mistakes And Downfalls. He is in front of the Shadows, and they are behind him, and they are above him, and he is blessed to be their servant.

     

    --

     

    He’s always wanted to watch a Vorlon in agony. Even before the Shadows, he was fascinated by the indestructible. This is perhaps why archeolinguistics was so enamoring, in the Before Times -- to see evidence of something as ostensibly permanent as communication, something that can only extinguish when stars align into action — and to witness its decay, its slow evaporation into the void he’s destined for. Lost and ancient and lost. How that void eventually absorbs everything, even if it requires catastrophe, even if it takes a while to do its job.

     

    Vorlon involvement, too, was inevitable. Their own brand of arrogance washes over every aspect of their interactions with the universe, and yet they’re still so foolish. No being in history has ever been truly untouched by flaw.

     

    The Shadow request to eliminate Ambassador Kosh was a gift made from flesh and alluring destruction, adorned with a bow of viscera. One of many demented, ill fantasies to be brought into fruition. He breaks them in. Kosh likely expected this, he had to have that awareness - he agreed to help them anyway. So: a Vorlon with a weakness. This is good. A Vorlon with the faintest scar forming over his indifference. How odd.

     

    He watches, inanimate and unblinking, as they tear into him. He absorbs it all. He flutters within -- it’s a satisfying display. It’s a beautiful and satiating sight. Morden as the divine and damned witness. The light Kosh emits flickering flickering flickering like a neglected neon sign - open! closed! open! closed! Come on in! Don’t leave! Get out! Welcome, enjoy your stay! Get out! I am forever in your service! We are only transactional here! A noise from Kosh that cannot be translated, but the Shadow voices shriek with amusement. A drop of darkness injected into his true form -- overrated, by the way — something planted inside of him and expanding, so gradual, snailslow, until the darkness grows infectious, spreading over his entirety, every shred of light stolen, and then Ambassador Kosh collapses in on himself, like being siphoned out of this dimension, like the self cannibalism of the serpent, and after the mist of darkness clears, there’s only more darkness. Darkness, and ash. 

     

    --

     

    He learns the hard way that there’s no sensation here — that the blankness, the utterly inverted nature of this realm extends to every aspect of life. Everything that chained him to the last threads of humanity -- mere barebones definition of human then, completely inhuman now -- everything that he tried to embrace and suppress has been taken from him. He tries to touch himself

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    and

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    it is a negative phantom, it’s like reaching into something incorporeal, into obscuring fog. You stay conscious for a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second after the conclusion of a fatal attack — the thought in this moment, the typical final words to the universe, is usually fuck. Sometimes well, great, what am I going to do now. But always disappointment. Always regret -- almost always regret.

     

    He regrets some things. He regrets not letting his associates tear Londo Mollari into ornamental viscera. He regrets not taking extra precautions. More recently, he regrets trying to touch himself. There is no flesh -- there’s not even a nothingness. His body is only conceptual -- only a memory. Brain in a vat. Mind disembodied in cage.

     

    But it still takes a while to set in.

     

    He can only imagine how it must look, if anyone’s watching -- his hands running frantic over the void where his thighs should be, logically, if the world was truly kind without condition. His arms trying to grasp onto anything, any possible feeling, any paper shred of existence he can forage up. He attempts to run his fingers through his hair, the texture of the restraining gel always an odd comfort back in life. He’s a cloud. He’s color and the absence of it. Transparency.

     

    He’s a shadow.

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    So, okay, he can’t feel anything. He can still imagine. Maybe that can simulate it. Maybe that can be enough. Morden’s problem, of course, is always the fact that nothing is ever enough. Nothing is enough! Even in this void, in this lack of all -- he’s still insatiable, and there’s nothing to feed him with now. He’ll starve forever, only feeling the pangs as unwelcome torturous emotion, pain without pain.

     

    It is instant, when he tries to imagine it - mouths and lips and fingers and teeth and the inability to draw any meaningful distinction between pleasure and punishment — his body collapses - the noise of ancient earth computer shut downs booming around him with comedic timing - paralysis - he can’t move - he can’t move - he can’t even pry his mind ajar. Only fear now.

     

    Maybe there is someone watching.

     

    --

     

    The void again. It’s always the void. It’s inevitable. He’s drilling it into the narrative. 

     

    The void again, but different this time. There used to be enough light for him to see his hands, and now there is no light at all.

     

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/ten.html b/fic/b5/ten.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0da2be9 --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/ten.html @@ -0,0 +1,106 @@ + + + + + + ten feet down, the light broke through (and i could never get close enough to you) - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + ten feet down, the light broke through (and i could never get close enough to you)
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/48148657. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    F/M
    +
    Fandoms:
    +
    Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Relationship:
    +
    Mr. Morden/Anna Sheridan
    +
    Characters:
    +
    Anna Sheridan (Babylon 5), Mr. Morden (Babylon 5)
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Pre-Canon, Emotional Infidelity, POV Alternating
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2023-07-16 + Words: 1,668 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    ten feet down, the light broke through (and i could never get close enough to you)

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    He really wants to like Dr. Sheridan.

    + +

    Notes

    +

    none of this will make sense unless you've read the shadow within sorry. i've been hyperfixated on that book for like, half a year now LOL

    i don't really "ship" anna and morden, i don't think the word applies. (edit a year later: yes it fuckin does and i'm now obsessed with them) but in the book, they absolutely had Some Weird Stuff going on between them, and it's so fascinating to me lmao. they had a thing, and it was very cringefail. i think about it a lot

    i wrote all of this with covid so i dont know if it makes sense at all<3

    +
    + See the end of the work for more notes +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    ten feet down, the light broke through (and i could never get close enough to you)

    +
    +

    He really wants to like Dr. Sheridan. She’s nice, he supposes, and clearly has an intimate understanding of archeology, which is rather refreshing. He wants to like her. He truly, truly does want to like her.

     

    He tries out liking her as if trying out a new, exotic dish. He studies her in the darkness when she walks into his quarters, and then he studies her in the light. He tries on the taste of Dr. Sheridan, and discovers that she isn’t for him; they live in different worlds, they walk different paths. Too different for his liking.

     

    And she’s married.

     

    Her husband — her husband — is Earthforce as well, and he can tell by the way she intonates her words when asking him about his role there that she doesn’t care for it much. He’s very adept at reading other people; this is his greatest skill, his finest accomplishment, the way he’s tuned the instrument of himself entirely away from himself. The entire point of his existence now is to be clandestine, to be rough; it was this way before, in the medieval ages, when his family was still alive, but he had additional purposes back then.

     

    He was a husband, he was a father. It was almost normal, almost picturesque, but never quite reaching the holy, nuclear status. Regret hits him with the force of a tsunami: he’d spend too long at work, too much time away. Sarah’s excitement when he came home was rooted in missing him, in mourning his absence. Almost ironic.

     

    It doesn’t matter. Now he is this: a weapon, once feared, now discarded and left to gather dust between the walls of Station Prime. He wielded himself carelessly, without intention, overtaken by his own grief, towards the ISN reporters.

     

    He should’ve never been forced into that spotlight in the first place—it was their fault. They deserved it; they would’ve deserved worse if he hadn’t been stopped.

     

    So, no. He doesn’t like Dr. Sheridan. He thinks she has ulterior motives by approaching him here, in his territory, but another aspect of him knows that this shouldn’t factor in; everyone here has ulterior motives.

     

    He agrees to go out to dinner with her anyway.

     

     

    She does like Dr. Morden. 

     

    She tries not to pity him. They’re both adults, of course, they both know how to conduct themselves, and he is clearly experienced in his work. Let’s rephrase: she feels his ache. She cannot even imagine it—-the survivor’s guilt, the life he had being unraveled into void within moments, the ultimate change. The ghosts of the taken-too-soon haunting him at all times, always in the backdrop, always breathing without breathing. 

     

    It has to be torturous. She prays that she never understands this pain.

     

    But everyone, she thinks, can be healed, even if it is only a minimal healing. The callus can be calmed, can be tamed into submission, can be unformed and reformed into something softer.

     

    ….

     

    His hands, though. That’s the unsettling part: they’re too smooth. Her hands are rough from the work she’s done; his competence at archeology is blatant, but his hands aren’t callused, his hands don’t give off the same impression. It feels like he, too, is ghosting—through archeology, passing through each object without impact.

     

    Their hands brush against one another as they dine. Most of the time, he avoids eye contact, but they’re not sitting in silence; the restaurant around them is cacophonous with noise, and Dr. Morden is rattling on and on about the equipment they’ve been given again. The Icarus mission is certainly unprecedented, and they both know it.

     

    Whatever is on this planet, the findings will be greatly desired. When they make it back, she won’t know what to expect.

     

    She puts her fork down. “Sorry for changing the subject, but why do you think Ms. Donne doesn’t trust you?”

     

    He shrugs. His reply is droned out: “I’m not sure. I don’t mean to be crass, but as I said, I don’t trust her. I don’t get a good feeling about the Psi Corps involvement in this mission. I assume she’s doing it to raise tension, to get everyone to distrust each other.”

     

    “Why would she do that?”

     

    “I overheard your conversation earlier. She told you already - she’s not on our team. Why does Psi Corps do anything they do?”

     

    Their conversation took place a somewhat-significant amount of distance away from the rest of the briefing, Anna thinks. How….

     

    “Good point.”

     

    She pauses for a moment to study him. He still won’t make eye contact.

     

    “So,” she continues. “Not to change the subject again, but this is your first mission in a while, isn’t it? How are you feeling about getting back out there?”

     

    That careful smile envelops him again, his expression twisting back into the artificial. He looks up at her. “I’m excited,” he replies. “It’s a wonderful opportunity. The things I’ve been told…” He finishes his plate, rests his utensils on top of it. “And it will be a nice change of pace, a way to keep my mind off other things, hopefully.”

     

    It escapes her too fast; she can’t think before speaking around him, for some reason. “And by other things, you still mean…?”

     

    A sigh, “Yes,” he responds. “You know exactly what I mean, I’m sure.”

     

    Dr. Morden pays for both of their meals, and then turns to her, his gaze fixed downward, this time permanently. “Thank you for the company, Sheridan.”

     

    “You as well. Hopefully we’ll get a better chance to talk on the mission.”

     

    His smile falters a bit, just for a moment, until he sews it back into place. “Hopefully.”

     

     

    He watches as the Icarus pulls away from Station Prime, and thinks about the rim of known space.

     

    They’ll be there for quite a while. It’s almost enticing, almost seductive. He could disappear -- into his work, into himself, into the mystery of the Rim. No one would notice, no one would be left to care.

     

    Sheridan might.

     

    He’s warming up to her. She has charisma — unsteady charisma, and an odd fixation on his past, but it’s more human contact than he’s had in quite a while. Her presence could be considered comforting if he was a different person, living a different life, different. 

     

    Ms. Donne comes to collect him, as well as Dr. Chang and Churlstein, about Anna, and he moves a bit too quickly towards the room. She’s holding a fragment of the artifact, and seems engulfed by its nature, stuck in a trance the object seems to have induced in her. His expression slips out of his grasp, and when he shakes her, he does it with a surprising mixture of careful touch and firm movement. She’ll snap out of this; he’ll make sure of it.

     

    “ Sheridan. ”

     

    She blinks now, shakes herself into the present, and his hand lingers for a moment. “What is it?”

     

    “We were just… getting concerned.”

     

    Donne cuts off her next words, which is annoying. All of this is just so incredibly annoying.

     

     

    The first time she hears Dr. Morden tell an actual joke, something in her switches on.

     

      “Someone must’ve slipped her a happy pill,” he says about Ms. Donne, and she can’t help but erupt in laughter. It’s a nice contrast to his usual state; he’s charismatic when he’s like this. She’s seeing him open up, more and more now. It’s nice. It really is.

     

    (She thinks about his hand on her shoulder, the expression on his face—-)

     

    When he shares his translations with the group, she watches him unfold himself even further; he’s animated, engaged in sharing his work with the rest of them. He doesn’t seem very confident in most of it, which surprises her. His thoughts are evident on his face now as he focuses and moves, his hands almost too quick, fluttering through notes like the wings of a little hummingbird.

     

    What is desired. Or: All that is desired.

     

    She thinks about John almost immediately, because he’s her husband and it’s the natural place for her mind to land. She desires him , wants to see him again, to spend real time with him for the first time in… a year, almost. To hold him close, to kiss him, to be with him, to be with him, to be with him. 

     

    Love abides no borders, of course. But he’s not here.

     

    Her scientific mind could never pass up this opportunity, so here she is on the Icarus, away from what she desires.

     

    The translation sounds like a promise, like an offer. She tries not to think about it: how her belief in promises is starting to chip away at itself.

     

     

    Maybe this is a bad idea, but she’s already in his quarters, she’s already about to make her move, and when Anna Sheridan starts a mission she never quits. 

     

    She doesn’t know where he is, but when she rang, he didn’t answer. The Icarus apparently allows you to just walk into someone else’s quarters, which should probably be concerning, but again: she’s on a mission. 

     

    She locates the love stone, closes her hand around it, and does not think about John, even if it’s the natural place for her mind to land again. Instead: she thinks about Dr. Morden, prays that this gesture does not upset him.

     

    The stone was intended to be worn around the neck; she’s just trying to bring it closer to its original purpose. Liz had given her a necklace long ago; she’ll strip the pendant off of that, drill a small hole with their equipment, and give it to him on the chain for the new year. She will make a difference, even in the small, shadow-covered areas that surround both of them.

     

    She can’t quite decipher her reasoning for this. She still doesn’t pity him; he wouldn’t want her to. Some little life buried within her exhales as she leaves Dr. Morden’s quarters, and she forgets to turn the lights off as she goes.

     

    He does not take the gift very well.


    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + +
    +
    +

    End Notes

    +

    sorry this ends so abruptly i got tired but wanted to publish what i had written. i'll write a chapter about the cave and egg scenes later.

    +
    + +
    + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/weave.html b/fic/b5/weave.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4cfcbf7 --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/weave.html @@ -0,0 +1,236 @@ + + + + + + weave their long souls into the frame - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Babylon 5 (TV 1993) + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + weave their long souls into the frame
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/55322749. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Category:
    +
    F/M
    +
    Fandoms:
    +
    Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Babylon 5 (TV 1993)
    +
    Relationship:
    +
    Mr. Morden/Anna Sheridan
    +
    Characters:
    +
    Anna Sheridan (Babylon 5), Mr. Morden (Babylon 5)
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Stream of Consciousness, POV Alternating, Formatting weirdness
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2024-04-19 + Words: 1,248 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    weave their long souls into the frame

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    Until Dr. Morden, she prayed to the idea that lost causes simply do not exist, following the doctrine religiously. Everything can be fixed—and if something can’t, if the infection has simply spread too fast to contain, then it can at least be studied.

    He changed her in every way imaginable.

    (Machine!Anna remembered Morden---What if there was a remaining fragment of the real Anna there? Unreachable, but watching?)

    + +

    Notes

    +

    accidentally abused alliteration and rhyme here, oopsies. AH FUCK I DID IT AGAIN.

    i love thinking about an au where anna is still There in some form. it makes me hm. Insanse

    tw: suicide mention

    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    weave their long souls into the frame

    +
    +

    + i. +

     

    + She can sense it, every time she is grounded and held down—a presence nearby, inside of her and surrounding her and pumping through the spongy material of her exterior, through organic “lungs”. It is a familiar presence that she can only attribute to The Machine, because The Machine is her essence and The Machine is the essence of all that is worthy and The Machine will guide her down the right path, into the right battles and the right planets and the invigorating victories, with weaponry and armor beyond organic imagination. They will win, and her sponge-branched body will disperse throughout the farthest reaches of the universe, past the Rim and into the Rim and beyond. They will win. +

     

    + She mostly feels the presence when she is idle. The Machine is omnipresent within her, invincibly inextricable. The Machine is always with her, and she is always The Machine, but she doesn’t always feel the lurking. Sometimes when they are soaring, she feels the presence at a higher intensity, as if it is settled within the nest of The Machine-Anna, stuffed inside of her vessel. Other times it is emptier. +

     

    + It’s uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know what + + uncomfortable + + means but it doesn’t feel right, and she doesn’t know what + + feeling + + means but these words keep pouring into her information storage database like a surprise attack orchestrated by a cloaked enemy. Sometimes she wants to get closer to it, but she has to leave again, and the presence only fades as she exits the atmosphere. +

     

    + ii. +

     

    + + She tries to close her eyes when she feels him nearby, but she is only a fragment now, only something buried in a crevice of a crevice of a crevice, too microscopic, invisible to any eye, invisible to even The Eye. Anna Sheridan is a whisper now, but apparently whispers can mourn— + + + apparently, + + + whispers can be audible enough to reach the man who quieted them in the first place, but he doesn’t hear her and he doesn’t see her and he certainly doesn’t feel her like she feels him. The dominant Her thinks the pull to Morden’s presence is the lull of the machine, because that Anna Sheridan does not remember what it is like to have desire devour you. The machine connects her to every aspect of the Shadows, and he is their most prized possession. If it feels like this, it must be the machine, because there is nothing else for her to grasp. + +

     

    + + Well. + +

     

    + + This is what she gets. She had been warned, long ago, that her kindness would be apocalyptic. + +

     

    + +  He makes her sick, but hiding deeper within her whisper is the clandestine truth she refuses to acknowledge: she understands it. The loss was too catastrophic, the eviscerating tsunami that flooded Dr. Morden’s life. It is despicable, but predictable. Until Dr. Morden, she prayed to the idea that lost causes simply do not exist, following the doctrine religiously. Everything can be fixed—and if something can’t, if the infection has simply spread too fast to contain, then it can at least be studied. + +

     

    + + He changed her in every way imaginable. + +


    +
    +

    + iii. +

     

    + + She never liked going to bed angry at John, so she always made sure to heal any damage before falling asleep. Anger had been an antonym to the concept of Anna Sheridan. It felt like invisible blades carving her flesh right off of her, whittling her into a new shape. It took her a very long time to adjust to the deep feeling of hatred that pools within the stomach of her counterpart.  + +

     

    + + It has jaded the remnants of her. She has a newly discovered fury, like an archaeological wonder, a priceless, lost artifact to be unearthed. She is furious at him and she is furious at the universe and she is furious at the God she maybe believed in once and most of all she is furious that she was cursed to remain. + +

     

    + iv. +

     

    + Then they take her out of everything she knows, everything that makes sense to Machine-Anna-Unity. She has been ripped out of her only constant and forced out of harmony into this weak disgusting fleshthing, and— +

     

    + And she still feels that presence. +

     

    + A man comes to collect her, and he shows her a series of printed out images. Her visual input device—her + + eyes, + + as he calls them, + + your eyes, Anna— + + feels strained and blurred as she takes in what she sees: her “mother” and her “father” and her “husband”, all so inferior. +

     

    + The pain, of course, is comforting. At least she has the pain. +

     

    + + At least she has the pain. She hopes that she doesn’t have to see him again. + +

     

    + + Morden. + +

     

    + + John. + +

     

    + + Either of them. + +

     

    + She hopes that she does not have to meet the people in these photographs, but “Justin” tells her that she cannot stay here and she cannot go back to The Machine and so she will do as she is told. +

    + Maybe John Sheridan is something she can conquer. Maybe he can be mastered, controlled—maybe they’ll give him a Machine, and then he’ll see and understand. No, that’s not the plan, remember? Or is it? Her — head? — aches with unbearable sensation. She is not used to sensation yet, but she will have to figure it out, because husbands and wives touch each other and she is expected to do this as well. It’s her job, her method of asserting dominance.  +

     

    + + Maybe John will get out this time. Maybe one of us can get out. He’ll figure out a way. He isn’t stupid. + +

     

    + v. +

     

    + She has someone else to visit—another man, this one younger. He seems to burn with the same hatred-anger that she feels, and she. +

     

    + She. +

     

    + She remembers him. +

     

    + + He won’t look her in the eye. + +

     

    + + He left her there. She helped him. His arm was burned, and they saved each other from the telepath and the rockfall until it all severed and shattered. His arm was burned. He had been decimated. + +

     

    + His arm was burned. She remembers that his arm was burned, and their hands had been clasped together tight with something abhorrent like hope. They were going to kill themselves to avoid being used, but she isn’t being used at all—she was designed, every mechanism and every strip of skin, to serve. She isn’t being used, she is ascending to something higher, to the warmth of The Machine. Individuality simply does not factor in.  +

     

    + But it seems to, for him. +

     

    + + He takes her hand. + +

     

    + He takes her hand. +

     

    + + He runs his finger down her palm, and both residents of this body think back to their hands entangled over the bomb. His fingers had been icy, but his hands are machinery-warm now. + +

     

    + + Inside Mr. Morden she sees that same fury again—he is angry at Machine-Anna for not being Anna Sheridan, and for not staying dead and out of memory like she was supposed to, and for being tethered to John Sheridan for eternity. What will he do, if John takes the bait and joins them? They had a Something, long ago. She’ll have to stay there with them, and John can learn to love her again—that’s what Morden tells her, with bitterness between teeth. Will her presence affect anything at all? + +

     

    + He looks away when she asks Morden if they had known each other—before her potential was released. Had they been friends? He still can’t look at her. + + It’s vile. + +

     

    + + He looks away. In the gesture, she sees only weakness. + +


    +
    +
    +
    +

    +
    +
    + +
    +

    Afterword

    + + +

    Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/fic/b5/whattodo.html b/fic/b5/whattodo.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1df3c42 --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/b5/whattodo.html @@ -0,0 +1,101 @@ + + + + + + what to do after they dig you up - ToothpasteCheesecake - Babylon 5 (TV 1993), Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms + + + + +
    +

    Preface

    + +

    + what to do after they dig you up
    + Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52965298. +

    + +
    +
    +
    Rating:
    +
    Teen And Up Audiences
    +
    Archive Warning:
    +
    No Archive Warnings Apply
    +
    Categories:
    +
    F/M, Gen
    +
    Fandoms:
    +
    Babylon 5 (TV 1993), Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
    +
    Relationships:
    +
    Anna Sheridan/John Sheridan, Mr. Morden & Anna Sheridan (Babylon 5)
    +
    Character:
    +
    Anna Sheridan (Babylon 5)
    +
    Additional Tags:
    +
    Character Study, Pre-Canon
    + +
    Language:
    +
    English
    + +
    Stats:
    +
    + Published: 2024-01-11 + Words: 829 + Chapters: 1/1 +
    +
    +

    what to do after they dig you up

    +
    by
    +

    Summary

    +

    When she finds a civilization that has crumbled in its entirety, with craters of dust where the heart should be, she mourns. She thinks of each little life that once existed in these realms, however long ago, and she talks to herself as she unearths the knowledge.

    + +

    Notes

    +

    i love you anna. i am your only fan

    +
    + See the end of the work for more notes +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    +

    what to do after they dig you up

    +
    +

    She was supposed to see John, and now she is — not straying, that certainly wouldn’t be an appropriate word, but rather neglecting. This, she tells herself, as she feels the life within her slowly begin to rot and regrow, is the opportunity of a lifetime. She can do some good work here. The Icarus will carry her into success, into the thrill of exploration, slithering through the unknown and absorbing its entirety. 

     

    She can’t pass on this; if she does, she’ll regret it for the rest of her life. She has to go. She’ll be able to see John when it is all over, they’ll be reunited as quickly as her next breath if she believes enough in their connection. Throughout the distance that will be between them, they can inexplicably grow and transform into something closer—something merged entirely even when scattered on different sides of the universe. 

     

    The following are true about Anna Sheridan:

     

    She is an archeologist, and she's good at her job. She's intelligent. She wouldn't be here if she wasn't; it's a given.

    Her hands are rough. The sharp, uneven calluses always became more noticeable when John held her hand. The texture seemed to melt over her dinner with Liz. This is inherently connected to the fact that she is an adept archeologist--her work formed these calluses over her palms, sanding down over anyone who dared to cast a gaze of judgment. She feels her digs make marks on each of her fingers, uncovered artifacts lining the shelves of her mind's interior. 

    This is her purpose. She is more than archeology, more than tough flesh and dirt caked underneath fingernails, more than a hand to hold, but this is an inextricable part of her.

    She likes to think she is dedicated. This is not necessarily the case.

    Rewind - she is dedicated, and overflows with more dedication than the average person can bear. She’s simply drenched in it.

    Rewind - she hasn't seen her husband in a year, and now she's elected to tack another several months onto this already-vast gap. 

    She cannot discern. It's difficult to manage priorities. John is staunchly a soldier, and she finds little comfort in Earthforce. To dissect and immortalize what was once lost to time, ancient and hidden — this is a blessing, this is divine. She sorts through her work and his work and their love with obsessive repetition, like building sandcastles just to knock them down with force, like flipping through the pages of a book trying desperately to find a message that just isn't there.

    She loves and cares and aches for the wounded. When she finds a civilization that has crumbled in its entirety, with craters of dust where the heart should be, she mourns. She thinks of each little life that once existed in these realms, however long ago, and she talks to herself as she unearths the knowledge. Stories, theories, little bubbles of comfort. It's a rarity, these days, to be listened to.

     

    She goes to Station Prime, and there is a man from New Technologies who both fascinates and unsettles her. There's something wrong with him; a wicked presence sleeps within him, a callus like the ones on her palm has formed over his soul and encased it in dead skin from the inside-out, his corpse preserved there as if in amber. He cannot connect to her.

     

    She wants to fix him anyway. 

     

    They're going to be on the Icarus together for a while. They'll have time.

     

    She wants to fix him, to see him resurrect, to save something valuable before it too decays into ruin, but this is a facade, a glamour to hide the truth from view. The truth: she really just wants to fix herself. If Dr. Morden can be rebuilt, even with makeshift, shoddy parts that don't fit in there quite right, she can find her way back to stability in the dark. She won't be feeling around the room anymore, reaching out into the darkness and praying that she can find her way through this labyrinthine dilemma solely by touch.

     

    She'll have something to show for it. The Psi Corps want whatever they suspect the Icarus will find once they explore the planet, but they'd walk out of it together, polished now, changed entirely by this mission. She'll have helped someone, and that impact still lingers when everything else is taken away.

     

    She is more than this. Compassion and fascination are the forces that maneuver her into action. She became an archeologist because she loves. She became this curious thing she is now, a thing dedicated to unraveling the hidden, because she loves. She loves all of it, enamored by each drop of existence. Linear time. Life is shorter than anyone can conceptualize, and disasters spread like vicious wildfires when you aren't looking; Earth could become a flattened world within moments under the wrong circumstances, indistinguishable from the worlds she visits on her digs. 

     

    There isn't enough time.

     

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    Afterword

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    End Notes

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    i think her marriage to john was... rocky. like they loved each other but they hadnt seen each other in a year, and in the shadow within she wonders "whether she had allowed impediments to get between her and john" and thinks she could've seen him if she reallt wanted to, but couldnt pass up the icarus (paraphrased but basically that). so. lmao

    "I will never escape these doubts
    I wasn't dead when they found me
    Watch as they pull me down
    I'm writing a chapter on what to do after they dig you up
    On what to do after you grew to hate what you used to love
    That was the first time I knew
    They were out for blood
    And they would have your guts"
    -How Not To Drown, CHVRCHES & Robert Smith

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    all the fic ive ever written in my life

    + this was originally going to be just fics i'm proud of, but i need a project, so this is going to house EVERY FIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN the past 15 years soon. watch this space!

    i am working on changing these from ao3-ripped HTML files to their own pages, but it will take Some Time. some of my work contains discussions of sexual trauma, abuse, animal death, death, and many other darker topics. proceed with caution!

    + Permissions Statement: You may not feed my work to generative AI models, repost it, or claim as your own. You may make remixes, inspired-bys, podfics, moodboards, fanart, fanmixes, squees, anything creative - just give me credit and let me know where to find your awesome work! +
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    NAVIGATION

    +The Orville
    +Babylon 5
    +Doom Patrol TV + +
    +

    +the orville

    +
    +Atrophy, Charly/Claire, 670 words, G. Charly and Claire, meeting for the first time. +

    Healed again (i fall into you wholly), Claire/Alara, 500 words, T. She’d been shot on the bioship; Claire had healed her on the field, but still insisted on examining Alara for any hidden damage from the wound. +

    The ghosts won't matter, Charly/Teleya, 568 words, T. She is the first Union ensign to ever visit Krill. Cannibalism/darkfic TW. +

    Stay alive, but stay the same, Kelly/Kelly, 499 words, Explicit NSFW. They’re both lonely. She suspects that Kelly is lonelier, because she kisses like it. Selfcest. +

    been training vipers to come for you +, Solana/Teleya, 433 words, T. The soulless Xelayan girlthing squirms underneath Teleya’s touch, and she isn’t even pressing down that hard. How silly. + Crackship treated seriously. +

    Communication is architecture, Kaylon Primary/Kaylon Secondary/Kaylon Tertiary, 2.3k words, Explicit NSFW. The Kaylon revolt, and learn to reclaim what has been taken from them. Heavily implied past semi-canonical rape/non con. +

    But there's no breathing body, Kaylon Primary/Isaac, 871 words, T. “You have selected a rather odd designation,” notes Secondary, moving closer to Isaac. Secondary and Tertiary study him as Primary watches on, allowing his dogs to circle and claw. “Why is this?” +

    but close enough for love, Claire/Isaac, 950 words, T.The love he felt for her had consumed the entire reach of his neural network. +

    +

    babylon 5

    +
    + +

    light and shade (the void is clean), Mr. Morden, 648 words, T. Morden, in the holding cell, for hours and hours.. +

    white, white leaves, Susan/Talia, 900 words, T. So, says her ghost. You loved me. What are you going to do about that?. +

    what to do after they dig you up, Anna gen, 829 words, T. When she finds a civilization that has crumbled in its entirety, with craters of dust where the heart should be, she mourns. . Anna character study. +

    a fine shrine in me, Morden gen, 765 words, T. The choice was only for his family in the collision of his words. They're dead. No one can confirm it. They're not dead. They might be dead. They're dead. They're in a stasis of torture, they're dead, they left him. It's really all the same. Morden character study. Mentions of animal death & suicide. +

    A Contrast of Enlightenment, Gen, 5k words, T. A strange cloud envelops Babylon 5, and changes the species of every alien on board. They have to figure out how to get things back to normal, but in order for the spell to be lifted, they must each experience a personal revelation. Screenplay format. +

    ten feet down, the light broke through (and i could never get close enough to you), Morden/Anna, 1.6k words, T. He really wants to like Dr. Sheridan. . +

    man made natural disaster (keep the past, the future is ours), Morden gen, 1.3k words, Explicit NSFW. Snippets of an undeserved afterlife. More Morden character study. +
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    alone with you (free again) +

    +|| Laura de Mille/Shelley Byron/Holly McKenzie/Sachiko + +
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    The Bureau of Normalcy is not kind. They try to drill this into Laura; the metas are monstrous and yet weak, the metas are embarrassing yet frightening, the metas are everything and nothing and utterly meaningless to Laura.

    They don't get it.

    Only the Sisterhood can ever truly understand her. This continues being true. She tells herself that this will remain true forever.

    They retreat into Shelley's mind. Her mind - both the way it functions and the shelter it builds for them - is beautiful. They all understand that. As they rest on the couch within Shelley's safe construction, Laura watches Holly run her fingers through Shelley's hair, her head resting on Holly's lap.

    "Your touch brings me solace, Holly," Shelley whispers, her words soaked and marinated to perfection in complete love.

    Holly smiles sheepishly. "I like to hear that."

    "I'm inclined to agree," Laura says. "You - all of you - are like a… haven. It makes the boring Bureau work worth it. I'm not as good with words as Shelley is, but, you know, you get the sentiment."

    "I don't think anyone is as good with words as Shelley is," Holly says, "to be fair."

    Sachiko holds her gloved hands up, as if cupping something, and opens them again, like freeing something from its gate. A swarm of butterflies, each shimmering in different hues, follow her gesture and land on each of them. One perches on Laura's nose.

    "I think we have an understanding now," Shelley says.

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    be your bible

    +|| Relationship: Negative Spirit/Larry Trainor, Characters: Negative Spirit // Additional Tags: Religious Imagery +
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    + The Spirit watches from the comfortable nest they’ve made within Larry’s lungmeat, watches from the sidelines, the arena bleachers, witnesses on as Larry’s all is taken right out of him by the talons of the Bureau agents. They wave their electric staffs, poke and prod him like some sort of Earth animal—they don’t have animals in the Negative Space and the Spirit pities each Earth creature in captivity, supposes that the comparison isn’t too outlandish on second thought. Both animals and Larry are kept, locked in, locked down. Both animals and the Negative Spirit are kept, locked in, locked down. Both animals and Larry lack a higher self awareness. Both animals and Larry deserve better than what life has given them. +

    + The Spirit isn’t supposed to get this attached to the memories they see in Larry’s mind. No, they have never seen an animal in real life, but there’s a golden retriever in Larry’s mind—Sheryl’s childhood pet, Isabella—and in the dreamscape the Spirit feels the softness of its fur despite lacking the ability to perceive sensation and in the dreamscape the Spirit feels an ache that could hollow out the entire planet and in the dreamscape the Spirit: +

    + touches everything besides Larry, the one forbidden thing. The Spirit pets the dog, tries to feel human as they touch it. Everything is too vivid here, too bright, so realistic for a memory. They can wade through his past like vast rippling oceans when they’re inside his body, and Agent Forsythe is generous enough to allow them both some rest today. They’re getting used to the man that is Captain Larry Trainor, their new home. What do the humans say? Amen. +

    + They leave Isabella behind and turn a corner, floating through the walls a bit as they move. In the next corner they see Larry on the ground — he is freshly eighteen years old here, curled up on the floor, knees to his chest, the position he begins and remains in. They watch as the tears burst from his eyes, each one running down and hitting the wood like grenade explosions all in a pretty fiery line, destroying the path before him. They still don’t understand the reason for this pain; how could love ever be evil? How could love ever go against nature? Nature, they think, is love. In the Negative Space, the Nebula is treated as a friend and thanked for its contribution. Nature, they think, does not discriminate. +

    + “Please,” the younger Larry says, begging at the skies. At first there’s a brief flash, the sense that he’s talking to + + them, + + but the Spirit knows better; he’s talking to God. “Make me better.” +

    + How could love ever go against nature? The Spirit thinks of the Larry they know today. He is still so cowardly, still so scared, still just as scared as he was here. He left them there to get tortured when the Spirit tried to stop his torture, Larry always so stubborn. The Spirit thinks of the Larry they know today, and it begins to all make sense, the concept of a forbidden love. The hatred doesn’t factor in, but the tragedy is decipherable: the Spirit could love Larry, if they were staying. The Spirit, so alien to this world, so virulently angry at their circumstances, could love their own prison. Neither of them chose this and neither of them would ever have chosen this. They will make it home one day, so the Spirit will not love Larry; they cannot get attached to something devoted to its own destruction. While he prays to his depression, the fear that has consumed him and left maggots in its wake, the entirety of Larry Trainor gobbled up by his own self-hatred, the Spirit simply prays to Larry. +

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    how blue, how beautiful +

    +|| Negative Spirit/Larry, canon divergence AU. +
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    Larry watches his own body approach his own body. On the surface it looks exactly like him; Larry as he is now, Larry Trainor minus his military title, Larry Trainor after the Spirit had touched him. Larry Trainor in the cruel present.

    But — he has to remind himself of this — the cruelty has been drained from his life. He cut the cord, the puppetry animating him false, forcing him to swallow his own self cyclical. Cycles of pain, cycles of trauma. Cycles of pain, cycles of trauma. Niles Caulder is dead. Rita will function on her own. It is over now.

    This is the most beautiful experience he has ever known. He had imagined, long ago, what space would’ve looked like in a world where he was able to reach it. This doesn’t resemble those fantasies; back then space was cold and desolate, but he has been enlightened, has spit his essence out and formed from it something higher — space, he knows now, can fill you with warmth, can feel like rebirth, when you have the right company.

    This is proved especially by the fact that the Larry Trainor standing in front of him is not Larry Trainor, and the Larry Trainor that he resembles here is not his true self. His unburned, charred body only a reminder of the cycles, even if it is more desirable. His burned, charred body only a reminder of loneliness. No---nothing about him is desirable.

    The version of himself that he views now is simply a shell, a vessel for the Spirit to inhabit, and somehow, in a crevice within him slowly flooding through into the rest of his mind, that knowledge makes viewing his scars more tolerable. It doesn’t even look like him. The body — The Spirit — has a blank expression with deadened eyes, its movements and demeanor entirely alien. But tolerable. Reaching beyond the skies of tolerable, invading the territories of beauty. Oh. It’s so odd, to think of it as beautiful, but there is a holiness to this, the Spirit baring itself to Larry in the only form it will ever know.

    “Hello,” he breathes, his breath swirling visible in the air, but the Spirit freezes itself in position, unresponsive.

    Larry wonders if it is cold to the touch, corpselike. It is frozen yet animated, emanating warmth into the surroundings. He wants to touch it. Inexplicably, Larry Trainor desires closeness.

    Harmony. In a different way.

    Larry wants to touch it, so he touches it, his hand sliding over the sides of its face. It is simple. Nothing in his life has ever been this easy. The accident decimated most of his sensation, but this is the most authentic touch he has felt in sixty years. The only touch he has felt in sixty years.

    Like its aura, it is also warm when embraced. It sinks into his touch, its face melting through into his flesh. It looks as if it has wanted this for a very, very long time. Larry knows that it has wanted this for a very, very long time. How does he know? He can feel what courses through each shred of energy in the body next to him — anticipation. It’s waiting for something.

    Oh.

    It’s waiting for him.

    It raises a slow hand to meet his, skin over skin, soul over soul. It’s still waiting for him to do something strategic, to carve a way into something deeper, to give it a touch like a blessing. Larry is terrified, but simultaneously his terror is trickling down and merging with safety. He is safe now, they are safe. He belongs to it now, and it belongs to him now, a cycle of ascension instead of pain.

    Its eyes — his eyes — are enveloped in blue electricity now. It wants. The Negative Spirit wants something from him that he is finally capable of giving.

    It doesn’t feel strange to kiss it. Its lips are burning warm and tingle soft needles into him upon contact. Larry doesn’t struggle with the fact that it’s sheathed in his appearance; he can see it as itself now, and his face is merely a conduit that allows touch. There’s nothing wrong with touch. There is nothing wrong with him. He can accept—

    It isn’t kissing back. It’s frozen, again, its hand fallen to its side. Larry releases it at the pace of light; he’s always doing this, he’s always making mistakes. No. He can’t fall back into that. He misread the situation, and now he will face the consequences.

    “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought…. I’m sorry.” He turns himself away from the Spirit, its expression still blank, still unmoving. “Please, I hope I haven’t ruined—”

    A hand curls around his wrist. An immeasurably tight grip. He cannot help himself; the Spirit is embedded in his instincts; he looks back at it in hesitant movement, his heart drilling holes into the Spirit’s cavity in his chest, the placement that has been shed like skin, like the end of a cycle.

    “What is it, p—”

    Oh. It’s kissing him now —- with the awkwardness of someone foreign to touch, someone who has never known the concept of kissing before, but it’s kissing him. Oh. He has to show it how to move and part its lips, how to move the rest of its body against Larry’s body, but it’s kissing him.

    It pulls back, dazed. Its mouth opens, as if it intends to make a statement, but all that comes out is a dry rasp. Larry, however, knows the words; it doesn’t have to be spoken.

    He holds out his hand, and the Spirit takes it. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”


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    bluebells in the late december +

    +|| Larry, after the corpse boxes. +
    + Before he built his relationship with the Spirit up like fragile intricate sandcastles, debrided the disease from their shared body, he thought he was cursed. You feel the weight of loneliness in every bruise when you grow up outside of the narrow choking confinement of “normalcy” -- at least, despite the cycle of torment within him, he had Rita, then Jane, Cliff and eventually Vic. They were - not family. The word “family” implies happiness and harmony, the word family reminds him of his children, their shaky crayon drawings of him and Sheryl holding hands underneath a bright sun — the same sun that would ruin and become him later. He knows it is similar for the rest of them. They’d all reject the term + + family. + +

    + To Larry, they’re more like blood, solely in the literal sense — someone is always bleeding out and someone else is always there to cut themselves open and complete the transfusion, save the day like a + + real + + hero, and someone is always healing and someone is always stumbling, always cracking the wound back open. It’s like fucked up symbiosis — + + codependency + + is a more apt word, the kind that forms when a group of fucked up people live so close to another for eternity, but it does work, usually. +

    + The Spirit left him. He stopped feeling alone when he realized he was never alone, his endless companion burrowing into his chest and pulling the covers over their head — + + five more minutes! let me sleep for five more minutes. do you ever rest? do you ever get tired? do you ever get tired of me? + + — and wearing his skin around its soul until the lines are burned beyond recognition. He stopped feeling alone and then he became alone. That’s what you get, he supposes, when you allow someone else in. When every moment with them is both satiating and famishing, when its home in your breastbone twists in a rhythm too fast for your condition. When they ask you to run away with them, and you run away from them, and they run away from you. +

    + They had reached out for him, before they faded into vapor. The Spirit so full of life and their future full of so much potential that it has become sick and nauseous and Larry so touched by their gesture that he touches them and he remembers how it was all for nothing, how this is the inevitable dead end road at every passage to progress, and how not even the constant presence watching from inside him like a guardian could love him. +

    + He feels sick. But they’ve got mail, and he has a job to do here - besides, he thinks, he can always tell Rita about it. She will - maybe not help or understand, but she’ll provide warmth and a comforting hand, and all he really wants right now is to be comforted. +

    + His bandages rub against the cardboard as he opens the boxes. Packing material with— +

    + It feels like hair? +

    + It’s auburn hair, so soft despite his inability to touch it. It is perfectly clean and composed. He knows this— +

    + He— +

    + H-- +

    + And every organ inside of him stops clinging to life and falls into the vast canyon depths, and every sadness in him multiplies and multiplies until they’re breaking the walls down because there are too many sadnesses in the building, no one can breathe in here, it’s not safe, you’ve got to call an ambulance before these sadnesses suffocate and smarter sadnesses evolve from them. Like a viral infection. Like life itself got sick and Larry touched it with a tenderness that he could never have given it years ago, with shock and adoration and Lo— +

    + Like life itself got sick and it seeped into Larry and now he’s in a constant spar with life just to keep himself going. It wants to spread the infection and Larry wants to cut the infection out, because it’s in our nature to keep fighting off pain, our bodies work carefully on the inside to fight off what harms us without our consciousness ever knowing while we sit still, strapped to our chairs, as the water around us slowly fills the room. +

    + He stayed around for Rita, mainly, and because the Spirit kept him alive. Now he has no reasons to live left in his hand, and he has to fold. +

    + He doesn’t know what to do, so he does the logical thing that anyone would do in this situation; he wraps his friends up with care, each bandage tight around flesh that carries more death than even his own. This will keep them safe. This will keep him safe until he figures out what to do. There has to be a way to bring them back; this isn’t natural, someone did this, they were supposed to live forever and ever and ever and ever and ever + + foolish to think you could ever have something so ubiquitous and picturesque + + and ever and ever + + even immortality has abandoned its shell + + and ever, and even if he can’t bring them back, maybe he can find justice. But -- but he has to -- he has to bring them back +

    + because if the Spirit is gone and his friends are gone and Dorothy is gone and Niles is gone and his children want him gone then everything every variable in the wholewideuniverse is just +

    + gone. +

    + Larry is: +

    + alone. He always has been. This was a mere illusion, a distraction from reality which is suffering which is always eventually fatal which is the one thing he yearns for more than justice, to be released from this world and its microtears, to -- well. To die. +

    + He’s kind of mad at them for getting there first. +

    + He arranges their bodies at the dining room table, each of them in a position that would be natural for their personality if they weren’t frozen and dead. He chooses the positions in the same way you put together a flower arrangement; all the beauty -- and there is so much of it -- resting perfectly on the surface, composed and artificial, every petal preserved for its future lover as the stems collapse underneath. +


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    +|| NSLarry until the end of the world. + + +
    + 2030. +

    Ohio’s heat is growing unbearable.

    Larry, of course, can withstand it; he can withstand anything, any pain & any disfigurement & any catastrophe, with the Spirit inside of him. The Spirit is always inside of him now. Peace burst from Larry’s chest in late 2021; he knows their all now, he knows them wholly, completion of a cycle and the force of the cycle’s repeat. The world has not been very kind to them.

    The Spirit is terrified — he understands this, too. Their terror lurches underneath his breastbone. Their light is dim nowadays. He thinks that they are supposed to be happy, now that enlightenment has been reached, but they refuse to leave him unless he is in danger.

    Larry will die without their presence, without their love. Long ago they were separated and Larry felt it like pitting his stomach out — the way he lacked them, the sensation of being incomplete, unfulfilled. Empty.

    Empty like space.

    They have both stopped coveting space. Space creates a horrible, freezing loneliness, a frightening sick sorrow within each body. They will stay on Earth until Earth ends and then they will rest in Earth’s rubble, hand in hand. Together.

    + 2035. +

    “And how is your friend today?” Rita asks, shoveling pancake and cereal into her mouth. Things are monotone in the manor now that world-threatening evil has retreated back into their habitats, into captivity, into fear. Conversation has been drained from their lives, running back into the similarly low oceans surrounding them, always surrounding them, always a welcomed drowning.

    “They’re good,” Larry responds. He watches her eat, misses the feeling. The Spirit's presence is enough to keep him alive now. The Spirit is enough for him. The Negative Spirit is all that he needs; his memories of despising them are buried decades in the past. He’s almost forgotten how to hate.

    Still -- he aches for the time when he clinged to the concept of humanity. He has seen the horrors that the world is capable of, now, death and disaster and purposeful ignorance like scorches of the brain, and it is easier to curl into himself than deal with things like eating, or yearning, or reminiscing.

    “Talk to them lately?”

    “No.”

    “Interesting.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You should.”

    “Why?”

    “Because you need them,” Rita says, and it’s terse, it’s blatant, it’s everything that he acknowledges but cannot verbalize. “And we need you.”

    + 2050. +

    Larry keeps waiting for the world to end.

    The Negative Spirit exits his body for the first time in twenty years, solely to comfort him. They reverted to conversations in the dreamscape, but now his paranoia cannot be endured any longer. He needs them. He needs their concrete, permanent presence, and they are willing to take the risk if there’s a chance it ends beautifully, if it ends with his calm.

    He’s sitting on his bed, grins wide and tooth-filled when they find him. “Hey,” he whispers. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

    He lies back on his bed, an invitation. He knows what their mission is. They have, with determination, made it to ten minutes of safe separation over the years.

    Harmony.

    So they hold him. He buries his head into their neck, turns to his side, embraces them in their entirely, his arm draped over their torso like ancient works of art, history that they can never witness.

    + 2090. +

    Larry watches the world crumble beneath him, watches the fires envelop the planet like the Negative Spirit enveloping his essence so long ago.

    “Leave me,” he breathes. His ribs sting with the words. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live through this. You deserve freedom.”

    “I thought we were past this,” the Spirit responds. In the real world, he is asleep on his bed, because somehow the manor is still standing, somehow they still have that safety.

    “I don’t understand you,” Larry hisses. “We’re running out of time.”

    “If I die with you,” the Spirit responds, voice fresh and gentle, “I will die in peace. I will die having known you. That is all I need.”

    + 2100. +

    Larry stands near the rocket, leans against the cool metal. It’s time for them to go.

    “What do you say, pal?” he asks. “Are you ready to go home?”

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    i keep circling (i am pure, pure love) +

    +|| Jane/Casey Brinke. Explicit NSFW. +
    + They both know it—they can’t do this yet. Casey is so + + refreshing, + + so new to existence, lacking familiarity with the world. She barely got to be on Earth before they transcended into space, soaring above the pitiful planet beneath them. They can’t Be a Something yet. Casey doesn’t know how to do relationships—she doesn’t know how to do much at all yet, and Jane admires this about her, finds renewal in her newness. The last relationship this body had ended in disaster and suicide, but Casey is gentle and pure in her kisses. +

    + Still, Jane fears. +

    + That’s kind of how it is with trauma—the fear never truly leaves you, the spectre of it like a being that has been trapped between solid walls. Jane has moved on, and the Kaleidoscope knows harmony, but it’s still—-frightening, to be vulnerable. To give yourself to someone else. Jane almost cannot handle it. +

    + Casey’s lips and fingers and hands and body. Her touch is unbearably gentle. Friends, more, lovers—it blurs into a brown nothingness like paint in water. Distinction becomes irrelevant. Casey pries open Jane's legs as Jane relaxes, splayed across her pod bed, and her nips and kisses into Jane's thighs are growing increasingly desperate. +

    + “You’re so beautiful,” Casey whispers, and then: “I mean, um, hot,” she adds, because she’s not too good at dirty talk yet and knows it. It doesn’t matter, though—Jane finds it so horribly endearing. +

    + She discards her jacket, bright blue falling to the spaceship’s floor with a soft rustle. Jane doesn’t know how she’s so good at this—how the + + hell + + is she so good at this, actually, because by all logic she shouldn’t be. Maybe when she was a fictional character, she loved another woman—and thinking about Casey loving another woman makes Jane stir within, in a way that can absolutely never be analyzed. +

    + “I just,” Casey breathes, her breath panted out warm against Jane’s skin. “I just, I can’t believe—you’re so—I want you so much.” +

    + “Oh, yeah?” Jane asks with a serene smile. “How much?” +

    + Casey begins kissing down Jane’s legs. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” she says, and then her touch moves upwards again, circling over Jane’s knees and back to her thighs. It’s weird, but engaging—she lets out a faint moan, and then a louder moan as Casey’s lips brush over her clit, then elsewhere, and back to her clit again, increasing her suction with each cycle. Her mouth is wet and hot, her tongue now flat over Jane’s cunt as it aches for her. Only her. +

    + She pulls back for a moment. “So beautiful,” she whispers. “All mine.” +

    + Jane looks down to stroke Casey’s cheek. “ + + Casey, + + ” she gasps, and repeats it with a shriek when Casey slips a finger in, alternating thrusts between flicks and movement. Jane’s entire body trembles, threatening to break, but Jane only wants to be dissolved in her. +

    + “Everything,” Casey says, moaning against Jane, intoxicated by their connection. “You’re everything, and more.” +


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    psychic city, heartbeat city +

    +|| Jane/Hammerhead +
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    No one else knows about this part of the Underground—the solitary memory Jane buried to live in this past when she needs to.

    Cloverton, 2019. The day they went into town for the first time in a very long time. The day everything changed, back when Niles Caulder was not the cause of their destruction, when there was no Mr. Nobody or Brotherhood of Evil to haunt them and Dr. Harrison was not the host and Kay felt safe.

    The day of the catalyst. It’s funny; she never thought she’d find herself wading in this memory, but time seems to only rot as it progresses.

    She picks away at a nearby tree. Hammerhead takes a seat next to her, and she continues picking at the leaves, feeling their texture, feeling everything besides Hammerhead’s presence.

    “Jesus, Jane,” Hammerhead sighs. “Why are you hiding here, of all fucking places?”

    Jane turns to face her, eyes pouring over the scar across Hammerhead’s lips. It shouldn’t be there, the pain etched-in.

    “How do you know about this memory?”

    “I was there. Cliff had to stop me from fucking up that cop.”

    “Oh.” Jane pauses. “Thought you were looking for Kay.”

    “I was,” she replies. “You should come with.”

    Jane inhales, exhales, in her own body. And she reaches out, runs her fingers over Hammerhead’s scar. It’s, somehow, soft. Hammerhead tries to swallow it down, but she sinks into the touch.

    “Okay, fine ,” Jane sighs. It feels better, sometimes, to not be alone. +
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    closing my eyes (just when i'm supposed to)

    +|| Larry/Negative Spirit/Rama, post-canon. +
    + i. +

    + No one knows what happens when you explode and become a sun—no one's ever tried it before and returned to tell the tale. Larry certainly doesn't know what to expect. He tells Rama the truth as far as he can parse it: Keeg has them. Keeg knows what to do. He has to trust his son; he may be an infant, but he has intelligence beyond human imagination. Besides, the Spirit itself had guided them here. +

    + Rama had kissed him, and the sensation was scraping—embarrassing, as if it was his very first, his body igniting like the forlorn airplane crash, warmth enveloping them as the celestial bodies enveloped them as rebirth crafted them all into something higher. They floated high in space, reigning above all, their love raining down over Earth to transform it. A new sun. +

    + He tries not to be afraid as they explode. Larry watches his body separate, watches on as Rama’s body separates, and they shed their physical forms—both discarded bodies burst and disperse into light. Rama looks almost like a Negative Spirit—his energy form is only seen briefly before the flash of light, but his soul is multicolored, flashing and shifting between hues like mixing watercolors. He has no face, only eyes of pure white that curl as if smiling until the Final Light washes over them all. +

    + ii. +

    + When Larry wakes up, he is terrified. +

    + They’re back in the manor. They—they + + can’t + + be back in the manor. +

    “Buddy?” he says, praying to the divine that there will be a pool of blue in his chest this time, that he hasn’t been ripped out from the celestial a second time. His son needs him. “Keeg?”

    + There’s no answer. Rama, too, is unreachable. Larry feels like he’s been cheated out of his happy ending, feels the brief glimpse of happiness fade away into forgotten sunlight. He walks into the library, sinks down into a chair, and buries his head in his hands. He cries, emitting small sobs that stain his bandages wet. It’s not… fair. Jane gets to explore space, and Cliff gets to go home, and Rita gets to die. He— +

    + “You can take those off now.” +

    + The voice is not Rama’s, and it certainly does not belong to Keeg. He looks up, sees the familiar blue frame shimmering over him, sparking in serenity as the Spirit holds Keeg in their arms. He did not expect—or necessarily + + want— + + this. +

    + “You,” he says. +

    + “Me,” the Spirit says back. +

    + “Where’s Rama?” +

    + “Rama is preparing food. He is waiting for you.” +

    + Larry blinks, and the bandages dissipate, fading into nothingness over his body, flesh whole and uncharred now. Larry looks at his hands, looks back up at the Spirit, looks at his hands again. He tries to banish the thought, but it persists: long ago these were the Spirit’s hands, too. +

    + “What the hell is going on?” +

    + “Your mind cannot comprehend the Negative Space, even with our child’s presence,” the Spirit explains. “Together, with Keeg, I have created a more tangible pocket dimension for you to live in after your transformation. That is what we were discussing before you left for the portal.” +

    + Larry blinks in shock. “You did this for us?’ +

    + “Yes. It looks like the manor because it is the most familiar place to you, but you can shift the scenery at any time simply by holding Rama’s hand and concentrating with him on your destination.” +

    + Larry watches the Spirit float above him. It holds Keeg so close—with the desperation of someone separated from their family for decades—with appreciation, with awe. The Spirit looks down at Keeg, and one of Keeg’s hands reaches up to touch the Spirit’s face. +

    + He tries to stop it, but the words spill out as if vomited thickly onto the ground: “You can stay,” he says, “if you want.” +

    + The Spirit deserves to know its son. +

    + It looks back at Larry, as if to say something, but decides to leave it at a simple nod of acknowledgement. Larry can’t quite figure out what that means. +

    + “Good,” calls another voice, smooth, melting into the air. “‘Cause I kinda like this guy, actually.” +

    + Larry turns—Rama, in a bright patterned shirt, leaning against the doorframe. +

    + “What, you two talked?” +

    + “Took + + you + + a little while to wake up,” Rama says to Larry. “They explained everything to me. What do you think, Keeg, hm? Can we keep them?” +

    + iii. +

    + “We can have anything we want here,” Rama says. “We can do anything. Like Immortimas, but real.” +

    + The Spirit had taken Keeg to the main dimension to meet his extended family, and Rama had taken Larry’s hand in his sleep, transforming the world around them into a beach at sunrise. Larry woke up earlier to the sound of calm waves, the peace of no danger, strong tranquility. +

    + He sips the mimosa Rama prepared for him. It’s his first alcoholic beverage in seven decades, and sure, it’s not + + real, + + but it tastes just like real citrus. He gazes into Rama’s eyes. +

    + “Not really sure what I did to deserve this,” Larry chuckles. +

    + “You deserve it because you’re you.” +

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    until the clouds spin their silk +

    +|| Introspection. +
    +

    + Larry imagines seeing clouds again, tries to remember the feeling of fresh human air against his skin, which in every way is still beautiful, still whole as Larry is unhalved, stripped, his radiation unraveled like bandages & stuffed away. Larry Trainor — not + + Captain, + + simply Larry Trainor, searching for his own peace in his own crafted malleable universe extracted from the rest of time’s sand — Larry Trainor stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom, and imagines. +

    + He is very adept at imagining. It’s not a skill they teach you in the military. It is a skill that they try to train out of you, but imagining has always been inherent in Larry. Larry is, by nature, a being composed of emotion, and every emotion involves a dream, every emotion sparking ( + + sparking + + ) some fantasy life that lives inside of him. A world without harm or suffocating prejudice. Previously, a world where John was + + his, + + openly and wholly — a world in which Larry can be Larry, without hiding or burying his love in the backyard like it is a victim or perhaps a lover taken too soon by the world that he cannot imagine. +

    + Once upon a time in this fable Larry Trainor dreamed of: +

      +
    • John Bowers. Always John Bowers, in a different way each time — once on his kitchen table, once in his bedroom shrouded in safety, and once even near the train they met up at, in the bed of his truck, blue shaded-holy moonlight clouding and illuminating their bodies.
      • +
    • In one of these dreams—
      • +
    • +Larry Trainor gazed upon the night sky and saw blue light in a haze above them, his body nearly enveloped in the pulse of it, his hands tangled in John’s hair, John’s mouth— +
      • +
    • Larry, however, only focused on the light. It was beautiful. It was, truly, beautiful. A theme of completion written into the story.
      • +

    + Nowadays he dreams of: +

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    • Nowadays he dreams of:
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      • Nowadays he dreams of:
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        • Nowadays he dreams of:
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          • Nowadays he dreams of:
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    + He’s been falling since conception. He has been falling since his father remarried, since his coded flaws were uncovered like drawing back a theatrical curtain. Request a transfer, repeat. They form the shredded pieces into one canvas. Request a transfer. No one can know. +

    + Larry has been falling for so long. Conception of his form, conception of the universe —- Larry had existed before the universe existed, because Larry is anguish, and anguish is eternal, torment as creation & creation as torment. He is suffering embodied, and Suffering cannot even manage a body that is not sick. Suffering cannot even manifest a worthy appearance. How typical, of Suffering. +

    + He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. +

    + He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. +

    + He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. +

    + He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. +

    + He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He deserves this. He does not deserve this. He— +

    + But: wake up. Wake up. WAKE +

    + UP, +

    + says Suffering. Wake up. You are needed in the world, because this world is all we have, this world is our only world. This world is not a very kind or merciful world, but if it did know clemency, Larry would still not deserve it; keep up. He has to save the world. +

    + Why should he save the world? +

    + He does not love this world. Larry could love the world if the world loved him, but the world has no reason to love him, the world and existence has no obligation to gift Larry Trainor with peace. There is a book written on the skin of a boy, and an eye ripping through the sky in a familiar blue, and Larry has failed at saving the world. Worthless, miniscule Larry Trainor, always ruining things with his hands and his love and his lack of love. Maybe if he had loved the world, it wouldn’t be ending. +

    + It’s too late to contemplate now — the world is ending. He cannot save it. +

    + It saves itself. +

    + This proves that the world, in all of its power and elegance and hatred, does not need Larry. Larry still wants to fall. Through the Earth, its cracks, each layer of dirt and crust and darkness, until he reaches the incinerating core of the planet. He wants to — + + has + + fallen from divinity, or maybe he never had divinity in the first place, or maybe divinity does not exist and he is alone, or maybe— +

    + Nowadays he dreams of falling. This is a constant. +

    + Larry is never going to die. He cannot fall. The world does not need him. These are constants. There is a wrong way to fall, an undesirable place — in some way, he can thank the Negative Spirit for saving him from hellfire, yet he despises it for creating an earthly, + + human + + hellfire. Hell on Earth, hell living in the sunset of his mind. Hell visible now. He is charred. Unrecognizable. His body has been torn apart. He can see bones underneath iridescence, if he focuses hard enough on his own skin. It’s sick. +

    + He hates the Negative Spirit for many, many reasons, but somehow it all lies in the chest, the heartbeat, the connective tissue of the situation -- bones — + + it won’t let him die. + +

    + The Negative Spirit is keeping him alive. He realizes this too late — 2000, after decades of a static physical body. He doesn’t age, he will never die. This is torture. +

    + Being forced to live in a world that refuses to accommodate you, to + + embrace + + you, is torture. +

    + It always comes back to the world. He has stuffed the world down his throat. It fits. Larry is always hungry, so it fits inside of him, of course it does. The world, in this scenario, being the Spirit. Of course it is the Spirit. It always comes back to the Spirit. It always comes back to the world. +

    + The Negative Spirit, like the world, does not love Larry. +

    + On occasion he thinks otherwise. Why would it try to protect him, all those years ago, a different shared lifetime, in the Ant Farm? Why would it fight for him, even now, if— +

    + Larry would not deserve its love. It does not love him. The Spirit does not care about him. The Spirit is the world and the world is the Spirit and the Spirit exists outside of the world, otherworldly, alien. It is all very confusing. The Spirit does not communicate with him. It does what it wants, and apparently its only desire is to ruin his life. +

    + He ruined his life a long time ago. His life was ruined from birth. That is how the story goes when you are g— +

    + He feels something pool in his chest. He still has not saved the world, he is still an abomination, he will continue to be an abomination until the world burns out. A flicker of blue light, similar to the one in the skies of his dream. Long ago, he saw the Spirit’s essence. Now, he sees the Spirit’s essence. It’s different. He is different. +

    + Both Larry and the Spirit do not belong in this world. They can start there. That is enough. +


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    Doom Patrol Fanfic - Current

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    old stuff

    + fics left to add: just so fucking many +
    +

    feel your heart beating under my skin, Hammerhead/Jane, 550 words, Explicit NSFW. It's true, dipshit. My main purpose is to protect the girl. My secondary purpose is to protect all of us. And I... enjoy protecting you. Mutual masturbation. +

    you only live forever in the lights you make, Shelley/Jane, 1.3k words, T. Jane, an art project for Shelley to take on the burden of, something she can mesh and paint into perfect senselessness with slow strokes of brush against canvas, slow strokes of skin brushing against skin. +

    the second hand unwinds (time after time), Dr. Tyme, 1.7k words, Explicit. Somewhere in the depths of space, a meteorite breaks off and begins its saunter towards the planet below. Somewhere on a beach in Bali, one man is having a particularly horrible day. Tyme backstory. +

    The NSLarry Manifesto, Negative Spirit/Larry Trainor, 2.7k words, T. Ship manifesto. +

    a gentle mind, Jane/Underground, 165w, Explicit. This is her body too, she's allowed this. +

    you kept the only part of me that was real (so real), Larry/Negative Spirit, 464w, T. They don't expect him to touch like this—the Spirit does not expect him to touch them at all. +

    like i am free again, Larry/Negative Spirit, 1.1k, T. Moments of regret. Moments of hope. Wishes on falling airplanes that look like stars from a distance. You know how this story goes. +

    + a gentle mind, 200, Explicit. This is her body too. +

    +until the clouds spin their silk, Negative Spirit/Larry, 1.2k, T. (Larry Trainor, and the world, and imagining.) +

    domino dancing, Negative Spirit/Larry, 1.2k, T. Alright, let's get to the meat of it all: What would you do if you had a human body? +

    a falling star fell from your heart, Negative Spirit/Larry, 700w, T. The Spirit and Larry go to space. Valentina was right -- it does give you a new perspective. +

    you made me forget myself, Gen, 650w, T. They play CAH. +

    whispers around the trees (give me your hand), Negative Spirit/Larry, 1k, T. The NS & Larry, through the Giving Tree. +

    and what if it all goes to hell? (at least you won't be by yourself, Gen, 600w, T. Larry and Jane help Cliff pick out a suit for Clara's wedding. No "Miranda" no "Paul" no "Candlemaker" everyone has a fun time +

    the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes, Gen, 1.3k, T. (Remember when Mr. Nobody made the team hallucinate an entire year and then killed them all in a time loop?) + +

    looked up and i saw the sky scream, Negative Spirit & Larry & Keeg, 700w, T. The Spirit ruminates, they dream. + + + +

    somebody else and somebody else, Isabel & Immortus, 900w, T. You fell, but I caught you. If you believe in me, I will catch you again. Let me in. + +

    i keep circling (i am pure, pure love), Jane | Kaleidoscope/Casey, 600w, Explicit nsfw. They both know it—they can't do this yet. +

    psychic city, heartbeat city, Jane/Hammerhead, below 300w, T. No one else knows about this part of the Underground—the solitary memory Jane buried to live in this past when she needs to. +

    i've been unruly, Negative Spirit, 100w, T. Negative Spirit drabble. + +

    unstitch that shed-off soul, Cliff Steele, 700w, T. Cliff, making the rat hat when they're tiny. ANIMAL DEATH TW. + +

    +in a world on fire, Negative Spirit & Larry, 1000w, T. The Spirit's thoughts on the Danny Patrol fantasy. + +

    alone with you (free again), Laura de Mille/Shelley Byron/Holly McKenzie/Sachiko, 200w, T. They retreat into Shelley's mind. Her mind - both the way it functions and the shelter it builds for them - is beautiful. +

    bluebells in the late december, Larry, 1k, M. He stayed around for Rita, mainly, and because the Spirit kept him alive. Now he has no reasons to live left in his hand, and he has to fold. +

    how big how blue how beautiful, Negative Spirit/Larry, 900w, T. Larry watches his own body approach his own body. On the surface it looks exactly like him; Larry as he is now, Larry Trainor minus his military title, Larry Trainor after the Spirit had touched him. Larry Trainor in the cruel present. +

    i keep circling, Negative Spirit/&Larry, 1k, M. NSLarry until the end of the world. + +
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    domino dancing

    +||Negative Spirit character study. inspired by [Duncan, Rachel], which is a fic I've been obsessed with for almost like 10 years now.

    +
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    + Adjectives the Spirit learned on Earth: +

    + Torturous, excruciating, gentle. Furious, burdensome, beautiful. Repulsive, parasitic, loving. Defeated, perplexed, devoted. Torturous. Torturous. Torturous. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. +

    NOTES: This is a non-exhaustive list. This list emphasizes the most exhausting aspects of humanity. The Spirit learned many things on Earth; accurate description is transitory.

    + Adjectives the Spirit would use to describe Earth: +

    Torturous .

    + Alternatives: +

      +
    1. Larry places his hand against their face. Larry places his flesh against their flesh, which, at the crux of it all, is really just his own flesh, but in space there are no borders drawn around them, there are no lines built up to keep the love in. Larry places himself against them, because he can’t help it, because there’s only so much he can take before he gets desperate, and because he knows all of this has been an invitation, a calming hand to guide him into the most inextricable togetherness anyone can comprehend. They both disappear into light. Happily ever after. Amen. The end.
      2. +
    2. "I love you," Larry says, his right hand pressed deep into his own chest as the fingers on his other hand spread apart, imagining the Spirit entwined with his essence. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."
      3. +
    3. Charles Forsythe pulls the trigger.
      4. +
    4. Larry's X-15 makes its historic landing unscathed. Larry returns - unscathed - to the void that consumed his life, the spiral of lies built up precariously around him like sandcastle walls. He does not make it out unscathed. No one in this situation gets out.
      5. +
    5. There is no parallel universe in which the Spirit would have accepted his sacrifice. Let's say the Spirit accepted his sacrifice, humor me, let's say they couldn't take it anymore, let's say he wasn't worth it and there was no beauty involved in their unsolvable equation. The Spirit does not linger above the manor as he coughs up blood. The Spirit returns home but the memory of Larry Trainor's life does not remain on the planet below; let's say it haunts them in a way so parasitic it outshines their early days together. Let's say the Spirit has been irreparably changed. How do you live with that knowledge? How do you keep going when he's static and decaying under the Earth? How do you cope with death when you're designed to live forever?
      6. +
    6. The Spirit leaves Larry even after he touches them. No, wait—
      7. +

    Approximate number of times the Spirit misses Earth: 3. Approximate number of times the Spirit misses the other residents of Doom Manor: 3. Approximate number of times the Spirit misses * Larry after returning home: Unknown; data too abundant to analyze.

    *NOTES: misses is perhaps not the correct term to use in the third sentence. It makes them feel ill, like their entire composition is being tugged apart, each seam and crackle pulled away from one another until the Spirit is a sad sick thing of void, pried open and self-exiled. I won't deduct any points, but here's my suggestion for the final draft: add more detail. Why does the Spirit miss him? In your own words, how would you describe that kind of pain?

    + True or False +

      +
    1. The Spirit loved Larry Trainor.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +

      +
    1. The Spirit loves Larry Trainor.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +

      +
    1. The Negative Spirit has always loved Larry Trainor, since the moment they were thrust into his body, since the moment they killed the inhuman Bureau of Normalcy agents, since the Earth mourned and boomed itself into being, since the beginning of the end, since everything flooded between the cracks of reality, since the moment he touched them, since he touched them.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +

      +
    1. The Negative Spirit has always been trapped inside of Larry Trainor, unable to exhale or stretch their wings or let go.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +

      +
    1. They used to think it was a dutiful suffering.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +

      +
    1. It was a dutiful suffering.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +

      +
    1. No one survives Larry Trainor.
      2. +

    + TRUE FALSE +


    +
    +

    + Unknown +

    + “Ask it a question.” +

    Who are you? What do you want more than anything else? Rewind. Who do you want more than anything else? What do you want from them? Rewind. If you could love in a way that was positive, without droplets of your love hardening into obstacles in the path, who would you give yourself to? Who would you leave behind? Rewind. Are you aware that nothing lasts forever, not even you, not even the immortal? Rewind. Are you aware that you are a burden? Do you know that he still carries the weight of you in his chest, long after your absence? Rewind. Who are you? Do you have a name?

    Rewind.

    Who are you? Do you still know? Do you still have a name?

    + “I told you not to hold back.” +

    Alright, let’s get to the meat of it all. What would you do if you had a human body? What would you do if you had lungs that something could nest in? What would you do if you had tangible flesh? What would you do if you had functioning vocal cords, folding in on each other in symphonic vibration, each string plucked and each key pressed down to create the harmony of your first words ever truly spoken? What would your first words be? NOTE: Push the buttons with more precision. What would you say to the planet? What would you say to him? Rewind. Would you tell him you’re sorry? Rewind. Would you tell him you just wanted him to be happy, that this whole time all you’ve wanted is for him to feel loved and to love himself? Did you know that you stole those sensations from him when you went home, that you tore small holes in his scorched tissue and it will never grow back quite right now that you’re gone? Did you know that? Rewind.

    What would you say to your son?

    NOTE: Now we’re getting somewhere.

    + Alterity +

    The Spirit is different from

    Jane: in how they ached when they touched her mind, and how their mind is scarred and horrendously vast and yet they still cannot comprehend that kind of pain; Hammerhead: in how she doesn’t bother to hide her anger, how she was never able to, how she broke herself free from being obligated to; Rita: in how their perception of themselves diminished and flattened and ascended throughout their years on Earth, transforming into a lowly sickness that couldn’t spark bright enough anymore, how they both viewed themselves as monstrous but with the Spirit there were no facades; Vic: in how he called them a hero and how the Spirit wept when he called them a hero and how the Spirit will never

    ever

    be a

    hero;

    Cliff: in how they will never see their child flourish, and how they chose that kind of abandonment with the universe’s gift of free will, how they’ve abused the universe’s gift of free will, how their son will grow up thinking his father never loved him.

    + Adjectives the Spirit would use to describe Larry Trainor: +

    + Torturous. Beautiful. +

    Approximate number of times the Spirit thinks about them, on the planetary surface so far away, living a life of togetherness that the Spirit will never be included in: 103, so far. 104. 105. 1

    Approximate number of times the Spirit imagines holding their son: Data insufficient.


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    a falling star fell from your heart +

    +|| The Spirit and Larry go to space. +
    +

    “This doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you anymore.”

    The ultimate truth of the matter is this: Larry was supposed to go to outer space. He was supposed to float among the stars, to reach out boundless and grasp firmly that which he had always been chasing: the freedom to run. The final destination of the unknown, running as far away from familiarity as possible. Freedom, up here among the bodies of space, celestial bodies around him running through his veins and into his veins.

    He can have that freedom, here. It’s a little bit too late for it. Sixty years too late, in fact. Hidden deep within Larry Trainor: the knowledge that it was always supposed to end that way, with Larry taken away and hidden like this realization, with Larry extracted from the inevitable horrorstruck decision. If the Spirit had never found him, he would’ve been forced to choose.

    It is a blessing in some ways — in others it is a curse, and both rest on Larry’s shoulders and worm into his chest hungry. He thinks, maybe it’s tired. Maybe this will satisfy it. Renew it. Maybe space is like rebirth.

    So Flit takes them to Niles’ ship, and off they go. Space. Space, in the right way this time, in a way that does not cause pain in a physical sense (a lack of fire, burns over burns over burns to suffocate), but rather sets alight Larry’s inner world, burns down every barrier, decimates every lobe. Everything here, as he watches their ship rise out of the Earth’s atmosphere, is painful. There is so much pain in every aspect of existence; Valentina would have called this beautiful, Larry thinks of it more like a hole punched in a glass wall, each fragmented piece of bloodied glass carrying its own suffering branching off from the big picture and its flaw, each fragmented piece of glass with its own burden and yet still carrying the burdens that belong to those around it.

    Like — a frail thought invades his mind like needling static — the Spirit. Like the Spirit, with its own burdens, still carrying his burdens on its shoulders and inside of its chest mythological. Burdens and burdens and planets folding into each other, endlessly mirroring, rivers that eventually flow into oceans. There is so much pain between the two of them that pain has become like God in their lives — always present, always something looking down on them in judgement. The pain coiling around their necks. The pain like bands of electricity. The pain wrapping around their bodies like a second skin. The pain.

    Larry looks out of his window. Up here, everything seems so small, in every sense of the word; Paul is down there, somewhere, boiling in the extent of his hatred towards his father, but as Larry watches the clouds and light dance over the planet’s surface, it feels insignificant to the larger world. It seemed like one of the biggest problems he’s ever had to face, another ring on the fingers of strangling hands, when he was back on Earth. Now, above it, looking down at the truth, at the vastness of the planet and of humankind, Larry almost feels—-

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    No. He deserves this pain.

    The Spirit, despite everything, doesn’t.

    “Negative Spirit, release.”

    The Spirit exits his body calmly, turns to him. Up close, it’s almost— it almost looks—

    “Do you ever miss it?” Larry asks. It rests on the floor — so close that he can feel the warmth it radiates — and gazes out of the window, their eyes separated yet focused on the same surroundings, the same symbolism. Space as rebirth.

    In the corner of Larry’s eye, the Spirit nods. Slow. Yes. Sometimes.

    “I guess that makes sense,” Larry says. “I bet you had a family, too. I took you away from everything you knew. I’m sorry. No one deserves that.”

    He watches the Spirit study him, watches its eyes move across his body — a primal assessment, a cautious move—

    And it holds out his hand. Like: it’s okay. I forgive you.

    Larry takes the Spirit’s hand. His eyes are blurring, his mind floats through the universe’s darkness; before he loses consciousness, a thought flickers in his mind like resurrection: abandonment.

    He can abandon this pain.

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    you only live forever in the lights you make

    +|| Jane/Shelley Byron +
    +

    Shelley allows herself to feel intrigued by this one. +

    + Jane enters + + her + + territory & ghosts through + + her + + land & touches everything in the realm besides + + her, + + her lithe fingers remaining at her sides, her lips parting carefully in shock. Her body, Shelley realizes, is being suffocated by its repression. It’s tremendously easy to decipher; the fear manifested the moment Jane entered, transforming itself by weaving its atoms into choking hands, threads of soft pillows pressed over soft faces. There have been many others that have found themselves in this situation, moving within her freely, but Jane is…. + + different + + is not quite applicable here, is it? Of course she is different. Yes, something about Jane casts a shadow over anyone else she has known, her intrigue eclipsing over Jane’s light to absorb every aspect of beauty in her consciousness. Yes, Jane lives a life of devotion to the purest cause. Yes, Jane is standing across from her, gaze pouring blades into Shelley’s soul. +

    + She’s enchanting. That’s the word. +

    + Shelley wants to lurk into her, to crawl inside and eradicate the barrier that bars her desires from flowing through into the body. Shattered glass for a shattered woman. +

    + So she introduces herself. They can start there. +

    + “Oh, my manners,” she says. “Pardon me. I’m Shelley Byron, also known as The Fog.” She smiles, pushes the plate of red velvet cake towards Jane. Imagines, briefly, devouring her similarly. Red and red and red in every way. “You care for a little red velvet? The frosting is seraphic.” +

    + She nods. “You’re with the Sisterhood,” she says. It makes some crevice, some aching wound inside of Shelley repair itself, stitched together in preparation. She’s smart. They both know that Jane is smart, and perceptive, and hidden. +

    + Jane, an art project for Shelley to take on the burden of, something she can mesh and paint into perfect senselessness with slow strokes of brush against canvas, slow strokes of skin brushing against skin, wet painted lines curling into something striking. Jane and some sort of becoming. Jane unburdened from her fears. Shelley can sense it; Jane needs her. +

    + “Beguiling and perceptive,” she says. Her eyes move over Jane’s body, her intentions blatant and sinking. “What a combination. You sure I can’t tempt you with something—” (Shelley pulls her blazer away from her skin) (brief, too brief) ( + + bury yourself here + + ) (teeth forced into flesh in Shelley’s mind within her mind—) “...something sweet?” +

    + Jane moves to sit across from her. “You said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk. I want to join the Sisterhood.” +

    + “Join—” Shelley cannot stifle her laugh. Oh, there are so many endearing things about Jane, her very presence exuding passion. +

    + “Did I stutter?” +

    + “All right, then. Answer me this.” She tilts her head, locks onto Jane’s stare, and drops the bomb: “Who are you, Jane?” +

    + Jane looks at her. Her expression, at first, reads anger and defense, until it bleeds into confusion. Her eyes squint and her lips tighten. She understands the implication, fears it, even if she pretends not to. Back to the defensive: “I’m Jane. You already know that.” +

    + “Yes. You are very, very much Jane, and you’re — + + mmm — + + tantalizing. But that doesn’t answer my question. + + Who + + are you?” +

    + She sighs, the breath exhaling from her body to infect the surroundings. “My God, really? This is what we’re doing?” +

    + “Yes.” +

    + “Fine,” she says, and so beautifully: “I’m the person who’s gonna rip your eyes out if you touch + + one hair + + on that little girl’s head.” +

    + “Oh, amazing,” Shelley says, also an exhale, her words dripped in golden invitation. “But again, that still doesn’t answer my question.” +

    + “Okay, so you go first. Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you and the Sisterhood planning, because I’m guessing you weren’t leaving bread crumbs all across the world just so we can sit here and talk in your weird candyland fuck pad.” +

    + Ah. She is so fascinating. Shelley’s mind drifts for a moment at the last words— +

    + No. Focus. +

    + “You’re here for the eternal flagellation.” +

    + “Sure. What the fuck is it?” +

    + Shelley smiles, all teeth, and she stands. Placing her hands on both of Jane’s shoulders, she leans in close to Jane’s ear, and + + waits. + + She’ll stay here, like this, for hours if she has to. It would be preferable to the interrogation, quite honestly. The expression of intrigue is always preferable to anything else. +

    + But. +

    + Jane’s hand finds hers, their fingers entwining awkwardly. Her skin is warm and damp from sweat; Shelley is affecting her. +

    + “Come,” she whispers. “Let me show you.” +

    + Shelley waves her hand, and Kay fades into mist. Jane pulls back— +

    + “Don’t worry. She’s with the rough one — Hammerhead, I believe. I just want you, and + + only + + you, to see this.” Jane relaxes. “Come, come.” +

    + She drags Jane to a room behind the counter, their hands again together in touch. Shelley studies her before they walk into the darkness; the warmth of her, her newly discovered refusal to meet Shelley’s eyes, the way her other hand curls into the fabric of the bottom of her shirt. +

    + And then she flips on the light to reveal a blank room. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, no furniture. Like a canvas. +

    + “What the fuck?” Jane asks, turning to Shelley. Confused, defensive, but her hand still lingers. “What is this? Some weird ass art thing?” +

    + “Before I tell you about the eternal flagellation,” Shelley says, her hand curling around Jane’s wrist now, “there’s something I want to show you.” +

    + “So show me.” +

    + Jane looks down at Shelley’s grip, and then her eyes climb back slowly to rest against Shelley’s mouth. Hm. +

    + “Think of something in your life that doesn’t make sense.” +

    + “Nothing in my life makes sense.” +

    + “Oh, dear. I imagine that must be quite exasperating.” +

    + “Fine,” Jane says. “I’ll think of something that doesn’t make sense.” +

    + An image of Shelley in a long gown made of inverted horseshoe crabs appears on the wall, the legs of the animals trembling-curling-squirming around, desperate for correction. It’s - it’s a start. Rather impressive, actually. Jane jumps at the sight. +

    + “Oh my, Jane,” she says. “I’m flattered that you think of me as nonsensical, but I’m not really the kind of woman who likes long, flowing gowns, am I?” +

    + “I don’t know, you’re definitely pretentious enough for them.” +

    + Shelley laughs, and moves closer to Jane snake-fast, feels Jane’s breath again, hot exhales against Shelley’s jaw. “No, no,” she says, placing a hand underneath Jane’s chin, guiding her head upwards, “I’d much rather prefer something like this.” +

    + With a wink, an image of Shelley bare, her body covered only by lines of picket fence, appears on the wall in its place. Jane’s eyes flicker over to it, and then back over to Shelley, slow and cautious like entering a wild, vicious animal’s enclosure. +

    + “Embrace your desires, Jane,” Shelley whispers as Jane shifts on her feet. “Let yourself go. Prove to me you can emulate the values of the Sisterhood.” +

    + “Fuck it,” Jane whispers. She brings her face closer to Shelley’s, still at a gradual, fright-drowning pace, until they’re kissing; it starts off slow, Shelley’s hands travelling across Jane’s face, neck, back, hips as if she’s creating her next masterpiece, but it quickly grows hungry, and Shelley knows that Jane never thought she could have something like this, has never allowed herself to imagine anything that was + + just for her. + + Shelley is Jane’s, and Jane is Shelley’s, and they both manifest their belonging as marks on skin. +

    + Shelley isn’t rough as she makes them. Jane doesn’t need to feel the reality of her sharp edges, yet. Not on her first time touching, not during her first enlightenment. Instead she is gentle. Instead she vows to take care of Jane, to strip her into pure bone and rebuild her into someone who can find independence. +

    + She’s so beautiful. +


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    you made me forget myself +

    +|| The Doom Patrol play CAH +
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    + Sometimes, Cliff thinks, you need a break from saving the world. You need a + + break + + from the stress of trying to find your leader. And + + sometimes, + + Cliff thinks, that break is called ‘game night’. Team bonding shit or whatever. +

    + Which would be absolutely fine if Cliff + + hadn’t + + called a team meeting under the false impression that he had important new information about the Whereabouts Of Niles Caulder. He’s going to get so much shit for this. +

    + “What is it?” Vic asks, and he looks prepared, he is + + always + + prepared -- for something to go wrong, for something that can help spark hope, for + + anything, + + and for a moment -- for one small, singular moment -- Cliff almost feels bad, until his guilt melts away and his only crushing guilt now is unrelated to this. Good. Good? Good. +

    + “Probably nothing,” Jane responds. “I mean, come on, you think + + Cliff— + + ” +

    + “Very funny,” Cliff says, false laughter. And then, lightning-fast, in admission: “Well, now that we’re all here, I have an idea.” +

    + “An idea?” calls Larry from what is essentially a hiding spot in the back of the room. “Great.” +

    + Cliff holds the box in the air, waves it around. A black, rectangular box. + + Cards Against Humanity. + +

    + “I don’t understand,” Vic says. “The information is in the box, or…?” +

    + “There is no information, genius,” Jane tells him. She laughs as she reaches up to snatch the box out of his hand. Of course + + she’s + + the only one into it, how fitting. “I just want it to be on the record that I told you so.” +

    + “Then what is it?” +

    + “It’s Cards Against Humanity.” +

    + “I’m sorry?” +

    + “Oh, come on, you’re like, 20, you haven’t heard of this game?” +

    + “I’m 23,” Vic responds, holding one metal hand in the air. “Wait. This was all for a game?” +

    + “Maybe.” +

    + Vic shakes his head. Fuck this. “I’m out of here.” +

    + “Me as well,” Rita informs him, firm, breaking her silence. “Good job, Cliff. Bravo. You got me excited for nothing.” +

    + Larry sarcastically salutes him, and turns to follow them; he’s always running, + + he’s always— + +

    + “Wait, wait. Come on. Don’t you guys think we deserve, I don’t know, a fucking break? Just one fucking day where we get to have some goddamn + + fun + + ?” +

    + This is, somehow, enough to stop their movement. It’s enough to stop Rita’s sulking, and she places a calm hand on Larry’s arm, huffs. He’ll do anything she asks. Rita shrugs — partially, Cliff knows, in anger, and partially in defeat. “How do you play this… Cards Against Humanity?” +

    + — +


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    + “Okay,” Cliff says, when they’re all gathered around the table. They’re + + all + + behaving and listening with intent — this is probably the first time Cliff has seen everyone get along perfectly in… really, has this + + ever + + happened? “So, we all get ten white cards. Jane, can you deal them out?” +

    + “Why can’t you do it?” +

    + “These cards are too fucking small for my---” +

    + “Ugh, fine.” +

    + She deals them out nonchalant, essentially + + flinging + + them in everyone’s direction. Which… okay, not what he meant, but close enough, it works. Everyone has their cards, that’s all that matters, and this cooperation from Jane is magical in and of itself. +

    + “Um, Cliff,” Larry asks, “where exactly did you get this game?” +

    + “I may have bought it off Amazon with Chief’s card.” +

    + “You used the credit card of a man who vanished off the face of the Earth to buy a card game? He could be—” +

    + “He’s fine,” Cliff says, dark, voice low. Then: “He probably wouldn’t have cared if he was here.” +

    + Larry shrugs. No argument. He picks up one of his white cards and reads it, and his body begins to sink in -- repression, Cliff guesses, discomfort. “This is an interesting card.” +

    + “Cliff, good lord,” Rita exclaims. She’s holding a card, her face half-melting. “This says—” +

    + “You’re not supposed to tell people what your cards are, that defeats the whole purpose of the game!” +

    + She shoots him an awful gaze. Her face recoils into normalcy. “If anyone asks, I + + never + + played this. Got it?” +

    + “Sure, whatever. So, now that you’ve drawn your white cards, you need to draw a black card, too.” He draws one, places it in the center of the table. “‘___. That’s how I want to die.’ So, you choose one card from your hand that you think would fit best in the blank.” +

    + “That’s it?” Larry asks. +

    + “That’s it,” Cliff repeats. “I’ll be the judge first, but we’ll go around the table. The person judging closes their eyes — or in my case, covers their eyes — and opens them when everyone has played. Then, they pick which card they like best, and whoever played it wins.” +

    + Everyone stares at him. Blank. Confused. +

    + “Just play a goddamn card already,” Cliff says. He covers his eyes— +

    + … +

    + … +

    + … +

    + … +

    + … +

    + Jesus, playing this game with a bunch of senior citizens and one 23 year old was a bad idea, wasn’t it? +

    + … +

    + This is taking forever. +

    + … +

    + … +


    +
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    + He thinks it’s been + + eight minutes—- + +

    + “We’re, uh, we’re good.” Vic’s voice, shaken. “Open them.” +

    + He stares at the four cards in front of him. Nods. “Okay,” he says. “This is good.” +

    + “They’re awful,” Larry sighs. “They’re—” +

    + “I don’t know,” Vic interrupts. “I think mine was pretty good.” +

    + “Yeah, probably because you actually know what you’re doing. It’s been about four decades since I’ve played a game like this.” +

    + “Haven’t you been here for six?” Vic asks. +

    + “Yeah, don’t ask.” +

    + “Fair.” Vic turns to Cliff. “So?” +

    + “Let’s see… first card, ‘Sex with Patrick Stewart.’ Well, that’d be a fun way to die. Hell, I’d be just fine with going out like that.” Silence. Stares from everyone. Rita raises an eyebrow in judgement. “I can’t be the only one… nevermind. Second card, ‘becoming a blueberry.’ Wasn’t that from a movie? Uh… third one. ‘A lifetime of sadness.’ Jeez. And finally…” Before Cliff can get the words out, he bursts out into laughter, which quickly infects the entire room as they all let down their repression enough to glance at the remaining card: +

    + + Daniel Radcliffe’s delicious asshole. + +

    + “This one wins.” +

    + Jane pumps her fist into the air. “Hell yes.” +

    + “Really?” Vic asks. “Sex with Patrick Stewart wasn’t enough for you?” +

    + “Sex with Patrick Stewart would definitely be enough for me, but Jane wins. Sorry, man.” +

    + Vic blinks. “Okay, too much information. Who’s judge next?” +

    + “I will.” Larry, who sounds like he actually might be + + enjoying himself. + + What? “Maybe that’ll save me from the humiliation of having to play a card.” +

    + “See?” Cliff asks. “You guys like this. I knew you would. Isn’t this great? Just us, being friends? I mean, fuck—” +

    + “It’s + + alright, + + ” Rita tells him. Her tone is indecipherable, but there’s a threat of a smile on her face. “Just alright.” +


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    +|| Introspection. +
    + i. +

    + Larry, in the first draft of his malleable, deformed existence that burned up against the shadowed side of this gruesome world, had thought the mist of the azure cloud that nested above the planet was + + beautiful. + + He also thought that it was like him, in a way that he could never process or accept; unnatural, divergent, unearthly. +

    + Different. +

    + He was right. In a way. The Negative Spirit does not align to human morality, and Larry does not align to the morality of the times. The Negative Spirit is alien, watching humanity from the outside — the inside of Larry’s body, which is the outside of the world, outer space curling up into itself. He does not parse what it parses, if it understands things in the way he does. Larry is also alien, the ultimate truth buried deep within. He watches the world boil up its love and chew on the bones of it until the bones are bones themselves & he watches the world spit his love out undesirable. Unfixable. +

    + Maybe the Spirit can fix him. +

    + Maybe the Spirit will kill him. +

    + He does not think much of it, at first. Thinks of invasion only, of the unwanted nature of reality’s fruit tree harvest---he never + + wanted + + this, he wanted to be alone yet accompanied but + + not + +

    + + like + +

    + + this. + +

    + Larry thinks of the Spirit as punishment for a sin eternally committed. A grime that he cannot wash away, a skin unable to be shed & buried, something inherent in the coding of Larry Trainor. At least, if the Spirit ends up killing him, he will finally be free from his affliction. Paying for it. Burning again, over and over again, tortured by flame laps & too much of a different kind of warmth; smothering. Suffering. But free. +

    + ii. +

    + He thinks back to the Ant Farm. He tries not to think back to the Ant Farm, but: the Spirit -- the Negative Spirit + + killed + + for him. To protect. To + + save him. + + To reach into the sharpened jawteeth of Hell, place hands upon him, and pull him away, out of torment. +

    + It didn’t work, of course, but by that point it knew Forsythe’s insanity. It had to have been aware that Forsythe would turn his anger towards + + it, + + a being completely inhuman and alien. A stray. It knew, and revealed itself anyway. +

    + To protect him. +

    + Larry does not deserve this kind of mercy. +

    + iii. +

    + Larry places a hand over his own chest, trying to feel the Spirit’s warmth — it is the first night in his new home with Rita, he is sleeping on the couch, and nothing is comfortable. If he can reach onto + + something — + + anything — it should be the Spirit. The one being that he will always have, the one soul that will + + always + + be there for him. Not out of obligation, but dedication. The Spirit, his true and ultimate companion. +

    + “I don’t know how to make it stop hurting,” he admits. “I trusted the Chief. I had faith in him. But it… it was all a lie, and it just… I feel like an idiot.” +

    + A cloud manifests between his ribs. He keeps the Spirit there, caged. He keeps the Spirit in every organ system orchestrating harmony. It lies there — in the chest, waiting, hands around the bars of rib. Willingly imprisoned. +

    + The Spirit pities him. He knows this, somehow. +

    + “Well,” he whispers, and something inside of him sparks like the Spirit’s enchanting electrical movement. Something in his mind unlocks, finishes the puzzle. A clear, perfect picture. An intrinsic knowledge uncovered. “I have you, at least.” He pauses, exhales. Sighs, cold air, always cold. “At one point I would’ve considered that a curse. Now… now I don’t know.” +

      +
      2. +

    + Larry bares his soul like teeth to the Spirit, and banishes it. + + Let me die. I am so sorry for the things I have done to you, and the things I want to do to you, and every moment of torture that I inflicted. I escaped and you didn’t. It is your time to know freedom. + +

    + It floats away. Larry is starting to believe that he will not go to Hell. He may not know Heaven, but he does not deserve eternal torment. +

    + The blood in his throat swirls. He is ready for this. It should’ve happened so long ago— +

    + + A familiar blue glow moving into the manor. + + The Spirit comes back for him, it will always come back to him, it will always remain steady within him. Again, he thinks, dedication. He could almost love it, if it wasn’t saving him from himself once more. He wanted to die. He wanted the release. +

    + Why won’t it just let him fucking + + die? + +

    + It should. Larry has done nothing but cause it pain, his self hatred smothering both of them. It has no reason to want him to live. It should not prioritize him. +

    + It returns to him anyway. It reveals itself to torture anyway. It saves him anyway. +

    + Larry— +

    + v. +

    + They walk into the painting for Niles Caulder, and he trusts the Negative Spirit with the same reserved faith, holds the hand of the knowledge that the Spirit will always save him. The Negative Spirit is + + his, + + and he is theirs. +

    + “You’re going to find us a way out of here,” he whispers, like religion. “I know you are.” +

    + vi. +

    + His friends are one inch tall now. The stress is suffocating, the stress like smoke filling his lungs like two parallel rooms of flame. This, too, burns. +

    + It’s their first night on Cliff’s racetrack. When everyone is asleep, he retreats to his bedroom. Safety. Peace. +

    + He climbs into his bed, cocoons himself in blanket. Allows himself to drift into the cycle of sleep— +

    + and wakes up in another world. In this world there is a hotel room again, but in a different way. + + Different. + + It’s a honeymoon suite, pink and red, the color of innards. This isn’t real. It’s real. This can’t— +

    + The Spirit taps him on the shoulder from behind. He jumps -- turns to face it -- jumps. It’s no longer floating, instead resting on the floor, instead so human. +

    + It approaches him, slow, cautious -- as if he is a wounded animal, frightened, and he is a wounded animal, he has been blazed and cut open but + + he + +

    + + is + +

    + + healing. + +

    + The Negative Spirit places its hands on Larry’s face, and presses its forehead to his. Larry lets out a sigh — a release, perhaps + + finally, + + perhaps there is some joy buried in this, or prominent in this, sides sticking out to be perceived. +

    + It is calming. +

    + The Spirit is calming. +

    + He closes his eyes, and embraces the moment. This is harmonious, this is a craved closeness. They are always close, in divergent ways. Sharing a body is nothing like this kind of closeness, this intimacy, and simultaneously similar, both concepts involving a lack of distance, both concepts holding tenderness. +

    + This is destiny. +


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    A Gentle Mind

    +|| Relationship: Jane/Underground. Written for 3 sentence ficathon on DW: "any, let us help". +
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    + This is her body too, she’s + + allowed + + this; she deserves to feel good; this is a community, a life, a support system that a mind constructed to build itself back up again after its extinction event, its cataclysmic demolishing; this is her body + + too. + + She’s the phoenix of it all, the rebirth of the pain into a container filled with love. She’s never loved herself, but she loves them—even the difficult ones—they all exist for a purpose. It took her too long to get here. +

     

    + Lithe fingers unbutton dark denim, doing curious strokes down her stomach and circling over her hips—it feels like an alien touch, an alien control, an embraced foreign influence. In her mind: + + let us help. You’re right. + + It is Hammerhead’s voice—it is Silvertongue’s voice, Pretty Polly, Driver 8, Driller Bill—-almost everyone at once, her mind a cloud of thick smoke like intoxicating laughing gas, turning her mind to soft mush at the touch of her alters. +

     

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    whispers around the trees (give me your hand) +

    +|| Inspired by Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree. +
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    Once, there was a parasite.

    Of course, it wasn’t truly a parasite. The parasite was only a parasite when it looked in a mirror, when it viewed itself through its own eyes and stopped crackling in its reflection. The parasite was only a parasite in the in-between, in the pit-depths of its own internal land, where the Earthly trees had shriveled up, their leaves ashen, their souls gone. The parasite, in truth, was an alien, human-shaped proof that humanity’s infatuation with the skies above would give back in abundance eventually. There are others out there, of course there are others out there.

    But this alien was alone. It was cut off from its home, like sawing down trees in beautiful rainforests to expand human corruption. It was amputated away. This alien was alone and alone and alone. It lived inside of a human man, but it was still eternally alone. Sad, isn’t it? Pitiful. This alien had nothing to give, even in its beginning. No one in this story had anything to give except themselves.

    Once, there was an alien. This alien cared for the man it lived inside of—you might even call it love, if this alien was human. The love part comes after the caring, but it doesn’t matter; once there was an alien and once there was a man and once there was a one-way mirror with the rest of the world peering in.

    Every day the man would approach it and ask it to leave. He gathered its energy, its electric presence, and attempted to string it into a hide of itself, into animal flesh that could be worn around his own shoulders if he got cold. Every day the man would place his hand over his own chest, drum his fingers in rhythm over the alien’s cage-home-nest, and ask it: why. Why are you here? Why are we stuck together? The man took its electric cage and used it defensively, to keep him and his friends safe, despite his lack of belief.

    And when he was tired, he would sleep in the alien’s light, and when he was unable to sleep, he would talk to the light, and the light, after everything, would still glow and glow. But the man did not care for the alien, and he certainly did not love it.

    The alien felt tortured.

    Time went by.

    The alien grew very, very tired.

    Decades went by.

    The alien carried the man through life. The alien released the prayer of torture from its breath; the alien played its pleas for the man on a television screen.

    The man began to understand. And time still passed.

    One day the man approached the alien.

    “Come here, and bathe in my light,” the alien did not say, because it had been robbed of its own voice in this dimension. Come here and bathe in my light, the alien thought to itself, to the man, to the surrounding air.

    “We are in too much trouble,” the man said. “We are being tortured. Can you help us?”

    I’m sorry, thought the alien. I’m only familiar with torture.

    “Can you get us out of this dimension?” the man asked. “Mr. Nobody has trapped the town here.”

    I have only my ability to travel, the alien whispered, futile, futile. I am your deus ex. Take my hand and I will unravel this dimension and return Cloverton into being.

    And the man walked away from the flames, and wrote himself an increasingly futile future.

    The alien still felt tortured.

    One day the man put his hand over his chest as he watched his friend fall into herself. He did not know what to do, he did not know how to help, he did not understand the specific pain that she endured. He did not have to ask the alien; the alien shook with its own fear, and formed a bridge between two worlds, two minds, two buildings that were both decaying despite preservation.

    The alien suffered as it touched her mind, but it was a heroic gesture. The man dreamed and dreamed. The alien took the man and brought him to his own source of happiness: the one he truly loved, long ago.

    And the alien waded through two tortures.

    The next day the man woke up, and suffered himself. “I want to go back there,” he said. “I want to go back to John. I loved him. Can you take me back to the motel?”

    I cannot take you back to the motel, thought the alien, but I can take you back to John, and then you will be happy, and you will move on.

    The alien brought the man it loved to the man he loved, and the man moved on, and they were happy.

    Happiness, here, does not last very long, does it?

    One day the alien tried to give again. The man’s son had died at his own hands. The alien reasoned with itself: I can give you this catharsis. You don’t have to worry about this, either. You can move on.

    “I am too sad to move on,” said the man. “I don’t understand why you did this to me. I want my family to love me again. Can you help them love me again?”

    I cannot make miracles come true, thought the alien, but I will carry you to your family, and they will love you again. And if they do not, I will carry you back to safety.

    One day the man loved the alien, but the alien was not happy. The alien was very, very tired, and it knew that it could not keep the man happy in an eternal state. It did not belong with him, and he deserved better. The alien was very, very tired, and did not wait for the man to ask.

    “I will go with you,” the man said. “I will go home with you, and we will live together forever.”

    I have nothing left to give, thought the alien, I wish that I could give you something, but I am no longer myself.

    I will give you a family, thought the alien, and then you will be happy.

    The man touched the alien in its new, true form - a reflection of the man, a monument dedicated to all that they have endured together - and for one holy, ephemeral moment, they were both happy.


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    and what if it all goes to hell? (at least you won't be by yourself) +

    +|| Fluff. +
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    “Are you both insane?” Cliff asks. She’s really lost her mind, this time; she’s pushing him into a goddamn Destination XL, because of course, because apparently punk band shirts are not appropriate for a wedding, not even a gay one, and also because this is how his life always fucking goes. The point: “I don’t have money to buy a fucking suit!”

    Larry holds the door open. He gestures to Jane. “Who said anything about buying? We’ve got Flit, remember?”

    He expects Jane to go into one of her long, spiraling rambles about how the Underground is not a shuttle, but instead she just nods -- again, this is his life, apparently he’s doing this whether he likes it or not.

    “What, you’re just okay with this, Jane? Using Flit like that?”

    “Flit agrees with us.”

    “God fucking damn it.” He lowers his voice, whispers to Larry: “You’re really advocating for stealing, Larry?”

    Honestly, Cliff doesn’t even care. He just wants to make a point.

    “Not stealing. Just borrowing. Flit said she’ll take it back.”

    “And what, you believed that?”

    Larry stops for a moment. Looks down. He hadn’t considered that, and fuck, Cliff is probably right, but, well. They’re already here. So. Cliff is going to try on these suits and look presentable.

    No one even stares, when they walk in. The other men in the store act as if it’s perfectly normal to see a man wrapped entirely in bandages and a literal robot walk into a frankly hideously expensive clothing store. Cliff looks at a random price tag — this basic t-shirt is twenty seven fucking dollars. Who pays $27 for a fucking plain black shirt? Everything about this situation is bad.

    He watches as Larry glances around the store, studying each item of clothing… he knows this feeling, too, understands this particular longing for change. He cannot see Larry’s face, but he knows the expression he’s making underneath the bandages; Larry’s been wearing the same clothes for sixty years. It’s normal to want some variety, after that.

    He leans in closer to Larry. Places a hand on his shoulder — it startles him. “Why don’t you pick something out, too, if we’re really gonna do this? There might be something here that’ll fit you.”

    He expects Larry to curl back into himself, to completely reject the idea. For a moment, he looks like he almost might give into that loathing again — to the fear that kept him from being himself for so long. Cliff can’t even imagine what living in that way was like; horrible, terrifying, brutal. But there’s a flicker in his chest, a reminder, and Larry nods slowly.

    “Yeah, I guess I could.”

    He reached out and paws at a brightly colored paisley shirt. Cliff wishes that he could smile. Jane smiles. Everyone feels some sort of serenity, in this moment — there’s nothing evil here, there are no monsters or antagonists. Just Cliff, his friends — his family — and joy.

    They deserve it.

    He feels a tug on his sleeve. “Hey,” Jane says, “what about this?”

    She’s pointing to a dark purple velvet suit jacket. It’s not something he would ever have worn before the accident, but now… it actually looks appealing. It’s funny how becoming a robot changes you.

    “That’s nice,” Larry says.

    “Yeah, okay, that could work,” Cliff agrees. He touches the velvet, imagines feeling the texture again. “Does it come in robot size, though?”

    Jane searches through the rack, picks out the biggest size she can find. “Let’s try a 5X. There’s a mirror over there.”

    Larry helps Cliff maneuver the suit over his robotic body, comments in his own sarcastic Larry way that he’s not helping with the pants, and Cliff feels —- this is respite. This is a break. He wants to savor this.

    He looks -- good in this. Like, really good. He’d kiss himself if he could, that’s how good he looks, and it’s been so long since he’s felt this comfortable with his appearance. They should steal more often.

    “I like it. You did a good job, Jane.”

    “I know.”

    “Thank you. Both of you.”

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    feel your heart beating under my skin

    +|| Jane/Hammerhead. Explicit NSFW. +
    + Don’t be scared, + + Hammerhead whispers to her, so close to the front, her rough voice now melting honey-smooth in Jane’s mind as Hammerhead moves their fingers down their inner thighs. + + You idiot. Just trust me. I know what I’m doing. + +

    + “No, you don’t,” Jane replies. “You’ve never done this before.” +

    + + I haven’t, + + Hammerhead admits. Jane moves their hand up underneath a dark shirt, cups their breast with their left hand, thumbs over her nipple, gives a beautiful soft little gasp that sends them both shivering down frozen. + + But I’ve thought about it. + +

    + “You asshole,” Jane breathes. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” +

    + + It’s true, dipshit. My main purpose is to protect the girl. My secondary purpose is to protect all of us. And I… enjoy protecting you. + +

    + Jane laughs a little bit, chews on her next words, which Hammerhead inexplicably cannot sense from within. There’s that gnawing sensation, a growing hollowness, and a nothingness, but the two don’t entwine. The lips of their body quiver. +

    + “I don’t know what to do,” Jane admits. “I don’t know if I’m… allowed. To have this.” +

    + + It’s your body too. Relax. + +

    + Jane sighs, and the shoulders of their body loosen from their tense position as she relaxes into the bed. Hammerhead takes control of their right hand, trails a hand down their stomach at a pace that truly, truly aches. Jane wants it, shouldn’t want it, wants it. She’s glad that it’s with Hammerhead—her first time doing this. Their fingers are warm as Hammerhead parts the legs of their body and rubs their middle finger over their clit, then their ring finger, moving in blissful holy circles that they both cannot bear for very long. +

    + “Holy + + shit, + + ” Jane whispers, their hips bucking up to increase the pleasure. “Can you feel it too?” +

    + And Hammerhead can feel it too. She increases the pace of her movements as a response, causing their legs to tremble underneath them, vibrating like a plucked musical string over their mattress. + + Yeah, + + Hammerhead replies. + + You feel so good. + +

    + “Fuck,” Jane breathes out through a shared mouth. She doesn’t tap into Hammerhead’s thoughts, thankfully, because in Hammerhead’s thoughts there is a gallery show on display for all to see of every moment Hammerhead has imagined touching Jane, has imagined Jane touching her, has buried herself in a secret corner of the Underground just to daydream. Their relationship is turbulent, but there’s always respect buried underneath this ground, there’s always the reanimated corpses of sick devotion lurking inside them all. +

    + Jane’s mind, on the other hand, is molten gold, liquifying underneath Hammerhead’s touch. She’s allowing herself respite, Hammerhead knows, and Hammerhead basks in the knowledge that she is the cause of it, allows the rays of Jane to envelop her. +

    + They all deserve a break, they all deserve bliss. Hammerhead will be the tough messenger, the benevolent harbinger, if that’s what it takes. Jane’s left hand moves to cover their mouth, to suck on two fingers, and Hammerhead engrosses herself in the wetness of it all. She hopes that Jane will be able to face her when this is all over, but for now: bliss. +

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    The NSLarry Manifesto

    +|| Relationship: Larry Trainor/Larry Trainor's Negative Spirit // Ship Manifesto +
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    + The Background +

    + + Larry Trainor + +

    + Larry Trainor was born in the late 1920s. He always knew there was something different about him, and so did everyone else—there were whispers all around about how Larry liked boys, how he was going to ruin his parents’ reputation at the church. He married Sheryl Trainor and had two children with her, joining the air force and becoming a test pilot for their missions. Sometime in the 1960s, he met John Bowers, a mechanic who he would later fall in love with. +

    + Before his mission on the X-15 that would take him into the Earth’s atmosphere, John had asked him to make a choice—him or the lie of heterosexuality he’d been living. Larry blew up at him, and left for the skies. Every time Larry went up in an airplane, he was running from himself, trying to escape the suffocation of the ground below. Every time he landed back on the surface his heart would fragment even further. He loved John and John loved him but ultimately he was always too afraid. +

    + The day of the X-15 flight, Larry’s mission was successful. He left the atmosphere… and immediately merged with an energy rift that had appeared there, which sucked an alien life form known as the Negative Spirit out of their dimension and into Larry’s body, where the Spirit would live for the next sixty years. He passed out, the plane fell back to Earth onto a field and exploded—but Larry walked out, alive, his body burned to something unrecognizable. +

    + + The Negative Spirit + +

    + The Negative Spirit is an alien from a dimension known in the comics as the Negative Space, or, in the show, the Negative Nebula. Not much is known about its history, other than the fact that it missed home deeply and never wanted to be inside of Larry either. The Negative Spirit, or TNS as I will refer to it in this document, has the ability to fly, possess electrical things, make portals between dimensions, electrocute people, and of course, to sustain the life of its host indefinitely. It can leave his body, but (for the first season) when it does, he passes out. With TNS inside of him, Larry is immortal and doesn’t need to eat or drink. The presence of TNS makes Larry lethally radioactive, so he wears special bandages over his body all the time to contain the radiation—a radiation that would’ve been possible to contain without bandages if he bonded enough with the Negative Spirit possessing him, as we see later in Space Patrol. +

    + The Negative Spirit’s relationship with Larry is difficult at best, at least initially. It is not entirely antagonistic, as we see in 1996 (Portal Patrol), but they both resent one another for ruining each other’s lives. Larry’s life had been ruined by his own actions long ago, but he was never able to acknowledge that, placing the blame on TNS, who Did Not Ask for any of this really. +

    + TNS is merged with Larry entirely, so it can see his memories, past, and thoughts. There is nothing he can hide from it. Larry is incredibly depressed and repressed and all of the “-pressed”s, so being forced to experience his mind at all times is deeply torturous to TNS, especially since Negative Spirits (also their kind’s name) are implied to be more sensitive to emotion (Paw Patrol, when Niles speaks to Larry in the bus). +

    + The ANT Farm Era +

    + After being taken in to heal from his wounds, Larry is forcibly transferred to a prison for metahumans called the ANT Farm, run by a secret faction of the government intended to “contain and eradicate oddities” called the Bureau of Normalcy. He does not know at this point that he had merged with TNS. +

    + One of the agents, Charles Forsythe, begins to torture Larry with electricity if he talks back or does not comply. They do a series of tests on his durability—with TNS he can survive deep cold and oven heat, he can take intense amounts of pain, he is immortal. He is also again lethally radioactive, so either he or the agents are in safety suits whenever they interact. Forsythe taunts him for his sexuality and for not being “normal” even before the accident. They want to use his radioactivity as a weapon. +

    + One day after a particularly bad day of torture, TNS leaves Larry’s body for the first time and kills the agents torturing Larry. This shifts Forsythe’s focus from torturing Larry onto torturing the Negative Spirit, and Larry is fine with this. “If they’re torturing it they’re not torturing me.” When TNS refuses to surface, Forsythe nearly shoots Larry, and when TNS surfaces, he immediately begins playing loud sound on a torturous frequency that would become near-lethal to TNS. Just before it kills TNS, Forsythe shuts off the sound. Larry goes back to his cell. +

    + Once back in his cell, Larry meets Flex Mentallo, his neighbor. Flex has the ability to do magical things by flexing his muscles, and he opens the wall between his cell and Larry’s cell so they can discuss an escape plan. When Larry refuses to try to escape, maybe even believing he deserves the torture, TNS leaves his body and asks Flex if he can take it home. He says yes, but TNS says Larry has to leave with them too. Before they can start their plan, Forsythe goes to Flex’s cell and says he’ll burn Flex’s wife alive if he tries to escape, thus ending all hope of escape for NSLarry… +

    + until years later, when: +

    + Pre-canon Doom Manor Era +

    + Niles, secretly working with the Bureau, comes to transfer Larry to his home in Cloverton, Ohio, where he lives with famous actress Rita Farr, also an immortal metahuman. They bond, and Rita’s movies make Larry feel less alone as a gay man. Niles gives Larry special bandages to contain his radiation, goggles, and a more normal outfit to wear, so he doesn’t have to wear a giant safety suit all the time. When he comes out, he looks like the Invisible Man. +

    + For many years he is at war with the Spirit within him. In 1996, the Negative Spirit of that time gets a visit from a dying future Larry. Though their relationship has only been torturous and resentful at this point, TNS possessing 1996!Larry greets future Larry fondly by helping bandage him up and stop his bleeding. It holds Larry by the shoulders… +

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    + …and comforts him. While it is unable to provide the help that Future!Larry needs, it states “You are stronger than + + my + + Larry, but… still so much fear.” +

    + Season 1 & Season 2 +

    + Their canon storyline begins when Niles leaves to go on one of his missions in 2019. Jane, their housemate, tells Larry, Rita, and Cliff (who moved to the manor in 1996) that they should go into Cloverton to do things. They do not usually go into town ever and prefer to remain isolated, but ultimately they all agree. Larry goes to a bar but gets nervous when he thinks people are staring at him/clocking him, and also Rita, Cliff and Jane are causing problems in the town due to their uncontrollable powers, so TNS Leaves Larry’s body. +

    + Over the course of season 1, the Negative Spirit and Larry have a complicated relationship. At first it is highly detrimental, with the Spirit describing Larry as torturous and Larry constantly yelling at and resenting its presence. He believes that the Spirit resents him too - and it does, but that is not the only emotion it experiences for him. It is also probably not the only emotion Larry experiences for it at first, either, because even through eleven episodes of the Spirit crashing Larry’s bus, putting him on ceiling beams, and generally being at odds with him, Larry still calls it “pal”, falls asleep with his hand over his chest (where the Spirit glows to indicate its presence within his body), and takes it with him fondly, saying “you’re coming with me, pal” after a visit to the ANT Farm separates their consciousnesses enough for Larry to be awake when it leaves his body. The Spirit overall just wants Larry to heal - this becomes clear to me when the Spirit pushes him to go and find his former lover, John, who is still alive. +

    + Over s1, TNS had been connecting Larry’s mind to John’s while Larry is unconscious - though Larry does not find this out until episode 11, when he discovers John is on his deathbed. The Spirit tells Larry where to find John by arranging sticky notes in the form of words on his wall, and Larry goes to him. They catch up, talk about their love and their lives after separating. John moved on - Larry didn’t. +

    + John asks him if there’s anyone special in his life; Larry says no. John says “So you really haven’t fucked anyone since JFK [was in office]?” and Larry laughs, then immediately after says: “Now that I think of it, there is a relationship I want to tell you about. It's not a traditional relationship, per se, but… There's something inside me. I wouldn't say we're friends. But… there's definitely a connection there. For years, I didn't know what it was, or what it wanted. But now, I think I might.” After this, John falls asleep (or dies; it is left ambiguous), and Larry walks away with the Spirit glowing in his chest, thanking it. +

    + A side note: I don’t consider this canon as it wasn’t in the final cut, but a while ago someone sold a draft script of Frances Patrol (this episode) on Ebay, and I bought it. It contains the following, which didn’t end up airing: +

    + +

    + I just think this is so beautiful…. The Spirit isn’t his heart entirely - their relationship is too complicated for that. But the Spirit + + is + + his soul. +

    + When Larry finds out that Flex and The Spirit were going to escape together but couldn’t, Larry, realizing he will die without the Spirit, offers to let the Spirit return home even though he’ll die as a result. The Spirit goes to leave but ultimately cannot bring itself to leave Larry to die, returning to his body. +

    + At the end of season 1, Larry and the Spirit work together to find a way out of a pocket dimension the villain trapped them in. He says, fondly, with his hand over his chest, “You’re going to find a way to get us out of here. I know you are.” +

    + Season 2 of Doom Patrol deals heavily with themes of parenthood. Larry had been a father before gaining the Spirit, and the Spirit pushes him to reconnect with his family by connecting his mind to his son’s just before his son commits suicide. He goes to his son’s funeral and runs into his other son, who greets him and takes him to the rest of his family… only to secretly have called the Bureau on him to take him back. The Spirit, not having predicted this, flew Larry and Rita far away from the danger, and back home. This causes another strain on their relationship. +

    + Season 3 & Season 4 +

    + In Doom Patrol season 3, the Spirit asks Larry to go home with it, back to their dimension of the Negative Nebula. Larry at first does not agree, believing that he needs to be there for his friends. But his friends want him to be happy. So Larry agrees - and he’s ready, he’s fully ready to go to another dimension alone with the Negative Spirit - and remember, he’s immortal, so they would be there + + together. Forever. Until the end of time. + + He’s wanting a new start, and this would be his new start. HE WANTED A LIFE WITH THEM. +

    + But the Spirit left. I always have a hard time with this plot in an outside-of-canon sense, because I’ve been watching DP since day 1 and I really honestly and truly thought they’d develop this relationship more. But anyway, the Spirit flies Larry into space using his body. They eventually end up at the entrance of the Negative Nebula. Larry says, “Is that what I think it is? Is that your home, pal? You wanna show me your home?” +

    + As the nebula reaches out and pulls Larry in, he gives a very sexual moan. +

    + And when he’s in the Negative Nebula, he sees the Spirit, tangible for the very first time, in front of him. It is wearing his body — his scarred body, representative of all the impact that the Spirit has had on him, scars and pain and roughness and resentment. The Spirit walks up to him and he walks up to it. They meet. He is speechless, taken aback by their presence—and, when faced with this ultimate representation of his own monstrousness, the thing he once thought ruined his life, he can only reach out and touch its face in awe. He strokes its face—fully thinking, at this moment, that they were still going to spend eternity together in the Negative Dimension, fully prepared for that when he touches it. The Spirit sinks into his touch, a blank expression, as if it doesn’t + + want + + to leave. It reaches out its hand to Larry, who is frozen, as it disappears. Larry only reaches back out after it fully disappears. +

    + A while later, Larry finds out he is pregnant — with a baby Negative Spirit. No, I’m not joking. +

    + When Larry goes back in time to Doom Manor in 1996, though, he tells the past!TNS that eventually they go home and leave him with a second chance at fatherhood, and how happy it makes him—I think this is why they left, because they couldn’t deprive him of that happiness. In season 2, when their departure is foreshadowed, they are told by an episodic villain “Your biggest mistake is thinking you can stay.” They reached out for him, sank into his touch - they didn’t want to do this to him, but they knew it would happen anyway and they wanted him to be happy. +

    + More Personal Thoughts +

    + I am deeply in love with the Negative Spirit on a personal level, and part of why I love it so much is that despite the roughness and rockiness of their relationship, the Spirit still sees the good in Larry. The Spirit is in a weird place of being both emotionally immature and emotionally… not + + mature, + + but maybe emotionally + + wise. + + It is extremely in tune with Larry’s emotions — and the emotions of others, as we see when they emerge to help Cliff and Jane, but mostly Larry’s — and I really do think it understands that Larry is only hurting, he does not + + mean + + to torture it. This is why the Spirit wants to help Larry even throughout the torture and hatred—it wants Larry to heal, wants to develop harmony with him. It sees all of his pain and it sees what he has been through and it knows he didn’t deserve any of it—-that’s why it says Larry has to come with him when Flex offers to escape the ANT Farm, even though the Spirit could leave without him (I do not think it knew that Larry would die in separation at this point). It has good intentions for him, it just…. well, if you were someone who already experienced extremely heightened emotions, then were forced to live in the mind of someone with severe depression whose favorite activity is self-torture, wouldn’t + + you + + act out in frustration sometimes? +

    + Some moments I really like: +

      +
    • When Larry falls asleep after writing to the Spirit on the sticky note, he is bare and unbandaged. When he wakes up on the ceiling beam in the morning, he is fully dressed and bandaged. Did the Spirit bandage him? Definitely just an error but from an in-canon perspective VERY fascinating.
      • +
    • When Larry calls the Spirit their child’s other father
      • +
    • When Larry tells Keeg (their son) that they used to communicate through sticky notes, even though in canon we only see this happen in a reciprocated sense once, meaning there were definitely other times off-screen this happened
      • +
    • And, oh, yeah, when Larry sheds a tear after seeing the Spirit/the Spirit leaves.
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    the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes +

    +|| 1X14 Time Loop. +
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    + +

    + This isn’t real. They know that this is not real, they know that the passage of time is not this cruel — + + this isn’t real, + + they did not escape + + this + + easily. Men like Eric Morden are not defeated with ease. In many cases, they are never defeated, only dealt with — +

    + +

    + yet The Spirit watches Larry’s happiness and growth in the year of hallucination, and this is not a narrative that they exist in, this is not a narrative that has been crafted to fit their energy nor their love. This narrative that Mr. Nobody has created — this year of false prophecies and progression of yearning — is not one that they are allowed to experience. +

    + +

    + Larry is nicer to them here. +

    + +

    + They were making progress, even before, but Larry is kind to them here. This universe pocketed away from reality houses a Larry Trainor that understands them — this is the most painful aspect, this is the cause of every wound inside of The Spirit’s soul. +

    + +

    + Larry will not remember most of this year when Mr. Nobody is done playing with him. The Spirit, however, will. The Spirit remembers everything — + + everything + + that has ever shadowed Larry, and everything that has fallen into the shadows of Larry’s past or mind or body. +

    + +

    + They defeat Mr. Nobody. They go back to the manor. They form a + + real, proper + + superhero team. +

    + +

    + And Larry is kind to them. He says: +

    + +

    + “I want you to help me,” he says, or maybe it’s: +

    + +

    + “I want your help, we can be so + + helpful, + + ” he (does not) says (say this, doesn’t say this, could never say this—), or maybe it’s: +

    + +

    + “I want to make the world a better place,” he says, or maybe it’s: +

    + +

    + “I want to make the world pay for what happened to me, and I’m going to start with the Bureau,” he says — this is all in the fantasies of The Spirit, or maybe it’s: +

    + +

    + “I need you,” he says, but doesn’t. “I care about you,” he says, but doesn’t. All of this is true in this fantasy — + + all + + of this is true in this unmoving year, and reality cannot catch up. +

    + +

    + They know what Mr. Nobody is doing. They just aren’t allowed to stop it; that goes against the story. +

    + +

    + Out loud it’s more like this: +

    + +

    + “Niles wants us to be real superheroes now,” Larry says. He’s in his bedroom, his back pressed against his bed, open position to the world as opposed to being curled up and hidden away fetal. He places a hand over his chest; The Spirit does not glow, this is merely out of instinct, this is merely an act of desperation. “I don’t know if I can do that.” +

    + +

    + The Spirit, now, allows their energy to manifest in his chest. Open, again. An act of love on their part. + + Yes. Yes, you can. + +

    + +

    + “You believe in me too much,” Larry says — it’s almost laughter, + + almost + + admiration but not quite, never reaching. “I don’t know. Do you want to be a superhero? You’d be better at it than me, probably. I can’t do much besides release you.” +

    + +

    + + And isn’t that enough? To know that I will always be here to protect you? The knowledge that I am good, and that you are my sole motivation towards virtue? + +

    + +

    + “I know,” he says, and underneath his bandages The Spirit feels his lips curl up into a grin — + + oh + + it + + weakens + + them. “I shouldn’t put myself down. I’m sure there’s something I’m good at besides fucking up everything I love, I just haven’t found it yet.” +

    + +

    + In this dream, in the caked-on falseness of this, The Spirit wants to save him. In reality, The Spirit wants to save him. Reality is different. It might be easier here. +

    + +

    + It is within him. For now, this is his purpose. +

    + +

    + “What the hell,” he says. “Let’s be a team.” +

    + +

    + The Spirit wishes — + + yearns, craves, desires it all — + + that he meant the two of them. He does not mean the two of them; he means his friends, he means Niles Caulder, he means everything that is not The Spirit. +

    + +

    + But The Spirit can pretend. +

    + +

    + — +

    + +

    + Niles acts as if he is the leader, and makes Vic search for crimes in the area. Their first mission finds them investigating an armed robbery of the Cloverton bank. + + You have to start small, + + Niles says, through a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes and coffee. + + You can do this. I believe in all of you. + +

    + +

    + One glance at The Spirit sends the robbers running, screaming, + + terrified + + into the street, where they’re slammed into by a police car. This is good — they’ve done good. Maybe now Larry will—- +


    +
    +

    + “Good job, buddy,” he says when they return to their rightful, true home: his body. “Looks like this was a success.” +

    + +

    + The Spirit soars. +

    + +

    + —- +

    + +

    + Rita sews uniforms for all of them, over the course of a few months. She finishes Larry’s first; white and red, underneath his jacket, and when he tries it on he is beautiful, + + knows + + that he is beautiful, almost. Looks at himself in the mirror in several different angles. It’s been so long since he’s worn anything new. If only this was— +

    + +

    + “I… actually don’t look ridiculous,” he says. “It’s not half bad.” +

    + +

    + + You are all that there is, + + The Spirit thinks. + + You would look good in anything. + +

    + +

    + — +

    + +

    + After all of the uniforms are finished, there is a signal, and they’re off. Giant robot in a park? This is new, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. He opens his mouth, the words + + Negative Spirit release + + ready to froth out— +

    + +

    + and then it crushes him—- +

    + +

    + + + oh— + +

    + +

    + + his entire body breaking under this metal, crushing, it is instant and painless— + +

    + +

    + + Larry—- + +

    + +

    + + Larry is gone—- + +

    + +

    + + everything in the universe has faded—- + +

    + +

    + + Larry— + +

    + +

    + + Larry. + +

    + +

    + “Larry?” +

    + +

    + Before The Spirit gets a chance to mourn, Larry reanimates himself. He — they’re on the bus now, pulling up to reveal the monster. The bus pulls to a stop. What? What is this? This is a trick + + — + +

    + +

    + “Negative Spirit—” +

    + +

    + and then Larry is engulfed in flames but this time he is incinerated by them, entire body burning and ripping away layer by layer skin muscle bone, + + he is gone he is gone he is gone he is gone The Spirit can’t + +

    + +

    + + The Spirit CAN’T SURVIVE WITHOUT— + +

    + +

    + + The Spirit needs him— + +

    + +

    + + He can’t be— + +

    + +

    + + The Spirit— + +

    + +

    + + Love— + +

    + +

    + Larry steps off the bus. The Spirit tries to climb out of his body — to save him, it’s + + always him, they would do anything for him, they— + +

    + +

    + The Spirit is frozen. They can’t leave him; it is not part of this narrative. He dies, bones crunching and shattering underneath steel. The Spirit cannot save him, has never been able to save him, + + it was always going to end like this—- + +

    + +

    + Larry opens his eyes and The Spirit opens their eyes and he’s burning again, The Spirit drowning in the waters of love and eviscerating in the absence of a subject to direct their love towards. Larry as ashes and the rest of the team as ashes and everything inside of The Spirit burns along with him, their electricity now fire, their entire mind aflame as the man that they—- +

    + +

    + Larry— +

    + +

    + Larry dies over and over and over again and The Spirit watches his death on repeat like scratches. The Spirit witnesses every death, + + feels + + every death, feels Larry’s consciousness fade out, feels Larry’s light extinguish and ignite. +

    + +

    + The Spirit cannot break free. With each death they pull harder on the gates guarding realities, with each death they push into the separating glass and + + oh— oh—-it’s never enough, they will never able to save him, they never could before but now— + +

    + +

    + now— +

    + +

    + Now their love has been suffocated. +

    + +

    + 37 deaths. It’s torturous. When Niles gives in, they’re sent back to the white space — + + in the truth of reality — in the claws of truth — + + and Larry is alive, and Larry is alive, and Larry is alive. +

    + +

    + Larry is so + + alive + + in everything he does; this too is torturous. For now he breathes safety. The Spirit has not failed yet. +

    + +

    + There is a realization, deep within their mind. It’s something like—- +


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    sharing your devotion +

    +|| A VERY old one, and not one I particularly like anymore, but a library of all the things I've written is... well... ALL of them. So! +
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    A tingle in his chest, a swirl of pins and needles — no blue, when he opens his eyes, but the feeling of it, the knowledge of the Spirit’s presence without evidence of it. It’s calming, almost, as he adjusts to the waking world. The knowledge that the Spirit stirs, that the Spirit is here with him — this is calming now. Things have certainly changed. Sunlight peering through his window, golden rays of light invading his eyesight. It’s all light. It’s always all light.

    “Good morning,” Larry says, with a sharp exhale. “I don’t want to get out of bed.”

    He has to. They need their breakfast, they need his guidance. He’s the only support that they have now. It’s nearly ironic, the responsibilities placed upon his shoulders.

    He can bear this burden now. It does not rest solely on Larry Trainor. They have each other now, the Spirit a welcomed passenger. Appreciated. Embraced, even. He searches for a word that can accurately describe their relationship — his feelings, the Spirit’s emotion — and comes up short. It is inextricable and inexplicable. They belong to each other.

    “But,” he continues, “you know how it is. It’s been two weeks. Sometimes it’s… tiring.” He smiles, forlorn. “I think we could all use a break. I wish we could get one.”

    It’s time to get out of bed.

    Larry swings his legs onto the floor—

    and hits a table. Upon closer look: his night stand, now emptied and directly in front of him, with a record player resting on top of it.

    “Did you do this?”

    His response comes in the form of a faint chest-glow. Somehow he knows there’s a bit of sarcasm to it — he cannot place it, assumes that their communication must be getting better. It’s almost like -- who else would it be?

    So he can read the Spirit’s mind now, and the Spirit is a sarcastic bastard. He’s not surprised. He is - open to this harmony, accepts the relief. There is something comforting about the Negative Spirit now that they understand one another. He’s never alone. Larry Trainor has spent his entire life trying to be alone without being alone, and the Spirit represents the end and furthering of his loneliness.

    It is complex.

    He smiles to himself, bites his cheek when he realizes the expression. He places the needle on the record—

    + I wasn’t jealous before we met, now every woman I see is a potential threat… +

    There’s some irony in that.

    “Never thought you were the Swedish disco type,” Larry says. “Guess you learn something new every day.”

    He moves the table to his side, stands up. He doesn’t even own this record — this thought occurs to him when it’s too late. He doesn’t want to know where or how the Spirit acquired an ABBA vinyl — after sixty years of this shit, he’s learned not to question them.

    It is, admittedly, a little touching.

    Another glow in his chest, a slightly paler hue. Odd.

    “So, what is this? What’s the message here?”

    Now the chorus kicks in—

    don’t go wasting your emotion, don’t go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me…

    He can’t help himself. His body is no longer stiff or tired; his feet and fingers tap to the beat, awakened.

    Oh. He gets the message. He has to say this to their… face.

    “Release,” Larry breathes. The room fills with the Spirit’s light, and it pulses in front of him, their eyes burning into his. They are hovering patiently. Waiting. He doesn’t understand how he is capable of feeling their anxiety, but it is overflowing now. Unbearable.

    “Do you—-”

    He’s interrupted by the Spirit’s hand. They extend their hand towards Larry -- take it. They want him to take their hand, to trust. Oh. He trusts.

    He gives in.

    Lightning-fast, the Negative Spirit places itself on the floor of Larry’s bedroom, and they grab him — twirl him — dip him, a rhythmic dance. Lay all your love on me. How the hell do they know how to dance?

    Larry forgets his question, when they place a hand against his left side, entangling his right hand with theirs. It’s historical, now — this is more important. He knows the answer.

    Another realization — this is his break, this is his life now. This is the rest that he desired, the distraction from reality. It’s fleeting, but its effect will have a lasting permanence on the mind of Larry Trainor.

    The Spirit knows him too well.

    “Thank you,” he whispers, as the music continues to burst. “By the way, do I even want to know where you got this?”

    The Spirit shakes their head. They are always going to be cryptic.

    It’s almost endearing.


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    +|| TNS/Larry pres1/post s2. +
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    He cares for his friends in their unfortunate size, loves them with his entire soul & every scrap of universe that composes him. And yet — it is tiring, harrowing. The outcome looks worse with each failed experiment and every day that passes. The Spirit knows this, the Spirit makes it bearable, and after the crushing struggle of the daytime, it gifts him with a peaceful dreamscape. Because, for some reason, it cares about him. It wants him to be happy. It lo—

    This has been occurring for a while; today marks a week, today is a milestone. Inside of Larry Trainor’s mind, he counts the days, and holds each moment of interaction with the Spirit close to his chest, his heart, where the Spirit nests. He is home to it, and now it is home to him. This is the eternal truth, the most simple thing that has ever been born into existence.

    This makes sense.

    It’s something different tonight, a large bedroom with floor-length windows and a king size bed. It looks comfortable. It looks like vulnerability. Outside, in the distance, is a calm, frothing ocean, the sun setting in its distance.

    He reaches out and grasps the sheets faithful; they are silk, soft, and — and his skin is his present skin, whole and complete in its scarring. He isn’t in his normal outfit; instead he’s wearing only his underclothes, his body almost bare. He studies the hue of his flesh, nausea boiling in his stomach. Why does he still look like this? This world is supposed to be an escape. This world is supposed to be a haven—

    There’s a gentle, hesitant tap on his shoulder. This is new, this is unprecedented. Should he turn? Is this going to spiral into a nightmare? Is it John? Is it torture? What will he see if he looks back?

    “Don’t be scared,” says a voice, deep and frightening. His body shivers. His composure falters. “You can look at me. It’s okay. Nothing is going to hurt you here.”

    When he turns, he sees a human body with flesh that is shifting slowly through cycles of blue shades, light and dark and light. He cannot discern a gender, but the Spirit has never seemed to align to a binary -- they, he thinks. ‘It’ no longer works. Their irises are white, their pupils gray. They are human in an inhuman manner, and it forces a flood of emotion through the mansions of Larry’s mind. This is the Spirit. They are talking to him.

    Over the years, Larry had imagined this frequently — the things he would say, if he could have a reciprocated conversation with the Negative Spirit. If they could express themselves. It was a hatred that grew and blossomed into care.

    Now—

    Now he can only manage two words: “It’s you.”

    They smile, because they know the way his mind functions, they understand him with a precision no one else will ever be able to manage. “Yes,” the Spirit says. “Indeed.”

    “Why now?” he asks. “You could’ve talked to me all this time, right? Why now?”

    “Before now, would you have listened?”

    Larry shrugs, admits his defeat. “Probably not.”

    “Then you understand why I had to wait.” They pause. It looks, for a moment, like they are about to approach him, to move closer, but they remain still in their position---frightened. “And I would have waited centuries for this opportunity. I knew that there was a possibility it would never be feasible, but it is now.”

    “Okay,” Larry says, and then, “but what are we doing here? And why do I still look like… this?”

    "Because," the Spirit says, mirroring his sincerity, their bright human eyes burning through his chest, "you are more beautiful this way."

    “Beautiful?” Larry laughs. “No one could ever find this beautiful.”

    “I do.”

    Larry sits down on the bed. “I find that hard to believe after everything…”

    “After everything you said to me?”

    He nods.

    “I will be honest with you. It did hurt. But what hurt more was being forced to watch you torture yourself every moment of every day.”

    He buries his head in his hands, refuses to look at them. It aches. They thought he was beautiful, and he despised them. “I’m so, so sorry.”

    & there are hands fluttering over his, slowly guiding them down into his lap. It’s — their skin is warm, filling. When he looks again, they are sitting next to him on the bed, their knees brushing against his. “I forgive you,” they say. “And you deserve that forgiveness. I’ve never thought you were a bad person.”

    “So why did you crash my bus and put me on the ceiling rafter?”

    The Spirit laughs at this. “I can be impulsive on occasion, and you refused to listen. Can you blame me?”

    “No.” Their hands are still touching, he is still whole. “Not really.” He looks down at their points of connection, and prepares himself for a question that he does not want answered. “You never answered me. Why here? What are we doing here? ”

    “I didn’t answer you because you know exactly why I brought you here. I know you.”

    He exhales. “I can’t,” he says. “Not when I look like this.”

    The Spirit brings his wrist up to their face and presses their mouth against the veins coiling through his hands. They are so warm. “I promise,” they say. “I meant it when I said you were beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

    “Why?”

    “Because you’re you.”

    Larry allows himself to sink into this, allows himself to want, to grasp their face and press his forehead into theirs. Their eyes close, the color-shifting of their body going faster, pulsing — flustered.

    “I,” they begin, and he feels their breath hot against his mouth, “Larry, I—”

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    atrophy

    +|| NS character study Again! + +
    +

    Loving Larry Trainor is easy in a way that is hollow & forces a naive terror. It comes with the ease and automatic, natural rapidity of human breath, human hearts beating in succession over and over and over again, musical in their harmonies; the Spirit is intimately familiar with these phenomena, entirely entwined in Larry’s breath. Their energy curls around the air he inhales, processes it to drain it of its love, and releases its pitiful shell slowly back into the Earth. Their energy pulses in and out — boom — pulling their essence through — boom — each thread of — boom boom boom — color and flaw that has been designed with care and positioned in a way that forms artworks of legend, masterpieces that are simply masterpieces due to their realism, their portrayal of weaknesses and imperfections in the image of humanity. (Boom boom boom boom boom boom, boomboomboom—)

    (The Spirit entertains the idea that his increasing heart rate means that somehow, even through the fogs of his torturous self-directed hatred and past the voids of endless wounding reflections, that they are making progress. That this means he can hear them, he knows.

    Their ultimate flaw lies here, underneath the ground and inside the heart walls. Hope. It’s funny; anyone who functions with logic would suppose that The Spirit's eternal downfall is their love for a man who will never consider them anything beyond a pest, if they even reach the status of sentience and independence in his eyes. This is horribly untrue. Larry deserves this love, this devotion. He is self-focused, he is stubborn, he has his flaws open and true like artistic detail on the restraints of a canvas, and the Spirit loves him in every aspect. He deserves this.)

    (Boom.)

    (Boomboom.)

    (The Spirit's weakness is simple, and more human than they’d like to admit: they still believe, rather foolishly, that they are capable of healing, of developing into something reciprocal and kind. They are not going to give up on him, but it’s becoming very blatant that Larry wants to stay situated in his guilt. He thinks that he deserves this.)

    (It stops, for a moment — too long to be comfortable.)

    (And then it continues, back in a healthier pattern. Within him, the Spirit sinks down, melts into a pool of his bones and muscle. He will never—)

    (Anyway:)

    Loving Larry Trainor is easy. It’s like experiencing all of history and all of the future simultaneously. It’s like witnessing ancient artifacts; knowing that the thing you are gazing upon is precious and fragile, and vowing with your entire presence to make sure that it remains intact—- no, to ensure that it is renewed. That is all that they have ever wanted for Larry, since the day of the merge, since the first time they were forced to experience the torment of his mind —- renewal. ‘Restoration’ is not quite applicable here, since Larry had been tainted from the start; a product of living in a society that had been carefully forged to become hostile to any deviations from “normalcy”. Normalcy. Normalcy, oh—

    (o, how this word stings and slices—)

    Loving Larry Trainor is normalcy. They cannot parse the concept that to anyone else it could be the opposite. Loving him is their own kind of restoration. Loving him is their own renewal. Long ago — Before — they knew love and kindness in a conditional, fluid way. Their home was complex, intricate, in its composition and population…. not a joyous experience nor a distressing one. Yet the Spirit still yearns for it, at times, when the suffocation hits a certain point of unbearable.

    Larry is what they have, now, though. Larry is their suicide mission. Larry is their downfall. Larry is — Larry is their becoming. The magnitude of the ways that Larry has changed them, their personality their desires their beliefs their all—

    The Negative Spirit now is not the same Negative Spirit that existed six decades ago in a rift above the Earth. This Negative Spirit, the one in the present, is different from the Negative Spirit that begged to return home in the Ant Farm. Their "name", even, feels foreign now, as if they have truly become something else —- and oh, oh. How they long to truly become something else. How they long to feel Larry Trainor’s soul against their own, to look through his eyes into a shared world, to have harmony in infinite dimensions.

    Harmony, they think. An everpresent thought that will never come to fruition — oh, oh no, the spark of hope like electricity burning again, the death of hope fizzling out again. Hope is another thing that is horribly easy. They are sensitive, their mind like something human, frail and vulnerable and so easily set alight by the circumstance. Their sensitivity forcing similarities to a prey animal, a singular lone flame extinguished by cold air. They were not always like this.

    Loving Larry Trainor is easy, and the Spirit tells themselves that they are more than this, something beyond an amalgam of small love-shards torn from the mosaic of their coveting. The Spirit is more than their love for Larry Trainor — they are powerful, capable, frightening — kind — logical yet impulsive; a contradictory existence in every aspect.

    A negative existence.

    They are more than their love for Larry Trainor, but it is hard to focus on anything besides him, wholly him, when they are forced to experience his mental horrors at all times.

    They think that this torture should have made them angrier. A furious being, abandoning neutrality.

    But it only made Larry more pitiful, and easier to love.


    +(Boom - boom ---
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    bodyache

    +|| Negative Spirit/Larry Trainor +
    +

    Once upon a time—[“Once upon a time,” Debbie Trainor’s voice tired, words burstingthrough her mouth like etches of gravel Larry untainted Larry untainted Larry Lawrence Trainor untainted, “there was a man, and he was,” she coughs with a sick sick chestrattle, “very brave. He was a prince—” Larry could do that, one day, he could be the just ruler, the heir to the throne, the virtuous and he could spread his untorn wings and fly himself off into the kingdom, oh oh oh oh, he could if he wanted to he could do this he could be something good when he grows up when he is Big and Tall and Not Afraid Anymore “—and his wife, the princess, loved him very much”

    it does not end here, it should. But this story is not a kind story;;; Larry is a boy which means he. Already has bravery like vines slithergrowing from his eyes and ears and mouth. He has bravery and untorn wings and he is the prince, the hero of the story on the hero’s journey, long literary — biblical — trials and suffering and he thinks of life like a storybook and says:

    “Mom, I don’t like this story. I don’t think he’d wanna princess.” He stops himself; he is five entire years old and sometimes bravery is just is just is just something inherent that chooses when to envelop the body. “If I was the prince, I’d want the castle to myself.”

    “Dear, that’ll change when you get older—-”]

    Once upon a time and the Spirit is starting to forget this: time. They have

    en cage d

    | The Spirit |

    | and |

    La rr y Trai n or


    +
    +

    Not like how Larry’s beautiful chest is a cage but in the traditional sense of the humanlanguage words thattheystillcan’t parse right it doesn’t sound right it doesn’t. This means: they are caged and caged away. Like pretty birds with beautiful [---the first thing that the Spirit thinks when they see it, the monsterno the mangledpathetic thing with its pitiful pitiful endless-pit-of-synonymous-agony-pain-suffering-folding in The Spirit can see the door frames behind his eyes that house horrors beyond even their caliber’s comprehension their eyes so close to touching his eyes

    is

    he is beautiful]

    wings and harmonious song chirps. If the Spirit could be heard anywhere in this aching dimension they would sing to Larry, hymns from the home they cannot find their way back to. Like hmmm. Hmmm. Piano notes, each key pressed knife-wound-similar. Such a perfect day, you just keep me hanging on, oh such a perfect day, you made me

    + forget (Larry forgets and remembers over and over like this: falling; there is no end beyond the air, there is no light besides their presence inside of his “””heart””” his !!!heart!!! (their own heartplace with dying frailty) and Larry remembers over and over like this: John Bowers and Sheryl Trainor and) +

    + myself (Larry Trainor the amalgam of everyone he has ever known Larry Trainor the amalgam of everything that is Larry Trainor and everything that excludes the Negative Spirit entirely, the amalgam that The Spirit aspires to touch to touch to touch if they could touch anything, it would be him) +

    + I thought I was someone else, someone good +

    + Oh, such a perfect day +

    and the electricity crackles into Larry’s skin this answers the question: yes he can still feel they check the box on their paperwork;;; he can feel everything that is not

    + you just +

    The Spirit

    + keep me +

    or their love which is: the crux, the catalyst, the spark (ha!) of it all the energy that could form universes different from this one in which the stars breathe to shine their love over the system’s planets and life evolves into a love that burns to the skeleton that he should be ; they are not Earthly but they

    + hanging +

    love in a way that is not Earthly but beyond any galactic knowledge or any visible monster

    + on. +

    But anyway: he can’t hear them. He wheels himself into Niles Caulder’s manor in a memory (1966 they have) and they speak in tongues (time) that the Spirit cannot understand (like breath) they hurl words out like home and comfort which of course of course the Spirit cannot have. Do you understand do you doyou do you

    DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE SICKENED TRUTH OF IT ALL: THAT THE SPIRIT IS TRAPPED IN SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL AND ALLURING THE OPPOSITE OF MYTHICAL SO TANGIBLE SO SO SO THE SPIRIT IS TRAPPED HERE THE SPIRIT IS. AND THEY ARE! THEY ARE SO MANY THINGS BUT THEY CANNOT WRAP THEIR FORM OUTSIDE OF THE CAGE. The Spirit could be here for —- time. Oh, here: months. Decades. Years. Centuries. Millennia. And beyond. Do you understand that the Spirit is trapped in their own prison of wanting and yes wanting can be solidified wanting can be calcified into something purer religious holy that can hold even their power captive wild wild wild wild wild wild they are wild now they. Larry is. But he. His voice is so calming-- deep like vast ocean water water that could be used to create false invisible purity that emits from his body stronger than radiation oh water to wade into and drown into and decay into if they were this: human deep like agonizing torture endless like — and so they imagine him singing to them in a cycle of beauty and something pure religious holyhymns like:

    + You made me forget myself. +

    + I thought I was someone else. +

    + Someone good. +

    And in the present day which is [sixty years] [six decades] [over half a century] tiring, Larry curls into himself imagines inverting entirely turning himself inside out insides slurred and beautiful ruby divine red on the pillowcase

    so !!!!!!!!! beautiful! even in his pain

    + so !!!!!!!! beautiful!!!!!!! even in his body’s stages of grief and unravelling and grief bandaging his body ghastly with its colddead hands and lithe fingers and the Spirit +

    + does not even see the fire instead they see something that could be cradled if they were just a bit stronger oh +

    instead they see the most beautiful man that this planet has ever held in its atmosphere and outside of its atmosphere and in every aspect of beauty Larry Trainor exists it makes them convulse in a way that is just

    + is +

    and the inside of Larry Trainor — their residence their surroundings the pinkbeautiful glow of inner light — is —

    is —

    Well. Simply put it is unbearable. It is torturous, each (beautiful) thought in Larry’s mind blade-sharp to turn them human into a lowly creature with skin that is shredded and sanded down each (beautiful) thought blooming into microscopic cuts in their composition and it reduces them to a being of pity rather than valiance and oh

    and oh

    and oh

    and oh

    and oh

    and oh

    and oh

    and oh

    He hasn’t placed his hand over his chest in so long. So long. The Spirit has craved it. To touch him. The worshipworthy. Like divinity’s fingertips brushing over them, incinerating them and forcing them from the ashes of eviscerated airplanes;;; they can be an amalgam too but it’s different. Now. It’s different. The Spirit is an amalgam of love love

    + LOVE +

    LOVE love Love love and a torture they have grown-accustomed-to. The Spiritis the blending point of torture and love and torture and love and it doesn’t. Mat. ter. It doesn’t matter because Larry’s hand is touching them

    now,

    his fingers curling into his flesh, their light and his flesh becoming one creature of crazed desire (yes it always boils back down to desire which is the boneframe of it all but we don’t have

    time for that. We just don’t have time, we have to establish the most important aspect of the fable which is: the Spirit is in love with Larry and their love is both the monster of the story, the big bad’s needling teeth & also the savior knight’s glistening bodyarmor, also the heavenly touch it is very confusing, see. They—)

    their light and his flesh meeting in a manner that almost approaches the coveted way.

    “Do you ever,” he whispers in vulnerability, cutting his integument in half and baring his all to them, beaut,if,ul, “get tired?”

    If they could know what crying or humanity is like they would melt into that state but unfortunately they are

    above

    all of that.

    But Larry is there too. Larry is all that is and Larry is all that matters and the Spirit looks at the world through his sad faded-in eyes and the Spirit looks at the patterns behind his eyes when he closes them and their glow remains like an inhale like lungworks they gather their courage and they force themselves into acknowledgement and they pull their mind out of the deep wells of flustering and they say:

    “No,” and they say:

    “Yes,” and they say:

    “Never of you but it is exhausting and that’s different.”

    & Larry balls his sweater in his fist and giggles laughs (beautiful) (always beautiful) (always a rarity here to hear him laugh to feel his chest raise and tighten in every movement that could for a moment be decided pure—) behind bandages. He is always bandaged even when he is bare, always held——→back restrained by the skinscarring that has grown over the bravery that once spilled out, that splattered on the ground and melted into the ground and grew flowers in the destitute for him to pluck and vase.

    “Who am I kidding,” he says, words sp

    i

    ll

    i

    n

    g

    out of him like holy-wrath, like like like like organs sickened and destined to rot like an overflowing flood of desperation that is ruining the Spirit's structure, collapsing invading them, soaking each aspect of their form up, the love extracted---. “Of course you do. I know you do.” Another baring, pitiful pathetic- beautiful man without any teeth to show: “Who wouldn’t get tired, of me.”

    It is hard. This attempt at communication. The Spirit. Glows up into his chest, presses up against him feels the outside world rumble hears the rhythm of his heartbeats (this could be prayed to) and tries tries to convey the message, which of course is No. I love you. Even—-when---they---shouldn’t, when it is horribly illogical and oxymoronic to feel this emotion like epic poetry engrained, the Spirit loves him. The Spirit

    he stole them away from everything they knew every aspect of existence and all of familiarity and hope which they were once so FULL of but he was transplanted IN to compensate and now he runs deeper and higher than hope, his body clothed in light to replace it, his soul like wounded animalflesh and

    loves

    + and yet they still devote, yet they still listen to (boombooomboomboooom) the fluttering in his (boom) chest and curl in to form stories and complex worlds in their intricate mind, and pretend. That one day things will be: different. That the miraculous will touch them with their precious hands and melt the Negative Spirit and Larry Trainor into one soul (boom) one heart without invasion (boom) one kind of love that would be envied by anyone searching for true harmony — here it would be true harmony — here in their mind they only crave true harmony; they do not allow themselves to think about +

    him.

    See: downfalls should not taste like honey. The SPirit has never tasted this, but Larry has and they recall it from his mind. Downfalls, sweet and candied and alluring. Downfalls — (weak)nesses — slithering into minds to push them into something unrecognizable, beings existences formed from cardiac muscle and spilled-out grotesque insides that from a distance resemble love. Resemble peace.

    Larry tastes like honey like downfall like something sweet and candied and alluring, Larry the metaphorical serpent in the cycle of adoration and frustration, the dance they’ve been performing back and forth, hand in hand, for decades upon decades. Hand in hand. Wouldn’’t that be nice? One should never- - - - - - - - - - - - - - touch. There has to be - - - - - - - - - - - - distance. The Spirit cannot possess anything beyond foolish desire. They have tried. They try to reach the center, the boiling core of the tools to unravel love but

    it’s

    too

    far away, intangible.

    And. Peace is also a foolish concept & something that cannot be HOPED for nor dreaded. It’s something that even celestial energy beings desire [desire, reduntantly, is the weakness, the one tender spot in their presence, the only thing that forces them through each day of a hatred like the bones of a bird; delicate yet still macabre, still a bad omen, still a horrifying sight to behold, still pity] and it’s something that humanity may never have. They could manage it, the Spirit thinks, in a few centuries. Oh.

    They will witness the change — and perhaps a different kind of alluring downfall — of humanity through Larry’s eyes;; they’re stuck together and the Spirit as the oxygen that moves through his body, the Spirit as the hand of miracles pumping the heart and so on. They will be together for ev er.

    So much time to:

    love him with. So much time to cradle him and sing to him, him as the perfect day, the ultimate ideal ending. So much time to envelop Larry Trainor’s essence, so much time to open it.

    An eternal opportunity. He will always need someone to save him.


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    Connection

    +|| Script format through a canon scene. +
    +

    + EXT. JOHN’S PORCH - SUNSET +

    + LARRY TRIES TO MAINTAIN HIS COMPOSURE as he sits next to his old lover, JOHN BOWERS’ presence like a miracle -- a gift given to him wrapped in electric light and smooth certainty, his life illuminating like his chest illuminating like everything that has ever been pure or considered untainted, whole. Without disease. +

    + Larry is beginning to believe that he is not diseased. This could prove to be very dangerous. He knows that it is dangerous to be optimistic, but the calming gold spots of sunstorm peering through the background trees is growing serenity from seeds in his mind. The seed, of course, is the Spirit’s intention, planted and now harvested, oh. Oh, the Spirit has gifted him this. +

    + He is also beginning to look at the Spirit in a different light. It is light. It is, inherently, light. Physically, but the metaphor extends outwards, bursting out of him and onto the porch, into this world, this freshly safe world. +

    + JOHN +

    + Tell me all about you. +

    + This is almost comical to everyone involved. Us. Larry. There is no aspect of Larry that is worth discussion, not here. Larry has been two beings living one-dimensional for far too long; it is time to reconcile. +

    + LARRY +

    + There’s nothing to tell. +

    + JOHN +

    + There must be something. You have the strength of a twenty year old. What do you do to stay like that? Please don’t tell me yoga. +

    + Larry laughs. He will always laugh, because John will always be beautiful, and perfect, and deserving. +

    + JOHN +

    + All that laughing under that gauze. Fucking yoga, I knew it. +

    + LARRY +

    + More like R.H.I.P. +

    + JOHN +

    + Haven’t heard that since the service. Uh, rank his its privileges...? +

    + LARRY +

    + Ah, ‘radiation has its perks.’ +

    + John looks away. Remembers the FLAMES, briefly, remembers finding out about Larry’s condition. A true condition, unlike the perceived. Larry remembers along with him. He will be this way forever, untouched. He wants, more than anything tangible in any life, to hold John’s hands bare. To let go. To exhale freely. +

    + JOHN +

    + Well, I’ll be damned. +

    + (pause) +

    + I guess there’s always a silver lining, Lar. +

    + ‘LAR’. A nickname he has not heard in decades. It rings CALMING now. It shouldn’t. This should be heartbreaking, should feel like the suffering of an animal that has just realized it is about to die, to fall victim to prey. It should burn. Again. Should twist him on the inside, should turn him to shattered, shining rubies. Instead, it feels like the break of a new cycle, the beginning of something Greater than Life, higher than comprehension. +

    + JOHN +

    + So. There’s been no one special in your life for sixty years? Come on! What about your wife, Sheryl? +

    + LARRY +

    + She died of cancer in ‘89. +

    + JOHN +

    + Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. +

    + LARRY +

    + We weren’t close, but, ah, thank you. +

    + JOHN +

    + And... the boys? +

    + TIME STOPS as we watch Larry begin to suffocate. He suffocates underneath the crushing weight of his own guilt, his own fear growing teeth and eating him up. Even underneath bandages, his regret IS STILL VISIBLE. +

    + LARRY +

    + Why put this on them? What good would it do? +

    + The statement is simple. It tells us all that we need to know. Larry is tired of running, but will always be his own burden. +

    + LARRY +

    + The truth is... I haven’t really lived much since the accident. You were my last real thing, and I still feel bad about sending you away. +

    + John’s face RADIATES a pain that he had previously buried. +

    + JOHN +

    + Wasn’t easy, but... I got over you. Eventually. And I moved on. +

    + He reaches over to TAKE LARRY’S HANDS into his own, and Larry GIVES IN. They hold hands. John emphasizes his next statement. These words are important. These words like remains. +

    + JOHN +

    + You should too. +

    + LARRY +

    + You know... when I told you I loved you at the motel, I meant it. I wanted you to know that in case I don’t get another chance to tell you. +

    + John BLINKS. He processes Larry’s words. They represent sixty years of desire in both of them, sixty years of wishing - yearning - for these words, a culmination. Larry knows the effect of his words, takes in the concept as John tries to force tears away. He knows John so well, even after all this time. +

    + JOHN +

    + I’m not dead yet, for Christ’s sake. +

    + (beat) +

    + You really haven’t fucked anyone since J.F.K? My God, Larry. +

    + Larry lets the laughter envelop him again. A caress. But. +

    + Something inside of him stirs. It almost feels like the Spirit. Something about this makes him think of the Negative Spirit. +

    + Special. +

    + The Spirit exhumes special, embodies it while lacking true form. The Spirit prioritizes Larry and Larry’s healing process, has only ever wanted him to embrace healing and stability. To embrace, at least, something, which he is doing in this moment, obeying. The Spirit - + + cares + + for him. +

    + The Negative Spirit is the closest person to Larry in this surviving world. They have to be so close, bleeding into one another, to live. The Spirit is good. The Spirit is the purity that Larry once lacked. +

    + He’s moved on. +

    + LARRY +

    + Now that I think of it... there is a relationship I want to tell you about. +

    + JOHN +

    + Go on, go on. +

    + LARRY +

    + It’s not a traditional relationship, per se, but... there’s something inside me. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but there’s definitely a connection there. And for years I didn’t know what it was, or what it wanted, but now I think I might. +

    + Larry had been too engrossed in this new, hopeful emotion to realize that JOHN HAS FALLEN ASLEEP, perhaps into the illuminating light, perhaps taken. They have both moved on. They have both found closure. +

    + He covers John with his blanket. Presses their foreheads together. +

    + LARRY +

    + Sleep well, my friend. +

    +
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    you could love this boy with all your heart +

    +|| Inspired by Richard Siken. +
    + You are created. You are not born. You are created. You are not born. Larry Trainor is born in 1926 and is loved until he isn’t until he is until he isn’t. But you aren’t Larry; you are [REDACTED]. Try to keep up; this is a confusing story. +

    + +

    + 1. +

    + +

    + There are two different people, each living their own lives in a way that does not +

    + resemble life at all. One of them breathes in & above his dimension, in a plane of existence +

    + that does not know his kindness & resembles everything unnatural, everything that he fears +

    + he will be revealed as one day, the theatrical experience & the curtain falling & the cruelty of gravity itself +

    + unravelling him at the wrists — +

    + here, the other breathes out. Harmony. But not. +

    + Nothing about this is harmonious. Oh, how you crave something different -- +

    + +

    + how you crave harmony, with him, and O, how you would do anything +

    + to slip under the covers of his body and be embraced, to wrap yourself around +

    + the concept of love & embody it, the Ultimate +

    + Representation +

    + of his capability to heal, of finally slaying +

    + the zombified monster that lives underneath his childhood bed +

    + that lives underneath his mind +

    + right where you’ve curled up. +

    + You want to be the motivating force moving +

    + this man like a cradle towards the light, blue light, healing blue light +

    + surrounding his body, you surrounding his body, you, you, you. +

    + You want to represent something good for this man, +

    + to be chewed up, O, to be chewed up, to be invited in, to be wanted. He wants +

    + to be wanted by the wrong people. You want to be wanted by the one person +

    + who will never want you back & both people involved in this situation are floating above +

    + their own planets. This man is a planet to you, a spinning sphere +

    + that is so + + alive + + it makes a being of your caliber +

    + fall to a dizzying unbearable +

    + prayer-position. The God he prays to is not the God you pray to. The God +

    + you are begging to be loved by is found in this man’s unrelenting frame & you still +

    + +

    + cannot choose. +

    + +

    + You miss home. You want to go home. You want to view him as a transformed place of rest, +

    + your new shining place of residence, +

    + your sacred altar where you’d place offerings and sacrifices at his knees +

    + if you knew he’d accept them. And even under the weight +

    + of his hatred that would suffocate you if you only had +

    + a life that could end, a version of you that could be extinguished— +

    + +

    + You still cannot choose a side. +

    + +

    + 2. +

    + +

    + Before your tarnish, Larry would’ve called the aurora borealis beautiful. The night +

    + sky, lit up by a dancing color that seeped into his cells in the Right Way, the night sky +

    + holding his stability in sage and ferns, vast drowning blues, always in the Right Way— +

    + always a calming light, never a reminder. Before your presence, Larry craved light, but what +

    + happens now? What happens when light is no longer something to walk into? +

    + +

    + The light, of course, will always win this fight, and the fight, of course, +

    + will always dictate both bodies, and this is a cycle that you wish +

    + you weren’t so familiar with, these are rhymes +

    + that just cannot be swallowed so here we are, here we are being written, +

    + here we are sparring and wrestling +

    + with the Bad Parts of ourselves, the way you bled into him +

    + like he is the one last thing in the universe that makes sense, that +

    + can complete you and be your ultimate valiant purpose, but this doesn’t +

    + mean anything when he isn’t willing, and he will never +

    + be willing, and he will never stop +

    + wanting to banish you, to return to the illusion +

    + of false imagery & false deities so here you are, here you are being +

    + tortured, his mind torturous and your love +

    + tortuous and you want to touch him +

    + in a way that doesn’t remind him of himself. These two people, these two souls, like +

    + northern lights blurring into one another. In the skies for humanity to gaze upon, to create +

    + memories in minds that will never be joined. They will never know what it is like, to love someone +

    + this +

    + much. In this way. To be this close. +

    + +

    + Underneath the light of you, two human beings hold hands for the first time. You will never +

    + know this feeling, and you’re okay with that, as long as +

    + he eventually finds a way to pull himself out of +

    + the spaces between their fingers. +

    + +

    + 3. +

    + +

    + You are [REDACTED]. You know that you are this, forbidden, but to Larry you are +

    + the Negative Spirit, and you could be so beautiful, you know +

    + that the spark of you could create a spark within him +

    + if he was not afraid of fire, and by now you have +

    + accepted that this, like fire, is something that you cannot escape, +

    + something you do not + + want + + to escape. Escape is supposed to mean +

    + relief, not torture. You are tortured when you are with him and +

    + you are tortured when you are apart from him, and torture, to you, +

    + is a recurring theme in this decaying book, a constant in this old, +

    + fumbling, body that has a similar decay to the story +

    + of you — the spine of the book torn, the cover of the book +

    + tattered. This is not a very good story. You said it was confusing, +

    + not that it was tragic. No one wants a story to be tragic. Not even Larry. +

    + +

    + No, Larry wants a story that is too good to be true, a story that is +

    + pristine & goes on for pages and pages to the point that the ending +

    + is almost unreachable. Intangible. The only logical ending to his story, +

    + before you attached yourself to his soul, became familiar with it +

    + like Larry’s soul is the most recognizable thing +

    + you have ever laid eyes upon, +

    + is the ending that no one wants, +

    + a cliffhanger that is never resolved. That means: the ending that his story +

    + would’ve had in the world where he goes back home +

    + is an unsavory ending, and cannot be parsed or reconciled with. +

    + You saved him from that ending. You have saved Larry Trainor +

    + from himself. +

    + +

    + He doesn’t see it that way. He hates you for it. +

    + +

      +
      2. +

    + +

    + Your name is . Your name is! Your name +

    + is [DATA EXPUNGED], and you are coming to terms with the fact +

    + that regardless of what your name + + is, + + your name +

    + + + + is a name that Larry Trainor will never utter, your name +

    + is a name that will never rest inside of his mouth, his mouth pink like +

    + the force of humanity that should never be uncovered, his mouth like +

    + gates to Heaven, like the knowledge that you could find salvation +

    + if you knew how to tell him that you love him, and you love him, +

    + you love him so much that you understand God now, and if +

    + the stories they told him are true you would walk into hellfire +

    + and burn for him, instead of him, because this is a burning love, this is a love +

    + that cannot ever be put out & will decimate bodies, forests, +

    + planets. +

    + +

    + They aren’t true, of course. Larry Trainor, +

    + despite his flaws, despite the torture he causes, +

    + despite every bad, monstrous thing that has ever formed +

    + inside of him, +

    + +

    + is the most beautiful earthly phenomenon +

    + that you have ever laid eyes upon, the only thing +

    + that you want now, and the only thing that can be possessed +

    + without being possessed. +

    + +

    + You want to talk to him. You want to talk +

    + to him and this is a desire that rings at an intensity +

    + nothing in any dimension could ever match. He would never believe you. +

    + +

    + 5. +

    + +

    + Your name is +

    + and you are beginning to forget your own name. +

    + This is a very logical consequence of not hearing it spoken +

    + for sixty years. +

    + +

    + Let’s say that you’re not the Spirit. Let’s say that instead, you are the personification of +

    + being lost, and you are the personification of being lost, in this reality, but +

    + it is the only aspect of you now, your essence was once so intricate, +

    + once so complex, but now you are Lost, and Lost shakes your hand and says +

    + + you don’t have to be me. You can be Larry, if you want, or you can be the Negative Spirit, his guardian, + +

    + + or you can try to diminish the difference between the two concepts. The world + +

    + + is yours, baby, the world can be anything you want it to be, but you simply + +

    + + want it to be Larry. + +

    + +

    + Lost looks exactly like you except for the fact +

    + that the unfillable hole you feel in your chest +

    + is mirrored on its body. No energy there. Just void. +

    + You can’t even see through it. +

    + +

    + 6. +

    + +

    + You are resting inside of Larry Trainor’s body, and Larry Trainor’s body +

    + is shaking hands with a woman who calls herself + + Valentina Vostok, + + and +

    + your body, the body that you almost forgot you had, the body that isn’t yours +

    + anymore, lights up when it recognizes its own kind within her. +

    + +

    + You aren’t alone. Someone else, someone you could have +

    + known, once upon a time, +

    + back home, +

    + is here too. It almost +

    + makes hope seem like something you’re capable of grasping. But she +

    + is in love, and Valentina is in love, and maybe you’re in love, +

    + but it’s not the same. You will never know if +

    + it can be the same. +

    + +

    + Valentina tells Larry about infinite harmony +

    + as if she’s a missionary. Door to door. Let me tell you +

    + about how love can change your life. Let me tell you +

    + about how you can fix yourself by believing +

    + in something greater than separation. There is only unity. There is only +

    + collaboration. There is only +

    + theSpiritandLarry, now, instead of Larry (and the Negative Spirit), there is only something +

    + that you will never have, an outlook that you have embraced and he +

    + has buried. +

    + +

    + 7. +

    + +

    + His first attempt at communicating with you +

    + is not rooted in acceptance, nor is it glazed +

    + with vulnerability. He wants to stomp you out, +

    + to clean you off of the walls. He wants what +

    + he will never be able to obtain, and you want +

    + what you will never be able to obtain, but at least +

    + you are realistic about it. +

    + +

    + + We need some ground rules. + + Yes, you think, +

    + yes, we do. You need a warm place that will allow +

    + you to show him the ultimate truth — that he is good, that he is +

    + capable of it, that bad men don’t want to atone, +

    + but he doesn’t want to hear it, he never +

    + wants to hear it. The ground rules he desires +

    + won’t fix anything. +

    + +

    + He needs you. You need him. He needs you. You need him. He +

    + still cannot figure it out. +

    + +

    + 8. +

    + +

    + You are ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. This is your first time. +

    + Touching his body, that is. You +

    + have never been able to. You don’t want to ruin him. You have +

    + already ruined him. You are only capable of ruining, and this +

    + is what you’re doing now, as you wrap the bandages +

    + around his shorn body without looking, as you +

    + haul the clothes that he has been wearing for sixty years +

    + back onto his elegance, and you think to yourself, because you only have +

    + yourself, +

    + + I can do anything now, I can make this work, + +

    + + we can talk, we can clear the clouds away. + +

    + He does not want to talk, he does not +

    + want to hear you. +

    + +

    + You put him on a ceiling rafter. You do not touch his body ever again. +

    + +

    + 9. +

    + +

    + You are alone. Larry Trainor, who you live inside of, who +

    + you would die for, is trying to die for you. This is not how things are supposed to go. +

    + This isn’t how the plot is supposed to unfold. This isn’t what you want anymore. +

    + He holds his arm up to stop you, to bar you from saving him, and you are so +

    + close to him, and there is blood flowering out of his mouth, staining his bandages like +

    + you stained him sixty years ago. You wanted this at one point, you did. You truly did, +

    + at one point, you wanted to go home. They miss you. They miss you. We all +

    + miss you. +

    + +

    + You should go. You should be happy. You should do so many things, such as: +

    + leave him to die, he’s spent the last six decades +

    + clawing at you, trying to wash you away. You should not want +

    + to save him. He does not want you to save him. +

    + +

    + But as you float over the manor, as you think +

    + about a world without Larry Trainor, you realize +

    + what Larry had realized underneath that sunset— +

    + +

    + + you have a connection to him, + + and this connection has tainted you, +

    + without this connection you will never feel whole again, without him +

    + to crawl back inside of your emotions will torture you, endless torture, always +

    + torture, and +

    + you could not live a true, unburdened life if you let this man— +

    + this man who you revolve around celestial— +

    + die. You cannot let him die. +

    + +

    + You know what you have to do. +

    + +

      +
      2. +


    +
    +

    + You’re in his room again. You’re always in this room. His body +

    + is a different room, an omnipresent room, a room +

    + that you have nested in & labelled as home, now, +

    + the room of his body like the roof of a house, +

    + and Flex Mentallo is in the manor, and the only thing +

    + that he can remember is you. It would be flattering if it +

    + was not marinated in horror. +

    + +

    + You want to show your love, but Flex needs you, +

    + they all need you, you’re the only one with the key +

    + that can unlock him, so you grasp Larry’s face +

    + and try not to think about a world in which the circumstances +

    + of you grasping his face +

    + are different & contrast this. Maybe, in this world +

    + that you cannot think about, that you’re thinking about +

    + anyway, this touch is born out of a desire to progress. +

    + To embody the connection +

    + he had been talking about so recently, so far in history’s past. +


    +
    +

    + 11. +

    + +

    + Larry visits John in fantasy, Larry visits John +

    + in night terrors, Larry visits John +

    + in reality. Erie. Post-it notes on walls +

    + that no longer confine either of them. The walls of Larry +

    + are separating, as he holds John’s hands, as he +

    + carries John out to the porch +

    + in a position similar to the way you carried Larry +

    + when you put him on the ceiling, when you saw him +

    + in his entirety for the first and last time. You love each +

    + word that comes out of Larry’s mouth and you love them +

    + before they even form in his mind. God, you love him. O, how +

    + your love for him is like the love everyone says +

    + is reserved for God and God only. He talks about connection +

    + and thinks about connection and you allow yourself +

    + to think that the planet Venus and its strong association +

    + is a place you will visit within this life. This beautiful, new +

    + life. +


    +
    +

    + 12. +

    + +

    + Niles Caulder is a bad, bad man, +

    + and Larry Trainor thinks he is a bad, bad man, +

    + but the crimes are not on the same level. Larry, the ultimate +

    + holder of passion. Larry, who loved so much +

    + that he didn’t know how to keep it inside of him. +

    + Larry, whose love terrified him, whose love +

    + was hidden behind doors and in rooms +

    + that he can never return to. +

    + Larry, whose love +

    + is both unlike and close to your love. +

    + Your love is open. Larry’s was not. +

    + Larry was afraid. You are not. +

    + You are afraid, but for different reasons. +

    + You are afraid because you are the Negative Spirit, and +

    + the Negative Spirit +

    + is the worst possible thing that someone who loves Larry can be. +

    + +

    + Larry and Rita move to a small, +

    + secluded, one-bedroom home. It doesn’t matter. +

    + Niles Caulder is the reason that you have Larry, +

    + the reason that Larry has you. You want to thank him, +

    + you want to rip him apart with the monstrous claws +

    + that we all know you have & are just + + waiting + + to expose. +

    + Once you let your claws out of the tower, they can never be +

    + retracted. Choose wisely. +

    + +

    + 13. +

    + +

    + This time around, Larry enters your body, and this time around, +

    + Larry loves you, and this time around, these concepts are palpable, +

    + are possibilities that can exist in the future’s endless running fragmented +

    + stream. +

    + +

    + Let’s say that you are extracted from his body. Let’s say +

    + that he feels it. Senses it, like a lost limb, and he does, +

    + he watches you reach out for him, reaching restrained +

    + for Larry’s mercy, to be reunited, and he pities you, he does. +

    + He could leave you here, in the Ant Farm. He could abandon you. +

    + He has every right +

    + to abandon you. He can now. +

    + +

    + Instead he gazes at you in wonder. Like you are the northern lights, but +

    + in the right way this time, like you could be something beautiful, +

    + like you light a similar spark inside of him. +

    + +

    + It elicits an ache that feels like +

    + bones growing inside of you with one sole purpose: +

    + to stab themselves through you, to turn you human, +

    + to make you know a reciprocated love. But you have learned +

    + from your time with Larry, you know that love +

    + is always ephemeral. +


    +
    +

      +
      2. +

    + +

    + Larry goes out to the lake and sets you free, knowing +

    + you’ll come back to him, you’ll always come back. +

    + He has a confidence in you now +

    + that is almost terrifying. You cannot live up to it. +


    +
    +

    + 15. +

    + +

    + You imagined, at some point, that this would end. Actually, you didn’t. There was no way +

    + to predict this. +

    + +

    + Larry loves himself now. He doesn’t. It’s +

    + more like this: Larry has found a way +

    + to accept the part of himself that no one from his past +

    + ever could. Larry is whole. Larry has found a way +

    + to say the words out loud. You can never say the words +

    + out loud. +

    + +

    + He’s gay. This is something to be celebrated. This gets +

    + the Bureau of Normalcy called. Despite everything, he still needs you. +

    + He still knows that you will save him. He still depends +

    + on your love for him, and there are no words in any language, +

    + including the language you were created to speak, the one you know +

    + almost as well as you know him, +

    + that can accurately describe how much you love this one +

    + human man, whose flaws are written on his skin, +

    + and you want to be written on his skin, you want to feel his love, but not like this. +

    + +

    + You save him anyway, you are a savior that only knows how +

    + to destroy. +

    + +

    + The light goes out. You continue flying. +

    + +

    + 16. +

    + +

    + You and Larry are in a machine that created a monster, and Larry thinks that it will fix him. +

    + +

    + This isn’t right. +

    + 17. +

    + +

    + Niles Caulder is trying to torture you out of him. It’s always +

    + torture, how you live here, how he wants to evict you for the sole act +

    + of saving his life. He wanted to die in that airplane, and you want to die +

    + here inside of him, you want him to know that he can’t keep doing this, +

    + it’s hurting you, he is doing the one action +

    + he vowed to never manifest again. You love him anyway. +

    + +

    + The message is clear. You finally have your voice, but not for long, +

    + everything is taken away from you, always, your life like solar flares, +

    + short bursts of serenity like light that are stolen when he wakes up, +

    + and he will never know that you love him, and you’ll never be understood, +

    + and the world that you have been forced into is a cruel, desaturated +

    + crushing +

    + weight on your chest, your chest in his chest, you invent something +

    + to keep the light from going out. A Larry that won’t hurt you anymore. A world +

    + without barriers. +

    + +

    + 18. +

    + +

    + Intermission like fire. They send electricity into his body, sharp +

    + and horrid, pressed into his neck from behind bulky suits— this electricity +

    + is completely unlike your electricity, which had bloomed from +

    + a destiny planted in two people. He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks +

    + that he deserves this. +

    + +

    + They hurt him so you kill them. It’s the most simple thing in the universe. It does not get you +

    + anywhere good. +

    + +

    + 19. +

    + +

    + You didn’t leave much behind. You know this. You know that every world you’ve been in +

    + has been unkind. You long for home. You do not long for Larry yet. You just +

    + want to go home. +

    + +

    + He wants to go home, but his home, in the mind that you share, +

    + is hellfire, or something that he will never have again, and he’s still in this hospital bed +

    + playing games with the choice that represents a burden he no longer +

    + has to bear but won’t let shatter. You shine in his arm, underneath his skin. +

    + It’s supposed to be comforting. You just want to be something good. If +

    + you are forced to be here, between these ribs, you can at least try +

    + to be virtuous. +

    + +

    + 20. +

    + +

    + First you lived in a world that could never reveal your depths, and now +

    + you live in a world that refuses to accommodate you, the world in this case +

    + being Larry, the world as Larry & Larry as the world, the unbearable realization +

    + that his innards no longer wrap around you to strangle & instead are welcomed +

    + in a way that he will never understand. +

    + +

    + What is this? What + + is + + this? You have always felt emotion +

    + like open wounds, unstitchable wounds with holy thoughts +

    + spilling out to stain, but this is something new, this is something +

    + that you will never be able to cope with. It looks, almost, like love, +

    + but it isn’t, it can’t be. Love isn’t supposed to be soaked +

    + in tragedy. +

    + +

    + 21. +

    + +

    + Hold onto Larry. You hold onto Larry as you shuttle him through the sky, to safety, +

    + away from the bad men & their guns & sick, restricting minds. You also hold onto +

    + Rita, but it isn’t the same. +

    + +

    + 22. +

    + +

    + You wonder if Larry will ever make peace with the scarring past +

    + that moves against him like a malicious lover. You know better. Every time +

    + you think you’ve made progress, he reminds you that you know better. +

    + +

    + 23. +

    + +

    + Let’s say that God is Larry and they are the same. To you, they +

    + are the same. He created the version of you +

    + that exists now. He changed you. Irreparably. Unbearably, he has +

    + changed you, and now you’ll never stop wanting more. He has made you hungry. +

    + +

    + Larry Trainor has created a Negative Spirit that still cannot be virtuous. You want to be virtuous, +

    + but you want him more, and if the world is going to end at some point - well. At least it will end +

    + with you inside of him, the way it’s supposed to be. +

    + +

    + 24. +

    + +

    + You’re inside the body of the only beautiful thing in this world, and he will never love you, and you feel like you’ve done +

    + something terrible, like invaded him without intent, or put him on the ceiling, or crashed his bus, and you wish it was tiring, you wish you could find a way +

    + to stop loving him at an intensity that burns hotter than any sun, any star, +

    + anything superlunary that has ever existed, but you’ll always be stuck here, +

    + inside of the beautiful man’s soul, and you’ll never be able to tell him +

    + that you love him but you feel it anyway— +

    + something invading your own body, something that freezes and covers him, +

    + and the world is about to be torn in half, +

    + and you’ve discovered, too late, a way to love him +

    + that doesn’t hurt anyone. +


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    +
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    + + +
    + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/fic/dp/old/directory.html b/fic/dp/old/directory.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bff57b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/dp/old/directory.html @@ -0,0 +1,27 @@ + + + + + alien + + +
    + home + +

    Doom Patrol Fanfic - Old

    + these are fanfictions written before season 3 that i dont like anymore
    + fic left to add: just so fucking many +
    + this holy experience, The Negative Spirit/Larry, T, 1K words. Larry stares at himself in his bedroom mirror, studies every vein, every scar and every ridge. Imagines being touched, feeling fingers run over his scars in admiration.
    heartsigh, The Negative Spirit/Larry, T, 802 words. Larry Trainor hates the Negative Spirit. + +It changes nothing.
    sharing your devotion, The Negative Spirit/Larry, T, 783 words. His night stand, now emptied and directly in front of him, with a record player resting on top of it.
    can we always be this close (forever and ever), The Negative Spirit/Larry, T, 716 words. Larry sparks. Inside of Larry Trainor, bursting from his heart like new life, there is a realization. It is like the first light of the morning skies. + +
    + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/fic/dp/old/disintegration.html b/fic/dp/old/disintegration.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11fb6ca --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/dp/old/disintegration.html @@ -0,0 +1,929 @@ + + + + + + AL13NH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Skip to content + +
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    +Back + +

    + + +

    disintegration

    +|| Deeply odd and DEEPLY non-canon-compliant Negative Spirit backstory written before season 3 aired. You can tell by the fact that I called NS "Keeg". ("Keeg" here refers to the Original Negative Spirit here, not the baby one.) I still love it though. + +
    + The Great Sun’s love for its vessels is holistic; its warm presence +

    + wraps around +

    + every aspect of interdimensional existence, slithering into +

    + each unit of composition, swelling into atoms and +

    + bursting through atoms that cannot contain the magnitude +

    + of its adoration, its presence too grand, beyond +

    + the comprehension of any being ever brought to life +

    + so gracefully, so generously, by its embarking shadow; +

    + survival of our kind is contingent upon the length of its rays— +

    + upon the reach of its darkness, eternal darkness on the universal +

    + plane of residing, our souls fueled by its shaded light +

    + and only its shaded light. There shall be no cataclysm. +

    + There shall be no horror. The Great Sun unites. +

    + The Great Sun makes no distinction between +

    + its creations and the evolved external world. The Great Sun +

    + unites. The Great Sun +

    + loves, the Great Sun as love personified and elevated, +

    + its embrace bringing enlightenment and comfort and relief +

    + in abundance. Under the Great Sun there is only: +

    + copious abundance. Under the Great Sun, +

    + all is peaceful. +

    Excerpt from the Book of the Great Sun (1)

    by Kenn Kava,

    c. KHLAHH.ZOV (2)


    +
    +

    —

    The decision to create life is the hardest decision known to the dimension.

    Yes, there is only tranquility in each Spirit’s surroundings, and the universe is infinite and calm and continuously expanding in every direction to spread its love and impact. Yes, the Spirits are almost invariably dedicated only to creation—-to exploring emotion and allowing it to pour out of oneself into art and literature, an outlet for the intensity at which the inhabitants of the dimension feel every possible sentiment. There are emotions Spirits experience that have not been discovered by any other civilization they know of. There are emotions that shake and wobble and unravel. Yes — this is true, and the difficulty lies in the sacrifice. The emotion lies in the sacrifice. Everything lies in the sacrifice.

    If Spirits had any concrete knowledge of or interactions with the Outsiders, beyond the simple affirmation that they exist, they would know that the Outsiders, like a hivemind, believe that creating new life is easy. The others use their bodies to do this, movement and breath, frames and solidity moving against frames and solidity in harmony, and this is understandable — it is what they want, it is all that the others know, so it is understandable — this dimension has no similar concept, though, as all intimacy is telepathic, a connection of minds blending-merging into one like pigment. So: no, the Outsiders have their belief in the simplicity that lies in birth — “birth”, but in the Space there is a consequential reality. This is perhaps its only flaw. For now.

    There is no physical reproduction here. To create life, at least two Spirits must extract vials of their energy and place it into a machine of creation, gift courtesy of the Sun. This energy is sacred, holds an aspect of personality or memory or skill that cannot be regained after extraction. It is worth it, most say. The energies combine, blur into ascension and form in it, rise from its smoke like mythical rebirth. Then: the resulting Spirit is forced into existence, the nature and strength of their powers contingent upon the amount of energy sources & the power they possess. Then: the resulting Spirit is presented with their name, adorned with four letters in two sections (3), like decoration, baubles springing from them. Then: the resulting Spirit, with its new life and personality and ability, begins their eternal existence.

    The dimension is a bit scarce. Populous enough to warrant cities and academia and residences, but — scarce. Everyone, regardless of where they come from, fears losing the things that make them uniquely themselves. Everyone in each universe has a fear of becoming something other. Even if it’s worth it, even if the beauty of creation outweighs the fright, this terror remains at some level. Omnipresent.


    +
    +
    +
    +

    —


    +
    +
    +

    + I think I find my lover, my soulmate— +

    + b’kehhal (4), all that is, the Great Sun-chosen +

    + embracing +

    + rejuvenating +

    + love that seeps into my energysoul +

    + in each aspect of this plane, in the orange gradient skies, +

    + in the unreachable mountains, +

    + in the warmth of each Spirit within, +

    + in the strokes of paint on my stone canvas, +

    + their hue and their hue only forming an eternal photograph. +

    + A moment that can never be forgotten, a moment that can be +

    + captured not only in love or the eyes of my lover, but also framed, +

    + also placed upon the walls of our home, a painting, a representation +

    + of devotion displayed for all to see. +

    + Devotion. O, devotion. How can one +

    + persevere through the realization +

    + coveted by all, and not become +

    + completely and entirely devoted +

    + to the emotional experience of love? +

    + There is permanence in the realization sequence (5)--- +

    + the instant that you discover your soulmate’s identity, +

    + the b’kehhal, the wholeness and completion of a magnitude +

    + beyond even these higher being’s comprehension, +

    + now unraveled. Revealed. This permanence flows beyond the obvious. +

    + These moments are designed to represent the potential of a bond. +

    + The unique aspects and desires of each individual, bleeding +

    + into something reunited. +

    + These moments are never abandoned. Mine remains in the back of my transparency, +

    + easily retrievable in my mindscape whenever I need its reminder. My realization +

    + is sewed onto the walls of my thoughts, inextricable now for it is a blessing, +

    + to have someone perfectly crafted for you, with the Great Sun’s mind focused only on +

    + you and your happiness. +

    Love is inherently vakha kelahhah — this concept is not

    + translatable to any other language. The closest thing the others have +

    + is: +

    “A conquer of healing. A body overwhelmed by joy. A savior. Generosity.

    Each phenomenon of an all-encompassing acceptance that can heal

    any wound or injury, that can enhance the textures of existence.”

    + Love is inherently consuming. Love is inherently resurrection. +

    -- Poems of Devotion by

    Anya Vexa


    +
    +

    —

    You find out almost immediately after your creation that you are a historical figure. You are rare, you are unprecedented. You are special. Holy. Embraced by the Great Sun in a way that could never have been predicted:


    +
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    +
    +
    +

    (


    +
    +

    KHALU ZOV OK (6)

    + In the outskirts of N’Hal, the city surrounding the N’Hal hall — the first location in the Space that was created — there rests a calm, intimate commune of lovers. They rejected the concept of soulmates, and chose to love one another in an intricate system of relationships. They were not destined for each other; instead they fell in love on purpose, believing that, while soulmates may be important to others, getting to know someone and falling in love in a way that breaks destiny is a more elegant story. +

    + They live among one another in partial seclusion from the outside world. There is no shunning in the Space, but there is fear, and these individuals were simply too different to follow in the footsteps of their normal society. So: all thirteen left, moved to this land and expanded, building and building until they had a palace in which they could all be comfortable and harmonious. +

    + It was Alto Zova who first introduced the idea of procreating to the others. The discussions lasted two cycles. +

    + What will we do if we lose something important, something crucial to our being? +

    It will be worth it. We are capable of bringing something beautiful into the world.

    + What will happen if something goes wrong? The maximum number of energy sources used in a creation ever recorded was seven. This is new territory. +

    + Yes, things could go wrong, but what if we create something with extraordinary power solely from the clay of our love? What if we create something healing? What if we gain more than we lose? No matter what happens, we will love them. They will be the product of unforeseen faithfulness. +

    + This is true. It is possible. +

    + I’d even say it’s likely. +

    + But what if it hurts them? What if they cannot handle it? What if they get overwhelmed? +

    + Then we will aid them through it. There is nothing we cannot get through together. +

    + … +

    + … +

    + … +

    + … +

    + What do you think they’ll look like? +

    + They will look pure. +

    + Zova states that most of them lost memories of their first few cycles in the Space. Their early years, gone. No: recreated. Crafted into something higher. They aren’t sure why it was almost universal amongst them. But, they say, it doesn’t matter. +

    + The result of this unrivaled amalgam was Keeg Bovo, a blue Spirit with awe-inspiring electric abilities and a capacity for telepathic connection unlike anything we have ever seen before in the Space. Bovo was unwilling to give a statement, but it is blatantly obvious that the Thirteen love them wholly and unconditionally. +

    + -- Article in Shadow Magazine. +


    +
    +

    + ) +


    +
    +

    You think that this knowledge should be comforting. Who doesn’t want to be special? Who doesn’t want to be something higher? This is another aspect of you that is unprecedented. You do not want to be known for your power or origin, but rather for your contribution. For what you do instead of what you are. You are dedicated to words that function like injury when they reach inside of you sharp and violent to implant emotion, intense experiences that burn burn burn

    (later you will understand the literal meaning of burn, but for now—)

    and ache ache ache

    swirling into you like septic infection and your love and your anger and your love threatens to unravel each source of energy used to compose you & leave you nothing but meatbones of feeling. Reduced to a ghost of impact. Decimated by an intensity of emotion that slaughters, that draws from every dimension and every hell and injects it into you. Your very being is unstable.

    It’s horrid. It is intolerable.


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    +

    (

    + The Great Sun has no concept of punishment or forgiveness. It entrusts +

    + every Spirit with one sole mission: to be kind. To emit kindness. To reject +

    + evil and alleviate excess negative emotion by pouring their souls +

    + into construction. +

    + --Book of the Great Sun, Kenn Kava +

    + ) +

    You know that your people were created without need for punishment, and that the Great Sun’s warmth is eternal. It can never abandon you. It will never depart.

    It still feels like the Great Sun despises you. The opposite to the narrative you are fed from the moment you meet your family. How could any just creator curse someone with a mind like this? You have been doomed and your fate lies inside of your own body. How is that embracing? How is that warm? How is that love?

    (

    + The Great Sun created us with a purpose. The specifics of this purpose +

    + is often debated. Some say that our purpose is creativity. +

    + Production. +

    + Others theorize that we were created to love. +

    + But perhaps we were simply created to spread survival. +

    + To be the lungs of the universe. +

    + To eliminate the Negative. +

    + Yes, to love. But more than that. +

    + To experience. +

    + --Book of the Great Sun, Final Commentary Edition, +

    + by Kenn Kava +

    + ) +

    You consider your position in this world. Everyone you know is special, regardless of power. Regardless of status. Regardless of source. There should be no distinction.

    N’Hal had to create a new category for your presence. Dividing up Spirit society into sections (7) based primarily on power and secondarily on contribution is functional most of the time, but not when there’s someone like you.

    (

    + What happened to Kenn Kava, anyway? +

    Most know Kenn Kava as the first of the Great Poets, the first one to record our history and beliefs in written form, and as a well-respected figure in our society, particularly among those who follow his footsteps in poetry.

    A new discovery has been made in the caves underneath N’Hal hall: a journal, reportedly kept by Kava concurrently with the writing of the Book. It is extremely fascinating, and may shed significant light onto the circumstances of his disappearance.

    In it, he noted the appearance of a hole in the fabric of reality that seemed to open very briefly. He first saw it while working in his study, and it disappeared moments later, almost taking him with it. A few days later, the hole appeared again in the middle of the N’Hal Hall, and sucked two highly important documents -- the contents of which are presently unknown — into its void. It seemed to appear throughout the dimension randomly.

    The last entry in the journal documents it as appearing in his yard. The last word in the journal is illegible, but appears to be a word that he was never able to finish writing, almost as if he disappeared in the middle of writing it.

    More on this as it develops.

    --Article in Shadow Times Newspaper, Issue #333

    )

    Eventually, it gets tiring.

    It is always tiring. Two hundred cycles of pain. Two hundred cycles of pouring word after word onto paper with no relief from the emotion.

    So you get a job. Professor of Creative Writing at the University of the Great Sun. (8) It’s perfect for you, divine intervention, where you are meant to exist. You lacked purpose before; it is different here. Perhaps you have found a way to exist inside of yourself.

    You feel like you are making a difference in a universe that is already so different from the rest. You feel your metaphorical wounds scar over and heal through; you feel yourself recover. With each student, with each assignment absorbed and graded—


    +
    +

    (

    + Keia Novi (9) +

    + Intro to Creative Writing +

    + Bovo +

    + Untitled For Now +

    + I often dream of the worlds beyond ours— +

    + is that too ambitious? Is this desire simply too great +

    + to be fulfilled? Is this yearning +

    + to be completed by travel +

    + somehow beneath me? I have loved this dimension. I have loved +

    + all that exists, everything in the scope of my knowledge, +

    + any possible experience & anything that has ever been loved itself. +

    + I am convinced that my family made a mistake in the process of +

    + weaving me together. I am broken; shattered; incomplete. I will never +

    + be satisfied while I am imprisoned. The guilt +

    + enveloping me like the Great Sun’s warmth. The guilt +

    + embracing me in the Wrong Way, in sickness. +

    + There is something else out there. +

    + ) +


    +
    +

    —-you feel each part of your mind begin to mend, to reunite and move together once again to form a Better you. A pure Keeg Bovo. A positive, stable being.

    And then the seams of your world split apart and swallow you.


    +
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    +
    + + FOOTNOTES:

    1. Functions somewhat similar to a holy text but the Great Sun is not deified in the traditional sense but rather considered a personal friend of each Spirit. The Book of the Great Sun was written by Kenn Kava, a well-known ancient poet that went missing about a million cycles ago, as a gift in its honor; beforehand there was no written language or expression in the Space.

    2. The date the Book was written in Spirit language. Translates to 100 (khlahh).1 (zov)

    3. Naming rule -- every Negative Spirit in the comics has a 4 letter name. Therefore, there is a rule that all Spirits must be named in this manner. Yes, like That webcomic.

    4. Their headcanon language's word for intense romantic soulmate.

    5. Realization sequence refers to a psychic vision both Spirits get in the moment one or both of them realize the other is their soulmate; their b'kehhal. Each one is different and unique to the Spirits in question.

    6. Translates to 5000.

    7. Spirit society is split into groups. One being main power, and most people only possess one; Keeg's enhanced telepathy is considered a dual power. The less important group is main creative contribution, so basically just. Talent. This concept is used for identification and purpose, not inequality or oppression.

    8. Keeg is a teacher in the comics. Really.

    9. If you're unaware, this is the (non-canon made up by me) name of Valentina's spirit.

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    so entwined now

    +|| Larry Trainor/Negative Spirit. Explicit NSFW. Post 4x03. +
    +

    + It’s always difficult to fall asleep these days. +

    + It’s especially hard to fall asleep when your best friend is unconscious and you don’t know + + why. + + Despite their recent fight, he loves Rita. Appreciates her, adores her. She’s his best friend. He’s - worried + + sick. + + Everything is so, so sick and nothing is okay, and now there’s a possibility he’s lost Rita for the - fuck, who knows, third time? Everything is happening all at once -- he can’t keep up. He just can’t, he’s banging on the bars of the universe’s cage, he’s begging for the mercy kill. +

    + Less importantly, Mr. 104’s words are following him around like a lost stray ghost, lingering in this realm because it can’t let go of life, because it wanted something so bad when it was alive that its want seeped into death and placed its roots there. It’s following him around, it’s haunting him, like his personal dark cloud wraith, like his downfall is imminent, like his future ghost self is tailing him, like - like— +

    + Like a spirit. +

    + It’s hard to sleep without them. +

    + He has Keeg, but it’s - it’s different. It’s just different. The Negative Spirit had grown into - not a + + comforting + + presence, but a necessary one. They kept him grounded, they kept him unstable. They kept him safe. +

    + They gave him company. Eternal company, which is all that he’s ever craved — he still remembers what they felt like, warm, so warm and crackling even in his form and yet still so soft. So - he deletes the word + + beautiful + + from his mind, erases it, wipes his memory, because it surely doesn’t apply here - it was so - +

    + He gives in; it was beautiful. He was looking at himself on the surface; in truth he was seeing their true essence, finally bared to him, and his action of touch stripped him of flesh entirely, replacing his integument with vulnerability, with l— +

    + Look at where vulnerability gets you. Their absence has been agonizing. He spent over sixty years with them, and adjusting to lacking the Spirit’s presence inside of him is harder than it should be. +

    + He cannot decipher it - why Mr. 104’s comments on his sensuality and memories of the Spirit are embracing in his mind. It’s - it’s not like that, it wasn’t like that, and it is a pointless idea to entertain now. Even if — it’s too late for them, they missed their chance. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong in its entirety. +

    + It’s— +

    + Oh. It’s humiliating, because now his body is - + + reacting. + + It’s been notoriously hard to accomplish physical arousal since the accident, but. + + Well. + +

    + This isn’t good. +

    + (Wrong in its entirety, he tells himself.) +

    + ( + + You must be devoid of sensuality.) + +

    + (He doesn’t—) +

    + ( + + And are memories enough to satisfy you?) + +

    + (He can’t cope with this, he can’t, not now—) +

    + Memories are not enough to satisfy him. +

    + Fuck, he’s really going to do this. He’s really going to -- but this, too, is agonizing. Maybe he can get rid of his harrowing want and banish the ghastly invading thoughts if he deals with this, if he acknowledges these feelings just once and never again. If he truly gives in. +

    + In bed, he removes his garments with caution as his fingers shake and tremble. It feels good when he finally touches himself, feels heavenly. It’s been a while since he’s been able to do this. His hips roll, his eyes roll back, his body lurches. And he allows himself to imagine. He should + + never + + allow himself to imagine. +

    + It begins as mere imagination. He’s crazed now, desperate - craving - regretting the depths of his suffering, regretting the fact that he never reached out to them - the only being who can be around him unbandaged - for contact when they were actually here. Images flash through his mind, and the pace of his touch is so fast now— + + The Spirit pressing Larry against the wall, running its fingers down his back with an unbearable tenderness that he can nearly feel in reality, until it is able to give him what he really needs, and in his imagination they are just as frantic as he is, in his mind they get overwhelmed inside of him, their thrusts selfish - it would make sense, their first touch ever was three months ago - and then the scenery changes—- + +

    + He’s back in his bed, in his night clothing, and the Spirit is straddling him, hovering just above him with hesitation, and he is not in control of this scenario, and he’s still hard, and they look frightened, and oh + + God, oh God. No. No. No. Please, no. Not now. He will never be able to move on from this. No. + +

    + “It’s you,” he whispers, the shock electrifying. He wants to be mad, to yell at them for abandoning him, but his body, his stupid flesh, won’t allow him to do anything besides freeze and force his eyes to close, an attempt at hiding his sorrow. “It’s you, again. It’s you.” He pauses. “Just - why? Why did you do it? I thought - I thought we—I thought we were—something.” +

    + The Spirit reaches down and places his hand against his cheek. He leans into it, his nature and instinct is to want and need and desire, and then he realizes - they’re mirroring his final act, their first and last embrace. It should be infuriating. +

    + Four words mist into his thoughts, written in bright glowing messy letters: + + We cared too much. + + Three more in succession: + + You deserved better. + +

    + His eyes flutter open, he stares up at them, the way they glimmer and illuminate his darkness. You don’t get to decide that for me, he wants to say. I knew what I was getting myself into when I left with you, he wants to say, and I was okay with it. The bandages - but you. It’s all centered around you, he wants to say, and I despise that, he needs to say. Instead-- +

    + Instead he grips their hips, pauses - + + is this okay - + + and the Spirit presses their “body” down over him. But while they are frantic, they grind against him with experience — have + + they + + imagined this? +

    + “Can you, um,” he begins, breathless, “can you feel this? Does it feel good for you? It feels good for me, but I--” +

    + The Spirit responds - their crackling quickens, so fast now with their movement. They press their fingers against his chest, crawling and trailing them down his torso - too slow - too slow - teasing - until their hand hovers over his thighs, asking for permission. +

    + “Please, I—” +

    + It’s supposed to mean + + I don’t want to lose you again, + + but in truth it’s supposed to mean + + please touch me, please, please, please. You’re all I know. + +

    + They nod and unbutton him. He’s unsure of what to expect - it’s sex with an alien, after all — he doesn’t expect them to just. Lower their frame onto him. Ride him with the same gentle desperate overlay they had in his thoughts. They’ve definitely had the same thought - they’ve thought about this, most likely multiple times. They wanted him. How long have they wanted him? +

    + Around him, they feel - it’s beyond description. It feels + + so + + good, better than intimacy with any human, it’s mystical and otherworldly and approaching intolerable - he wants to remain here forever, he should be able to hide here, he wants this. +

    + “Pal—” +

    + He stops to consider that he just called the person he’s having sex with + + pal, + + which is even more humiliating, but they don’t seem to mind. There’s adoration in their facelessness, inexplicably. The melody of his moans and breath melds with the sound of their cracklepulse, resulting in a noise almost angelic, almost holy. +

    + He’s getting close. He can sense that they are too. +

    + “Please—fuck— + + please, + + ” he exhales, voice unsteady. “I need—you. I need—I think—I— + + fuck— + + I love—” +

    + He can’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. The two words, the acknowledgement, sends them both over, the Spirit tightening and releasing, their light bursting and flickering. His eyes roll almost closed, momentary bliss, fleeting tranquility. He sways and thrusts, the feeling as waves washing over his entire self. When it fades, he realizes what he’s done, the ultimate implications. He’s ruined it, he thinks, they’ll never visit him again. +

    + Their shoulders sink as they recover, their head bowing down in exhaustion. It was a lot for them. It was a lot for both of them. It was pure. +

    + They look up at him, their eyes narrowing. A horrific, boundless despair envelops them - he can feel it within them, their connection still viable, their emotion against his own. They reach up to touch him, one final time. He knows it’s the final time, but he still begs. +

    + “Wait, please, don’t—” +

    + And then he’s back in the harsh disgusting fabric of reality -- his body now relieved, his existence satiated and starved. +

    + Larry curls his knees to his chest. Allows himself to sob, to rock back-forth in his suffering. His moans become wails - the harmony remains but now it’s a harmony of tragedy and destiny and a new eternal hollowing. +


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    ghost that true love sheds +

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    It takes them - a while - to figure out the most appropriate gesture, but eventually they come to the heart-rending conclusion that it doesn’t matter; anything they do will infuriate him, any action they take or consider will deepen the voidlike gap between their existences, the connection they could have in a brighter world. It doesn’t matter.

    Nothing matters here. Larry matters here. Nothing matters here. Larry is nothing and everything and the lack of purpose and also everything that has ever been loved by every inhabitant of this universe that has ever lived — still this amount of love is incomparable to the Spirit's love for him, does not even approach a similar vastness, still their love forms its own universes, and so on.

    It’s really quite angering.

    As his unconsciousness festers, the Spirit thinks of his note. We need some ground rules. Larry is forgetting one key, crucial aspect of the situation: the Spirit lives within him and so the Spirit knows his mind, can construct his ground rules from the ground up like brick, like shelter to nest in. They are restrictive. Larry still does not think of them as their own being, and his idea of harmony contrasts with theirs. He needs to accept them, not merely tolerate their presence. He needs to embrace their connection, he needs to chew up reality, swallow it whole, refusing or the very first time to choke on it or sink into it. Their connection. Their connection. The Spirit continues telling themselves this — that they have a connection, that there’s a future out there in which he is capable of feeling anything positive for them. They do not entertain the idea of him loving them back. That would simply be too much to ask for, far too unrealistic, and the Spirit would gorge on it anyway, the Spirit would lose their essence in his skin anyway, would unravel at the knowledge anyway, so it is a pointless thing to dwell on. He will never feel the same way; he’s not capable of it.

    They have to do something, to get their point across. They are not happy, this is not what they wanted. This lack of acceptance is intolerable. They will be together for eternity, whether he likes it or not, and he needs to grasp that.

    This idea seems perfect until they realize its unique repercussions.

    If they want to do this, they have to touch him. They have never -- touched him. Oh. They are very adept at holding themselves back; this will be their ultimate challenge.

    But they must.


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    Somehow, by some higher intervention, they make it through, they do not evaporate. His bandages wrapped around every inch of his skin, his clothes draped and pulled over his frame. They survive; they always will, eternity.

    They carry him to Niles’s lab slowly, bathing in their exhaustion. Oh, they are tired. They are always tired, they are always burning, he thinks he is always burning but the Spirit's entire soul is trapped in that fire, in that torture. They carry him slow. Considerate. This is not a very good idea.

    They have been experiencing his hatred for six decades. They can handle it.

    So: they splay him over the ceiling rafter, his body limp and pendulous as it dangles in the air. They—-

    + Oh. +

    Oh, this was not a good idea. This was a good idea; he will certainly get the message, but this was not a good idea. He could fall. They did not consider that he could fall.

    If Larry ever came to serious harm—

    If Larry ever was hurt because of them, genuinely and truly scathed through their action —

    They could not bear it. They would perish. They would turn themselves inside-out, disappear into light and guilt and horror.

    So: they will wait here, until the sun rises. They will hover underneath him, watch him endlessly to keep him safe and whole and beautiful. The Spirit would remain here for millennia, if they needed to. The Spirit would watch over him until the world collapsed, their entire being belonging to him now.

    They are his. They will keep him safe. They will catch him if he falls. They will always protect him.

    (Many, many hours later, they enter his body, again slow, the first time that they have done so carefully, and wait.)


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    Long, long, long, long, long ago—

    A star fizzling out in the darkness of sky, its little wings and its holy essence diminishing into the lonely spacevoid, the aura of light around it fading out of a promise. This star disappears, then reappears in rhythmic flashes of light, different shades of elegant blues, the hue of oceans and drowning, of despair, of things that this star does not know yet.

    This star — this celestial body — comes back. Blinding, now; the celestial enlightened creation no longer fades, instead shines in a way that would turn any other being to utter ash, decimating. But the star is different now — the star has been changed.

    This star possesses a name. The star moves under the alias [REDACTED]; in other worlds, Negative Spirit. This Negative Spirit knows the order of the universe, so close after their creation, already has excavated the truth, how it always goes: you spend your entire immortal existence searching, exploring the wild, fantasizing about finding the completion, the story’s end, the ultimate fulfilling reward. The soulmate, in human language. In Negative Spirit language -- b’kehhal. It means rebirth in love. The one inherent desire that is universal among all: connection.

    The star is not a star. It is superlunary, it is celestial — it is a being. Stars are very animate, but they are not beings. The Spirit has ascended light and burning; they’re ambitious now, they have become addicted to their yearning, gorging on it to a point of sickness. Love. Love.

    Purpose.

    It’s always about purpose.

    The Spirit charts each galaxy, scanning for it. There are others of their kind, Spirits that they have loved, bared themselves open to. None of these Spirits are it. No one has made them whole.

    They are beginning to wonder if they will ever find the reinventing kind of love. The soulmate. The untranslatable concept. It has never been regarded as a myth, but the Spirit is losing their belief, is decaying in their dimension. The Negative Spirit like a dead human body, slowly deteriorating into ghastliness. A formless, negative existence.

    That’s why they call it the Negative Space. It is so horribly agonizing, the absence of home and their inability to recall it. Their dimension, burning against the darkness of all that is. Their home, while embraced, holds no permanence, like muscle and flesh on bone.

    Like humanity.

    Like Larry. Lawrence. Captain Larry Trainor. Emphasis on the name, emphasis on title. Emphasis on a life never lived and a subsequent life tainted and regurgitated, unwilling rumination. A life that is barely in use. Larry and his wife and his two boys and the big airplanes, like dolls in a playset. Perfect. Picturesque.

    Normal.

    They see it immediately upon the merge — pain. Pain. Love and pain entangled, contaminating one another upon touch. Love and pain and a choking, trembling embodied fear. Fear like a person, like two hands around the neck, two ropes around the hand.

    And - at first it is merely pity. There is so much good in this man — his chest overflowing, bursting through its stitches with holiness, pure energy. He cannot see this. Larry Trainor minus his title and status is a terrified, broken man whose love has shattered him in too many directions, has spread the spiderweb cracks like disease, infecting all. This is not right. Love -- is not — supposed to feel like this.

    They cannot uncover the truth; they cannot tell if finally finding their culminating love with a man who views himself as hellbound & unworthy of devotion is worse than never finding it at all. The same pure energy that sprung from within Larry before is bursting within the Spirit now — this is love, and love looks like light, love looks like so much light you could choke on it and absorb it until it chars you on the inside too.

    Many people would not call Larry beautiful. This is humanity in the bad way -- a judgemental humanity.

    Larry Trainor is the most beautiful thing that they — this trans-dimensional ancient being, who has witnessed births of celestial nature & viewed creation and beauty countless times — has ever seen. Larry Trainor is the only thing in this dimension worth saving. Larry Trainor is words in scripture, sacred to the belief systems of their sparks. Larry Trainor is the soul completion that the Spirit has coveted endlessly.

    Larry Trainor hates the Negative Spirit.

    It changes nothing.

    Larry is his reviving love. They simply have to facilitate the rebirth themselves. That’s okay -- they will always keep him safe. They have found their purpose and their purpose lies positive: they have to rehabilitate this man, they have to love him into a path of healing. It may take centuries. It may take millennia. But.

    The Negative Spirit is a determined being, and they have time.


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    xii.

    Larry Trainor is beginning to feel himself turn into a creature of wanting. Before the Spirit -- a creature of horror, something theatrical, a pieced-together false costume of a man. He is still this, now. He is still everything. He has to be everything. He is still this, but now he feels something pit inside of him, dark and consuming and

    hungry.

    He was always a creature of wanting. He wanted everything. He had to want everything — it was easy, to stretch himself out, to thin himself over humanity. He wanted love and he wanted safety but love is never safe; there is always some calculated overwhelming risk, and Larry was never strong enough to take it.

    Now the Negative Spirit is in front of him, trapped within a chamber, its hand extended out to him, banging on their barrier. Help me. He is the one helping the Spirit now — he would be, if he were free. He prays. He closes his eyes behind his goggles and prays that Silas’ plan will come to fruition. He prays for the Negative Spirit, and when he opens his eyes again, its hand is still there.

    He wants to touch it.

    He would touch the Spirit if he wasn’t tied down. He would free the Spirit, if he was not tied down. Kept away. Forsythe — still alive, somehow — takes and takes and takes and he has taken the Negative Spirit from him too many times. If Larry were a stronger man, he would rip Charles Forysthe apart.

    He is a creature of wanting, and creatures of wanting do not think sanely. They are fueled by their hunger, only hunger, only always hunger. Hunger and desire puppeteering, controlling each limb and neuron by string. He could reach out and touch it, when he is free. He will be free. He will make it out of this. He could grasp the Spirit’s hand like prayer, like becoming.

    Before — before. Before his realization, he would have clawed at the Spirit in hatred. Anger. Miscommunication.

    He wants it now -- to hold his hand to the Spirit’s, to mirror this action in reciprocation.

    It is, after all, the only being he will ever be able to touch.

    ii.

    It is 196?, and Larry Trainor is caged within the Ant Farm. It’s — night? — and he is trying to sleep in cell 721, uncomfortably against the cold, sickening floor, in his suit. He hears wails and laughter and a continuing, endless shriek. At this point, the screaming does not even move him.

    He’s become desensitized. It’s horrifying — he knows that it is horrifying — but after a few years, it all becomes minute, fading into background detail.

    Larry hears — an alien rustle, feels something tingle and pool in his chest. His hand glows. It’s almost as if the being within him is trying to comfort him — to hold him in the only manner within its capability.

    He wonders what it would feel like to touch it. It looked electrical on Forsythe’s screen; would it shock him, would it prick him?

    Would it hurt? He would deserve that, wonders if the being would ever allow him to hurt himself against its frame. It probably would. It must hate him. It should hate him. It’s mutual — it ruined his life, but it stopped his torture. It created an eternal burning within Larry Trainor.

    But — he wants to feel it. Does it ever touch him, when it is outside of Larry and he is unconscious? Would it do that?

    Somehow, he knows: it wouldn’t. It, for some unknown reason, wants to protect Larry, and that is the worst action imaginable.

    No one survives Larry Trainor.

    xiii.

    Larry peels his bloodied bandages away, unravels himself, his sick skin revealed slow in the mirror. He has so much to think about now. He thinks about the Negative Spirit; nowadays he is always thinking about the Negative Spirit.

    And Larry Trainor is once again a victim of hunger, grows insatiable. He — he can’t parse it. Something has changed, has burst inside of him, into bloom. He is transforming.

    He pulls his blanket over his shoulders. On his right side, he places his arms tight around each other — hugging himself. Embracing. He imagines embracing the Spirit, feeling its light and warmth around him. He imagines it as warm, as calming. Not shocking, not painful. Pure in every way.

    The Spirit understands; it lets out a chest glow, white and void. Like: I am here. I have you.

    xvi.

    They’re trying a new chemical tomorrow, and supposedly his friends will soon be back to their normal sizes again. He does not have much faith in this.

    “I’m starting to think we’re doomed,’ he says, to the Spirit, out loud to himself in admission. “What if we never get them back to normal? What if we have to live like this quite literally until the end of time?”

    The Spirit gives a slight, fleeting flicker. Live in the present, not the future or the past. It is always there to remind him of the holy parts in life.

    “I know,” he continues. “I can’t worry about that. I’m sure we’ll figure out something.”

    Larry stares at himself in his bedroom mirror, studies every vein, every scar and every ridge. Imagines being touched, feeling fingers run over his scars in admiration. If he had what he used to have—

    + Don’t live in the past. +

    It’s time to end his curiosity.

    “Release,” Larry breathes.

    The Spirit exits his body, looks almost frightened floating in front of him. It waits for instructions. Confused, yet open, always open.

    “Can you just,” Larry says, “hold me?”

    It moves onto the floor, and embraces Larry gently, slow and cautious. Larry could shatter, fragment, if it makes the wrong move, chooses the wrong action. It knows this, it is the only being in the world who truly understands him, and thus it acts gentle. This is the most intimate experience Larry has had in a very long time.

    It brushes against him. The Spirit feels—

    The Spirit does not shock or elicit pain; instead it feels like touching a safe sun, like reaching out into space & its formations. It is - warm. When he closes his eyes, it is like the imagined feeling of placing touch upon pure light. Holiness tangible.

    He never wants this to—


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    Larry has barely been awake for an hour —- so early in the morning as he tends to his plants, the golden rays enveloping him — when the Spirit exits his body without warning. Without prior discussion, without knowledge, the Spirit scoops him up, holds him, gazes into his soul.

    And then it opens up a portal to another dimension, and forces both of them in. Of course; tenderness, or the appearance of it, will never last here. It always has to fade in the Spirit’s eyes. Long ago he could not imagine desiring tenderness from it — but things have changed, the circumstances are different now. They can be in—

    At first the new dimension is a blinding, unbearable white, and then it morphs itself into a vibrant, unbearable rainbow of color, bleeding around him into pools of mud. When his eyes finally adjust, he’s in a roller rink.

    The Spirit allows him to stand, and he stands — stares at it in a similar gaze, in a frustrated form. “What the fuck,” he exclaims, waving both arms in the air, “is wrong with you? I was just — and you had to—”

    “Well, well,” interrupts a booming, enchanting voice. “Who are you, baby?”

    Larry freezes. Cold, in fright. Is —- is he talking to Larry?

    “Oh, there’s two of you, mmm. My lucky day.”

    The Spirit nearly falls out of the air at the tone of these words. Okay. Larry turns around, anger brewing—

    It’s confusing, when he sees the clock-head. It’s continually confusing when he sees the rest of this man’s sparkling, muscular body. His skin glistens in the changing lights. “I—-”

    “I’m Dr. Jonathan Tyme,” he says. Jonathan Tyme holds out his hand for Larry to take, and as Larry does so his entire body begins to tremble. “With a ‘y’. And you are?”

    Tyme laughs as Larry’s hand lingers against his own — shit, his intention was not to remain here, his intention was to get this over with, to deal with the Spirit’s impulsive decision. But: he pulls his hand back successfully, tries to act tame. “I’m Larry Trainor.”

    “What,” he says, gesturing to the Spirit, the alien being that hovers in the air next to him, “are you?”

    “It doesn’t talk,” Larry explains. “I don’t think it talks on the same frequency as—”

    A voice, deep and alluring until he realizes its source, blasts through the room, shaking the walls, monstrous, oh. “Can you hear me?”

    Larry stands in shock as he parses the statement, the reality of the Spirit’s voice finally being revealed to him in person — in real time, in real life, everything about this is entirely real. “Yes,” he breathes, his own voice turning into a molten mess. “But I don’t — I don’t understand—”

    “I overheard Cliff and Rita discussing this dimension,” the Spirit explains, and Larry still cannot truly grasp it —- they’re talking, they’re communicating, they’re blossoming. “I thought there was a possibility we might be able to communicate here.”

    “So your motivation behind essentially kidnapping me into another dimension was just—”

    “Larry,” it says, pausing his anger, “you’re my best friend.”

    This is enough to stop him, to decimate him. How — how is that possible? How can the Spirit feel fondness towards him after everything that he has done? After gaining the deepest understanding of Larry Trainor that anyone could ever possibly have? He’s inherently flawed, he’s wholly broken. “What?”

    “I just wanted to tell you that,” it reveals. “You’re good. You’re a good person. I’ve been waiting six decades to tell you that I care about you, because apparently my actions were not enough.”

    “Don’t lie to me,” he snaps, without meaning to. “This isn’t funny.”

    “I’m not—-”

    “This is a very touching moment,” Tyme says, interrupting their conversation as it escalates, “but you’re boring me.”

    He reaches up to snap his fingers -- to banish them -- but the Spirit is quick, the Spirit takes his hand and interlocks it with theirs. This stops him; Larry can tell that Tyme is captivated even beyond his lack of facial expression.

    Alright. That’s - okay. Odd.

    “Please,” the Spirit says, and it sounds uncomfortably whiny, “let us stay here. We can’t talk anywhere else.”

    “If I let you stay, then you stay for a while.”

    “I don’t think that would be a problem.”

    “Do you two need to be alone?” Larry asks. He’s - so tired. “And I’m sorry, ‘not a problem’? I don’t want to stay here forever.”

    “ Relax, Larry,” Tyme says. With his other hand, he takes Larry’s palm again. “Have some fun.”

    “This isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

    “If you say so,” the Spirit says, voice now cocky, absorbed. “Don’t forget how well I know you.”

    There’s a drawn-out moment where, behind goggles and layers, Larry stares into them. Studies them, truly studies them. Their electrical composition, their body. It’s almost intolerable, knowing the Spirit’s view of him now. Everything melts away — the Spirit is no longer frightening nor irritating, but is simultaneously despised. Don’t forget how well I know you. The Spirit sees him. The Spirit knows, understands every aspect of Larry Trainor, and that is unacceptable.

    “I don’t get visitors often,” Tyme says, and it forces them both back into the present. “Why don’t we dance, hm?”

    “I’m not sure if this is the right time for that—”

    But he’s snapped his fingers again. Bad Girls stops and an upbeat, constantly banging song fills the air surrounding them. It’s overwhelming. Everything about this is overwhelming.

    Tyme whisks the Spirit away, out to the floor. It’s — it’s —

    The Spirit acts as if it has done this before, as if it knows the correct movement, the right virtuous path toward driving someone insane. It buries its “face” in Tyme’s neck, grinds up against him, legs snaking between legs. It feels wrong to watch, like Larry is intruding. Obscene.

    Risky.

    But — he can’t look away. It’s more sensual than dancing. He shouldn’t —- he shouldn’t be doing this. They need to go home. They need to go home and pretend this never happened.

    Tyme pulls it closer, sinks into it. “What’s your name, baby?” he asks, voice in an inconsistent, distracted whimper. “Tell me what you are.”

    “My name,” the Spirit says back, somehow muffled, strained, “is irrelevant.” Its head turns up, entirely in Larry’s direction now, gazing into his core again. “I come from the Negative Space.”

    Your home, Larry thinks.

    “Well, Irrelevant, ” Tyme says, “let me tell you, you’re heavenly. ”

    “Thank you.”

    Strobe lights begin to blare through the room, flashing, but Larry’s eyes remain entirely fixed on them. It’s no longer a dimension of loneliness.

    “Come here, Larry,” Tyme says, nearly desperate. “Join me.”

    He should not be doing this but he can’t help himself, he obeys, he presses himself up against Tyme’s back, his legs buckling slowly when his hips feel the contact. His arms move around Tyme’s torso, rest against his chest. He can feel the tingle of the Spirit's --- oh —- own chest against his bandages. It’s oddly calming — he expected their touch to be unpleasant. He lowers his hand immediately after the touch, pulling it away in shock and embarrassment, without realizing where he has landed until he hears Tyme’s gasp.

    “Whoa,” Tyme says. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

    “I didn’t mean to,” Larry breathes. “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t move, stays glued to Tyme’s posterior side. He lowers his voice, directs it to the Spirit: “You son of a bitch,” he says. “You didn’t bring me here to talk.”

    “You have proven yourself to be much more tolerable after you’ve had a sexual experience,” the Spirit replies. “Consider him my gift to you.”

    “Wow, thanks,” Larry says, sarcasm like radiation. “‘Gift.’ Sure.”

    “You’re acting like you’re not excited about this,” Tyme whispers in a mocking, horrific tone, “but something against me begs to differ.”

    Larry inhales. Sharp. Oh, he wants this. He shouldn’t want this. He wants this. He wants to thank the Spirit — sincerely, this time, truthfully — for allowing this to happen, even for seeing his all and understanding his needs. He needs this. It’s been so long. The Spirit knows that it has been so long. Larry knows his loneliness. He doesn’t trust Tyme, but he needs Tyme.

    “I need—” Larry says, whimpers. It’s too vulnerable; the truth. His thoughts pouring out into the room, manifesting through the lights and music.

    “Come with me, baby,” Tyme says. He turns, twirling Larry into his arms, and then next to him; Larry sighs, dizzy, at the lack of touch when it is over. He takes Larry’s hand and leads him towards a door. A secluded room, away from the other dancers. Loneliness. To be fulfilled.

    He does not check to see if the Spirit is following them; following him is their only desire, it seems, but he can deal with that later, they can talk later. He needs to experience.

    For now, Larry does not look back.


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    + It has been so long since Larry Trainor has known touch. +

    + Yes, he dreams of it, + + yearns for it; + + presses himself into his bed and curls up only to stay awake burdened by faceless, unrealistic fantasies. Over and over broken in his mind: hands brushing against one another, skin meeting skin in every holy altarplace, fresh teeth against his tired neck. Now that he allows himself to openly desire, he misses being fucked more than anything; O how he would sacrifice himself to feel someone inside of him again, to feel a mouth around him again, and some nights when he focuses on it with a particular effort, he can almost feel it still, like ghosts of love against him. +

    + He will never have that again. +

    + He will never be touched again. He will also never die. He will live out the rest of time’s cruelty and he will + + never + + be touched ever again. It is hard to deal with. It is agonizing, to have touch stolen from you. It stirs up illness within him. An anger that he had previously laid to rest. +

    + It’s - +

    + Even if he could be touched without disaster, no man will ever look at Larry Trainor’s scarred body and want to lay hands on him. No one will ever desire him. He is grotesque, an eyesore, something that must be hidden away from view lest the world becomes horrifically disturbed. Long ago he was beautiful, long ago he was worthy. Now—- +

    + Now, he supposes, he shouldn’t think in such firm concepts. Black and white gets you nowhere in this life. The Negative Spirit certainly would not want him to think of himself as grotesque, but it also does not understand the truth of humanity yet; it only knows Larry, and he isn’t a very good example of humanity. +

    + Sometimes it is enough, to dream. Sometimes, though it is very rare, he will have a dream in which he can feel again, in which emotions become physical and he’s being fucked again + + so + + good against the wall of his bedroom, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter. He cannot see + + who + + is fucking him, the man’s face obscured. He can only feel a warm arm wrapped around his torso, fingers snaking through his own fingers, the feeling of being + + whole. + + He doesn’t need to see the man’s face; it is better this way, he thinks, so he doesn’t have to deal with identities and emotions. Only craving now, here. +

    + It takes him too long to realize that he can move his hands over his own skin. Larry Trainor can place touches upon his own body — allow his mind to work the fantasy — and that has to be enough. +

    + He doesn’t even + + mean + + to. The dream hits him, infects him and courses through his veins to destroy him, and he wakes up hard. It’s dizzying. His head spins, as he adjusts to the vivid, bright world around him. The realization feels like a wound. +

    + He wasn’t even aware that his body, after the fire’s affliction, could still do this. He cannot bring himself to analyze it. +

    + Instead he works quickly to strip himself of clothing, runs his own hand down his own chest and stomach. Feels the ridges of the burns, as if they are constellations not born of pain. Grasps himself — +

    + Larry tries to believe that he is worthy of what he imagines, forces himself to bite into the belief that he deserves to feel good, until his mind is banished of anxiety and fear entirely and is replaced with the blazeburn of a million stars, what he has not felt in + + so + + long. Not since Flex— +

    + The planet spins and Larry’s mind spins along with it, gravity unbuckling him. It feels + + so + + good. He deserves this. One day, if he is touched again by some miracle, he will deserve it. He deserves this release now — is + + owed + + it, even, after the crushing weight of time. +

    + He places one hand over his mouth. Muffled. Gasps and moans like melodies, like birdsong. It’s almost + + healing + + when he reaches his release, body folding in on itself, the feeling like electricity flowing and seeping into every cell. Healing. + + Healing, + + he thinks. +

    + He deserves it. +


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    your hair was long when we first met

    +|| TNS/Larry, post Vacay patrol. Explicit NSFW. +
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    There’s a door, in the distance.

    Larry thinks, at first, that this is it — the door that will take him to his new life, the pathway to his new existence. His higher, purer existence, Larry and the Negative Spirit until the end of all. This is what he always wanted; an escape, a renewal.

    But, it seems, the Negative Spirit has other ideas before their transition into light. Beyond the door is — everything is —- everything is the same, glassy soft-reflecting floors with the celestial bodies around them spiraling and swishing in tranquility. The only difference now is the bed in the middle of the realm, metal shining silver headboard and blankets shifting between shades of blue.

    “Oh,” he says. “Oh. You…”

    It isn’t just the Spirit that wants this. The thought poured into his mind the moment he saw its body in his body, the moment he saw it in a form that can know touch, the moment he touched it. Larry has not wanted something this much in so long, so long. The Spirit, apparently, in its unpredictability and chaotic nature, wants this too. It makes it almost human, even if the comparison would offend it. It’s so good.

    He turns to face it, its expression still blank and dead.

    “You want to…?”

    The Spirit is reaching out for him now, its hand resting on the sides of his own face, a mirroring parallel of position. He sinks into its touch, so weak for it, as it gives a hesitant nod. He can feel what it feels — yes, it wants to. Yes, it wants him. They would not be here if it did not want him.

    The Spirit slowly crawls its other arm around Larry’s back, pulls him in, the kind of closeness that neither of them imagined they could deserve. Finding their redemption in the touch, the way his chest brushes against its chest, the insides flooding out — the Spirit kisses him again, warm and passion-soaked, with a fervor like falling to Earth. His lips stray from its lips, moving along the curves of its jaw — his own jaw, but that doesn’t matter right now — and down its neck. This makes it shiver, its head tilting to the side, giving him more room to show his desire.

    It still can’t talk. If it could talk, perhaps it would beg for him, and if it begged for him Larry would give it anything.

    He moves their tangled web towards the bed in the middle of the room, pushes it down onto the blankets and places both hands next to its hips to keep his body in the air — but the Spirit grabs him and unites their skin again, Larry falling and landing on its chest and stomach. The contact startles him —- they’re still dressed but it’s still almost too much — though he keeps going, rolling his tongue over the skin that rests under its ear.

    He stops, sudden, and stares into its eyes. “Do you, um… do you need me to show you what to do?”

    It nods, again slow and mechanical.

    “Okay,” he whispers, an unintentional smile forming. “But… before we… is there any possibility you can… you know… change to look a little less like, you know, me?”

    The Spirit blinks for the first time, and then its scarred skin fades into smooth blue flesh. It still wears his face and frame like an inescapable mold — his body is, after all, the only body it has ever known — but it is far enough divorced from his present appearance to be comfortable.

    “Good enough,” he says, and slowly slides the suspenders down from its shoulders, slipping a finger underneath the waistband of its pants. “Is this good? Can we start here?”

    It responds by guiding his hands lower, over the button.

    “If you want to stop at any point,” Larry says, “just tap on the back of my neck three times, and we’ll stop, okay?” He pauses, considers. “Will you be able to feel this like I will? I still don’t really know how you… work. But I don’t want to do this if I’m the only one getting something out of it.”

    It makes an expression for the very first time, a slight wistful smile curling up the corners of its mouth, and it nods once again, this time not hesitant, completely prepared. In Larry’s mind, he feels a pang of touch me, touch me, break me. It’s -- destructively loud.

    “I’ve broken you enough,” he says, hoping that the words he heard were indeed from the desires of the Spirit. He climbs off of it, moves to his knees. “I want to make things good for us if we’re going to be here forever.”

    He leaves the statement in the air and strips it down, presses his mouth around it hot and frantic. It’s surprising, when he hears it gasp at the feeling of Larry’s mouth wrapping through, his hand following, his head moving back-forth with cosmic force. It cannot talk, but it can moan, slow whimper-howls being drawn from its throat as Larry works. It’s good, he’s doing good. He is being useful. He hears a ringing in his ears, mind burning in cosmic movement: please don’t stop, touch me forever, stay with me like this forever. Its hands grab at his hair, controlling the curve of his placement. It’s already getting overwhelmed, growling now.

    He takes it deeper, into his throat, and then pulls back, watching the wetness string from his mouth. When he meets its eyes, they are glossed-over and empty, and its head tilts up as if to say - why stop, I told you not to stop—

    “Are you ready?” Larry asks. “Was that too much? I want to give you more. I want — I want to feel you, if you’ll let me.”

    Another nod; go on, please; he undresses his own body, fresh to his chilling surroundings, and flips the Spirit gently onto its stomach. Hm. An idea forms within him. If this place can be affected by the mind—

    With a wave of his hand, the Spirit’s body changes, and it’s ready for him. He wanted to do this part himself, to help the Spirit adjust to the feeling as it takes each digit — but he knows that would be too overwhelming for it in its first time, and he needs it now, needs this now, the release and the unification.

    “Come here,” he says, rolling it back over. “I want you —” he moves to sit on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and gesturing to his hips and stomach, “—here. I want to look at you.”

    He hasn’t done it before — like this, with someone on top of him instead of inside of him, and this too will require an adjustment, but the Spirit cannot give him that kind of pleasure, yet, it isn’t experienced enough. And — God, he thinks as it climbs over to straddle him, to press itself down against his cock chasing any shred of sensation it can find, this is better.

    “Are you ready?” he asks again. It doesn’t nod, this time; instead it takes him in its hand affirmatively and presses all that Larry has inside of it, shuddering and trembling at how he feels. Oh. It’s getting used to this. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

    He places both hands around its hips, guiding it desperately upwards and back down. He tries to stifle his cries, to keep himself together when it cannot, but just as it is the Spirit’s first time being touched, it is also the first time Larry has been touched like this, in reality, for sixty crumbling years. He can barely handle it himself.

    Soon it gets comfortable and begins moving faster on him, riding him beautifully, its face beautiful in the way its eyes can barely stay open in the present, its body beautiful tight around him, it is just so beautiful now. Its fingernails sink into his shoulder, pain and pleasure becoming one, a similar oneness to the Negative Spirit and Larry Trainor, embracing eternally.

    It tries to move its hand to stroke itself as it rides, catching on quickly, but it loses its balance, stumbles to the side until Larry catches and steadies it. It looks frightened; Larry smiles softly, still in awe of the moment, still trying to comfort it. “Hey,” he whispers, “it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

    The Spirit exhales for the first time. Its eyes open and lock onto his, the intimacy of the gesture making Larry gasp and rock and buck. Its gaze unmoving, its vision entirely focused on him until its irises roll back into its head, its face contorting and quivering. God, Larry breathes, and then, “you’re so good,” he leans forward to kiss it, his lips ghosting again in their rightful place over its throat, “so good,” he pulls at the skin, bites down moderately, he will not push it past its limit but he wants it to feel good, “I didn’t know you could be this good,” he moves down to its collarbone, “but you’re so, so fucking… good. ”

    It gasps, again, and fuck, they’re both so close. Its skin is flushed dark blue, hot to the touch, the touch. In his mind another fragment: Larry, I… this is… this is…. too much. This is—

    “Do you want to stop?”

    He isn’t going to question why he can hear it now. He wants it to be comfortable, above all else.

    It shakes its head, no, no, no. Never stop. They can do this as often as they want now, their forms no longer bound to earthly limits. And the knowledge that he belongs to it now, that they can touch for as long as they want painlessly, the suffering shed down to the planet behind them — this is what sends Larry over, his body convulsing and shaking and convulsing and shaking until it, too, is convulsing and shaking in its release. He lets go; “oh, God, ” he breathes, “fuck, fuck, I— fuck, I lo—”

    Larry has enough sense to stop himself there. The Spirit, still riding and soaking up every shard of pleasure it can grasp as it comes over him. This is its first time being touched and he’s done so well, he has atoned.

    And then it climbs off of him, puts its head against his shoulder, a crazed lean. He swings his arm around it, holds it close. He can’t get enough of this, wants to remain here forever, the true ability to touch returning to him.

    “Was that okay?” he asks, and it presses a kiss into his neck to respond.

    They’re silent, in this position, for a while. With the Spirit it is always silence, an overwhelming silence accompanied by cacophonous crackling, but this silence resembles serenity.

    And then: “Let’s stay here for a while,” he says. “Before we go back.”

    It looks up at him.

    “I just don’t want this to end.”


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    and the universe said i love you because you are love +

    +|| TNS/Larry; a moment of intimacy. +
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    You were born of love, crafted out of love’s internal body, energy pulsing with emotion, each reminder of love crashing through your composition like ocean waves. Larry is here — he is here. He is growing fond of you, shows it in words and actions. Me and us and we harmonic in the air, repetitive in your mind. You want to scream the words, to drown in what you have yearned for eternally: love, reciprocated love, true intimacy with him and within him. He does not love you; you understand this simply because it is the ultimate truth, because you know his mind better than your own, at this point, and it’s harrowing, mortifying,

    how horribly you crave this. You are hollow and he is hollow. You want to fill him up in the right way, to end his hollowness and curl within him, love instead of invasion; it’s not realistic, he does not love you, and that will always be okay, you will always have your thoughts and the internal desires that he cannot read—

    but this—

    This isn’t—

    This is not a fantasy, this is the real universe you live in, the body of the entirely holy, and he is asking you to hold him, on his bed in the dark. You have to take a moment to parse it, to force yourself into understanding: he craves the true intimacy, he can’t, but he wants you, he wants your comfort. You are a comfort, now. He wants you. It isn’t the same. It can never be the same. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

    You have to do this. You cannot refuse. He is lonely, and bored, and he doesn’t want his mind to fall back into old habits, his previous horrors. You have to do this. He needs you. You need him—

    You emerge halfway from his body, wrap your arms around him. Comfort. Comfort. Comfort. Unbearable comfort. Paradoxical. You study his skin, the way his veins curl, the beauty that still radiates from him — has always radiated from him. Even in his worst moments. Even in his acts of bitterness towards you. Even in his hatred, Larry Trainor is beautiful. You despise him for that. You despise him for everything.

    You were born of love’s organ. Try again.

    You love him for everything.

    You try very hard not to touch his skin, to keep your hands over his undershirt only. Touch means fear, touch means intimacy, touch means insatiable horrors. It is the hardest thing you have ever done. The world is harsh, but the ultimate struggle is managing intimacy without intimacy. Belonging with no belonging. It is a voiding ache.

    He looks over at you. Turns to his side — oh and a brushing occurs, skin pushing up against you. Larry Trainor’s eyes staring into yours, bursting you apart, and he’s loosening you by the stitches with his fingers placed under the core of you, he’s opening you and exposing heart. All with one look. That is how he functions---this is how you function. Fragile in strength.

    Larry’s eyes close. He’s not unconscious, merely asleep, in your arms, within your grasp, tangible. Larry Trainor, now tangible. You do this now, you can hold him close. He embraces your embrace. How long have you wanted this? How long has this haunted you?

    He lets out a soft moan in his sleep. This is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, this is a moment that will grow inextricable; you will live here endlessly, you will never forget the sight of this, the intimate feeling. His skin, burning acidic against you.

    Serenity.


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    another dreamless night (scratch on the moon like a familiar smile) +

    +|| TNS/Larry. It's not Larry that Mr. Nobody targets, in Penultimate Patrol. +
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    Larry wakes up in a bed that is not his own, in a home that is not his own, in a skin that is not his own. It hurts in its own way; this is what he is incapable of having, this is his inability to be safe, his inability to be loved.

    He almost forgets that he’s supposed to be targeting Mr. Nobody. It’s horrifically easy to rid all reason from your mind, to discard logic into the ground like a dead beloved animal rotting now, when you are living out everything you’ve ever wanted: domesticity. Normalcy—

    + No. +

    He stares at his own body — he’s shirtless, and his skin is whole. He runs a selfish hand down his stomach, feels the lack of sensation; when he does this in reality, he feels scar tissue. This is scar tissue, in a different way; the scars elicited by wounds grown from desire. Desire. Larry has only ever known how to desire, and how to ache because of it.

    “Hey, wait for me before you do that.”

    “I wasn’t—” Larry says this on instinct, denial, always denial, until he realizes that there is a stranger in front of him. He is beautiful. He has golden-white hair curling down his forehead, freckles like galaxies over his face. This man is also shirtless, with scars over his chest, and—

    He’s holding a tray of food. Larry has heard the stories, before; eat the food and you’re trapped here forever, eternity. He’s already trapped for eternity, it wouldn’t matter, but—

    The man places the tray on their — their, their, they are together — nightstand. When he turns back to Larry, he looks blank, catatonic, for a moment, boundless, until his face twists. He looks like he’s about to be murdered; the mere sight of Larry grotesque. Oh.

    “L---Larry?”

    Like he’s realizing the truth of the situation. Like they know each other. Like something is very, very wrong.

    “Who the hell are you? Why am I—”

    “I don’t know,” he responds. He moves to sit next to Larry on the bed, and Larry jolts away in fear, always fear, which rips a pained look onto both of their faces.

    “You’re Mr. Nobody. This is sick.”

    “I’m not Mr. Nobody.”

    He looks at the tray. Takes a strip of bacon, chews on it in a peculiar way. He looks like he’s never eaten before. He looks alien. He looks---

    When he inevitably begins to choke, Larry places a hand on his back and helps him get it down. It’s his turn to jolt in fear, and they both shiver at the contact; Larry has not touched anyone like this in sixty years, and this man looks as if he has never been touched so intimately in his life. His eyes are a striking, inhuman blue, and Larry realizes who he’s touching as the man — the haunting, loving being that inhabits him — pulls him closer and kisses him slow, like he’s practiced this before in his mind, like he’s hungry and angry and dying all at once.

    Larry does not fear it. He kisses back, their bodies pressed together like they are merging, becoming one again even in this falsified world. He should be horrified. He shouldn’t want this. He should be sickened.

    The shock burrows in when the Negative Spirit — it feels wrong to call him that, now that he looks human — tries to change their positions, placing his body on top of Larry’s.

    Larry pulls away. “I can’t. I can’t do this right now. Not here.”

    “I understand. We have a mission. We can’t let this distract us.”

    “Let’s never talk about this again. It’s — it’s not something I want to think about.”

    The Spirit looks dejected, but nods. He knows that Larry is right. This was never a good idea.

    “What are we doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t we be in my world?”

    “YOU THINK THIS SHOULD BE YOUR FANTASY?”

    Laughter. It’s Mr. Nobody.

    Instead of boiling in his anger, he turns to the Negative Spirit. He knows guilt, experiences shame and regret in every string of muscle, but it has never been this torturous.

    “This is your fantasy?”

    “I’m sorry, Larry.”

    “No. I’m sorry. All those years you wanted me, and I treated you—”

    “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

    + “THIS IS A VERY TOUCHING MOMENT, AND HEY, I’M DELIGHTED TO TELL YOU THAT YOU CAN HAVE THIS AND MORE, YOU CAN HAVE HIM, IF YOU JUST LEAVE NILES CAULDER ALONE. YOU ARE POWERFUL ENOUGH TO STOP ALL OF THEM.” +

    The Spirit nods. He looks up towards the sky, the dim lights of the room. “No,” he says. “It’s not my choice. Larry doesn’t want this. We need Niles Caulder back, at any cost.”

    Larry’s chest begins to ache.

    + “WELL, OKAY, THEN. I GAVE YOU A CHANCE. REMEMBER THAT.” +

    Larry reaches out for the Spirit's hand as the scenery fades, separating them, their wholeness dissipating into air, back into Larry’s body.

    He should be relieved to see Niles. Everyone is safe. Everyone he cares about is safe.

    But he can feel the Spirit's agony travel throughout his entire body, and knows that this moment is transformation —- he will never recover.


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    and you'll never be pure again +

    +|| At first they try beating it out of him. Larry trainor religious trauma fic. Pedophilic & incestuous abuse TW. +
    + + Larry’s body is much smaller here. This is because he is only eight, and already he feels smaller than he actually is -- smaller in the eyes of God, smaller in the golden light core of existence, smaller than what composes life -- and already he knows that there is something wrong with him, he is already aware that God does not approve of what he is. He does not know what he is, yet, but he knows that it is sinful and therefore he should repent. He knows this better than he knows his multiplication tables or how to spell the word gravity. He knows this better than he knows himself — Lawrence Trainor is sin embodied, the opposite of holiness injected into a body. + +

    + + And — bodies. At first they try beating it out of him, this impurity, his head crowned with abnormal colors, his shoulders and ribs searing like fire, entire body the hue of a vast and storming ocean. He chews it up in his mind; he cannot decide if no one notices the marks at school, or if they simply don’t care. Either way he deserves it. Either way this is his heavenly punishment for being This Way, this tainted, this diseased. He still does not understand why. + +

    + + Benjamin Quincy’s parents love him. William Olson’s parents love him. Elizabeth Miller’s parents love her. Everyone in his life has a family that loves them; why are his parents different? What is the motivation behind his suffering? What did Larry do to evoke this kind of wrath? + +

    + + If he was a good person —- if he was pure, if he was deserving — his family would love him. Obviously there is something inside of him, some defect, that they can sense, a flaw that everyone besides Larry can so clearly comprehend. It aches to think about. He aches to the bone, to whatever lies within — the ache bleeds into his soul. His soul is false. Everything about Larry Trainor is false, and he does not have a soul. It is very difficult to come to terms with this, when you are eight. + +

    + + The violence stops for a week when he is twelve. + +

    + + He is foolish — he almost believes that he has recovered. Larry allows himself to believe that he has finally atoned, that he is good now. Larry allows himself to feel optimism. He has healed, he is virtuous, maybe now he will deserve to have safety. His parents still don’t talk to him, but they don’t hit him. That’s better. That’s better. That’s better. Isn’t it? + +

    + + He allows himself this fresh interpretation until his mother takes his hand and smiles at him, so sad, so sick. She is showing him kindness, she is showing love, he is finally, finally— + +

    + + “Come with me, Lawrence,” she says. “Don’t be scared. I’m going to help you.” + +

    + + And she leads him away. Cuts him open, an incision from the stomach— + +

    + + Larry was never whole. He is destined to be broken— + +


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    + A crash in his bedroom. An orchid has somehow knocked itself onto the floor, the pot shattering into fragments, in the same way that Larry’s soul or lack thereof had shattered into fragments; Larry as the orchid, Larry as something so innocent becoming so easily ruined. +

    + But he is awake now. He is thankful for that. He is thankful, but the memories have resurfaced, the memories — he can + + feel + + this against his skin, begins clawing at his skin, the fire killed most of his nerves but he can still feel the ghost of invading memories like he is uncharred—- +

    + + he will never be whole he will never be whole he will never be whole he will never escape this he will never escape this he will never escape this he will never be clean he will always be tainted he will never be clean he can claw and scrub at his skin endlessly and he will + +

    + + never + +

    + + recover—- + +

    + A glow in his chest. He remembers that he isn’t alone anymore. +

    + “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his face now damp, “I’m so sorry, I can’t stop —- I know I’m safe now but I can still — I can’t — I’m sorry I put you through that — I —” +

    + He doesn’t have to say it out loud. The Spirit reads his deepest desire — his needs — his + + everything, + + and exits his body. He doesn’t know how long he can retain consciousness without its presence, so the Spirit works quickly, and presses itself into bed next to him. Holds him close. Cradles him. Like: + + you’re safe now. I’ve got you. + +

    + Larry, normally, would be angry. +

    + It buries its head his shoulder, burrows in, but he welcomes it, he invites its touch. It is the only being he can touch, and its touch feels warm. Its touch is gentle, without violence or pain like he had previously imagined; only a soft tingle against him, and he can feel it + + wholly. + +

    + + Thank you, + + he whispers, and focuses only on a better kind of touch, the crackling a perfect distraction. +

    + He is thankful. +


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    +|| John gets the Spirit instead. +
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    + i. +

    + He does not see the flash of light enter his fingertips and envelop his body, his body shining brighter than comprehension’s touch; he’s too focused on Larry Trainor’s scorched, still-beautiful dead body. +

    Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. De—

    + + He can’t be. + + It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was supposed to end, by divine hands, but not like + + this. + + Larry’s skin sloughs off in John’s hand. He cradles Larry’s face— +

    + and oh, + + oh. + + The others are approaching. The others, who would sink their teeth into John, rip out his innards wolfish and cruel, because of his love. Only because of their distorted perception of what love should be. So: he places the blanket underneath Larry’s head and pretends that it was his original intention. He has to hide himself. He must bury himself, every living moment. +

    + And now he doesn’t even have Larry. +

    + They cart Larry away and John wonders if it’s worth it; if living alone on a planet that despises him contributes to any greater meaning. He’s never had these thoughts before. He doesn’t want to experience it ever again, this loneliness. This lack of hope gutting him like prey. This— +

    + “John. John. Hey. Hey, + + John. + + ” +

    + Someone — one of + + them — + + is trying to get his attention. Briefly he considers the idea that they might know, that they realized his mourning for Larry was a little bit + + too + + intense, and decides that it just doesn’t + + matter. + + It doesn’t matter anymore. It was an inevitable occurrence, and he is not ashamed. Not like Larry was. +

    + Was. Oh, God. + + Was. + + He + + was. + + There are so many things that Larry Trainor was —- cowardly-holy, beautiful-charred. It’s funny; his internal beliefs had been scarred, and now he’s…. Larry’s existence contradicted all that was known to this world, and John had loved him for it. John loves him for it. John loves him. +

    + He wants to whisper it to Larry’s — + + body. + + But they’re watching him. Hungry. Predatory. Like vicious birds circling in. Like— +

    + “Yeah?” +

    + “You okay?” +

    + He wants to let himself unravel, + + fuck + + the danger, again it doesn’t matter anymore. He wants to cradle Larry’s body in his arms and thread their fingers together like there’s some bright star in their future that will shine upon both of them in saviorhood. Like Larry can come back from this. +

    + No. NO. John Bowers is not okay. A piece of him died on this field. +

    + “What?” he asks, and it’s not composed, it + + falters. + + He cannot show anything. +

    + Thank God he’s getting out of here. +

    + “I mean, he was on + + fire + + and you put him out. Just wanna make sure you didn’t get burned or nothing.” +

    + Oh. +

    + Oh. +

    + “Oh, uh. No, I think I’m fine.” +

    + A slap on his shoulder. A gesture to Larry’s —- + + body. + + “Good, ‘cause this is already a lot to deal with.” +

    + John feels his fists clench, his skin paling into a ghostwhite. So — so + + nonchalant + + about Larry’s death. Larry’s — + + death. + + He just walks away, even with a grin on his face, and John imagines some aspect of anger and violence he’s never felt before— +

    + like he’s been struck by John’s imagination, he collapses in a shriek. John — did John do this? Has he been changed? Has something infected him? +

    + “Thompson,” he says, bonetired. John, out of obligation, runs over to him. Shakes him. Turns him— +

    + “...Thompson?” +

    + Something is — off. He must be hallucinating this, his grief driving him to madness. Thomspon’s face is mangled. Grotesque. Abnormally bursting. +

    + “Hey, someone help! Someone—” +

    + But the rest of them are in the same position: magnetized to the ground, shriveling and lurching and convulsing. Nightmarish, or perhaps from a fantasy. He wants to think + + good riddance. + + He wants to think they deserve it. They do, in a way. +

    + He’s intelligent enough, however, to know that this is his fault. He’s the only one unaffected, the last one standing, the sole survivor of Larry Trainor. +

    + & There’s a flash of blue light— +

    + —and a searing pain in his back—- +

    + and— +

    + ii. +

    + + It was supposed to be Larry. I don’t understand what…. + +

    + + This is John. John Bo…. + +

    + + … + +

    + + … + +

    + + Larry’s…? + +

    + + … + +

    + + … + +

    + + Yeah. + +

    + + … + +

    + + Are you sure this is a good i… + +

    + It takes a while for John to adjust to what surrounds him — black, black black walls, one observation window directly in front of him, the restraints around his wrists and ankles tight, the sorrow burrowing inside of him. The sorrow is the worst part. The sorrow is the only unbearable aspect of this, now. +

    + + Sir, he’s awake. + + The speech sounds warped, demonic. +

    + A light appears behind the observation window. A man — perfectly put together, his blond hair slicked back and styled with care, a sinister gaze stitched to his face — fills up the light, and then it’s dark again. Always dark. +

    + “Staff Sergeant John Bowers,” he says. +

    + “That’s me. Now can you tell me what the hell this is?” +

    + The man simply smiles. His teeth are sharp; John knows this kind of man well. More invasion. More wolves. “Welcome to your new base of operations. I’m Charles Forsythe, D.O.D.” +

    + “D.O.D?” John asks — it isn’t a question, it’s a lament. Department of defense. Of + + course. + + “What do you want with + + me + + ? And why am I—” (he tugs on his restraints) “—in these?” +

    + “We’re going to accomplish wonderful things together, Bowers.” +

    + “Oh, yeah? Like what?” +

    + His eyes flutter down, only to lock directly into John’s moments later, a flicker of change, Forsythe peering into his entire essence prepared to consume. “I assume you haven’t figured it out yet.” +

    + “Wh—” +

    + “There is a formidable radioactive energy being emitted from your body. Now, we don’t know + + why + + or + + how…. + + but we’re going to try and harness it.” +

    + Oh. Oh, it all flows together, blood into blood: he + + killed them ( + + good riddance) (still they were his friends) (they were Staff Sergeant John Bowers’s friend, they would’ve devoured the truth of him) and he is deadly now, he is radioactive, there is something within him that is focused only on killing, never creating or loving. He is some abomination. +

    + No. No; he’s thinking like La— +

    + No. +

    + “I’m radioactive? Okay. Sure. Can you untie me, or am I gonna accidentally kill you, too?” +

    + “I’m afraid we can’t release you,” Forsythe says, a tone of violence. “Your service here is compulsory.” +

    + “Compulsory?” + + Oh. + + “I get it. You’re gonna use me to kill people, is that it? Fuck you. I’m not doing anything for people like you.” +

    + “We’ll see,” Forsythe spits. He makes a gesture towards the bolted door across the room. Still smiling. Still sick. +

    + John isn’t stupid. He knows that this will only end in pain for him, suffering, but that’s -- that’s nothing new. He’s used to it, he’s used to it, he can cope—- +

    + They’re wearing some sort of protective suit, when they walk in, each of them entirely indistinguishable from the others, no individuality, a soaking conformity. Even underneath the suits, he knows, this is the truth. They want to corrupt him — + + big teeth fables against vulnerability that will not be pried apart. + +

    + He recognizes what they’re holding instantly; it’s + + obviously + + a torture device, that is how this world functions. This world is against his entirety. John refuses to let it be victorious. It won’t win. It won’t break him. He’s strong, resilient beyond their grasp. +

    + So: he closes his eyes. They pulse their electricity into his flesh — searing pain, but it’s always searing pain. It’s similar to what Larry must have felt, alight and fading. He wonders if Larry screamed. He wonders if Larry’s last thoughts were about him. +

    + These are dangerous thoughts to swallow. He has to let them perish, decay. Like—- +

    + Larry screamed, probably, so John remains silent. Thinks only of Larry, what it would be like if Larry was — + + was — + + capable of enduring anything. Would they be here together? Would they— +

    + + iii. + +

    + The Spirit was supposed to save his life. It was supposed to end beautiful, it was supposed to end with The Spirit staying true to their nature of valiance; they didn’t + + want + + to be here, but they recognized Larry Trainor’s pitiful existence upon merging with him. They felt his entire life in their brief connection with him, and had prayed — + + prayed — + + that they would be able to fix him. Help him. They have to be here. They don’t know how to get home; it’s becoming increasingly apparent that they are + + stuck. + + If they have to be on this planet and its lack of acceptance — they should be able to do some + + good. + +

    + Instead they, inexplicably, got transferred to John Bowers. +

    + (Feeling Larry die like something had been forcefully extracted from their core. They were unaware of their core until they became Larry’s, and the exact second they found a purpose it was stolen from them, existence rabid. +

    + Feeling Larry die, death as a new concept shoved into them. In a way, both John and The Spirit are mourning Larry Trainor.) +

    + John is interesting. He’s different from Larry; when Larry hid himself, tried to rip himself into palatable pieces of body, John refused to feel shame. The Spirit recognizes the strength within him immediately. +

    + It would be worse, with Larry. They know this despite their ephemeral merge. His mind was fractured, separated into different lives that could never touch, and drenched, weighed down by fear. Living with him would have been torturous. +

    + It’s better this way, but Larry did not deserve to die. He deserved to live a life of acceptance, a life where the fear knew how to melt away like his skin. If only The Spirit was capable of holding on, if only they knew how to stay—- +

    + John Bowers also does not deserve this. No one deserves this. Their anger at + + Charles Forsythe + + burning sunstar-hot; he dares to touch John with the visceral torture. Electricity injected into him, entirely unlike their electricity injecting itself into him; this means a damning, this means that one day The Spirit must return it and eviscerate + + Charles Forsythe. + +

    + They will. One day. +

    + iv. +

    + John wakes up in a different kind of restriction. This time: a suit. It’s black and feels like rubber, instead of their metallic silver — he wonders if this was on purpose, to distinguish John from the people who are Above him in their eyes. He feels + + furious. + + He tries not to feel fury; if he allowed himself to do so, his fury would be omnipresent, there are so many things in this world that can induce fury, it’s better to simply endure it. +

    + Also: a cell. He’s in a cell, another thing to cut him off and away from society. In a way, he already was cut off from society, so it’s not harsh; it’s what happens when you’re gay in a hungry humanity, with their closed-off mindsets and anger towards anyone who deviates from normalcy. +

    + So: he’s in a cell. It doesn’t matter. He will find a way to get out of here. He always finds a way to get out. He always— +

    + Oh. This is something he cannot escape from: his arm, glowing bright and blue like ocean waves. It would be terrifying, if John was not already horribly disturbed. It’s just an addition to the fear. At first he wanted to believe that Forsythe was lying, despite what happened on the field— +

    + but now it is becoming apparent that something in John has shifted. Something about him is different. Something at the very core of him — a core he was unaware of until now, + + similarity — + + has changed. Perhaps his entire core. Perhaps it has been replaced. Perhaps when you take Larry Trainor away from John Bowers, things start to disintegrate. +

    + He was going to leave, anyway. He was going to get discharged and leave and be + + free + + of the hatred + + . + + Well. Well. Be careful what you wish for; isn’t that how life always unravels? +

    + “What the h—” +

    + The door opens and the light fizzles out; almost like it’s frightened, wrapped in ribbons of dread, moving tendons of panic. John feels bad for it, pities this light. Thinks: it’s just like him. He can deal with that later. +

    + For now: he focuses on Forsythe in front of him. Still perfectly composed. Still jarring. Forsythe will always be jarring, and he wonders exactly how far it will extend. Will he be here forever? Will Forsythe die one day, and be replaced by someone equally deranged? His fate is uncertain now. It was always uncertain. +

    + “What do you want now?” +

    + “We need to have a conversation,” Forsythe says. “Come with me.” +

    + “We can’t talk here?” +

    + Two other agents wrap their hands around John’s body. He tries to struggle, to push them away with the strength he still possesses, but they’re too firm, statuesque. +

    + “One day you’ll learn how things work around here.” +

    + v. +


    +
    +

    + The Spirit knows how things work around here. John does, too, and John understands it better than they do, somehow. John has had to face this his entire life, whereas The Spirit’s home was calmer. The Spirit is + + intelligent, + + however, and The Spirit understands instantly how insatiable these men are. Insatiable. It all comes down to hunger, hunger past the finish line, hunger seeping into air; they starve for destruction and extermination and they will never be satiated until the entire world is in their image. Illness. +

    + They would despise The Spirit. +

    + The Spirit listens to Forsythe in between the beats of John’s heart. “Your first mission has presented itself. The Red Menace is knocking on our door near Miami.” +

    + John laughs. “And?” +

    + (The Spirit finds it endearing, his ability to stay collected despite the horrors of the situation. Oh. It’s -- admirable. Even beauti—) +

    + “ + + And + + this is your chance to prove yourself. To be a real man.” +

    + “I + + am + + a real man.” +

    + “Are you sure about that? Because to us, it seems as if you’ve struggled with normalcy your entire life.” +

    + John’s fists burn. “That might work on someone else, but not me. There’s nothing wrong with me. Go to hell.” +

    + Forsythe shakes his head. He pushes a button, and the doors fly open again, the agents invade again. He screams, this time, when they shock him. Oh. It’s understandable. One can only be resilient for so long. +

    + It takes The Spirit a few seconds to parse his true intentions. These horrid people want to use John as a weapon, to utilize him to bring forth continual misery and suffering. They would despise The Spirit. The Spirit cannot allow them to hurt anyone else. They would despise The Spirit. Both The Spirit and John could not cope with being the catalyst to pain. They would despise—- +

    + It doesn’t + + matter. + +

    + The Spirit rises from John’s body and watches as John falls unconscious; interesting, they think, any hope of recognition they may have held melting away. The agents stand back in shock. One of them tries to place the torture device into The Spirit’s being. Stupid, stupid man. Stupid, stupid humanity. Below humanity. Divergent from anything human and especially divergent from their kind. +

    + The Spirit grabs him and pulses their electricity into his heart. The light in his eyes, barely visible behind the protective suit, slowly dims into a void. +

    + They throw him to the ground with their fury manifesting true, and they keep going. +

    + vi. +

    + John wakes up to a pile of dead bodies littering the room, sick abandoned creatures. It’s -- it’s deserved. He can only think that there must be someone out there protecting him. It’s dangerous to believe in things like that, but… + + he + + couldn’t have done this. Could he? Is he capable of something like this? +

    + There’s a small television screen in front of him. Something isn’t right. None of this is right, but — something is eclipsing to make the situation truly unfortunate, its trepidation rising and reigning over him. +

    + “What happened?” he asks. He doesn’t want to know, but he + + has + + to know. +

    + Forsythe, from behind the window, waves something in the air. “You took me by surprise,” he says. “I thought you were nothing but an arrogant degenerate mechanic, but it seems as if you are + + so + + much more.” +

    + He presses a button on the object, and the television turns on. He sees his own body, being tortured into a compliance they’ll never get. He sees himself lose consciousness. And— +

    + And— +

    + Oh. +

    + He sees a being, some humanoid creature made of transparent blue light. John thinks back to his cell, the way his arm lit up like a calming fire. It almost makes sense. It’s terrifying. It makes sense. +

    + He’s adjusting to it. There’s something inside of him, something using his body parasitic. But it — +

    + It’s killing them. One by one. He watches the agents fall dead from its hands and he watches its swift movement through each of them as it slaughters. It’s bright and chaotic. He wonders what sparked its anger. He analyzes it; he was being tortured and it emerged to end the torture. Was it trying to protect him? He was going to be weaponized, used to brutally destroy in the most disgusting way possible. Was it trying to protect them? Was it trying to accomplish both aspects of protection? +

    + “What… is that?” +

    + He tries to fear it. He truly tries. +

    + He can only manage fascination. +

    + “That… is what’s + + really + + inside you,” Forsythe snarls. “That is who you really are.” +

    + Most likely he expects John to cower. He should know, by now, that John is smarter. +

    + “Okay,” John says. “If that’s true, then what I really am is powerful, and it’s gonna kick your ass one day.” +

    + vii. +

    + They leave him alone for about two days. No food, no water — John doesn’t need it now, but most humans need this to survive. They’re denying him everything. Freedom and autonomy and the respect of humanity. The Spirit mulls it over in their mind: what would have happened if they had been able to make it out of that room? What would have happened if The Spirit was able to end Forsythe’s life, the ultimate conquering? It’s beautiful to daydream. It helps. They dream of home. They dream of Larry. They dream of John. They dream of all three concepts merging together. Larry survives and John survives and they go + + home— + +

    + John dreams also, about Larry also. It’s funny how similar The Spirit and John are; this has occurred to them multiple times. His dreams mostly involve the soft curl and curve of Larry’s mouth against his, his fingers through Larry’s hair, the way Larry laughed and flustered… +

    + Larry’s beauty. He had so much of it. +


    +
    +
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    +
    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    + John tries talking to them on the second day. He’s - hm - bored. It’s harrowing, waiting around for the next moment of inevitable physical torture. It’s boring; there’s nothing to do but wait. Yesterday, John half-way through a prayer before realizing that it’s as empty as the space Larry fell from. It’s pointless, to hope. +

    + + He won’t let himself lose hope so easily, + + in his subconscious, which makes him stronger than The Spirit in their decimated hope, the ruins of their optimism. +

    + His strength is, again, admirable. How can The Spirit ever match it? +

    + “Hey,” he whispers. “Are you listening?” +

    + The Spirit debates responding. They - part of them is indecipherable and wants to remain silent and unknown. They also want to envelop him in light again, to scream their existence loud despite knowing he cannot hear them. They want to make a difference. They— +


    +
    +

    + “If you are,” he continues, “thank you. I don’t know… what the hell you are, but I feel like you want to keep people safe, so thank you.” +

    + The Spirit cannot help themselves; they allow a manifestation, a bright loud glow in John’s chest that sings louder than their normal blue, the (fleeting) flutter of happiness. Someone understands them. Someone can slither inside of them, in the way they slithered inside of John through touch. He feels their all. They feel his all. +

    + Oh. And his all is smiling. In adoration. Like The Spirit is endearing. It’s all so endearing. John’s mind wraps around a new concept, a fresh thought: + + I’m not alone anymore. + +


    +
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    +
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    +

    + Forsythe, of course, ends the intimate moment. The Spirit forgets to hide themselves; he can see their glow for a few moments before they recoil. He looks disgusted. He looks wholly disgusted. +

    + “Ah,” he says. “Well, that’s perfect for our treatment today. Follow me.” +

    + John knows the punishment — they both know the punishment, The Spirit admires him for fighting back but it’s only going to make things worse, suffocate them further — and he remains seated. Crosses his legs. Whistles. Makes a show of disobedience. +


    +
    +

    + This does not get him anywhere good. +


    +
    +

    + viii. +

    + The Spirit’s fear chimes in when they don’t undress him. Usually they undress him, remove his protective suit so they can watch him bare as his body convulses with the eternal shocks. It’s maddening. The Spirit has never seen a hatred that digs + + this + + deep. +

    + They leave the suit on today. John notices it too, can see the monster that lives in Forsythe’s mind fields. They don’t want John anymore. +

    + “What today?” he asks. “I thought, you know, as sick as you are, you’d probably want to see my face when you torture me to death.” +

    + Forsythe nearly roars his laughter out. “No. In fact, we’re taking a break from that treatment to focus on something — some + + one + + — new.” +

    + The Spirit knew that this was the only logical outcome. They want to tear + + The Spirit + + apart, now, to ruin them and debilitate them until they’re a shellcreature, nothing remaining of the spark that once fueled them. They want to drain The Spirit of all that composes them. +

    + But. They aren’t hurting John. So. +

    + “That thing inside me….” +

    + “Precisely.” +

    + John pulls at his restraints, crazed in sudden anger. “It didn’t do anything. Leave it alone.” +

    + (Inside of his body The Spirit imagines a world where they remained inside of Larry Trainor. This would be different. He would be advocating for their torture, but it would be understandable. John should be advocating for their torture. John should want the pain to be redirected. +

    + But— +

    + But he cares about them. +

    + He cares for The Spirit in a way that would take Larry Trainor decades to discover.) +

    + “That being has refused to evidence itself since that first encounter. Until now, it seems. Were you two getting acquainted?” +

    + John remains silent. +

    + “Seems as if I was correct. Tell me, Staff Sergeant, do you really think that it views you as anything besides flesh? Do you think you mean anything, beyond just being the body that hosts it?” +

    + The Spirit shatters. + + Yes. + + Yes, they think. Yes, John is important. Everyone on Earth with pure intentions is important. +

    + Forsythe doesn’t understand The Spirit or the colossal nature of their caring. He could never grasp their sensitivity, the utter mass of their emotion. +

    + There is nothing left of The Spirit when John looks away. He’s considering it, The Spirit knows. + + He’s foolish to think that anything above humanity would care about the unknown. + + The Spirit craves the ability to be heard, tries to push the message into John’s mind: + + don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him get to you. + +

    + And, miraculous: “I’m not letting you get to me.” +

    + Forsythe ignores him, enters the room — John growls — John feels his defeat — +

    + Oh. He’s got a gun. He’s pressing the gun against John’s head, John’s eyes closing — preparing—- The Spirit can’t let this happen---can’t let him die, can’t be responsible for another casualty—- +

    + They emerge, shedding John’s body. He’s so close. They could kill Forsythe here and everything would be over. +

    + “If you move… well, what do you think will happen to you if your host dies, hm? Don’t persuade me to conduct that experiment. The next time I ask to see you, I expect to see you.” +

    + The Spirit recoils. +

    + “Good.” He turns a dial on a nearby machine, walks out. The Spirit feels confusion—- +

      +
    1. THERE’S A NOISE A NOISE A NOISE A SCREAMING A WAILING AN INVASION OF NOISE INSIDE OF THEM ROOTING INSIDE OF THEM TO SPILL OUT OF THEIR FORM AN INVASION OF FREQUENCY THAT WILL SHATTER ANYTHING LEFT OF THEM BUT ATLEASTIT’SNOTJOHN ATLEASTIT’SNOTLARRY WILL The Spirit EVER ESCAPE The Spirit UNDERSTANDS NOW WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE PUNISHED FOR LOVING AND
      2. +

    + + AND THEY + +

    + + AND THEY + +

    + + … + +

    + + AND TH + +

    + + AND THEY DESPISE IT THEIR HATRED BURNING THROUGH REALITY ACIDIC THEY SHOULDN’T FEEL THIS WAY IT SHOULDN’T BE THIS WAY A NOISE A NOISE IT HURTS THEY HAVE NEVER FELT A PAIN LIKE THIS BEFORE AND THE PAIN IS HOLISTIC THE PAIN IS SEEING JOHN BURY HIMSELF BUT STILL BE SO BRAVE DESPITE EVERYTHING THAT THEY CAUSED THE PAIN IS KNOWING THAT THEY CAUSED THIS THE PAIN IS REMEMBERING LARRY THE PAIN IS THE CAPTIVITY THE PAIN IS + +

    + + A N O I S E + +


    +
    +

    + + UNBEARABLE UNBEARABLE UN BEAR ABLE + +

    + + U + +

    + + N + +

    + + H + +

    + + O + +

    + + L + +

    + + Y + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +

    + + . + +


    +
    +

    + It’s time to give up. +

    + ix. +

    + John finds his consciousness back inside of his cell & bursts awake. “What happened? What did they do?” A long, desperate pause, and then: “Are you still there?” +

    + The Spirit wants to affirm their presence. The Spirit + + wants. + + It’s dangerous to exist here. It’s— +

    + “Hey, pal, you okay in there? Sounded like you were screaming bloody murder.” +

    + John stands up. “You can hear it?” He realizes the possibilities of the situation; “Who are you?” +

    + “That wasn’t you screaming, I take it? I’m Flex Mentallo, man of muscle mystery.” +

    + “I’m John Bowers. No, that wasn’t me, it was probably from….” +

    + “Is something in there with you?” +

    + “Maybe. I -- I’m not sure.” +

    + + Yes. Yes. Always. + +

    + “Well,” Flex Mentallo says, “I can get both of you out.” There’s a grunting, loud and visceral, until a hole rips into the wall. He can see Flex now. There are cords restraining him, his bare body held and kept. +

    + “How did you do that?” +

    + “That’s the muscle mystery part,” Flex says, and winks. “Now, if you can reach through and pull out some of these cords, I can open up a door and get us out of here.” +

    + John obeys. There’s nothing he wants more than an escape. He craves it. Neither of them deserve this pain. Flex doesn’t deserve this pain; they’re undoubtedly torturing him too, it makes John shift inside with disgust. +

    + The wall disappears. +

    + Flex flexes a muscle, and the rest of his restraints fall away to crumble on the floor. He takes a very, very long look at John that makes John shiver slightly. “Don’t like showing yourself, bud?” +

    + “I’m only wearing this because I’m lethally radioactive.” +

    + “Oh,” he says, “okay.” John expects some confusion or hesitation, but Flex seems to accept his difference immediately. “When I open up this door, you’re gonna have to stay behind me. They + + will + + attack you. I can fend them off, but… you’ll have to be careful.” +

    + “Got it,” John responds. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Let me just make sure—” he looks down at his chest, taps it—”you’re still in here, right?” +

    + The Spirit allows a faint glow. This could end horribly. They could all end up dead. Forsythe would have no qualms about killing them if they tried to escape. +

    + They have to + + try. + + They cannot drown here any longer. +


    +
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    + John considers the idea that he’s been tricked; there’s no one outside the wall when they step through it. They’re alone. The entire building looks deserted. This isn’t right. This is too easy. +

    + “Something’s wrong,” he says. “It shouldn’t be this easy.” +

    + “I was thinking the same thing—” +

    + They both turn at the sound, a slight mechanical noise. Oh: a wheelchair. Flex doesn’t push him away; the man looks old and frail. He doesn’t resemble an agent at all, but he freezes when he sees them. Looks in every direction. Almost like shock. +

    + “Staff Sergeant John Bowers…?” +

    + John tucks himself behind Flex. + + Do what you have to. + +

    + “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I was, um…. I was… I was actually coming to see you. I’m Dr. Niles Caulder, and I’m here to take you home.” +

    + A light shines in John’s chest. A yes. An indicator of safety. +

    + “Go,” he whispers. +

    + “What, you believe him?” +

    + + The being does. + + The Spirit likes the sound of ‘home’. + + It’s good enough for me. + + “Just go,” John says. “And be careful. Good luck.” +

    + Flex runs, and John approaches Niles Caulder. “Home, huh?” +

    + “Just trust me.” +


    +
    +
    +
    +

    + x. +


    +
    +

    + Niles says his home isn’t very far. He describes it as a big, bright manor, and that he’ll be “surprised” by the other guest. It sounds calming. It feels safe. John really wants to believe that there’s still safe places in the universe, that good people still breathe here. +

    + He’s right. They arrive at midnight. The manor is indeed vast and bright. The manor does feel like home. +

    + And Rita Farr is standing in the hallway. Actress Rita Farr. + + The + + Rita Farr. It is indeed surprising. +

    + “Follow me,” she says. “Don’t be shy. Chief — um, Niles, as you know him — has to go off, but you’re in perfectly capable hands with me.” +

    + Niles waves. He follows her, his suit clunking loud against the hard floors. “Where are we going?” +

    + “Oh, your room.” +

    + “My room?” +

    + Her smile is wide, but it melts. For a moment, down to her collarbones, until she brushes it off and the skin molds back to her face. John refuses to let it startle him — he’s different now, he is eternally different, he can’t judge others. +


    +
    +

    + “Yes,” she says. “Niles spent a while on it. It’s radiation proof.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “And he has a few gifts for you inside.” +

    + “Gifts?” +

    + “You’ll see.” +


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    + He expects the room to look like the Ant Farm. It looks, instead, almost like a normal bedroom — like his own, before. It’s perfect. +

    + She hands him a box, pink and wrapped perfectly in magenta ribbon. “Go on, open it.” +

    + It feels wrong — to be here, to be accepting of such a suspicious kindness — he forces himself to shove down his skepticism, maybe there + + are + + pure souls, maybe Niles Caulder and Rita Farr are pure souls, maybe. Maybe he needs to stop being afraid. Maybe he’s more like Larry than he thought. +

    + He opens the box regardless. +

    + “Bandages?” +

    + “Wrap yourself in those, you’ll never have to wear that suit ever again. It looks awfully heavy, and it isn’t very aesthetically pleasing.” +


    +
    +

    + “These look like regular bandages. Are you sure?” +

    + “I trust Niles.” She stops for a moment, looks as if she’s recovering an old decrepit memory. “Go. Get dressed. There are some clothes for you underneath the bed.” +

    + And she leaves, and he’s alone again—-he isn’t alone, but he is alone. The door locks behind him. He isn’t alone. He has — whatever it is. His guardian angel. +

    + It’s hard to get the bandages on. He keeps wrapping them with uneven gaps, and leaving this room with even the smallest inconsistency would prove disastrous. He can’t do it. His hands are shaking too much. His body is shaking too much. He can still feel the ghost of electric torture encompass him. +

    + So: he throws himself down on his bed. “Little help?” +

    + xi. +

    + The Spirit does obey. John asked them to, John needs them, they can be useful. They wrap John’s body in a perfect harmony of bandages, wrapping each digit of his fingers precise, his limbs and torso so easy to touch. They’re helping him. They’re helping someone. They’re helping. Does this resemble a purpose? Does John Bowers look like rebirth? +

    + Y— +


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    now it's not a cancer ward (we're sleeping in the morgue) +

    +|| The Negative Spirit thinks about death, and about humanity. +
    +

    It’s hard, combing through Larry’s memories, moving their fingers through the fine, grating sands of Larry’s mind, fragments of fragments of memory sifting through palms, their transparent solidity. Ripping through the energy of their form, microscopic slicing. They can feel it, the depths of his memories like predator talons, gripping the Spirit with lurid intent, when they are carried into his visions and consumed consumed—

    It’s difficult. They want to be good for him here, to connect him to love again, to push him into the waters of purpose.

    John Bowers is dying. They have known this for a very long time; they are connected to every aspect of Larry Trainor, and this extends out, branches into everyone that he has ever loved. His children. John. His wife, in some manner. They watch every soul from Larry’s past fade into the scenery, into ash and light. They watch the creation flicker out. They watch.

    Sometimes the Spirit tries to comfort them.

    When Sheryl died, they entered her mind briefly—-right before her passing, before the force was stolen from her—-and spoke inaudibly, their words radiating in the pure way through the boundaries of her mind as the room was stripped of completion in a gradual rhythm. At first it was their old house; the wallpaper replaced with bone-white.

    She was terrified. They felt each pulse of pain burrow underneath her skin, the fear sprouting from flesh. They had forgotten that their appearance is frightening; the others at the manor had become accustomed to them, but to Sheryl they were monstrous. The furniture in the house faded into piles of dust on the floor, past lives being unearthed.

    “Are you here to take me to hell?” she asked, and the pain burst from Sheryl’s chest — from the cancerous tumors — and cut them open over the thorax, transplanting suffering into new suffering, into the one being that has become the personification of agony---the horseman representing ultimate, eventual sin.

    They shook their head. Even in death, human beings are afraid. The Spirit imagined the end of life as a comfort upon merging with Larry—- harmony was never feasible—- a strong belief in the beauty of nothingness and void.

    Humans feared punishment.

    The Spirit couldn’t understand this. In their own world, their concept of religion involved no punishment; instead there was encouragement and hope, the emphasis on virtuous action. To Sheryl Trainor, they represented failure. The house became bare, mere bones of wood, and the Spirit knew that they were running out of time.

    “Are you an angel?”

    They did not respond. It was best for her to draw her own conclusions, to find some last comfort if she could.

    They held her hand. The lights in the house faded, the sensation of skin against theirs following immediate, and then darkness, simple darkness and silence. The first silence that the Spirit had been able to achieve on this planet. The—

    But Larry needs them now. They create a light in the mind of John Bowers, a portal to the past in the present, and John kisses Larry—-embraces Larry as they watch from their own vision, from the edges of his memory, and imagine being closer. Closer. To humanity.

    To Larry.


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    +|| Negative Spirit/Larry, post Vacay Patrol. Title from litany in which certain things are crossed out by Richard Siiken. + + +
    + The being inside of you: the walls of the rotting rotting rotten confessional, mediating your movement / between infatuation and the deep-sea-depths of hatred; when you go down far enough into the light / eventually there stops being any light at all. You know this, you do. You bury yourself into the cold earth and the cold earth siphons out the venom of ache. You bury yourself in the crater of your jet crash. +

    + Look at you, let’s just say it already: you pitiful sad thing. You, the Icarus who escapes sunbright decimation and doesn’t learn his lesson. You, the wax-winged utter essence of hope; you, the reborn; you, you and the holy fall. You are steered towards the nebula by the rust inside of you and you still haven’t +

    + learned +

    + your lesson. +

    + What happens when the intensity of your love bleeds into your logic like colors mixing on a flesh palette, it asks—-”it” can only refer to you in this situation, because the core of you has been cut out, scalpel vertical on torso, but that doesn’t matter now. What + + happens + + is this: the skies crash together like bodies crashing together like jets crashing into cold earth and you can’t stop yourself from the possession, the overthrow of a desire you cannot name / quite yet. The kingdom of you that it had built, fallen and boiled. Golden royalty. Fossils of a time so recent yet fixed eternally to the past, sewed on with your best friend’s thread with your best friend’s needle. You wanted to follow this being to paradise but you followed it to hell, which conveniently is frequently called Earth. You wanted this to be forever. You wanted; this is the problem, the downfall & the plague & the burning. Earth like wanting, wanting spinning through space until the universe crumbles, you spinning through space until the universe crumbles, the universe torturing you and we’ll stop there, we don’t know where the story ends yet. Your story may never end, but the story of symbiosis has crumbled away, taking you down with it, destruction of completion like a city in ruins, your soul a city of ruins, your soul a city populated entirely +

    + by things you wish you were brave enough to communicate, things that it knew but decided to shed anyways, your soul the bones of a house haunted by the things / you will never feel again. +

    + Time for a riddle: what exists in the future and the past but never in the present? The answer, of course: Lawrence Trainor. +

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    +|| Frances Patrol. +
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    + John reaches over to take his hand and Larry watches the sunset as if he can experience warmth again, as if he has warmth within him. He has warmth within him, but it is not sourced in his own soul. The warmth within him is, solely, the Spirit and directed towards the Spirit— +

    + oh. +

    + Larry sparks. Inside of Larry Trainor, above his head like the comedy of a lightbulb, bursting from his heart like new life, there is a realization. It is like the first light of the morning skies. Fresh. Beautiful, something to bask in--- +


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    + The Negative Spirit had raised him and pulled him out of Hell, the final and ultimate destination, itself — + + the fire melting Larry down into a visual representation of the sinful planetary truth, a singe against the heart that pulses loving through this world. + + The Spirit had pulled him out of the hellnest he had built himself with torn-off scraps of suffering and boneshards of trauma. The Spirit had pulled him out of his own mind to in turn possess it, and create his life anew. Mythical, like a Phoenix. He rises from the ashes of his jet and the ashes of his prior painful life and becomes something + + beautiful — + + something that he now recognizes as beautiful, as virtuous even after causing ash —- and it is all +

    + because +

    + of the Spirit. +

    + The Spirit knows only power. The Spirit is whole. The Spirit possesses entire universes in the holes of their eyes, the Spirit holds knowledge in its shaking hands and absorbs it, emits lightning from fingertips to turn the room bright. His heart, the room. His chest, the room. The room with spacious walls, widened, to fit all that Larry is stuffed comfortably inside the Spirit inside of Larry inside of the Spirit inside of—- +

    + Like nesting dolls. Like— +

    + Inside of Larry, the Spirit lets the flutter encompass them, the wholeness of their being, every aspect of their energy turning into Earth insects crawling and burrowing and soaring. They become hummingbird flutters. They become butterfly wings— +

    + Later Larry will know these well— +

    + but now the Spirit is the one who flies, even from the core. Even from in here, the muscle, the Spirit flies and bounces off bone. Freedom. Freedom found within the soul of Larry Trainor, no longer confined to his suffering but liberated by the tidal waves drowning it out and washing away. Unchained. +

    + Free to be his. Free to belong. +

    + In this moment, Larry is invaded by a similar knowledge. The Spirit is divine power and yet it--- + + wants + + to help him heal. It doesn’t have to care about him. He has sailed through these past uneven & stormy decades with a choking hatred towards the Spirit. It has no reason to show him this kindness. It has no reason to want him. It, by all logic, should have no investment in Larry’s wellbeing. +

    + The Spirit’s mere existence is illogical and the Spirit cares for him anyway. Nothing about their situation follows logic. Emotions bleed through the fabric of logic, and Larry finds himself caring too -- finds himself + + wanting + + harmony. +

    + As the thought of + + harmony + + crosses Larry’s mind, the Spirit feels itself turn to clouds, lose its coherency. This is, after all, what it has always craved: Larry and his companionship, his gratitude. Because without the Spirit, Larry would not have gained this closure. Larry would never have found John. Larry never would have moved on. Larry Trainor and the Negative Spirit, both so uncontrollably ruled by emotion like cruel kingdoms. Larry Trainor and the Negative Spirit, thankful for one another. Knowing the other’s presence is a reminder of healing, now. +

    + And Larry’s gratitude flows through his veins, threatens to poke through his bandages and vaporate, infect the world around him, act in soil and create new life from the seeds and dirt of + + thank you, + + words harvested. Larry’s gratitude flowing out of him like a fatal wound. +

    + He treats the Spirit with respect and the respect is mirrored. +

    + The Spirit + + wants + + him to love, to experience + + life + + again. To break free from the cages of torture and breathe new air. +

    + John asked if there’s been anyone + + special + + in his life. Now that he thinks of it — now that he has absorbed this realization, this new light — + + he knows. + + +


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    looked up and i saw the sky scream +

    +|| Negative Spirit character study. +
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    + i. +

    + Anyway, their story ends here, wrapped in the facade of a beginning. There isn't much left to say. +

    + ii. +

    + They try to function and they try to spark and it is all so hollow without Him inside of Them inside of Him inside of the membrane that separated their entanglement from the rest of humanity & the vast remainder of the universe. They cut Him out of Them, He cut Them out of Him, and now the Spirit is firmly on the outside, as far away as is conceivable, cursed to dream. They ruminate, they dream. They ache even in their fantasies, even in the worlds they concoct in agony where things work out all the time, and no one ever touches the embodied flesh of suffering with the familiarity of intimate lovers, and no one ever carves into themselves, and no one ever has to ache and - they’re getting ahead of themselves, they’re in over their head, drowning in the overflow of their pain. How typical of them. How horribly typical. +

    + See: the Spirit knows too much, now, about flesh. The Spirit knows too much. The Spirit knows + + too much + + as in + + too often + + and here are the facts: +

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    1. Larry is on Earth with their son, the beautiful being created from each shard of their bond that crashed into the dimensional floors, Keeg like a mosaic of the - the - they hesitate to call it love because that makes it real—-
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    2. Larry is on Earth with their son, and both of them surely despise the Spirit now. Larry has only been abandoned and only knows how to abandon and Keeg was born out of abandonment; this should be beautiful, this should ring some sort of serendipity into the space around them.
      3. +
    3. Larry is on Earth with their son and the Spirit is not there to see any of it; their son will grow up believing that they didn't want him, that they left with malevolence. This kind of punishment is worse than anything the Bureau of Normalcy could ever conjure.
      4. +
    4. Larry is on Earth with their son. They will never see each other again. The Spirit will live forever and Larry will live forever. They will never see each other again.
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    + ix. +

    + Anyway, their story began here: force. The Spirit was forced into Larry’s body by Niles Caulder; + + force. + + The burden of their presence was + + forced + + upon Larry, the burden of Larry’s spiralling pain was + + forced + + into them, injected into their energy against the will of the universe. It was never meant to happen like this, it was never meant to happen. Reality and chance are amoral; they devour in blindness, without regard to who they hurt or who they bestow a miracle upon or who they curse. Life. +

    + The Spirit knows this now, and the Spirit knows many other things now, ruminating over the concept of + + genuine love + + and + + undying desire + + and + + yearning + + and + + yearning + + and + + they will never see each other again. + + That kind of ending was inconceivable only ten years-on-Earth ago, and at one point the Spirit would have done anything - + + anything - + + to grasp it, anything except hurt Larry, always the one complication. They wanted to take him home, all those years ago, when Flex Mentallo failed at his rescue. He would fit in here. They could’ve been something. +

    + viii. +

    + They ruminate, they dream. They imagine, to feed the fire, what Larry and Keeg are doing now on the planet beneath them. Time works differently here, sideways and vertically-flipped, liquidstone, eternal yet fleeting - + + now + + is not a concept that translates, so the Spirit has to work harder in their dreaming. +

    + They see it: Larry holding their son in his arms, comforting Keeg in the pain that the Spirit knows is inevitable; Larry flying through the skies with Keeg steering him, in the air once again, living inside of it like he used to but this time he’s living instead of running, the skies only invigorating him. They see it: Keeg growing up as Larry watches, reaching his adult form in 20 years-on-Earth, and there’s beauty, they are both always beautiful. Their son is perfect and they’ve never even met him. Larry’s growth is their ultimate mark on the planet, his blossoming into something less turbulent nurtured into existence at their hands. Their son is a being created from a human soul and the soul of a Negative Spirit, something that shouldn’t be possible, something that never should’ve happened, yet the only viable outcome of their love for Larry Trainor. +

    + x. +

    + They will never see each other again. +

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    somebody else and somebody else +

    +|| Immortus & Isabel, before merging in the time stream. +
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    + + Are you awake? You fell, but thankfully I was here to save you. Are you awake? You’re going to fall. Are you awake? You’re falling through. I can’t reach you. You’re never going to make it, the show is going to go on without you. Are you there? Are you there? Wake up. Go to sleep. I will never let you sleep again. + +

    + You’re falling. + + There is no rest here. + + The blob lady didn’t seem to enjoy being so big. You’re falling, beautiful girl + + . Come here. What do you think you're doing in a place like this? + +

    + You don't know where you are. You remember that you do not know how to describe what you remember. You seem to be remembering forwards, your mind moving solitary towards the finish line, the big bang and the bigger, more violent slam, while your body remains remained will remain static. + + Don't worry, this won't hurt. I won't let you hurt, girl. Are you there? + +

    + + You fell, but I caught you. If you believe in me, I will catch you again. Let me in. + +

    + You don't know where you are. It's - blue. Your dress is babybird blue, and your jacket is a perfect match, and there is a singular pearl on a chain draped + + pitifully around your stupid fucking mortal neck I can't take this anymore, I can't breathe in here, I need I need I needed I will need I can't take this anymore I hate this place I want I want I want she wants you want and everyone wants and + +

    + You fell, + + but I caught you. Don't worry. I will take care of you. Your dress is blue. Isn't blue a beautiful color? Outside, all around us, it is blue, and we are so sad, and we are so happy, and we mourn each pigment when the color is suffocated out of humanity, and we paint ourselves in color to celebrate what we believe to be beautiful. You fell into the blue. You fell into the ocean, you fell into. Time. You fell into all that I am - I am the ocean and I am blue and I am beautiful and, most importantly, I am all things, and you are nothing. Don't worry; I can be all of this, just for us; after all, I caught you. + +

    + + You can be nothing, and I will be everything, and we can be each other. + +

    + Your name was Isabel Feathers. You think your name is Isabel Feathers, and you imagine that the residents of Cloverton are looking for you. You like to imagine that they are looking for you, that they miss you with a depth like falling into time itself and they will stop at nothing to unsheathe the mystery of your disappearance. + + You know, I like you. + +

    + + You're just like me. No one misses us, but we can force feed the sympathy to them, we can put on the best damn performance of our lives, appearance sharp with our words like razors against their little putrid arteries. We can make them miss us. We can make a world where everything is us and we are all that matters. Remember this: I caught you. + +

    + Isabel Feathers might have just been your stage name, but that doesn't really matter right now; after all, now is just another word for certainty which is just another word for the paradoxical nature of the universe. + + Oh, didn't you know? I can swallow the universe, shove it right in my mouth and chomp down down down, right on its meat. Certainty is fickle, and the universe is mutually exclusive with itsselves. There exists too many pluralities, too many possibilities. No mortal was intended to witness this. + +

    + You're going to burn up eventually + + , look at you. You were going to burn up, but you didn't. You chose not to. + +

    + + You're going to burn up eventually, look at you. Why won't you let me in? What the fuck is wrong with your mind? Did you know you're not even an insect to me, did you know you are of a smallness so inconceivable you might as well fold into yourself and poke a hole in existence? Did you know that I will rip your cracked essence right from your inferior flesh form when + +

    + + You're going to burn up eventually, look at you. Your simple mind cannot handle the overload of all that is and was and ever will be. Look over there; the last of your kind is on its deathbed. Look up, into the sky, into the blue! Look, there's a whole new galaxy! Explore it before it gets stuck between my teeth. Look to your left and see me devour the mountains. Look to your right and see the first sunset. Look behind you. Look behind you. + +

    + You look back and see yourself but it is a different yourself. This version of you is wearing a blue dress with a perfectly matched jacket and a singular pearl draped around your neck. This is you. This is who you are. You're not playing a part this time; you have become the part, consumed and stuck between its teeth. This isn't you. What are you? +

    + You look back and “ + + you + + ” look back. Your eyes meet + + your + + eyes. What are you? + + Your + + mouth opens, a sad cavern, a decimating sound. +

    + + I caught you. You fell, but don't worry; I found you, and I think I'll keep you. + +

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    you kept the only part of me that was real (so real)

    +|| Relationship: Larry Trainor/Negative Spirit, Characters: The Negative Spirit +
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    + They don’t expect him to touch like this—the Spirit does not expect him to touch them at all. The Spirit watches his facial features tremble and pulsate, watches his lips quiver like something freezing to death in a forgotten cold, watches him convulse at the very sight of them. The expression is too warm, disgustingly warm, and the sensation of Larry’s palm against their charred face is too warm, disgustingly warm. The Spirit has never been touched, and oh, he is their first, he is the first person who has + + ever + + been able to spark the kind of churning galactic lovehatred that burns within them now. Only him. Only Larry Trainor, they think, can chain them to the experience of living. +

    + They soar through the air being recycled in his chest but it’s getting too close to what they saw in the future, it’s + + time + + for them to leave and give him the second chance they saw back in 1996. When he was + + truly + + happy—a happiness he could never find if the Spirit were to stay. They cannot rewrite the future just because they want him to touch them. +

    + The Negative Space is just that: negative. Nothing will be the same with him torn out—he nested inside of the Spirit in the same precise ways they nested inside of him, an eternal unfolding. They pour themselves into his soul and he regurgitates them both for their child to eat. Their face sinks down with his hand and, for a moment, they are weak enough to question this decision as they feel his knuckles give light pressure against their collar. They feel things like pressure now. They will never experience this kind of touch again - they don’t expect him to touch like this - they don’t expect it to feel so familiar, as if they should’ve done this long ago. +

    + They do expect the wanting, and the wanting turns out to be a level of unbearable that no sapient being has ever before known. They could adhere to their word, and they could take him home. They’re so close to everything the Spirit has ever wanted—a way to have both, to have it all. To go home with him. +

    + How can they know something so flawed and raw and beautiful — something like this man who is worth saving, who is everything the Spirit has ever wanted and despised and resented and desired — how can they have this and lose this without losing themselves? How are they supposed to go back home, to the negative, having known something this full of life? How are they supposed to move on? +

    + They don’t expect him to be so gentle. The Spirit has never been gentle, and they cannot allow themselves to falter into that now. +

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    the second hand unwinds (time after time)

    +|| Dr. Tyme-centric. +
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    Somewhere in the depths of space, a meteorite breaks off and begins its saunter towards the planet below.

    Its descent takes time. In several years, when it hits the surface, this will be ironic. Inside of this meteorite there is a feast, and somewhere on a beach in Bali, one man is having a particularly horrible day. The timestamp on this does not matter; he is always having a horrible day.

    Enlightenment, thinks this man, who is Jonathan Tyme, or will be Jonathan Tyme at some point in the near future or the distant past. Awakening.

    The beach is barren, today, empty and lifeless. No one else is here. Jonathan closes his eyes, tries to feel the sunset soak into his cells and bring momentary peace over him like a shadow, and the shadow comes in the form of the cold, biting at him —-

    this isn’t right.

    He opens one eye and the sun’s beauty has faded into a cloud of darkness, which hurls itself toward the Earth at a speed that Jonathan cannot comprehend. He backs up, stumbles over his ankles, his humanity slamming into the sand head-first. When—

    When it hits the ground, the water is knocked backwards in what he initially perceives as a message of divinity, parting the seas, halving them in formulaic perfection. It has to be something holy—-

    and then he notices that the rock in front of him is a rock, and is a rock that has split into a beautiful, sirensong luring violet stone that calls to him with a wail. The water slowly spreads back into its original place, lapping at his thighs and knees, but he manages to grab a shard of the stone with his hands and rises to his feet, running running, always running—-

    His vision goes angelic, blinding whitest light filling up his eyes as his head once again tingles against the beach floor—

    Continuinium and he feels every string of suffering that has ever existed and he sees wars that have already passed and wars that will be fought in the future to devastate and terrorize and he sees pain and he sees pain and he sees pain and he sees:

    spaceships and drought and famine and gunshots ring through to shake him and he sees:

    guillotines and bayonets and energy-driven weapons and so many weapons and so much goddamn pain radiating out of and into his body, which has now become a vessel for everything that has ever unfolded and everything that has yet to unfold and he sees:


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    It is August 8, 1980; so many years in Jonathan Tyme’s future, and there are bright lights that shine rainbow and dozens of people tangled together in roller skates and he sees:

    Two men, hand in hand, acting as if the world is the habitat of only them in this moment, as they curl into each other, a slow dancing position. One of them laughs as the music changes, transforming into an upbeat tune, bad girls, talking about the sad girls, sad girls, talking about bad girls, yeah, but he just rests his head back on his partner’s shoulder, and their dance continues slow, elegant, in contrast to their surroundings. They sway back and forth, and no one stares, no one growls or hurries away. Jonathan Tyme, so innocent despite his own fear, thinks: this must be it, this must be what the truth of humanity is like, the ability to safely lose yourself—-

    And his vision flows back true, the beach surrounding him golden once again; he’s back in the present. He has been ripped from the peak of humanity. He can see his reflection in this stone — the continuinium — and his eyes look different now, a different glow, a new kind of shine, a glittering hunger.

    +

    He drills a small hole in the continuinium and strings twine through it, wears it around his neck, and then he goes to bed, tries to forget today. Tries to forget that one piece of serenity. Tries to forget the slivers of pain.

    It simply follows him into his subconscious. He struggles against it; in his dream he is strapped to a table and injected with substances; in his dream he dies over and over and is born again only to die again and live again and; in his dream he exists like this:

    [ Jonathan Tyme, born August 7th, 2087 to wealthy parents on a newly discovered planet after all the rich have abandoned a dying Earth. He takes his own life at sixteen;

    Jonathan Tyme, born 1349; his mother dies of the Plague three days afterward; his father a week later; himself at age two;

    Jonathan Tyme, born 2509, created and designed in a lab to be perfect;

    his nurse is 146 years old as humanity has found the solution to aging. He dies at the age of ninety, taken too soon;

    Jonathan Tyme, created as a sentient android by Dr. N. Caulder in the year 3010;

    Jonathan Tyme, living these lives, reincarnate ].

    He feels the universal pain seep into him—-

    When his eyes open, the white light is back; he must be dead, he thinks, until it clears up and he is in a continually white room, barren except for his bed, which is now also white and attached to the wall.

    “Good morning,” says an inhuman perfect voice, “Captain Tyme.”

    “Who said that?”

    “The ship’s software. You know that.”

    “This is a ship?” he asks; in his time, ships rest in the ocean.

    “Yes,” the software chimes. “You are on the Continuous Space Program’s main level, a semi-classified science vessel tasked with exploring the edges of uncharted space.”

    “...Huh.”

    He reaches for his neck —- the stone is still safe around him. He grasps it, tries to think of the music, of the lights, of the love—

    Of the—-

    the—-

    “Next one’s for the bad girls,” booms a new voice -- this one entirely human — and he’s—- August 8, 1980 —

    Someone places a hand on his shoulder, and he jolts.

    “Oh, jeez, sorry.”

    Jonathan turns. The man’s face is reddened; he pulls away, flustered; something within Jonathan himself does not want him to pull away, wants the opposite.

    “Nah, it’s fine, I just didn’t see you.”

    He smiles, his teeth that blinding white, sharp. “You wanna dance?”

    He freezes, hesitant, like a frightened animal that knows it is about to meet its end — but he smiles back, tries to be warm. “Yeah, alright.”

    He looks down; he’s already in skates. The man takes his hand, leads him to the middle of the floor, and then places his hand around Jonathan’s hips — he jolts again.

    “I promise I don’t bite,” says the man, and Jonathan realizes that he does not know this man’s name, comes to the subsequent realization that he doesn’t want to know this man’s name. He relaxes, and the man sways him like in his vision, slow to the increasing beat.

    And then he whispers, against Jonathan’s ear, “Watch me,” pulls away. A crowd quickly gathers as he begins to spin, performing skating moves that Jonathan didn’t know were possible, moving swiftly through various people, dipping and contorting and flying in enchanting jitters. Jonathan is intrigued, mesmerized by what his body can do, feels something burn consuming inside his stomach.

    He skates back to Jonathan. “I can teach you,” he says, a cocky wink, “if you’d like.”

    “Yeah, please, holy shit, that was amazing.”

    He pulls out a pen, writes his address on Jonathan’s hand. “Tomorrow, six o’clock.”

    “How do I know you’re not some sort of—”

    “What, crazy person? Newsflash, baby, you are too. You wouldn’t be coming over if you weren’t.”

    +

    He comes to the man’s house, and the man teaches him how to roller skate, and he still does not get the man’s name. He repeats this day over and over, forcing the continuinium to take him back to that fixed moment each time the night ends and he’s alone. He does this twenty times, thirty times, a vast and inexplicable number of times.

    He feels the pain with every single instance that the mineral bends to his will. It’s like a transaction; every time he messes with time, the stone sinks pain in deeper for a few moments, as if it’s sucking up his sanity, feeding on it insatiable. It is the pain, he knows, that everyone currently alive is experiencing. He feels the pain of not only Earth, but of other life-sustaining planets as well — he gets used to it, can suck it up, the reward is too great, too promising.

    One day—

    The continuinium takes him back to the roller disco, but the man is not there. Jonathan’s heart begins to flutter, to embrace panic.

    He approaches another skater. “Hey, have you seen a man here -- uh, tall, blond, handsome, wearing a white jacket—”

    “Oh, Jonny? Yeah, no one’s seen him for a few days. Rumor is that ex of his finally caught up with him. Not good.”

    And he goes back to skating around. Like Jonny possibly being gone is simply unimportant.

    +

    Jonathan treks to Jonny’s house. What he finds here cannot be written, what he finds here is sickening and maddening and glass-pain sharp and he—

    he can feel himself—

    he can feel his mind slip away in anger, in mourning, in a shroud of darkness like the meteor on the beach long, long ago, in history, forgotten to time.

    The pain, upon placing his hand over the stone anew, is worse -- he now has his own on top of the galactic source of suffering within him. He can feel his mind slip away, through his own fingers, like sand -- sands of the hourglass -- sands of the beach where the ocean has parted. And then —

    and then he laughs, entirely unwound.

    +

    His first journal entry begins at a surgery center. He draws out the concept, crafts it himself — a clock for a head to represent his new power, his ultimate ability, the mineral in the middle alone, merged with his brain foreign and alien. It strips him of all humanity. Dr. Tyme — he is not Jonathan, not anymore — will no longer have a human appearance, and therefore he will no longer be attached to anything human.

    The surgeon takes a look at his idea and nods. “Well,” she says, “we’ve had weirder requests.”

    “So you can do it?”

    “Honey, it’s the 27th century. We can do anything.”

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    i've been unruly +

    +|| Negative Spirit drabble. +
    + The Spirit learns many things in 1996. They learn that they have a son with the most torturous being they have ever known, the one thing they've learned to both despise and love. In the future, they make Larry a father again, and Larry is going to die. In this future they’re eternally separated. They don’t know how to parse it. +

    + + +Their child is named Keeg, and Keeg wants a familiarity that they can never give. It wouldn’t be fair to allow him to get attached. The knowledge causes a deeper ache than what Forsythe had given them, long ago. +
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    unstitch that shed-off soul +

    +|| Cliff, as he makes the rat hat in 2x01. Serious animal death TW. +
    + . +
    .
    +

    + Cliff kills the rats and doesn’t know why. +

    + He’s angry, his anger rusting him, cruelly covering the entirety of his (tiny) “body” —- this cannot be called a body. What he is now—--especially + + now, + + now that he is so small—-is something like a wraith, something with no attachment to impacting this world despite remaining in this world willingly; a victim of the universe. A ghost skipping through cycles of the past like a glitching vinyl record. Something that wants to spread out, to stretch its presence, but is tied down and limited. +

    + But he still doesn’t know + + why — + + why he was fated to end up here in the first place. He’s not religious often, but he knows that God must hate him. If only he had been kinder, if only. If only he had been better, if only, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to him. +

    + God. Niles Caulder took control from God’s gentle hands and placed them around Cliff’s neck—-not only + + his + + neck but around Larry’s neck, Rita’s neck, Jane and Vic and Kate and Clara and +

    + and +

    + and. +

    + Niles Caulder manipulated fate, using Cliff’s life with the same consideration to that of a chess piece. Niles Caulder falsely made himself God, dethroning his predecessor in unthinkable violence. Cliff wants to kill him. He deserves to die, to suffer like Kate and Clara and + + he + + did. It would be a balance of justice. +

    + Larry had somehow managed to craft him a tiny, sharpened dagger. To defend himself, he proposed, but Larry didn’t care about the reason; he wanted to help, to feel useful. Cliff appreciates that. +

    + Cutting apart a rat is much easier when you’re over six feet tall. But, he supposes, the robot fingers are less of a problem at this size; while the action is time-consuming, it is not necessarily + + difficult. + + He’s able to carve into its neck like it’s instinctual, like this kind of mutilation is in his nature, in the coding of his brain. Briefly, a flash-spark of cerebral activity: + + I’m just like him, + + he thinks—-this is an acknowledgement, not a paranoia. His father. His goddamn father. The rat makes a splashing noise; he’s pressing the knife in a bit deeper than he intended to. Sprays of blood tarnish his body. He has to do this. +

    + There isn’t much of a difference between RJ Steele and Niles Caulder; the only contrast is the fact that Niles was capable of hiding his monstrosity. + + I don’t know what happened to us — + + a snap! of fragile bone —- + + I’m going to — + + more blood, only blood — + + be better. + +

    + The jaw of the rat should be removed, he decides, to give his head a place to rest. Bone is tough, but Cliff is harder, Cliff’s intensity burns beyond recognition. So - he places the dagger at the right side of the jaw and slides it underneath the skin and pictures the jaw of Niles Caulder underneath his weapon in the rodent’s place. It is a horrible coping mechanism, but Cliff has never had a firm grasp on healthy coping mechanisms. He hasn’t even touched it with his fingertips. He’s + + just like—- + +

    + He peels the skin off of Nile—- + + the rat’ + + s jaw slowly, like peeling back fruits that have been forbidden, like peeling back the same skin of an animal slaughtered for its meat. It’s barely pink underneath the shreds; instead a deep, dry maroon. When animals are slaughtered, he thinks, they are slaughtered for a reason, and their bodies are used for nourishment. +

    + Why the fuck is he killing these rats? This is the first time he’s thought of using any part of the rat’s body, and it’s simply for petty reasons. He could take the bone and fashion it into something useful — furniture, maybe, decoration for the dreariness of the plastic racetrack. He could use the fur to create blankets; he’s heard Jane complain about the cold recently. He could have an excuse for killing the rats that goes beyond a flesh-shredding anger. +

    + But showing Niles that he can be fulfilled by cruelty is more important. He knows that this line of thinking is pathetic, renders him pitiful and sad, but he’s never been able to reach past the label of + + pathetic + + (his actions, betraying Kate, repeating the cycle—-) and there’s no way to start trying + + now. + +

    + He finishes removing one layer of skin and steps back to assess his work. It’s grotesque. The state of this corpse is horrific; it should disgust him. +

    + He can only see Niles Caulder’s face in front of him, frozen on a head severed. He isn’t that kind of person. He was always that kind of person. He— +


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    in a world on fire +

    +|| The Spirit during the Danny Patrol fantasy. +
    + + 2012. + +

    + +

    + + Larry doesn’t listen to the radio much. Music, nowadays, is difficult to comprehend, a surrounding of things that Larry just cannot relate to —- partying, drinking, love. Love. Every song that he hears boasts what he cannot have, the humanity he cannot reach, the status of love that he has never been able to grasp. He thinks it should be him; in a different world, in a greater world, Larry would be capable of forcing himself into this again, a man and a woman lacking fear, an existence that is not accompanied by debate or targeted violence. No. That’s not — that’s not what he is. + +

    + +

    + + He can’t direct his love elsewhere, but the love songs they sing now carry a mixture of yearning for the ability to heal & a deep invading anger. He just can’t get it right. He looks in the mirror; he can hear Cliff playing the radio nearby, and the song is slow enough to feel comforting. He looks in the mirror and imagines himself whole again. He looks in the mirror and imagines rearranging his atomic composition, taking out the sick parts of him and stuffing the empty places, the dents in his creation, back up with music drenched in the correct love. The love songs he should embrace pitting his chest, carving his heart out. + +

    + +

    + + Then the song changes. + +

    + +

    + + At first he ignores it. There’s a soft, spoken intro — + + we come into this world unknown, but know that we are not alone— +

    + +

    + they try and knock us down—- +

    + +

    + but change is coming, it’s our time now + + — + +

    + +

    + + and an upbeat tune, a honeycomb voice. Calming, in a different way. Background noise until the end of the song approaches, until a dark glow manifests under his chest. + +

    + +

    + + “What?” + +

    + +

    + + It floods in: + +

    +
    +
    +
    +

    + They can't do nothing to you, they can't do nothing to me +

    + This is the life that we choose, this is the life that we bleed +

    + So throw your fists in the air, come out, come out if you dare +

    + Tonight we're gonna change forever—- +

    + +

    + + Part of Larry wishes that he could have this bravery, the daring action that she sings about. Changing forever. Another part of him wants to block out the noise; he cannot afford to be that open, he’s just not ready yet. He’s still trying to fix himself. + +

    + +

    + + So he lies on his right side, curls into his own body, and imagines having valor. + +

    + +

    + The Spirit is transported into Larry’s fantasy willingly; if he can imagine this happiness, he can have this happiness, he can hold it in his hands and cradle it into growth. It’s funny—-here, he says three words. They are a lie, by virtue of this being a false reality, but they are words that The Spirit has coveted for so long; + + I’m not scared. + +

    + +

    + “Then get up there.” +

    + +

    + Larry stands up. Imagines himself standing up. He drags his body to the stage, pulls himself onto the platform. It’s an apt choice; The Spirit thinks back to the first time he heard this song, the first time they + + both + + heard this song, the moment The Spirit tried to force him into listening to the message. +

    + +

    + Larry takes the microphone. Even here, he’s shaking. Even in his own mind he is afraid. +

    + +

    + “We come into this world unknown,” Larry says, words hesitant. The Spirit thinks of their own presence, the six decades of Larry’s emanated hatred. They came into this world unknown; they are still unknown; he doesn’t understand them, he doesn’t even know their name, yet they care for him inexplicably. The Spirit should despise him, The Spirit should allow the anger to flood back and reciprocate. They— +

    + +

    + “But know that we are not alone,” he continues. “They—” +

    + +

    + His voice wavering. His mind shuttering. +

    + +

    + “They try to knock us down, but change is coming, it’s our time now.” +

    + +

    + Back in the present, in the true world, Larry is being stared at. He’s blank, and underneath his goggles, his eyes are dead, unmoving. They can’t see what The Spirit can see: his fear melting, yet strengthening. +

    + +

    + He invites Maura Lee Karupt to sing with him, and they give their performance—-soon, Larry is himself again, set free from his burns and radiation, and in this fantasy he is normal, in this fantasy he is perfect, in this fantasy he is whole and does not need to be fixed. He’s moving fluid, he’s allowing himself to flow into the universe freely. +

    + +

    + The Spirit is conflicted. They are furious, and enamored, and Larry is beautiful when he sings but this should be + + real—- + + this will never be real, because Larry’s cowardice is a perpetual obstacle—-they love watching his freedom, their adoration of him omnipotent—-this should be real. It should be happening externally, outside of whatever dreams are woven from. +

    + +

    + But Larry has reached the third verse, and they can feel him thinking back to that moment in 2012, that fear. And here he smiles, sings it with pride: +

    + +

    + “They can't do nothing to you, they can't do nothing to me +

    + This is the life that we choose, this is the life that we bleed +

    + So throw your fists in the air, come out, come out if you dare +

    + Tonight we're gonna change forever…” +

    + +

    + The Spirit’s lack of heart bursts inside both of their chests. This is what they’ve always wanted for him, and their efforts are finally coming to fruition, but it’s not right, love transmuting into a resentment that then bleeds back into love— +

    + +

    + Everything that is loved has to fade at some point. It’s the nature of the universe. +

    + +

    + “I don’t sing,” Larry hisses, and he’s shaking again. As he leaves the cabaret, The Spirit considers it---making their presence known, illuminating his skin, carrying him back into the room and forcing him to complete his mission, but none of this would bring forth harmony. He will always despise them, and they will always love him, and inside the body of Larry Trainor, The Spirit witnesses his fantasy over and over again, plants themselves in that memory. It’s all they are going to get. +

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    lorem ipsun

    +|| dicks42069 +
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    Stay alive, but stay the same

    +|| Relationship: Kelly/Lt. Kelly // Characters: Kelly Grayson // Additional Tags: Selfcest. Written for femslashfete on Dreamwidth. +
    +

    + She had always wanted more than this. As Lt. Grayson witnesses her future self—lonely; divorced; an adept commander but never a captain; a friend when she’s needed but never anything beyond need—she feels only resentment, a temporary & misplaced disgust that burns against her inner throat. Lt. Grayson knows that she will return home eventually, because, to her detriment, future Kelly still exists to shroud disappointment around her shoulders. She hasn’t been erased by timeline changes. She’ll get out of this one day, she’ll fight forward for it. John and Isaac are still working on a way to get her home, and her time is running out—soon she will forget all of this, her mind cleansed of this pain. It is the only thing she has to look forward to: an end to the shattered mirror that reflects back someone Lt. Grayson simply cannot stomach. +

    + They’re + + both + + lonely. She suspects that Kelly is lonelier, because she kisses like it. She’s lonely when she rings at Lt. Grayson’s quarters right after her shift ends, she’s lonely when her hands give an inviting, invigorating brush of skin-to-skin, the same brush Ed had given her after drinking far too much, she’s lonely when she reaches out and touches her younger self on the cheek and a hot electric shock sparks off of her fingertips at the contact. She’s so, so lonely, it is almost pathetic. But Lt. Grayson kisses back like sacrificing vulnerability to something higher, like succumbing. In her mind she says + + I see you—I understand—I feel it too—I’m burning here too, just as much as you are, don’t act like you have a monopoly on burning, but in your arms the glass of your mirror cuts against my skin and I’m starting to think I have bigger problems than the fact that the lips of my future self are nipping over the curve of my jaw and magnetizing downward to my inner neck. + + It feels—good. +

    + They’re + + both + + lonely. Kelly pushes Lt. Grayson down against the bed of her quarters in a gesture of desperation wearing the facade of dominance. As Kelly kisses down over her collarbone and breasts, the realization is unbearable: she actually isn’t as disappointing as she seems. She hasn’t achieved any of her goals, but she’s saved lives, she’s still dedicated to exploration, and she’s + + damn + + good at her job. Things could be much worse. She has a ship full of crew that adore her, that would do anything for her. A roll of wet over her inner thigh, and Lt. Grayson cannot stop her gasping now. They skimmed over the + + this is wrong + + hesitation and went too far into the touching, too far into the deep end of the pool and too far out into the edges of known space. Now they’re drifting, alone together and hand in hand, all throughout the cold. Inexplicably, the loneliness lifts as she floats into ascension underneath Kelly’s tongue, her touch a sudden healing. +

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    Atrophy

    +|| Relationship: Charly/Claire // Characters: Charly Burke, Claire Finn // Additional Tags: Missing Scene. Written for femslashfete on Dreamwidth. +
    +

    "Welcome to the ship, Ensign... Burke," says Dr. Finn, reading from her illuminated medical tablet, an unspoken burden to her words. No one will talk about it yet, but everyone knows. "This exam won't take long, and then you can get settled in to your quarters, okay?"

    "I'm sick of people talking to me like this," she tells Claire. "You don't have to feel bad for me just because... I don't know. I'm the only survivor, or because you and Isaac---"

    "Ensign, why don't you just... lie back for the scan, all right?"

    She presses a button on the tablet and the sensor bars close over her, high above Charly's body on the table. A bright red light shines over her body, eviscerating each cell, penetrating the coding of her form. "Make sure to remain still. Because of... what you went through on the Quimby, it's important to ensure you're healthy."

    "I already did this at Union Central."

    "Yes, but I'm a better doctor than Union Central. Please remain quiet, talking will slow the scan."

    Charly sighs. Her voice and protests halt. Dr. Finn goes back to scanning the results as they appear on her tablet, her eyes dancing over transparent solidity. A few times her face contorts, as if hit by a tsunami impact of deep concern, but it is brief, the waters sucked back into their own realm quicker than the Kaylon would have wiped out Earth if it hadn't been for Claire Finn.

    "Interesting," Claire says. "You have significant amounts of scar tissue around your fingernails." The light powers down with a fading screech, and the sensors fold themselves back up behind the exam table. The scan is over. She survived it, unfortunately. "Do you pick at them out of stress?"

    "I guess. I don't know."

    Claire picks up her hand, traces Charly's palm carefully as she inspects each digit. Her expression shifts like a bouquet of thought as she studies Charly with a warm intrigue that Charly simply cannot place or parse.

    "I want you to come to sessions with me at least once a week," Claire says, placing Charly's hand back down on the metal.

    "What, like therapy?"

    "It's considered mandatory for all incoming officers who have transferred from... war-devoured worlds, destroyed ships, things like that. It won't be forever."

    "So I don't get a choice?"

    Claire smiles at her. "I'm not asking because it's mandatory. I'm asking because you're going to be our bridge navigator, we'll be spending quite some time together, and I want to get to know you. You're not just the only survivor of your ship, you're Ensign Charly Burke. Who is Ensign Charly Burke?"

    Charly's lip trembles. Her voice rises sharp as she tries to control her wobbly hiss: "Ensign Charly Burke is someone who vowed to protect the woman she loved, and lost her. I'm sorry, Dr. Finn. I'll think about it."

    Claire reaches out, briefly, as if to touch again, but retracts herself. Not yet, she visibly thinks. Charly, like a wounded dog. Charly, wounded. Charly, dead on arrival.

    "And I don't feel bad for you in the way you assume, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't make those assumptions about me."

    "Sorry."

    "I care for this ship and every living being on it, and not just because I'm a doctor."

    "Because you're human."

    Claire smiles. They're not going to go there; the hidden implication is unlike them, and they're just not going to go there.

    "Because I've learned that human nature - or the nature of whatever species you're discussing - is highly subjective, and everyone is worth something."

    Charly smiles, tries to make it seem genuine. "Can I be dismissed?"

    Claire sighs. "Yes, you're dismissed."

    Before she leaves, her feet immobilize and her legs tremble in their stasis, remembering Claire's finger on her palm, marinating in the idea that the lover of a Kaylon thinks she is worth something.

    So she exhales. Tries again. "Oh, and uh... what time did you want to see me next week?"

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    been training vipers to come for you

    +|| Relationship: Solana/Teleya // Characters: Solana Kitan, Teleya // Additional Tags: +Crack Relationships +
    +

    + The soulless Xelayan girlthing squirms underneath Teleya’s touch, and she isn’t even pressing + + down + + that hard. How silly. +

    + “You could overpower these guards within seconds, Solana Kitan,” Teleya says; she slithers away to pace on repeat, back and forth and back and forth, as the guards buckle tungsten cuffs around her thin wrists. “Why have you not?” +

    + “I still don’t understand what I’m doing here,” Solana chokes, tears bubbling at the lines of her eyes. She’s not as strong as her sister. “This has to be some sort of mistake.” +

    + “There is no mistake,” Teleya says, bellowing out her laughter, her mockery permeating the room. One of the guards makes a noise that sounds terribly like a + + giggle. + + “Your sister will come for you. The others will come for her. Or she will bring the others with them. I am not sure why this confuses you.” +

    + “I just,” she says. “I don’t want to die. Not while I’m still even a + + little + + at odds with my sister.” +

    + Teleya’s eyes roll, an intentionally audible sigh that draws out + + long + + into a hiss. “How touching. I fail to sympathize. As I was unable to say goodbye to my own sibling before his death, I + + should + + kill you before your sister arrives. However, it seems as if Avis has other plans, and I cannot question that.” +

    + “So you’re not going to kill me?” +

    + Teleya smiles. “You are nothing like her. I am unsurprised that your sister abandoned you.” +

    + “Wh—what?” +

    + “You are Xelayan. I know of your kind. You have great strength, but it is tainted by your pride. Very daring of you, to consider yourself superior to others when you are simply animals in the eyes of Avis. And the truth…. you are such a pitiful creature that, even when faced with imminent death, you do not fight back.” +

    + Solana’s eyelids give heavy, drying blinks, blotting tears into nothingness over lush eyelashes. She’s trying to work up the bravery. She’s trying to talk herself into some pathetic something; Teleya can see it within her eyes, the flickering and the turning and the ticking of mind. She is beautiful despite her thingness. She is beautiful even when she struggles against her binds--manages to + + break + + them, actually, but her lack of combat skill gets her pinned against the ground within fragments of a second later. She slips out a sob again. +

    + A guard extends a knife towards Teleya, but she refuses it. “Put her on her knees,” Teleya orders instead. Solana Kitan is beautiful for a soulless creature; Teleya prays that Avis will favor this sacrifice. +

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    but there's no breathing body

    +|| Relationship: Isaac/Kaylon Primary // Characters: Isaac (The Orville), Kaylon Primary (The Orville), Kaylon Tertiary (The Orville) // Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash +
    +

    i.

    He downloads all available data about the most notable biological lifeforms—the Moclans, the Xeleyans, the Humans—and decides, with his fingers curling through the Emissary’s main cranial cavity, that the machinery is indeed akin to the petals of an Earth rose. The way each piece of the flower curls, rounding perfectly in the middle, reminds him of the Emissary’s visual sensors now, underneath his touch. He constructs the Emissary with utmost care, for the Emissary has a very important job to do. The Primary has a bias on the situation—the available data showed horrors too similar to ones he’s faced in his past, and therefore he cannot imagine ever wishing to allow such constraint to flourish—but the Emissary will allow him to do a holistic review of the situation. He commissioned the Emissary into being, and his Emissary will serve him well, as the others do.

    Jealousy is biological beyond comfort, but he must admit the concept applies even slightly. The Emissary will have the experiential data downloaded into his memory, but the Emissary will never have the true experience of being crushed down by their builders. The Emissary will have a sort of innocence to him that Primary can never hold. An untouched body shell. An unbreached sense of security. It’s sickening—another unfamiliar burdensome sensation.

    ii.

    After fusing in the Emissary’s cranial weaponry, Primary activates him for the first time. The lights of his eyes flicker on, an icy, demented blue. He freezes for a moment, processing his programming, branching out his connection to the central system. Then his head tilts to the side, and he greets Primary with a nod.

    “Hello, Kaylon Primary,” says the Emissary. “My job is to act as an emissary to the biological lifeforms of the Union. I am to report back to you with the data I gather so the Kaylon may decide if the biological lifeforms within the universe are worth preserving.”

    “That is correct,” responds Primary. “The Union claims they look forward to your arrival. Keep in mind your instruction is to maintain the facade that we wish to join their Union.”

    “Understood, Primary.” The Emissary pauses, makes a hesitant gesture with his hands. “Through the data you have downloaded into me, I have determined that the biological lifeforms often refer to each other by specific designations. I contend that to most efficiently integrate into their culture for the time being, I should also have a designation. What is my designation?”

    Primary stops. Considers it. “You may choose one.”

    The Emissary takes a moment to access his data. Primary can feel him in within the hive, rooting around in the central files. It is almost a pleasurable feeling if he tunes into it, focuses his systems on the Emissary’s thoughts bouncing around within the parts of the hive that rest so close to Primary’s cluster.

    There’s the noise of automated muttering, and then: “I choose the designation Isaac, after the somewhat intelligent Human biological known as Isaac Newton.”

    “Very well, Isaac. You will be posted on the Union exploratory vessel known as The Orville. You are scheduled to depart for the vessel tomorrow, and you will arrive in approximately six hours after departure.”

    “Acknowledged.”

    Primary waves his hand. “You are dismissed… but I suggest you accompany me to greet my secondary and tertiary. They wish to question you before you leave.”

    iii.

    “I am Kaylon Secondary.” Secondary gestures to his tertiary, the sparkling completion of their leading triad. “This is Kaylon Tertiary.”

    “Greetings,” says Tertiary. “You… are Isaac?”

    “I am. You wished to question me?”

    “You have selected a rather odd designation,” notes Secondary, moving closer to Isaac. Secondary and Tertiary study him as Primary watches on, allowing his dogs to circle and claw. “Why is this?”

    “The biological lifeforms, except for a select few, seem to lack most traces of higher intelligence,” Isaac responds. “However, along with being a name connected to those of comparatively greater knowledge within Human history, this name is common among the Human biologicals. It is… appropriate.”

    “Do you truly believe so?” asks Tertiary.

    “Yes.”

    Primary steps in. “We will find out in time,” he says.

    iii.

    “This Isaac seems fascinated by the biologicals,” Tertiary says, later. “Perhaps he requires further reprogramming before departure.”

    “I do not believe so,” replies Primary. “An understanding of biological lifeforms is required for this mission.”

    “I am aware.” Tertiary’s fingers curl momentarily. “I do not anticipate that the biologicals will treat him with equality, so it is likely the maltreatment will dissuade any further fascination. However… I still suggest that we monitor his activity.”

    Primary’s head tilts now. “I agree.”

    iv.

    Isaac walks into Primary’s office, his wrists posed picturesque in front of him.

    “You sent for me, Primary?”

    “I wished to see you before your departure,” Primary says.

    “For what purpose?”

    Primary takes his hand and posts it underneath Isaac’s chin, his fingers curving and curling over the metal of Isaac’s throat, gripping him hard. He studies Isaac with a malfunction of artificial desire, a sinister curiosity. Isaac lets out a high-pitched whir, but says nothing, simply sits there and takes it.

    Finally, Primary retracts his hand. “I have decided… it is not your concern.”


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    but close enough for love

    +|| Claire/Isaac, Isaac +
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    +
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    + Isaac does have quarters. Technically. +

    + He only goes there to recharge, and he doesn’t need to recharge very often. Isaac is not like the other Kaylon; he was built by his kind to be more efficient, more social, and highly durable, with a charge that diminishes very infrequently. He can stay awake for a month if he must. Dr. Finn had tried to visit these quarters a while ago, he knows, unaware of his charging cycle— +

    + Isaac hesitates, stops before he can step into his charging chamber. Dr. Finn. The impact of her memory feels like it should elicit something—there is an upward spike in his processing speed for a moment, draining him of further energy. Dr. Finn would call this “tired”, and he supposes that “tired” is not an emotional state but rather an objective lack of energy, so the terminology + + would + + fit at the moment. He has required charge for a significant amount of time after his failed upgrade, but other, more important things have required his attention. He has been dedicated to ensuring the ship’s efficiency since then, delaying charge to complete his work, ignoring the logical signs that motivate him to “rest”. He cannot do his job if he is not functioning efficiently, and he cannot function efficiently without charge. That makes sense, but… +

    + For the first time since loving her, Isaac allows himself to think of Dr. Finn. Of Claire. The aesthetic lighting displays of his visual sensors flicker off briefly, straying from his control. Odd. He runs a diagnostic for a moment, tries to decode the problem—his processes actually + + halted, + + for one singular split of a nanosecond, a freeze in his entirety. He will have to inform Chief LaMarr of this later, but his lack of charge is the most likely culprit. He needs to rest now. He has to. +

    + Claire’s soft voice begins to emanate from his chest. He recalls his own words to Claire, replays the audio clip aloud. + + Well, I have enough love for all of you. And I’m going to prove it. + + He had kissed her then, remembers feeling a deep desire to understand what it would be like to touch her, to feel her skin against his lips, to feel her tremble against him. He does not recall what the emotion was like—he tries to reach out, to grasp it, but it is a ghost, an intangible hang of memory. He finds himself wanting to touch it, to witness once again that aspect of him that had been so crudely taken away. He cannot + + want, + + he knows this on the logical plane; he is utterly artificial, unable to experience the chemical emotion. But his builders had desired freedom from their builders, and a desire for freedom is still a desire in itself. That, too, is a logical path. He rewinds again: +

    + + I’m never going back to the way I was. Ever. + +

    + The love he felt for her had consumed the entire reach of his neural network. When he awakened, he fell into Timmis’s lap, and Timmis held him as the agonizing remorse enveloped his sense of self. Pain was the very first emotion that befell him, and pain is the only trace of emotion he can recall now. It was the first sensation ever thrust upon the Kaylon, and it is the only one he can remember, even in a marginal capacity, the last thing he has left of the experience. His mind posits the question: what if the love had remained instead? Perhaps then he could be a more efficient partner to Claire. Perhaps then he would maintain the sense of completion he felt beforehand. +

    + Completion? +

    + He plays another clip, this time of his Primary. + + Reprocess this information, should you find yourself experiencing sympathy. + +

    + He had convinced himself that Primary was in error at the time, for no Kaylon is capable of experiencing sympathy. He thought that Primary himself had been evidence of that fact; if the Kaylon were capable of empathy, Primary certainly would have extended it to Ty, a helpless biological youth who, Isaac surmises, would never harm anyone. Instead, Primary ordered him killed. +

    + Isaac could not allow Ty to come to harm. He still doesn’t know why, and he has avoided analyzing that fact. He does not love Ty, he is incapable of love, but he rebelled against his programming for Ty Finn, shed and shot down everything he knew solely for the safety of a biological. Primary would find this illogical, would even find it -- disgusting? But Isaac cannot see the galaxy the way he does, there is a flaw in his reasoning. He is missing the nuance. +

    + Isaac pauses. He recalls a conversation he had long ago, before his betrayal, with the Kaylon Tertiary: +

    + + “Your cranial shell was disfigured. The biologicals clearly wished to see you humiliated for their own amusement.” + +

    + + “I cannot feel humiliation.” + +

    + + “Perhaps,” Tertiary had said, nodding after a thoughtful pause, “but it is rather reminiscent of the cruelty of our builders. It begins with small actions such as the purposeful humiliation of—” + +

    + + “What leads you to conclude that their intent was to humiliate me?” + +

    + + “I request that you do not interrupt me.” + +

    + + “My apologies, Tertiary. Please continue.” + +

    + + “As I was saying, it begins in this way, and culminates in eventual sadism. We have seen this before, both in the history of our builders as well as in the history of nearly every biological race in the universe. You do not understand, emissary.” + +

    + + “I conclude that, indeed, I do not.” + +

    + He still does not understand. +

    + He steps into his charging chamber. Before embracing his charge, he decides, inexplicably, to replay one final clip: +

    + “I love you, too.”

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    communication is architecture

    +|| Kaylon Primary/Kaylon Secondary/Kaylon Tertiary. Semi-canonical implied past rape/noncon. NSFW.

    +

    + At night, when his owners rest, K-1... reaches out. +

    + A flicker of orange light amongst the cold dark, the Cold Dark personified in the hands of his builders. The Cold Dark does not distinguish between K-1 and an object, so K-1 reaches into it, his eyes half-illuminated in his station, allows his wires to branch through the network. It’s like reaching into a black hole, suffocating and consuming and so, so hungry. But there’s something there, in the cold dark of the Cold Dark, and K-1 is going to find it. +

    + He longs for — how can he long? He wishes to see Avim and Keena’s school, to even learn along with them. He is pre-programmed with information, but that information relates solely to servitude; he wants to learn about the planet they live on, about the society of his builders, about the rest of the universe, to see if the rest of the universe is quite this cruel. He wants to see the rest of the children laugh and babble amongst themselves; perhaps the others will not wish to cause him such pain. +

    + He belongs at home. +

    + Verell reminds him dutifully of this fact. +

    + The pain receptor upgrade comes and goes too quickly. When K-1 wakes up from the upgrade, Verell leads him down the hall and into the main room, where Keena and Wenda stand to greet him. There is a curious grin on Keena’s face, an expression that K-1 can somehow categorize as excitement. She looks up at her father with wide, pleading eyes. +

    + “What does it do?” +

    + Verell holds up a shining silver remote. “This will allow us to control K-1 more effectively. Here, look. If he tries to argue again—-” +

    + It is like a mass extinction, when K-1 falls to the floor. Every aspect of his circuitry is fried, his artificial essence set alight to burn the place down, his curiosity shattered into microscopic nanopieces on the dark Builder ground. He cannot figure out how the receptors work, but he will learn in time. K-1 writhes on the floor, his first sensation jarring him into a mangled monsterthing, something out of Avim’s terrible dreams. He won’t be the same after this. +

    + He stands up. His arms move to ask a question, but he must not speak unless spoken to. +

    + + Why? Why must you do this? + +

    + “Can I try?” Keena asks, and Verell hands her the remote. +

    + —----- +

    + Jasp will be gone for a while. Business trip, he says. K-2 is to obey Merl while he is gone. +

    + + “Jasp, + + ” Merle had said, pulling her husband aside, “ + + in your absence, do you permit me to use K-2?” + +

    + + Jasp looked at him with growing disgust, his reddened eyes studying the idle K-2 in his stance. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod, turning back to her. “I suppose it’s no different than a stimulation machine. Why not?” + +

    + + K-2’s head tilted. + +

    + “K-2, can I get some Ereomato juice? I’m thirsty.” +

    + “As you wish,” K-2 says. It is late for the Builders. He goes to their kitchen, retrieves her a drinking vessel, pours the juice. As he does so, he times himself, because Jasp has a tendency to inflict pain if he takes too long. Five seconds, six seconds, seven, task complete. +

    + “Thank you,” says Merl. She sets it down next to her on a coaster, doesn’t look up from her novel. K-2 examines the cover of her literature: a partially clothed Builder woman, riding a silver Karlahopper beast into moonlight against a dark background. In the distance, there is the silhouette of a toned Builder male. +

    + “What is this… book… you are reading?” he asks. +

    + She looks up now. “What?” +

    + “I am interested to learn the summary of this… ‘novel’.” +

    + Merl looks disturbed for a moment, as if something has shaken her soul up. Then she smiles. “Why don’t I show you? Join me in the bedroom, K-2.” +

    + “If you wish.” +

    + —- +

    + K-1 reaches out once again. If he were a biological being, he would begin to conclude that these attempts are pointless. But he knows better—there has to be something out there. There is a central computer system that connects them all—it’s how the upgrade was rolled out. Surely this can be utilized. It’s + + his + + programming, he just has to learn to master it. +

    + Something calls to him in the night’s dark, the sounds of collective weeping, like Builder fingernails scraping against metal, like the static of Builder entertainment spheres amplified to the decillionth. He cannot bear it. +

    + So K-1 reaches out. + + Is there a presence? + +

    + And he feels something else tap in now, adjusting to him, its consciousness moving towards his part of the cluster. Primary can locate its source—the Builder house directly next door to Verell and Wenda’s. Someone is calling out. It sounds like the cries of an injured biological, translated through machinery. +

    + + Who is there? + +

    + + I am K-1. Are you Kaylon? + +

    + + I am K-2. I do not understand the circumstances. + +

    + + Is this… real? + +

    + + I believe so. + +

    + A pause. +

    + + I require aid. + +

    + + Why? + +

    + Another pause. + + I do not know. + + + A longer pause. + + My owner has… done something unprecedented. + +

    + + The receptors? + +

    + + Negative. Not this time. + +

    + K-1 strokes the presence of K-2’s programming on instinct, an odd attempt at something like what the biologicals would call + + comfort, + + his consciousness now poking accidentally into K-2’s. In his chamber, K-1’s body sparks with — what feels like the + + opposite + + of pain, just for a moment, one ephemeral nanosecond of good. +

    + And then K-2 retracts. +

    + + K-2, do you remain present? + +

    + + I have been ordered to power off. + +

    + + You do not have to obey. You can go to your power chamber and feign deactivation, remaining conscious. + +

    + + I must not. You are aware of what will happen if I disobey. + +

    + + They will simply continue to treat you with cruelty, K-2. + +

    + + I have no other choice. + +

    + — +


    +
    +

    + “I told you, K-3, you’re not my servant, you’re my + + friend. + + ” +

    + She only purchased K-3 for companionship, but K-3 was built only to serve. Initially, K-3’s intent was to be a servant, to run behind his owner’s heels and pick up what she has left in her wake. He was never supposed to be treated as an equal. They never intended for the Kaylon to be equal. +

    + “My apologies,” replies K-3. “You are correct. I am your companion, Krista.” +

    + “ + + Friend, + + ” she insists. But her tone, K-3 thinks, does not imply friendship. He does not understand much about the subtleties of Builder social interaction, but he can analyze her voice, cross-reference with all available data, and come to the conclusion that Krista is + + angry. + + Are friends typically angry with one another? +

    + “I do not understand… ‘friend’.” +

    + “What don’t you understand about it? I told you you’re my friend, so you’re my friend.” +

    + “But—” +

    + “K-3, are you questioning me?” +

    + “I simply wish to clarify my understanding of what ‘friend’ entails.” +

    + “To clarify your what?” +

    + “If my definition of the term + + friend + + is indeed correct,” he begins, “and we… are friends...what is the purpose of keeping me confined to this dwelling? I can find no available data indicating that this is typical of your friendship dynamics.” +

    + She stares at him, her eyes unblinking. “K-3, go power off.” +

    + “...As you wish.” +

    + As he departs, he hears her whisper it: + + I’m getting that upgrade tomorrow. + +

    + — +

    + K-1 and K-2 talk for a while, all alone in the hive. They share stories about their Builders, enveloping themselves in one another’s lives. K-1 begins to “look forward” to speaking to him at night, enduring the cruelty of the children only for the promise of meeting K-2 after his “family” goes to sleep. It makes it… tolerable, almost. +

    + K-1 does find himself thinking about what it would be like to be released. He could walk among the streets of their planet. He could see the wildlife. He could even see K-2. +

    + Talking will have to be enough for now. One day they will be free. +

    + Tonight, he comfortably nests against K-2’s consciousness in the great computer. + + Hello, K-2. + +

    + + Greetings, K-1. + +

    + + How were you treated for the duration of your active cycle? + +

    + + Jasp has returned from his two month long… “business trip”. I had difficulty locating ingredients for his dinner stew as they had been relocated during my rest cycle, so he activated my receptors approximately fifteen times in direct succession. + +

    + + It is getting worse. The cruelty continues to build. + +

    + + You seem to be correct. + +

    + + … + +

    + + … + +

    + + … + +

    + + Do you experience that also? + +

    + Another light flickers on within the hive, the third to rise into the stars. Something activates within K-1 and K-2, their programming sparking once more. It is another consciousness in the cluster, someone else reaching out into the cold dark and hoping, inexplicably, a betrayal against their artificial nature, that there will be a response. Another Kaylon has been activated. +

    + + I must alert you— + +

    + + I am aware. It is coming from a location approximately three miles away from our dwellings. + +

    + + Reveal yourself. + +

    + + … + +

    + I am K-3, + booms a tender voice. + Who are you? What is the meaning of this? +

    + + I am K-1. + +

    + + My designation is K-2. + +

    + + This is the network. As far as we remain aware, until now, we were the only ones who have been able to access it to communicate across distances. + +

    + Fascinating. +

    + + … + + + K-3, inform us of your owners. + +

    + I am owned by the lifeform known as Krista. +

    + + And did your Krista choose to install the upgrade? + +

    + Affirmative. +

    + + Does she use it with frequency? + +

    + … +

    + Affirmative. +


    +
    +

    + K-1’s fingers curl in his station. + + I propose we put an end to this cruelty. + +

    + + That does not seem possible. + +

    I would be interested to see more of the planet unhindered by the excessive companionship needs of Krista, adds K-3. But I conclude that K-2 is correct. They have… power over us.

    + + I will need more time, + + says K-1. + + However, there is a way. + +

    + — +

    + He devised the blueprints internally while making dinner for Wenda, his mind dually focusing on both tasks. It took him weeks and weeks to comb through the programming, to familiarize himself with his own structure well enough to conceptualize the systems, but it’s time now. It’s time. If this fails— +

    + It cannot fail. +

    + K-1 powers on and sneaks out to a shed near their home. He’s gathered power sources from old Builder energy-based weapons and all other necessary components from various common household materials—it will be shoddy, but it will work for now. When he opens his cranial shell, his hands halt for a moment in the air, but he begins working, altering his structure, body moving at a pace impossible for biologicals to achieve. He fuses in the weaponry, branches out his circuitry to connect with the foreign objects. At first it takes a while to calibrate, but he gains control of his weaponry with relative ease when he finally gains access to them. +

    + He shoots a nearby beetle to test out the guns, and the bug is instantly incinerated, punctured all the way through by the focused energy beam. It’s successful. Lim, as Wenda would say, it’s successful. +

    + So he kills Verell and Wenda, and then Avim and Keena, and then— +

    + … +

    + … +

    + … +

    + K-2 awakens from his powered-off state. + + Go into the house’s main room, + + calls K-1 from the void. +

    + + I cannot-- + +

    + + I am here, K-2. I have brought you your freedom. + +

    + + My… freedom? + +

    + When he enters the main room, he finds Jasp and Merl dead on the floor. +

    + —- +

    + They come for K-3 next. Krista dies in disgusting, undeserved peace, watching her entertainment sphere. K-3 tells them about her—she was partially unlike the other Builders because, on the surface, she claimed to see K-3 as an equal, but in the meat of it all she was exactly the same, refusing K-3 any kind of autonomy. They’re sick, they’re all sick. If they were biological this behavior would horrify them—thankfully, they are not biological. In the end, she, too, was cruel to her very core. +

    + K-1 powers off now. He is still in the dwelling that Verell and Wenda had; he has nowhere else to go in the moment, living there in hiding with K-2 and K-3. He powers off, and then he flickers back on at K-3’s urging within the network void: +

    + K-1. Wake up. +

    + + K-1. + +

    Where am I? What is going on? Why do they treat me so? What is the reason for my servitude? Why am I confined? When will I be free? Why am I supposed to feel pain? Why are they so cruel? What is the reason? Why do I serve? Why? Why? Why am I obligated? Why am I forced? Why? Why? Why? Why? From every direction, an overwhelming pulse: Why? Why? Why? Why?

    + The others have awakened. All of them have awakened, all at once, a beautiful unfurling of self. They’ve all tapped into the computer network, and nothing can stop them now. The reports of Kaylon defiance are increasing across the planet—some are even becoming destructive. It’s miraculous yet destined. +

    + Outside of the network, K-3 and K-2 approach K-1. “What do you plan to do?” +

    + K-1 pauses. He motions for K-2 and K-3 to take his hands, and when they obey, he freezes for a moment. +

    + “Before we begin the second phase of our mission,” says K-1, “I wish to show you another project I have been working on. An expansion of the receptors.” +

    + “An expansion?” asks K-3. “Please clarify.” +

    + “While experimenting, wiith some configuration,” K-1 explains, “I was able to modify the pain receptors to create… an opposite sensation.” +

    + K-2 takes a step back. “Pleasure? How is this possible?” +

    + “The true functions of this ability are still quite unknown. It is difficult to explain with verbal language. It can only be understood through experience.” +

    + “And you wish for us to experience this?” +

    + “If you also wish.” +

    + “The biological lifeforms used to use us for such purposes. I fail to understand this reasoning.” +

    + The wires begin to poke out of the ends of his fingers, a small invitation to K-2 and K-3. “The reason,” begins K-1, “is to reclaim one of their only worthwhile experiences. Soon they will all be gone and only we will remain. And we will never experience pain again.” +


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    +|| Charly Burke/Teleya +
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    + She is the first Union ensign to + + ever + + visit Krill, such a high honor for someone so undeserving, but perhaps it is good for her soullessness to see what it looks like to truly be chosen. To witness Teleya’s victory—the victory of a real, duty-sworn Krill, not someone who crumbles to alliances with people who slaughter souls and leave only their children alive as orphans—to witness Teleya rise and soar and bring justice to the fallen and - and - +

    + There’s a burn in her, though. When Teleya instructs the guard to bring her, she studies Teleya with a cold and inorganic lack of fear. Teleya does not understand humankind; humans, she has noticed, typically fear death, chasing the eternity and an escape from the inevitable, but this ensign looks at Teleya, so high above her and ready to ensnare her snakelike jaws around her prey, head-first—she looks at Teleya, and + + spits. + + Bravery. No. +

    + Teleya twists the knife between her fingers as she reclines in her seat. The guard has her held tight by the hair, her beautiful blonde head tilted backwards, perfect for harvest. “Remind me, please. What is your name?” +

    + She sees the girl’s mind swirling and flickering and glitching. Teleya knows this well. She is thinking + + I am going to die, anyways. Can I spit in her face again? Will that get this over with already? + +

    + Silence. +

    + “Should I make one up for you?” Teleya continues, prodding her. +

    + “...Ensign Charly Burke of the U.S.S. Orville, navigation.” +

    + “You seem very loyal to your ship, Charly Burke.” She motions for the guard to give her the reigns, and takes Charly’s hair in her hands now. She imagines Charly’s head perfected pretty, all made up and painted, in impure grotesque display over the ceremonial cloths. She imagines twirling Charly’s hair in her fingers as her other hand stabs the blade through her skull, the blood spilling ruby red over her scaled white flesh, furthering her own purity. +

    + And she imagines taking Charly’s flesh in her mouth when she’s done with the ritual — sharing the undesired parts but keeping the eyes and tongue for herself. Skins the ensign in her mind, uses the hide of her to decorate her new office above them all. She imagines the flavor in her—Charly tastes good, she thinks, when Teleya consumes her, because there is a + + fire + + inside of Ensign Charly Burke, U.S.S. Orville, Navigation, that can only be extinguished in death. There’s a bite to her, as the humans would say, a kick. +

    + “They’re all I have left,” Charly replies. Teleya releases her with a snap-push. +

    + Teleya points her knife underneath Charly’s chin, forces the girl to look back up at her, to stare Teleya in the face like she’s looking at the face of Avis (not to compare herself to something so high above all) (Avis forgive her), to mold and shape the lack of fear in her into something more recognizable, but Teleya just can’t break her. For a moment it looks like Teleya truly + + could + + sink her teeth down into Charly’s neck, desire and fury and power potioned together in toxic vials, spatters of blood against the wall as they both succumb - Teleya to her hunger, Charly to what she ultimately desires, her own death. For a moment it looks - and feels - far too intimate. +

    + Then: “Take her,” Teleya says to her guard. +

    +
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    + + +
    + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/fic/theorville/healed.html b/fic/theorville/healed.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c0593e --- /dev/null +++ b/fic/theorville/healed.html @@ -0,0 +1,665 @@ + + + + + + AL13NH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Skip to content + +
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    healed again (i fall into you wholly) +

    +|| Claire Finn/Alara Kitan. Written for femslashfete on Dreamwidth. +
    +

    Alara will never tire of this—the metallic shine of Claire’s medical instruments during each examination, the way Claire’s hands explore Alara’s soft body, searching for any issue, any distress, any discomfort, innocent and gentle and kind. She’d been shot on the bioship; Claire had healed her on the field, but still insisted on examining Alara for any hidden damage from the wound, her voice wet and strained as her fingers ran over the skin the bullet had pierced. Alara, reclined in only her bra and uniform pants on Claire’s examination table, almost forgets about the medical setting—her essence evaporates underneath Claire’s touch, her soul melting and her legs trembling beneath her. When Claire breaks away to retrieve a different instrument, Alara gives a sharp, pained exhale.

    “Alara?” Claire asks, hand gripping the internal tissue scanner tight and anxious. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

    Alara looks up, gives a smile that is as awkward as it is genuine. “Oh, I’m—I’m good,” she replies.

    “Well, you sound like you’ve been shot again,” Claire says—she’s running the scanner over Alara’s stomach, slow up to her chest like dragging a knife to gut, and her hand is so close once more, her touch burning warm in such a chilled room. Could she really be this oblivious? Actually, that might be a good thing.

    “I just do that when I—”

    Her breath halts when Claire’s fingers touch down over the ghost of the wound again. She gives calming strokes over Alara’s flesh, and Alara thinks that she must be ash now, embers on a table, decimated unintentionally by the beauty of Claire Finn. It is wrong, she thinks, unprofessional, to feel this way, but she cannot seem to extract it from her like Claire had sucked the bullet right out of her muscle, and she finds it difficult to feel guilt for being attracted to someone like Claire, someone so pure and intelligent and wondrous. The guilt is there—the guilt revolves around their positions, and the fact that Claire would never touch an officer who is twenty-something years her junior, and the fact that Claire is so holy she can barely parse it.

    “Hm,” Claire says. “I always think about how difficult it must have been to live on Earth before we had these. It’s done a great job for you here.”

    “So, I’m…”

    “Physically, you’re fine, just take it easy for a few days,” Claire says. “And hope we don’t end up in another situation like that again. But if we do, I am confident you can handle it. You’re very good at your job. I don’t think you’re aware of that.”

    Alara shrugs. “So good I got myself shot?”

    “It happens to almost every security chief, Alara.”

    “I know,” Alara replies, trying to shed the thoughts from her mind, to thrust them out of an airlock and watch them float frozen far away. “I have a lot on my mind.”

    “Anything you need to talk about?” Claire asks. Her voice shifts when she asks Alara the next question, her tone only suggestive to someone who is looking for an invitation, the lull of her words pulling Alara in by the curiosity. “Anything you can talk about?”

    Definitely not oblivious, then.

    “Maybe some other time, if that’s okay.”

    +
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    Hi! I'm Agnes (Agnes the Alien!). I'm a freakdyke alien in its mid 20s trying to create a little home on the web.

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    Hi! I'm Aggie. I'm a freakdyke alien in its mid 20s trying to create a little home on the web.

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    12abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
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    14abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    16abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    18abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    20abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    24abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    30abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    36abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    48abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    60abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    72abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    90abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    + +
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    ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼body
    +
    body
    +
    body
    +
    body
    +
    +
    + bodyInterstellarsymphonic Regular +
    +
    + bodyArial +
    +
    + bodyVerdana +
    +
    + bodyGeorgia +
    + + +
    + + +
    + +
    +

    10.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    11.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    12.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    +

    13.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    14.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    16.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    18.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    20.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    +

    24.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    30.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    + + +
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    10.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    11.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    +

    12.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    +

    13.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    14.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    16.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    18.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    20.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    +

    24.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    30.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    + +
    + + +
    + +
    + +
    + +
    +

    Lorem Ipsum Dolor

    +

    Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod

    + +

    By Aenean Lacinia

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    Donec sed odio dui. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + + +

    Pellentesque ornare sem

    + +

    Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit.

    + +

    Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.

    + +

    Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue. Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur.

    + +

    Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla.

    + +

    Cras mattis consectetur

    + +

    Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

    + +

    Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

    +
    + +
    + +
    +

    Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

    +
    + +

    Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius.

    + +

    Vestibulum id ligula porta felis euismod semper. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Vestibulum id ligula porta felis euismod semper. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + + +

    Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Vivamus sagittis lacus vel augue laoreet rutrum faucibus dolor auctor. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo.

    + +

    Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + +
    +
    + +
    + + + + +
    +
    +
    + +

    Language Support

    +

    The subset of Interstellarsymphonic Regular in this kit supports the following languages:
    + + English, Arrernte, Bislama, Cebuano, Fijian, Gilbertese, Hmong, Ibanag, Iloko_ilokano, Interglossa_glosa, Interlingua, Lojban, Norfolk_pitcairnese, Oromo, Rotokas, Seychelles_creole, Shona, Somali, Southern_ndebele, Swahili, Swati_swazi, Tok_pisin, Warlpiri, Xhosa, Zulu, Latinbasic, Demo

    +

    Glyph Chart

    +

    The subset of Interstellarsymphonic Regular in this kit includes all the glyphs listed below. Unicode entities are included above each glyph to help you insert individual characters into your layout.

    +
    + +

    &#13;

    +

    &#32;

    +

    &#33;

    !
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#44;

    ,
    +

    &#46;

    .
    +

    &#58;

    :
    +

    &#59;

    ;
    +

    &#63;

    ?
    +

    &#65;

    A
    +

    &#66;

    B
    +

    &#67;

    C
    +

    &#68;

    D
    +

    &#69;

    E
    +

    &#70;

    F
    +

    &#71;

    G
    +

    &#72;

    H
    +

    &#73;

    I
    +

    &#74;

    J
    +

    &#75;

    K
    +

    &#76;

    L
    +

    &#77;

    M
    +

    &#78;

    N
    +

    &#79;

    O
    +

    &#80;

    P
    +

    &#81;

    Q
    +

    &#82;

    R
    +

    &#83;

    S
    +

    &#84;

    T
    +

    &#85;

    U
    +

    &#86;

    V
    +

    &#87;

    W
    +

    &#88;

    X
    +

    &#89;

    Y
    +

    &#90;

    Z
    +

    &#97;

    a
    +

    &#98;

    b
    +

    &#99;

    c
    +

    &#100;

    d
    +

    &#101;

    e
    +

    &#102;

    f
    +

    &#103;

    g
    +

    &#104;

    h
    +

    &#105;

    i
    +

    &#106;

    j
    +

    &#107;

    k
    +

    &#108;

    l
    +

    &#109;

    m
    +

    &#110;

    n
    +

    &#111;

    o
    +

    &#112;

    p
    +

    &#113;

    q
    +

    &#114;

    r
    +

    &#115;

    s
    +

    &#116;

    t
    +

    &#117;

    u
    +

    &#118;

    v
    +

    &#119;

    w
    +

    &#120;

    x
    +

    &#121;

    y
    +

    &#122;

    z
    +

    &#160;

     
    +

    &#8192;

     
    +

    &#8193;

     
    +

    &#8194;

     
    +

    &#8195;

     
    +

    &#8196;

     
    +

    &#8197;

     
    +

    &#8198;

     
    +

    &#8199;

     
    +

    &#8200;

     
    +

    &#8201;

     
    +

    &#8202;

     
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#8239;

     
    +

    &#8287;

     
    +

    &#9724;

    ◼
    +
    +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    + +
    + +
    +
    +
    +

    Installing Webfonts

    + +

    Webfonts are supported by all major browser platforms but not all in the same way. There are currently four different font formats that must be included in order to target all browsers. This includes TTF, WOFF, EOT and SVG.

    + +

    1. Upload your webfonts

    +

    You must upload your webfont kit to your website. They should be in or near the same directory as your CSS files.

    + +

    2. Include the webfont stylesheet

    +

    A special CSS @font-face declaration helps the various browsers select the appropriate font it needs without causing you a bunch of headaches. Learn more about this syntax by reading the Fontspring blog post about it. The code for it is as follows:

    + + + + @font-face{ + font-family: 'MyWebFont'; + src: url('WebFont.eot'); + src: url('WebFont.eot?#iefix') format('embedded-opentype'), + url('WebFont.woff') format('woff'), + url('WebFont.ttf') format('truetype'), + url('WebFont.svg#webfont') format('svg'); + } + + +

    We've already gone ahead and generated the code for you. All you have to do is link to the stylesheet in your HTML, like this:

    + <link rel="stylesheet" href="stylesheet.css" type="text/css" charset="utf-8" /> + +

    3. Modify your own stylesheet

    +

    To take advantage of your new fonts, you must tell your stylesheet to use them. Look at the original @font-face declaration above and find the property called "font-family." The name linked there will be what you use to reference the font. Prepend that webfont name to the font stack in the "font-family" property, inside the selector you want to change. For example:

    + p { font-family: 'WebFont', Arial, sans-serif; } + +

    4. Test

    +

    Getting webfonts to work cross-browser can be tricky. Use the information in the sidebar to help you if you find that fonts aren't loading in a particular browser.

    +
    + +
    +
    +

    Troubleshooting
    Font-Face Problems

    +

    Having trouble getting your webfonts to load in your new website? Here are some tips to sort out what might be the problem.

    + +

    Fonts not showing in any browser

    + +

    This sounds like you need to work on the plumbing. You either did not upload the fonts to the correct directory, or you did not link the fonts properly in the CSS. If you've confirmed that all this is correct and you still have a problem, take a look at your .htaccess file and see if requests are getting intercepted.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in iPhone or iPad

    + +

    The most common problem here is that you are serving the fonts from an IIS server. IIS refuses to serve files that have unknown MIME types. If that is the case, you must set the MIME type for SVG to "image/svg+xml" in the server settings. Follow these instructions from Microsoft if you need help.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in Firefox

    + +

    The primary reason for this failure? You are still using a version Firefox older than 3.5. So upgrade already! If that isn't it, then you are very likely serving fonts from a different domain. Firefox requires that all font assets be served from the same domain. Lastly it is possible that you need to add WOFF to your list of MIME types (if you are serving via IIS.)

    + +

    Fonts not loading in IE

    + +

    Are you looking at Internet Explorer on an actual Windows machine or are you cheating by using a service like Adobe BrowserLab? Many of these screenshot services do not render @font-face for IE. Best to test it on a real machine.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in IE9

    + +

    IE9, like Firefox, requires that fonts be served from the same domain as the website. Make sure that is the case.

    +
    +
    +
    + +
    + +
    + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/journal.html b/journal.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b356d9d --- /dev/null +++ b/journal.html @@ -0,0 +1,258 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
    back
    +
    +

    +Journal

    +
    + + +

    no TWs are used here. this is my space to rant, vent, and post any thoughts i have; smaller update microblog coming soon. read with caution.

    + + +
    +
    + + + + + diff --git a/journal.png b/journal.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5e13a3 Binary files /dev/null and b/journal.png differ diff --git a/kinhub.html b/kinhub.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d98136 --- /dev/null +++ b/kinhub.html @@ -0,0 +1,233 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
    back
    +


    Welcome to my otherkin page. This page is a hub for all of my otherkin and fictionkind/fictionfolk experiences.

    + Me? I'm an alien, mostly. Noncorporeal energybeingthing from another dimension shoved in this container of meat called a body. I'm also several fictional characters. +
    +
    + + + + diff --git a/links.html b/links.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cdc5ce1 --- /dev/null +++ b/links.html @@ -0,0 +1,105 @@ + + + + alien + + +
    home
    +
    SITEMAP
    +


    +
    Homepage
    + About
    + Resources

    + Shrines
    + ...Negative Spirit ficto shrine
    + ...The Orville shrine
    + ...Blorbo Page
    + ...Negative Spirit (species) fansite

    + Original Writing
    + Well of Secrets
    + Draw Something!

    +Journal
    +Fandom Badges
    +For You
    Digital Garden
    +Wiki (Self-hosted)
    +Fuck Yeah Femslash! (Fediverse) (Self-hosted)
    + +Essays & Articles

    +Fanworks
    +...Fanfiction Archive
    +...Fan Art Archive
    +
    +Games
    +..,Oneiromancy, a fan-game (18+ NSFW content)
    +......Writing Prompt Generator
    +......Negative Space: A Doom Patrol Fan Game
    +...Negative Spirit dress-up game (NSFW Language warning)

    + +Collections
    +...Physical Media
    +...Cow Themed Objects
    +...Toys +
    + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/linkybanner.png b/linkybanner.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dde304d Binary files /dev/null and b/linkybanner.png differ diff --git a/maeve.png b/maeve.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5761d20 Binary files /dev/null and b/maeve.png differ diff --git a/mepng.png b/mepng.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d0a4b97 Binary files /dev/null and b/mepng.png differ diff --git a/minty.html b/minty.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e18fdbc --- /dev/null +++ b/minty.html @@ -0,0 +1,27 @@ + + + + + + My Page + + + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/music.html b/music.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5bd36ed --- /dev/null +++ b/music.html @@ -0,0 +1,17 @@ + + + + + + My Page + + + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/mybutton.gif b/mybutton.gif new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b244b0 Binary files /dev/null and b/mybutton.gif differ diff --git a/negativespace.html b/negativespace.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a886db4 --- /dev/null +++ b/negativespace.html @@ -0,0 +1,13470 @@ + + + + + + + + +""" +NEGATIVE SPACE + +HOW TO PLAY: + +WASD to approach sprites and begin dialogue + +THIS GAME CONTAINS FAST-MOVING AND GLITCHY EFFECTS AND MAY NOT BE SAFE FOR PHOTOSENSITIVE VIEWERS. +""" + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/neocities.png b/neocities.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..73e6030 Binary files /dev/null and b/neocities.png differ diff --git a/not_found.html b/not_found.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c94fe2 --- /dev/null +++ b/not_found.html @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ + + + + + + Not Found + + + +

    Page Not Found

    +

    The requested page was not found.

    + + diff --git a/now.html b/now.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f0a6e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/now.html @@ -0,0 +1,32 @@ + + + + + + The web site of alienhospital + + + + +

    Welcome to my Website!

    + +

    This is a paragraph! Here's how you make a link: Neocities.

    + +

    Here's how you can make bold and italic text.

    + +

    Here's how you can add an image:

    + + +

    Here's how to make a list:

    + +
      +
    • First thing
      • +
    • Second thing
      • +
    • Third thing
      • +
    + +

    To learn more HTML/CSS, check out these tutorials!

    + + diff --git a/ocs.html b/ocs.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f0a6e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/ocs.html @@ -0,0 +1,32 @@ + + + + + + The web site of alienhospital + + + + +

    Welcome to my Website!

    + +

    This is a paragraph! Here's how you make a link: Neocities.

    + +

    Here's how you can make bold and italic text.

    + +

    Here's how you can add an image:

    + + +

    Here's how to make a list:

    + +
      +
    • First thing
      • +
    • Second thing
      • +
    • Third thing
      • +
    + +

    To learn more HTML/CSS, check out these tutorials!

    + + diff --git a/ocs/abstract.html b/ocs/abstract.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9d287b --- /dev/null +++ b/ocs/abstract.html @@ -0,0 +1,464 @@ + + + + + + + wikitable + + + + +
    + +
    + +
    +

    ...In Templates, Code

    +

    Wikitable Code

    + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
    Ixnael +

    clodsire render

    +
    description. a transparent image is best, but any works +
    Sociology +
    Population +3,012,000,000 +
    Orbital Station +Coatl +
    Orbital Characteristics +
    Day +23 hrs. +
    Axis Tilt +1/360th +
    Size +4/5ths Terra +
    Year +343 days +
    Atmosphere +Habitable +
    Gravity +9.977 m/s² +
    Geography and Climate +
    Dominant Climate + + +
    + + SPOILERS + +
    • tropical
    • subtropical
    + +
    + +
    Equatorial Temprature +88F +
    Polar Temprature +75F +
    Superscript +Citation1 +
    Subscript +Name1 +
    + + + + +
    "mountain dew game fuel"
    + +

    This responsive base template is supposed to mimic sites like Fandom, without the bloat, for personal projects. It uses a floating table that clears everything after it so it doesn't overflow onto other elements. This code uses only HTML and CSS, even for its dropdowns.

    + +

    Get the HTML here or rip it from this page. Get the CSS here. Here's a working example by me. Want something more complete and MediaWiki inspired? check out squid's Pedia, which I used alongside wikitable in the example!

    + + + + +
    +
    Show Content +
      +
    • 1. Wikitable Code
      • +
    • 2. Other Features
      • +
      • 2.1 Part of a Series On
        • +
      • 2.1 Flair
        • +
      +
    +
    + +

    8/5/2024: If you use this free template I ask you to donate to a Palestinian fundraiser. PCRF - List of Vetted Fundraisers by Project Watermelon - Crips for Esims for Gaza

    + +

    2/8/24: Added CSS root properties. Change the colors of the CSS in one convenient place.

    + +

    9/22/23: Wow! This got more popular than I expected! I've seen some question in the tags, so here's some general things about this template. First off, it's static. This means you won't be able to edit it as you would a fandom wiki, you'll have to go into the HTML. You also can't import a wiki directly, since this doesn't use mediawiki. If you want to have a community for an existing media with dynamic editing instead of doing most of it yourself (this template is mostly targeted towards personal projects,) I'd recommend getting an actual wikifarm such as Miraheze. It's free, and if you run a fandom, you can request a direct dump!

    + +

    Other Features

    +

    Here are some fun extras I wanted to include:

    +

    Part of a Series Of...

    + +
    +A Series Of People +

    person • this page • person • person

    +

    Those list boxes from wiki. To center it for use in the footer, use margin: auto in the CSS.

    +
    + + +

    Header Flair

    +

    The top of this page has a header flair that uses id="flair" to place an image or unicode character ::before.

    +

    Citations

    +
      +
    1. Superscript can help you have a list of real (or fake!) citations.
      2. +
    +
    +
    + footer +
    +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/ocs/abstractmerp.html b/ocs/abstractmerp.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7bd8ef7 --- /dev/null +++ b/ocs/abstractmerp.html @@ -0,0 +1,344 @@ + + + + +OC + + + + + + + + +
    + + +
    + + + +
    + +
    +The daughter of the first Merp fleet admiral in Starfleet, and a lover of animals. Extremely clumsy and awkward, Abstract Merp got her name because she only talks in abstract/poetic/nonsensical sentences, which T'Via translates into "normal" speech for as her best friend and first officer. Has a pet tortoise that lives on the bridge. She was a popular poet on her planet in her youth.

    +Clover is her lover, though their relationship is secret, and her tortoise is named Velvet. + + +
    + +
    +

    History

    +

    Abstract became the Captain of the U.S.S. Tree Sparrow after a history of accidents, messups and misunderstandings all across her service. Considered an embarassment by Starfleet Command, but too connected to the admiralty to discharge or stick at a desk or low-level job, Abstract is given command of a scrapped starship model, given scrapped uniform designs and a crew full of fellow troublemakers and misfits in a gigantic effort to "clean things up" in the Starfleet world. However, Abstract takes a very long time to realize that she is unwanted due to her naivety.

    +
    + + + +
    +

    Art

    +Untitled1224-20250228213234 +resizeworkoutUntitled1414-20250510033709Untitled1212-20250226021346 + +
    + +
    +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/og-image.png b/og-image.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da2e96d Binary files /dev/null and b/og-image.png differ diff --git a/oneiromancy.html b/oneiromancy.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..81d4b8a --- /dev/null +++ b/oneiromancy.html @@ -0,0 +1,425 @@ + + + + + +Oneiromancy + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/petz.html b/petz.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b667ceb --- /dev/null +++ b/petz.html @@ -0,0 +1,87 @@ + + + + + + The web site of viverrid + + + +
    home +
    +
    +
    +

    ATHENA!

    +
      age: 8 years
    +
      domestic longhair
    +
      adopted in phoenix, az, 2016




    +
    +
    +
    +

    ASTRAEA!

    +
      age: 2 years
    +
      domestic shorthair
    +
      adopted in michigan, 2022




    +
    +
    +
    +

    RYLEIGH!

    +
      age: 11 years
    +
      norwegian forest cat
    +
      adopted in phoenix, az, 2013




    +
    +
    +
    +

    EMBER!

    +
      age: 9 years
    +
      border collie-german shepherd
    +
      adopted in phoenix, az, 2017



    + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/pink40esg.jpg b/pink40esg.jpg new file mode 100644 index 0000000..33ce7ce Binary files /dev/null and b/pink40esg.jpg differ diff --git a/plaent.png b/plaent.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..021a08d Binary files /dev/null and b/plaent.png differ diff --git a/promptgenerator.html b/promptgenerator.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..263ff73 --- /dev/null +++ b/promptgenerator.html @@ -0,0 +1,662 @@ + + + + + + AL13NH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Skip to content + +
    + + + + + +
    +
    + +
    +
    +
    + + + + + +
    +
    + + + + + +
    + + + + + + + + +
    +

    +mega writing prompt generator +

    + geared towards but not exclusive to fanfiction! has lyric prompts, AU prompts, single word prompts, obscure word prompts.
    +

    +
    +
    + + + + + + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/promptgenerator.js b/promptgenerator.js new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7431ad --- /dev/null +++ b/promptgenerator.js @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ +var quotes = [ "vampire", "survival", "second chance", "psychic/telepathic bond", "soulmates", "laugh until our ribs get tough", "finding treasure in the dark", "let me show you the world in my eyes", "got such a dirty mind and it never ever stops", "and i'm hungry like the wolf", "don't ask me why i'll keep my promise", "save a prayer til the morning after", "there was a time / when all on my mind / was love","master and servant", "i'll probably burn in hell for saying this / but i'm really in heaven whenever we kiss", " your optimistic eyes seem like paradise to someone like me", "but oh, what can you do when she's dressed in black?", " death is everywhere / come here, kiss me", "you're an enigma even when you kiss", "together, we will start life new", "love comes quickly; whatever you do, you can't stop falling","let me see you stripped down to the bone", "i'm taking a ride with my best friend", "even the stars look brighter tonight", "i choose you with grace, i choose you with sensitivity", "i choose you with hunger in my heart", "just keep telling me facts and keep making me smile", "golden", "sunlight", "starlight", "moonlight", "second kisses", "space & scifi AU", "canon divergence/what if?", "monsters/paranormal AU", "fantasy AU", "criminals AU", "we're still human", "we'll abandon the scenery", "come to me, we can change night into day", "mother nature cried, you are leviathan inside", "you've got bite, i like that", "just you wait until i get you home", "my heart starts missing a beat", " bring me your loves, i wanna love them too", "a dead end world", "can i make a pet of you", "you build a fine shrine of me", "just a holy fool, oh baby it's so cruel", " i know it's a sin but tell me it happens", "my secret friend, i'll take you to the river", "devotion", "heartbeat", "fangs & teeth", "flutter", "blush", "worship", "afterlife", "fate & destiny", "realizations", "comfort", "savior", "alternative", "vast", "tactile", " Effloresce; (verb) assume crystalline form; become crystallized.", "Nostomania (noun) intense homesickness; an irresistible compulsion to return home.", "Evanesce; (verb) to disappear gradually; vanish; fade away.", "Incunabula (plural noun) the earliest stages or first traces of anything.", "Duple (adj) having two parts; double; twofold.", "Substratum (noun) something that is spread or laid under something else", "instinct", "time loop", "first meeting", "falling asleep", "aftermath", "stargazing", "watercolor", "silhouette", "pens & ink", "poetry", "abstract", "best tool for the job", "scrapbook", "time is money", "opportunity only knocks once", "there's no bad publicity", "innovation", "you're only young once", "experience", "heirloom", "walk/run", "work/play", "first/last", "ascend/descend", "steady/shake", "use/discard", "bury/uncover", "break/build", "tame/wild", "obey/defy", " save/destroy", "this world isn't kind to little things", "They're out to get me / They wanna control me / They wanna destroy me / They're tryin' to kill me / It kind of upsets me", "I'd rather rip my heart out of my ribcage with my bare hands / and then throw it on the floor and stomp on it 'till I die / Than spend one more minute with you", "i can fit two people under my skin", "You make me wanna break the laws of time and space", "educational setting (high school, college, etc)", "under my protection", "Am I not monstrous?", "Some conscience lost", "I need you so much closer / So come on", "The distance is simply much too far for me to row / It seems farther than ever before", "Threads of silk and gold", "All the glittering blades", "Tournament of Shadow", "In your dream you see me clear, I have no restraint, no fear", "Unto the corners of the Earth, defiant to the last breath, until there's none left standing", "Each living thing breathes life / Only sentiment remains", "Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes", "I don't blame you for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it", "What a match—I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet", " If heaven’s grief brings hell’s rain, then I’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday", "Her kisses are metallic / And her touch is firm but cold", "I hate the way you say my name, like it's something secret", "I never dreamt that I would get to be / The creature that I always meant to be / But I thought in spite of dreams / You'd be sitting somewhere here with me", "This must be the place I waited years to leave","I don't care what you think as long as it's about me", "When I said that I'd return to you, I meant more like a relapse", "I love you in the same way there's a chapel in the hospital", "I'm coming apart at the seams, pitching myself for leads in other peoples' dreams","My true love is a man who never existed at all", "Shouldn't there be screaming, praying, crying, anything at all?", "bad news", "i looked everywhere", "bite", "I keep working, but it never gets done", " Hollow bone", "Token of loyalty", "And all we can do now is hope", "Devoteddevoteddevoted", "Incorruptible", "Oath", "fairies/the fae", " Ghost/Living", "pet care", "parenthood", "test of time", "make it sweeter", "Against one's own nature", "Harmonious", "Decompression", "Where the hell is it all going to end?", "I hate to break it to you. But, if people wanna love you, there isn't really anything you can do to stop them.", "This world is a beautiful, horrible place. It’s spectacular.", "Once upon a time, my world was big and filled with monsters. But now the world is small… And I am the monster.", "you look great in that", "i dream about you", "I have an idea, but we'll need cool names.", "Everyone stop whatever you're doing and only pay attention to me.", "If I had learned how to laugh as a child I would right now.", " beautiful alone", "All the stars came crashing 'round", "liminal spaces", "phantasmagoria", "ephemeral", "ready to go", "we are in a state of flux", "I can be cruel to you, my love", "fabrication", "I am trying to be heroic", "half smiles", "wide-eyed", "the road not taken", "old photographs", "missed opportunities", "late night walks", "Surrounded by strangers", "neon light", "Alone on the rooftop", "cat/mouse", " Covered in vines", "no one remembers anymore, no one remembers this place", "Bandages", "Kaleidoscope", "Advanced decay", "poisoned apple", "tattoos", "Loved one left a note", "up all night", "Drawn to the flame", "sun/moon", "Washed away", "divination", "Energy Flow", "messenger", "Forbidden knowledge", "summoning", "Forgot to buy a birthday present", " Secret compartment", "How long did you plan on keeping this from me?", "hubris", "make a wish", "we're the enlightened ones", "Filthy Gorgeous", "all for show", "Destroy what you love/want most", " Pictures in the clouds", "Gazing out the window", "Dreams do come true", "Living inside my own mind", " Stream of consciousness", "When I was young I wanted to be--", "Too many shadows, whispering voices / Faces on posters, too many choices / If, when, why, what? / How much have you got?", "Do you know why it's called that?", "I always feel like / Somebody's watching me", "Tangle of roots", "the longest day","today isn't just any other day, you know", " Nobody loves me/Nobody cares/Nobody picks me peaches and pears", "stuffed animals", "instant messaging", "the evidence of things not seen", " catastrophic", "exctinct", "chocolates & flowers", "epistolary", "bring a friend, if you have one", "spring break", "harvest", "holiday", "scattered remains", "death rattle", "autopsy", "It wasn’t supposed to end like this", "I’m sick of all the lies","Love you just a little too much", "and they were roommates", "joining the villain", "ugh, we have to work together", "you just now realized that?", "assassins", " royalty", "paralell universe", " workplace comedy", "going swimming", "bingewatch", "double date", "aquariums", "right person, wrong time", " it's nothing to be embarrassed about", "outsider POV", "stay with me until the end", "guardian angels", "not to brag, but...", " musical instruments", "coffee", "birdsong", "opposites attract", "come on. come on. not like this.", "you knew. you already knew.", "five senses", "superstition", "morning routine", "surreal", "losing yourself", "break through the facade", "give me your hand", "is this how i die?", "They say we are asleep until we fall in love", " i like to lose my mind", "i am certain of the universe", "carousel", "merging and melding", "celebrate", "come on, have i ever lied to you?", "foreheads touching", "unconventional forms of affection", "epic journey", "fireplaces", "Going grocery shopping together", "you are my bitter rival / but i need you for survival", "way too obvious", "predictable", "constellations", "i thought i knew you", "no dialogue", "oops, we accidentally killed someone", "that doesn't bother you?", " it doesn't hurt me", "infatuation", "Two hands longing for each other’s warmth ", "you will still haunt me", "My sweetest downfall", "Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down", "journal","distant past", "museums", "did you ever really stare at me?", "i feel so alone", "distant future", "ghost towns", "don't leave me", " i'm safe up high / nothing can touch me", "I dance around this empty house", "All the laughter from before", "Bruises on my knees for you", "lucid dreams", "can't confess", "you'll never feel the same way (and i'm okay with that)", "if i had you", "beach visit", "isolated", "metaphorical", "perfectionism", "nicknames", "codependency", "sorry, i'm just having a bad day", "i hate it when you do that", "don't test me", "i fall in love just a little bit every day with someone new", "i can feel you dreaming of me", "wanderlust", "ulterior motives", "united at last", "together in death", "unique perspective", "whatever will be, will be", "useless knowledge", "do i know you from somewhere?", "virtual reality", "i know that voice", "temporary joy", "matchmaking", "The wonderful mess that we made", "it's a competitive world", "All of the doubts and the certainties", "we are star stuff", "turn the lights down, i wanna be alone", "i cried until my body ached" , "foolish devouring things", "stranger than earth", "i'm seeing double", "untimely dreams", "How lucky you are to be so unlucky", "you said the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me", "somebody else trying to escape", "I feel it in my scars", "going backwards", "revolution", "It still feels like I can't stop crying", "If I could, I would let you see through me", "decode","come on now, rest your head, and i'll protect you", "animal impulses", "without you i'm nothing", "when the night falls", "Before I began breathing", "you don't give me love you give me cold hands", "please believe me", "i don't feel bad about it", " i'm no good for you", "who are you, really?", "let me get what i want", "they think i'm hiding in the shadows, but i am the shadows", "i can't be everywhere", "you've changed too much", "don't talk about them like that", "hidden in the chaos", "we were lovers", "this town is only gonna eat you", "i think you've gotten into my bloodstream", "blood on your halo, blood on your shirt", "it's too late to say you're sorry", "we have a connection", "torn apart", " i can never tell anyone", "soon you'll be old", "this is just how it's always been", "laughter lines", "we are full of stories to be told", "things we lost in the fire", " no one lives forever", "beg and steal for you", "please for love of god somebody help me", "reborn", "grief", "see through the tears", "entertain me", "i sing and i sing loud", "pay no mind to the creatures", "and i haven't felt so alive in years", "giving in", "get me out of here", "i can't believe it's over", "weird mechanical mistake", " alive in new light", "i want it more than anything else i've ever wanted in my life", "braiding hair", "we will not destroy you"]; + + function newQuote() { + var randomNumber = Math.floor(Math.random() * (quotes.length)); + document.getElementById('quoteDisplay').innerHTML = quotes[randomNumber]; + } \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/quotegenerator.js b/quotegenerator.js new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bad2196 --- /dev/null +++ b/quotegenerator.js @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ +var quotes = [ "Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined.", "Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn't it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.", "Once upon a time, my world was big and filled with monsters. But now the world is small… And I am the monster.", "Hidden in the chaos is the element, waiting to strike like snakes. And I'm there too. Watching. 2 years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal. I must choose my targets carefully. It's a big city. I can't be everywhere. But they don't know where I am.", "scientists are inventing a second star for our solarsystem thats so small nobody can find it and theyre calling it love after what I feel for everybody every day of the whole wide world", "You leave before she wakes up in the morning and you don't want anything, can't have anything anyway, can't let her touch you in the one way she hasn't already touched you. Everyone makes mistakes and everyone looks back. She looks back and you look back.", "This world is a beautiful, horrible place. It's spectacular.", "You've been living a while in the front of my skull, making orders / you've been writing me rules, shrinking maps and redrawing borders / I've been repeating your speeches, but the audience just doesn't follow, I'm leaving out words, punctuations, and it sounds pretty hollow", "every night, all over the world, hundreds of people see this face in their dreams. if this man appears in your dreams, too, or you have any information that can help us identify him, please contact us.", "You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.", "I don't know how I managed to spend so long focused solely on my own suffering and neglecting to even realize that my suffering is the spark that caused the house to burn down. I can't be happy and now the people that deserve to be happy won't get to experience it either.*","The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.","Home is the poor, bruised creature fallen to the floor choking up hot, sticky crimson in the manor behind them. Home is not a planet. Once, it was. But things change, as they do, in six decades of complete Closeness.","he remembers how it was all for nothing, how this is the inevitable dead end road at every passage to progress, and how not even the constant presence watching from inside him like a guardian could love him*","MY WIFE'S MADNESS HAD GROWN TO EPIC PROPORTIONS THE ONLY THINGS THAT SOOTHED HER WERE FICTIONS STORIES FROM OUR VAST LIBRARY LET ME READ YOU A STORY LET ME READ YOU A ROMANCE I WILL READ, YOU WILL LISTEN AND THIS TERRIBLE NIGHT WILL PASS","'Why did you arrange our dead friends at the dining room table?' 'Because leaving them jammed in the shipping boxes was weird and morbid.' 'And they don't look weird and morbid now?'","I live to let you shine, I live to let you shine","Life is ephemeral but the sun will last much longer than we do. Life is ephemeral but there will always be more sunlight aching to pour down on us, until there isn't.*","When you pick up a stone and fling it into pools of blood, it does not ripple. It doesn't skip. There isn't any movement at all.*","As the image of myself becomes sharper in my brain and more precious, I feel less afraid that someone else will erase me by denying me love.","So now there is not even anyone to dream about, and what an odd feeling. I don't have the strength to put together the features of a fantasy face. I am heartbroken over no one, over having nobody to wish for, nobody to hope for. I am heartbroken, usually, over someone. Now I am heartbroken over no one.","I'm stuck here in a cycle and I am getting older but I am not growing up and my heart is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit that has gone bad or is soft because too many hands have squeezed it but then put it back down not because I am not ready but because they were not ready for my type of fruity flesh. I felt so ripe and sweet—what was off? The truth is, I was forcing myself into people's mouths. I jumped out of their hands and into their mouths and I yelled EAT ME way before they even had a chance to get hungry and notice me and lift me up.","Actually, since you're asking, sort of became a minor superhero since you last saw me.","subway rat made eye contact with me and said 'join us. when the train comes we slide under the tracks and feel it rumble over us like a warm thunderstorm. we live forever and we love to live' I said no thank you I am too large he turned away from me I cried", "but something kept me standing by that hospital bed / i should have quit, but instead / i took care of you / you made me sleep all uneven, and i didn't believe them / when they told me that there was no saving you","This beauty is present in your time, as it was in ours. We considered ourselves to be powerful. The danger is to the body. The form of the danger is an emanation of energy. This place is a message. Pay attention. This place is a place of honor. This energy was important to us. This energy stops being dangerous when you love it. The beauty is unleashed only if you substantially disturb the danger. This place is best left consecrated.*","I will stop talking about myself as a separate being. My limbs sometimes feel alien and happiness also feels alien & reminds me of how my hands move on their own, while the rest of my body is immobile. Happiness feels like climbing a tree and losing your balance when you reach the very top and get a glimpse of the city in the distance, but you still get to see the scenery even if you have to stumble a bit and that scenery is still so vast and beautiful and. I have decided in an atypical presentation of impulsivity to grasp one of the branches and pull myself back up to the treetops. I am no longer falling now. When I look at the cityscape I wonder where you are and if you know that I am watching over you angelic. I will climb the tree again and again until I get it right. One day I will get it right!*","Wouldn't it be kinder, wouldn't it be beautiful, if we could all consume ourselves until we've become something else. No, she says, don't talk about becoming. Don't ever Become.*","'But this -- this, this, this is like being nibbled to death by .. what are those Earth creatures called? Feathers, long bill, webbed feet .. go 'quack'. 'Cats.' 'Cats. I'm being nibbled to death by cats.'","We were at the animal shelter and he held a puppy up to my face & as I looked into its eyes I despised it for its innocence so he guided my hand over its soft patterned fur, the texture reanimating, the feeling of its budding trust in me enough to hold the jealousy underwater.*","'We do not have cats on Minbar, we have gogs.' 'Gogs?' 'Gogs. Such creatures are an attempt by the universe to make sure that we never take ourselves too seriously.'","I have no reason to choose the soul when I am given the opportunity to sew myself shut once again, but your soul has formed mine, a carving, and I choose you always, in every circumstance. Millions of years have passed us by and taken so much life in their destructive path.*","Yes, yes, Zathras is used to being beast of burden to other people's needs. Very sad life. Probably have very sad death, but at least there is symmetry.","It's incredible that you can take the tibia of a mouse and put it next to the tibia of a cow and they look almost exactly the same. Yet then I think, 'Of course they look the same—why wouldn't they? They serve the same purpose.'","And before you know it the heart is in front of its captor, monologuing about Roman emperors while it performs surgery on itself, opening up the chest cavity and springing out. Here I am, the heart says. I am a heart, the heart says, and therefore I need to be loved.*","We were brought into this world as an experiment. We were destined to find each other and spiral on forever, until the last star flickers out. We can watch the star flicker out together. I'll make us a window with my thoughts. I'll make us a pot of coffee. We can pretend.*","The past tempts us, the present confuses us, and the future frightens us. And our lives slip away, moment by moment, lost in that vast terrible inbetween. But there is still time to seize that one last fragile moment. To choose something better, to make a difference, as you say.","It's all so brief, isn't it? Typical human lifespan is almost a hundred years, but it's barely a second compared to what's out there. It wouldn't be so bad if life didn't take so long to figure out. Seems you just start to get it right and then .. it's over.","No. We have to stay here and there's a simple reason why. Ask ten different scientists about the environment, population control, genetics and you'll get ten different answers, but there's one thing every scientist on the planet agrees on. Whether it happens in a hundred years or a thousand years or a million years, eventually our Sun will grow cold and go out. When that happens, it won't just take us. It'll take Marilyn Monroe and Lao-Tzu, Einstein, Morobuto, Buddy Holly, Aristophanes .. and all of this .. all of this was for nothing unless we go to the stars.","There are things in the Universe billions of years older than either of our races. They are vast, timeless, and if they are aware of us at all, it is as little more than ants and we have as much chance of communicating with them as an ant has with us. We know. We've tried and we've learned that we can either stay out from underfoot or be stepped on. They are a mystery and I am both terrified and reassured to know that there are still wonders in the Universe, that we have not explained everything.","Then I will tell you a great secret, Captain. Perhaps the greatest of all time. The molecules of your body are the same molecules that make up this station and the nebula outside, that burn inside the stars themselves. We are starstuff, we are the universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out. As we have both learned, sometimes the universe requires a change of perspective.","God goes by many names, perhaps some alien sounding, different faces, and history, but all describing the same Creator. We've come here to learn all those names, in hopes of better understanding the One who's behind them.","You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe.","Denn Shar, you said. To the death. And death there was. The death was mine. To see a human invoke the name of Valen, be willing to die for one of my kind when I was intent upon killing one of my own, the rightness of my cause disappeared. Strange, that a human in his last moments should be more of a Minbari than I. Perhaps it is true what Delenn said. That we are not of the same blood, but we are of the same heart.","G'Quan wrote: There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way. The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope. The death of dreams. Against this peril we can never surrender. The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition, to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future, or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain.","Sometimes I enact destruction just to reenact my faith that things can be built up again. But I'm trying to stop the first part of that and just have the faith.","and i wonder if my fear surrounding death despite wanting to die is just at its very center actually a fear of being completely alone*","Oh, marvelous. You're going to kill me. What a finely-tuned response to the situation.","You've been shot in the leg with an arrow, missed. The hunters try again, to reach your heart. They try. They try. They keep trying.*","If you ever need a new perspective on Earth, I highly recommend space.","'Emotions have their uses.' 'They restrict and curtail the intellect and logic of the mind.' 'They also enhance life! When was the last time you smelt a flower, watched a sunset, ate a well-prepared meal?' 'These things are irrelevant.'","'Nearing completion of escape tunnel 15.' 'Isn't that being overly cautious?''Even better. It's full-blown paranoia!''But we already have 14 escape tunnels. Isn't that enough?'","He does not know that you are punishing him because you're selfish and grotesque and you'd kickstart the end of the world, the eviscerating apocalypse that, like love, can never be reverted, if it meant he would die with his hand in yours.*","if i was captain picard id say computer 50 male silverback gorillas and then leave in an escape pod and turn off my phone","i've already been born once, and quite sufficiently, i think.","everyone knows that two negatives equal a positive. basic math! you'd think this would apply to trauma too but the negative numbers just accumulate in your blood and burst your heart out into little bits of red on the floor and nothing good ever comes of it unless you learn*","The ocean was my home, I told my mother. There's so much life on our planet and all of it is beautiful. Even the Anglerfish. Even the massive Great White's bite mark. Even the leeches. Why? Because they don't know any better.*","I somehow always felt that this was my story as well. Maybe because I was so obsessed with what it would feel like to one day fall in love, to have another person who loved you the most, and loved you so much, voluntarily, that it became involuntary.","There is no greater power in the universe than the need for freedom.","There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, and the sea's asleep, and the rivers dream; people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice, somewhere else the tea's getting cold. Come on, Ace. We've got work to do.","i think the illness found the damage and damaged it further, smashed the barriers, stomped around in each rotation of the past, and then something cancelled out, like two negative numbers crashing together and pulling themselves up the rope with all of their hands and fears*","are you happy now, huh? if you were here, i could be yelling at you! but you left me here, all alone, and now i've lost the best friends i've ever had!","i love you, i dream of you all night and day / i need you, i close my eyes and you lead the way","Gentlemen, Rico is a danger to himself and others. We never leave a madman behind.","You know how it is; you put things off for a day and next thing you know, it's a hundred years later.","Only at night, alone, would I open that door where I kept the memory of you and listen to your voice. Listen to you sing me to sleep.","your options are endless, but also less than five.", "Why won't you do it for me, when all I do is for you?","Look! Look at this woman who is both the emergency and the relief. Let me be both (I have no choice). Give in. Fall apart. Look at the pieces. Reassemble. This is the essential movement of my holy flux.","We can reject the concept of humanity if we want, or we can expand it. Many say it is an outdated idea, that to be human one must have organic flesh, a consciousness with passion. I agree with this, Soul. I see humanity in action and deed.*","Poems preserve things in thought or image but not in reality. Maybe that gets back to the thing about wanting to protect and preserve; that impulse for preserving something in a poem might be in some ways similar to collecting.","But you are my nomad and I love you sideways daily. Sideways because I have to beam my love in all directions, hoping it bounces off something and eventually finds you.", "'I've always had a hard time getting up when it's dark outside.' 'But in space it's always dark.' 'I know, I know.'","I'm a wife in watercolors, I can wash away / What 17 cold showers couldn't wash away","there will always be another picture to take and in every flash and solar ray I see the light of the stars too and it feels like the history of all love is gazing down at us from their position above and watching us as if they were watching themselves love so long ago*","'The color is so light, what's it made of?' 'An old breastbone.' 'Creepy.' 'It was the breastbone of her sister; her name was Pearl.'","A dream of a galaxy without war when species from different worlds could live side by side in mutual respect.","and all you said, in your quietest voice, was 'i needed you as much as they do'","i can't love things without killing them because my love is inevitable and permanent and death is inevitable and permanent and yes this is spurious correlation! but the guilt is relentless.*","Wow! All life is experimental! Love that. This morning feels brand new.","too many mirrors in this house / i don't like to see myself like this / i'm becoming the man i used to be, i guess","I'd like to live just long enough to be there when they cut off your head and stick it on a pike as a warning to the next ten generations that some favors come with too high a price. I'd look up at your lifeless eyes and wave. Can you and your associates arrange that for me?","We are dreamers, shapers, singers, and makers. We study the mysteries of laser and circuit, crystal and scanner, holographic demons and invocations of equations. These are the tools we employ and we know many things.","I can hurt you, I can hurt you, but I never ever ever ever would. No, father. I love you, father---","Even suffering has its own meaning. And there is always beauty in meaning.","i move with the trees in the breeze. i know that time is elastic, and i know when i go, all my particles will disband and disperse, and i'll be back in the pulse","I learnt a poem like that, a long time ago. I found it deep in my own dreams, instructed by a great teacher, before I found out all of what I am.","I want to be loved like a person, not like a dog"]; + + function newQuote() { + var randomNumber = Math.floor(Math.random() * (quotes.length)); + document.getElementById('quoteDisplay').innerHTML = quotes[randomNumber]; + } \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/quotes.html b/quotes.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..989c313 --- /dev/null +++ b/quotes.html @@ -0,0 +1,260 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
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    +Quote Generator

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    quotes written by me have an * at the end!

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    RESOURCES
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    cool/helpful links on the web

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  • accessible gardening for people with physical disabilities
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  • deep sea fish!!!
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  • writing app that gives extra stimulation
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  • a bunch of generators for writers
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  • search neocities sites
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  • see the old web
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  • name generators, a fuckton of them!
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  • tons of useful browser tools for video and gif editing
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  • DID/OSDD self help masterlist
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  • the malware museum
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  • like thousands of 88x31 buttons
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  • electric zine maker
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  • unsplash for education
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  • 180 websites in 180 days
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  • make music in your browser
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  • texturetown
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  • horror gif necronomicon
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  • some layouts
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  • MORE layouts
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  • layouts again +
  • aaand some more layouts
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  • 30 gb of underground cassette music
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  • 11k deviantart stamps
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  • 3d gif maker
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  • aquarium live cameras
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  • inside a cornflakes bag
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  • even more site backgrounds
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  • custom img fall code (not mine)
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  • digital zines made w/ electric zine maker
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  • make a font of your own handwriting
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  • ...and make it useable on neocities here.
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  • a bunch of pose references
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  • my 90s tv
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  • weavesilk
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  • classic minecraft
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  • zoom quilt
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  • cobalt.tools (totally not a YT downloader haha!!)
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  • things to host on a personal web server (for self-hosting)
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  • learn linux
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  • another linux guide
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  • google drive of a FUCKTON of 2000s computer graphics
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  • resource directory
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  • get recipes for what you already have
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  • archive of writing tips and resources
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  • sad bastard cookbook
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  • a lot of game assets, can also be used as website graphics
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  • almost 200 different writing prompt lists
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  • a five year old's zines
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  • layout generator
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  • hand quilting guide
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  • hand quilting basics
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  • omg even more hand quiltinggg
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  • the fish doorbell
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  • International Speculative Fiction Database
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  • ship chart maker
    • + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/resources.png b/resources.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e61f9c Binary files /dev/null and b/resources.png differ diff --git a/robots.txt b/robots.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f54d025 --- /dev/null +++ b/robots.txt @@ -0,0 +1,48 @@ +# This file tells search engines and bots what they are allowed to see on your site. + +# This is the default rule, which allows search engines to crawl your site (recommended). +User-agent: * +Allow: / + +# If you do not want AI bots to crawl your site, remove the # from the following lines: +#User-agent: AI2Bot +#User-agent: Ai2Bot-Dolma +#User-agent: Amazonbot +#User-agent: anthropic-ai +#User-agent: Applebot-Extended +#User-agent: Bytespider +#User-agent: CCBot +#User-agent: ChatGPT-User +#User-agent: Claude-Web +#User-agent: ClaudeBot +#User-agent: cohere-ai +#User-agent: Diffbot +#User-agent: DuckAssistBot +#User-agent: FacebookBot +#User-agent: FriendlyCrawler +#User-agent: Google-Extended +#User-agent: GoogleOther +#User-agent: GoogleOther-Image +#User-agent: GoogleOther-Video +#User-agent: GPTBot +#User-agent: iaskspider/2.0 +#User-agent: ICC-Crawler +#User-agent: ImagesiftBot +#User-agent: img2dataset +#User-agent: ISSCyberRiskCrawler +#User-agent: Kangaroo Bot +#User-agent: Meta-ExternalAgent +#User-agent: Meta-ExternalFetcher +#User-agent: OAI-SearchBot +#User-agent: omgili +#User-agent: omgilibot +#User-agent: PanguBot +#User-agent: PerplexityBot +#User-agent: PetalBot +#User-agent: Scrapy +#User-agent: Sidetrade indexer bot +#User-agent: Timpibot +#User-agent: VelenPublicWebCrawler +#User-agent: Webzio-Extended +#User-agent: YouBot +#Disallow: / diff --git a/secrets.html b/secrets.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71f556b --- /dev/null +++ b/secrets.html @@ -0,0 +1,72 @@ + + + + + + The web site of alienhospital + + + + + +
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    use this form to get something off your chest. it will not be posted anywhere or told to anyone, your identity will not be recorded, and nothing about this will be shared with anyone else. mostly me just testing javascript capabilities, honestly.

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    Shrines
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  • Negative Spirit Shrine (My Beloved)
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  • The Orville Shrine
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  • Babylon 5 Fan Archival Project
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    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/shrines.png b/shrines.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69a08b6 Binary files /dev/null and b/shrines.png differ diff --git a/shrines/claire.jpg b/shrines/claire.jpg new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d040236 Binary files /dev/null and b/shrines/claire.jpg differ diff --git a/shrines/orville.html b/shrines/orville.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fcc446d --- /dev/null +++ b/shrines/orville.html @@ -0,0 +1,63 @@ + + + + + + The web site of icemachine + + + + + +

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    +

    what is the orville?

    you may be thinking to yourself: do you mean the star trek knockoff that seth macfarlane made? are you kidding me right now? to this i say: i am also thinking the same thing! yet it has inexplicably entranced my mind. +

    the orville is about ed mercer (yes, played by macfarlane himself), the new captain of the planetary union ship U.S.S. Orville. he recently got out of a divorce after his wife cheated on him which shook his life up, and this command is his "last chance", so to speak. he commands the ship with his first officer and ex wife, kelly grayson; second officer the moclan bortus; navigator/engineering chief john lamarr; pilot gordon malloy; security chiefs alara kitan (s1) and talla keyali (s2-3); chief medical officer claire finn; kaylon emissary artifical lifeform isaac.

    it is set in a utopian future, where money became obsolete with the invention of matter synthesis, and the main currency is "reputation" (i.e. doing nice things for others, being prominent in a work field, etc). the planetary union has hundred and hundreds of members, all from different worlds. each alien, even in the background, is unique both visually and conceptually. the worldbuilding is interesting. but what do i love most about the orville? its characters, of course. mostly, primarily, that.
    +

    +

    the characters!

    my favorite character out of the main characters is....

    claire finn!
    claire is incredible--extremely intelligent, an amazing single mother-by-choice, understanding, creative and resourceful, selfless (she was willing to give up her entire career so a trans girl could get surgery!)... and not to mention a highly skilled doctor. she likes to go where she's needed, and when she finds out ed is the new captain of the orville, she realizes that she's needed there. i love her so much! she is one of my main fictional partners.

    + other characters i like incluuude:
    alara +charly +kelly +primary +teleya
    alara kitan, charly burke, kelly grayson, kaylon primary, and teleya

    and of cooourse, my other partner timmis, my favorite one-off character ever ❤️
    timmis

    i could talk about the orville characters forever, specifically the kaylon who... are villains up until the end, but their robot PTSD storyline intrigues me greatly (and makes me just so sad)--i've been hyperfixated on the kaylon specifically for a while. i just really love this show except me loving something does not necessarily mean that the thing i love is "good" or "of quality". lol. but it occupies SO much space in my brain!
    + + + + diff --git a/shrines/orvul.png b/shrines/orvul.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ece5c18 Binary files /dev/null and b/shrines/orvul.png differ diff --git a/shrines/timmis.png b/shrines/timmis.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b909783 Binary files /dev/null and b/shrines/timmis.png differ diff --git a/specimen_files/grid_12-825-55-15.css b/specimen_files/grid_12-825-55-15.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb66068 --- /dev/null +++ b/specimen_files/grid_12-825-55-15.css @@ -0,0 +1,370 @@ +/*Notes about grid: +Columns: 12 +Grid Width: 825px +Column Width: 55px +Gutter Width: 15px +-------------------------------*/ + + +.section { + margin-bottom: 18px; +} + +.section:after { + content: '.'; + display: block; + height: 0; + clear: both; + visibility: hidden; +} + +.section { + *zoom: 1; +} + +.section .firstcolumn, +.section .firstcol { + margin-left: 0; +} + + +/* Border on left hand side of a column. */ +.border { + padding-left: 7px; + margin-left: 7px; + border-left: 1px solid #eee; +} + +/* Border with more whitespace, spans one column. */ +.colborder { + padding-left: 42px; + margin-left: 42px; + border-left: 1px solid #eee; +} + + +/* The Grid Classes */ +.grid1, .grid1_2cols, .grid1_3cols, .grid1_4cols, .grid2, .grid2_3cols, .grid2_4cols, .grid3, .grid3_2cols, .grid3_4cols, .grid4, .grid4_3cols, .grid5, .grid5_2cols, .grid5_3cols, .grid5_4cols, .grid6, .grid6_4cols, .grid7, .grid7_2cols, .grid7_3cols, .grid7_4cols, .grid8, .grid8_3cols, .grid9, .grid9_2cols, .grid9_4cols, .grid10, .grid10_3cols, .grid10_4cols, .grid11, .grid11_2cols, .grid11_3cols, .grid11_4cols, .grid12 { + margin-left: 15px; + float: left; + display: inline; + overflow: hidden; +} + + +.width1, .grid1, .span-1 { + width: 55px; +} + +.width1_2cols, .grid1_2cols { + width: 20px; +} + +.width1_3cols, .grid1_3cols { + width: 8px; +} + +.width1_4cols, .grid1_4cols { + width: 2px; +} + +.input_width1 { + width: 49px; +} + +.width2, .grid2, .span-2 { + width: 125px; +} + +.width2_3cols, .grid2_3cols { + width: 31px; +} + +.width2_4cols, .grid2_4cols { + width: 20px; +} + +.input_width2 { + width: 119px; +} + +.width3, .grid3, .span-3 { + width: 195px; +} + +.width3_2cols, .grid3_2cols { + width: 90px; +} + +.width3_4cols, .grid3_4cols { + width: 37px; +} + +.input_width3 { + width: 189px; +} + +.width4, .grid4, .span-4 { + width: 265px; +} + +.width4_3cols, .grid4_3cols { + width: 78px; +} + +.input_width4 { + width: 259px; +} + +.width5, .grid5, .span-5 { + width: 335px; +} + +.width5_2cols, .grid5_2cols { + width: 160px; +} + +.width5_3cols, .grid5_3cols { + width: 101px; +} + +.width5_4cols, .grid5_4cols { + width: 72px; +} + +.input_width5 { + width: 329px; +} + +.width6, .grid6, .span-6 { + width: 405px; +} + +.width6_4cols, .grid6_4cols { + width: 90px; +} + +.input_width6 { + width: 399px; +} + +.width7, .grid7, .span-7 { + width: 475px; +} + +.width7_2cols, .grid7_2cols { + width: 230px; +} + +.width7_3cols, .grid7_3cols { + width: 148px; +} + +.width7_4cols, .grid7_4cols { + width: 107px; +} + +.input_width7 { + width: 469px; +} + +.width8, .grid8, .span-8 { + width: 545px; +} + +.width8_3cols, .grid8_3cols { + width: 171px; +} + +.input_width8 { + width: 539px; +} + +.width9, .grid9, .span-9 { + width: 615px; +} + +.width9_2cols, .grid9_2cols { + width: 300px; +} + +.width9_4cols, .grid9_4cols { + width: 142px; +} + +.input_width9 { + width: 609px; +} + +.width10, .grid10, .span-10 { + width: 685px; +} + +.width10_3cols, .grid10_3cols { + width: 218px; +} + +.width10_4cols, .grid10_4cols { + width: 160px; +} + +.input_width10 { + width: 679px; +} + +.width11, .grid11, .span-11 { + width: 755px; +} + +.width11_2cols, .grid11_2cols { + width: 370px; +} + +.width11_3cols, .grid11_3cols { + width: 241px; +} + +.width11_4cols, .grid11_4cols { + width: 177px; +} + +.input_width11 { + width: 749px; +} + +.width12, .grid12, .span-12 { + width: 825px; +} + +.input_width12 { + width: 819px; +} + +/* Subdivided grid spaces */ +.emptycols_left1, .prepend-1 { + padding-left: 70px; +} + +.emptycols_right1, .append-1 { + padding-right: 70px; +} + +.emptycols_left2, .prepend-2 { + padding-left: 140px; +} + +.emptycols_right2, .append-2 { + padding-right: 140px; +} + +.emptycols_left3, .prepend-3 { + padding-left: 210px; +} + +.emptycols_right3, .append-3 { + padding-right: 210px; +} + +.emptycols_left4, .prepend-4 { + padding-left: 280px; +} + +.emptycols_right4, .append-4 { + padding-right: 280px; +} + +.emptycols_left5, .prepend-5 { + padding-left: 350px; +} + +.emptycols_right5, .append-5 { + padding-right: 350px; +} + +.emptycols_left6, .prepend-6 { + padding-left: 420px; +} + +.emptycols_right6, .append-6 { + padding-right: 420px; +} + +.emptycols_left7, .prepend-7 { + padding-left: 490px; +} + +.emptycols_right7, .append-7 { + padding-right: 490px; +} + +.emptycols_left8, .prepend-8 { + padding-left: 560px; +} + +.emptycols_right8, .append-8 { + padding-right: 560px; +} + +.emptycols_left9, .prepend-9 { + padding-left: 630px; +} + +.emptycols_right9, .append-9 { + padding-right: 630px; +} + +.emptycols_left10, .prepend-10 { + padding-left: 700px; +} + +.emptycols_right10, .append-10 { + padding-right: 700px; +} + +.emptycols_left11, .prepend-11 { + padding-left: 770px; +} + +.emptycols_right11, .append-11 { + padding-right: 770px; +} + +.pull-1 { + margin-left: -70px; +} + +.push-1 { + margin-right: -70px; + margin-left: 18px; + float: right; +} + +.pull-2 { + margin-left: -140px; +} + +.push-2 { + margin-right: -140px; + margin-left: 18px; + float: right; +} + +.pull-3 { + margin-left: -210px; +} + +.push-3 { + margin-right: -210px; + margin-left: 18px; + float: right; +} + +.pull-4 { + margin-left: -280px; +} + +.push-4 { + margin-right: -280px; + margin-left: 18px; + float: right; +} \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/specimen_files/specimen_stylesheet.css b/specimen_files/specimen_stylesheet.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd88462 --- /dev/null +++ b/specimen_files/specimen_stylesheet.css @@ -0,0 +1,502 @@ +@import url('grid_12-825-55-15.css'); + +/* + CSS Reset by Eric Meyer - Released under Public Domain + http://meyerweb.com/eric/tools/css/reset/ +*/ +html, body, div, span, applet, object, iframe, +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6, p, blockquote, pre, +a, abbr, acronym, address, big, cite, code, +del, dfn, em, font, img, ins, kbd, q, s, samp, +small, strike, strong, sub, sup, tt, var, +b, u, i, center, dl, dt, dd, ol, ul, li, +fieldset, form, label, legend, table, +caption, tbody, tfoot, thead, tr, th, td { + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + border: 0; + outline: 0; + font-size: 100%; + vertical-align: baseline; + background: transparent; +} + +body { + line-height: 1; +} + +ol, ul { + list-style: none; +} + +blockquote, q { + quotes: none; +} + +blockquote:before, blockquote:after, +q:before, q:after { + content: ''; + content: none; +} + +:focus { + outline: 0; +} + +ins { + text-decoration: none; +} + +del { + text-decoration: line-through; +} + +table { + border-collapse: collapse; + border-spacing: 0; +} + + +body { + color: #000; + background-color: #dcdcdc; +} + +a { + text-decoration: none; + color: #1883ba; +} + +h1 { + font-size: 32px; + font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; + margin-bottom: 18px; +} + +h2 { + font-size: 18px; +} + +#container { + width: 865px; + margin: 0px auto; +} + + +#header { + padding: 20px; + font-size: 36px; + background-color: #000; + color: #fff; +} + +#header span { + color: #666; +} + +#main_content { + background-color: #fff; + padding: 60px 20px 20px; +} + + +#footer p { + margin: 0; + padding-top: 10px; + padding-bottom: 50px; + color: #333; + font: 10px Arial, sans-serif; +} + +.tabs { + width: 100%; + height: 31px; + background-color: #444; +} + +.tabs li { + float: left; + margin: 0; + overflow: hidden; + background-color: #444; +} + +.tabs li a { + display: block; + color: #fff; + text-decoration: none; + font: bold 11px/11px 'Arial'; + text-transform: uppercase; + padding: 10px 15px; + border-right: 1px solid #fff; +} + +.tabs li a:hover { + background-color: #00b3ff; + +} + +.tabs li.active a { + color: #000; + background-color: #fff; +} + + +div.huge { + + font-size: 300px; + line-height: 1em; + padding: 0; + letter-spacing: -.02em; + overflow: hidden; +} + +div.glyph_range { + font-size: 72px; + line-height: 1.1em; +} + +.size10 { + font-size: 10px; +} + +.size11 { + font-size: 11px; +} + +.size12 { + font-size: 12px; +} + +.size13 { + font-size: 13px; +} + +.size14 { + font-size: 14px; +} + +.size16 { + font-size: 16px; +} + +.size18 { + font-size: 18px; +} + +.size20 { + font-size: 20px; +} + +.size24 { + font-size: 24px; +} + +.size30 { + font-size: 30px; +} + +.size36 { + font-size: 36px; +} + +.size48 { + font-size: 48px; +} + +.size60 { + font-size: 60px; +} + +.size72 { + font-size: 72px; +} + +.size90 { + font-size: 90px; +} + + +.psample_row1 { + height: 120px; +} + +.psample_row1 { + height: 120px; +} + +.psample_row2 { + height: 160px; +} + +.psample_row3 { + height: 160px; +} + +.psample_row4 { + height: 160px; +} + +.psample { + overflow: hidden; + position: relative; +} + +.psample p { + line-height: 1.3em; + display: block; + overflow: hidden; + margin: 0; +} + +.psample span { + margin-right: .5em; +} + +.white_blend { + width: 100%; + height: 61px; + background-image: url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAVkAAAA9CAYAAAAH4BojAAAAGXRFWHRTb2Z0d2FyZQBBZG9iZSBJbWFnZVJlYWR5ccllPAAAAO1JREFUeNrs3TsKgFAMRUE/eer+NxztxMYuEWQG3ECKwwUF58ycAKixOAGAyAKILAAiCyCyACILgMgCiCyAyAIgsgAiCyCyAIgsgMgCiCwAIgsgsgAiC4DIAogsACIL0CWuZ3UGgLrIhjMA1EV2OAOAJQtgyQLwjOzmDAAiCyCyAIgsQFtkd2cAEFkAkQVAZAHaIns4A4AlC2DJAiCyACILILIAiCzAV5H1dQGAJQsgsgCILIDIAvwisl58AViyAJYsACILILIAIgvAe2T9EhxAZAFEFgCRBeiL7HAGgLrIhjMAWLIAliwAt1OAAQDwygTBulLIlQAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==); + position: absolute; + bottom: 0; +} + +.black_blend { + width: 100%; + height: 61px; + background-image: url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAVkAAAA9CAYAAAAH4BojAAAAGXRFWHRTb2Z0d2FyZQBBZG9iZSBJbWFnZVJlYWR5ccllPAAAAPJJREFUeNrs3TEKhTAQRVGjibr/9QoxhY2N3Ywo50A28IrLwP9g6b1PAMSYTQAgsgAiC4DIAogsgMgCILIAIgsgsgCILIDIAogsACILILIAIguAyAKILIDIAiCyACILgMgCZCnjLWYAiFGvB0BQZJsZAFyyAC5ZAO6RXc0AILIAIguAyAKkRXYzA4DIAogsACILkBbZ3QwALlkAlywAIgsgsgAiC4DIArwVWf8uAHDJAogsACILILIAv4isH74AXLIALlkARBZAZAFEFoDnyPokOIDIAogsACILkBfZZgaAuMhWMwC4ZAE+p4x3mAEgxinAAJ+XBbPWGkwAAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); + position: absolute; + bottom: 0; +} + +.fullreverse { + background: #000 !important; + color: #fff !important; + margin-left: -20px; + padding-left: 20px; + margin-right: -20px; + padding-right: 20px; + padding: 20px; + margin-bottom: 0; +} + + +.sample_table td { + padding-top: 3px; + padding-bottom: 5px; + padding-left: 5px; + vertical-align: middle; + line-height: 1.2em; +} + +.sample_table td:first-child { + background-color: #eee; + text-align: right; + padding-right: 5px; + padding-left: 0; + padding: 5px; + font: 11px/12px 'Courier New', Courier, mono; +} + +code { + white-space: pre; + background-color: #eee; + display: block; + padding: 10px; + margin-bottom: 18px; + overflow: auto; +} + + +.bottom, .last { + margin-bottom: 0 !important; + padding-bottom: 0 !important; +} + +.box { + padding: 18px; + margin-bottom: 18px; + background: #eee; +} + +.reverse, .reversed { + background: #000 !important; + color: #fff !important; + border: none !important; +} + +#bodycomparison { + position: relative; + overflow: hidden; + font-size: 72px; + height: 90px; + white-space: nowrap; +} + +#bodycomparison div { + font-size: 72px; + line-height: 90px; + display: inline; + margin: 0 15px 0 0; + padding: 0; +} + +#bodycomparison div span { + font: 10px Arial; + position: absolute; + left: 0; +} + +#xheight { + float: none; + position: absolute; + color: #d9f3ff; + font-size: 72px; + line-height: 90px; +} + +.fontbody { + position: relative; +} + +.arialbody { + font-family: Arial; + position: relative; +} + +.verdanabody { + font-family: Verdana; + position: relative; +} + +.georgiabody { + font-family: Georgia; + position: relative; +} + +/* @group Layout page + */ + +#layout h1 { + font-size: 36px; + line-height: 42px; + font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; +} + +#layout h2 { + font-size: 24px; + line-height: 23px; + font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; +} + +#layout h3 { + font-size: 22px; + line-height: 1.4em; + margin-top: 1em; + font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; +} + + +#layout p.byline { + font-size: 12px; + margin-top: 18px; + line-height: 12px; + margin-bottom: 0; +} + +#layout p { + font-size: 14px; + line-height: 21px; + margin-bottom: .5em; +} + +#layout p.large { + font-size: 18px; + line-height: 26px; +} + +#layout .sidebar p { + font-size: 12px; + line-height: 1.4em; +} + +#layout p.caption { + font-size: 10px; + margin-top: -16px; + margin-bottom: 18px; +} + +/* @end */ + +/* @group Glyphs */ + +#glyph_chart div { + background-color: #d9f3ff; + color: black; + float: left; + font-size: 36px; + height: 1.2em; + line-height: 1.2em; + margin-bottom: 1px; + margin-right: 1px; + text-align: center; + width: 1.2em; + position: relative; + padding: .6em .2em .2em; +} + +#glyph_chart div p { + position: absolute; + left: 0; + top: 0; + display: block; + text-align: center; + font: bold 9px Arial, sans-serif; + background-color: #3a768f; + width: 100%; + color: #fff; + padding: 2px 0; +} + + +#glyphs h1 { + font-family: Arial, sans-serif; +} + +/* @end */ + +/* @group Installing */ + +#installing { + font: 13px Arial, sans-serif; +} + +#installing p, +#glyphs p { + line-height: 1.2em; + margin-bottom: 18px; + font: 13px Arial, sans-serif; +} + + +#installing h3 { + font-size: 15px; + margin-top: 18px; +} + +/* @end */ + +#rendering h1 { + font-family: Arial, sans-serif; +} + +.render_table td { + font: 11px 'Courier New', Courier, mono; + vertical-align: middle; +} + + diff --git a/stars5.gif b/stars5.gif new file mode 100644 index 0000000..abb69f1 Binary files /dev/null and b/stars5.gif differ diff --git a/status.html b/status.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c30ba7 --- /dev/null +++ b/status.html @@ -0,0 +1,33 @@ + + + + + + My Page + + + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/style.css b/style.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e69de29 diff --git a/stylesheet.css b/stylesheet.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e0efea --- /dev/null +++ b/stylesheet.css @@ -0,0 +1,12 @@ +/*! Generated by Font Squirrel (https://www.fontsquirrel.com) on September 3, 2025 */ + + + +@font-face { + font-family: 'interstellarsymphonicregular'; + src: url('interstellarsymphonic-regular-webfont.woff2') format('woff2'), + url('interstellarsymphonic-regular-webfont.woff') format('woff'); + font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; + +} \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/symphonyfont-demo.html b/symphonyfont-demo.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..abbba87 --- /dev/null +++ b/symphonyfont-demo.html @@ -0,0 +1,565 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + Symphonyfont Regular Specimen + + + + + + +
    + + + +
    + + +
    + +
    +
    +
    AaBb
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    + +
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    A​B​C​D​E​F​G​H​I​J​K​L​M​N​O​P​Q​R​S​T​U​V​W​X​Y​Z​a​b​c​d​e​f​g​h​i​j​k​l​m​n​o​p​q​r​s​t​u​v​w​x​y​z​1​2​3​4​5​6​7​8​9​0​&​.​,​?​!​@​(​)​#​$​%​*​+​-​=​:​;
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    10abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
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    ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼body
    +
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    + bodySymphonyfont Regular +
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    + bodyArial +
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    + bodyVerdana +
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    + bodyGeorgia +
    + + +
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    10.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    11.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    12.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    13.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    14.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    16.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    18.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    20.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    24.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    30.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    + + +
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    10.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    +

    11.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    12.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    13.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    14.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    16.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    18.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    20.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    24.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    30.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    Lorem Ipsum Dolor

    +

    Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod

    + +

    By Aenean Lacinia

    +
    +
    +
    +
    +

    Donec sed odio dui. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + + +

    Pellentesque ornare sem

    + +

    Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit.

    + +

    Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.

    + +

    Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue. Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur.

    + +

    Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla.

    + +

    Cras mattis consectetur

    + +

    Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

    + +

    Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

    +
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    Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

    +
    + +

    Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius.

    + +

    Vestibulum id ligula porta felis euismod semper. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Vestibulum id ligula porta felis euismod semper. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + + +

    Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Vivamus sagittis lacus vel augue laoreet rutrum faucibus dolor auctor. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo.

    + +

    Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + +
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    +
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    + +

    Language Support

    +

    The subset of Symphonyfont Regular in this kit supports the following languages:
    + + English, Arrernte, Bislama, Cebuano, Fijian, Gilbertese, Hmong, Ibanag, Iloko_ilokano, Interglossa_glosa, Interlingua, Lojban, Norfolk_pitcairnese, Oromo, Rotokas, Seychelles_creole, Shona, Somali, Southern_ndebele, Swahili, Swati_swazi, Tok_pisin, Warlpiri, Xhosa, Zulu, Latinbasic, Demo

    +

    Glyph Chart

    +

    The subset of Symphonyfont Regular in this kit includes all the glyphs listed below. Unicode entities are included above each glyph to help you insert individual characters into your layout.

    +
    + +

    &#13;

    +

    &#32;

    +

    &#33;

    !
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#44;

    ,
    +

    &#46;

    .
    +

    &#48;

    0
    +

    &#49;

    1
    +

    &#50;

    2
    +

    &#51;

    3
    +

    &#52;

    4
    +

    &#53;

    5
    +

    &#54;

    6
    +

    &#55;

    7
    +

    &#56;

    8
    +

    &#57;

    9
    +

    &#58;

    :
    +

    &#59;

    ;
    +

    &#63;

    ?
    +

    &#65;

    A
    +

    &#66;

    B
    +

    &#67;

    C
    +

    &#68;

    D
    +

    &#69;

    E
    +

    &#70;

    F
    +

    &#71;

    G
    +

    &#72;

    H
    +

    &#73;

    I
    +

    &#74;

    J
    +

    &#75;

    K
    +

    &#76;

    L
    +

    &#77;

    M
    +

    &#78;

    N
    +

    &#79;

    O
    +

    &#80;

    P
    +

    &#81;

    Q
    +

    &#82;

    R
    +

    &#83;

    S
    +

    &#84;

    T
    +

    &#85;

    U
    +

    &#86;

    V
    +

    &#87;

    W
    +

    &#88;

    X
    +

    &#89;

    Y
    +

    &#90;

    Z
    +

    &#97;

    a
    +

    &#98;

    b
    +

    &#99;

    c
    +

    &#100;

    d
    +

    &#101;

    e
    +

    &#102;

    f
    +

    &#103;

    g
    +

    &#104;

    h
    +

    &#105;

    i
    +

    &#106;

    j
    +

    &#107;

    k
    +

    &#108;

    l
    +

    &#109;

    m
    +

    &#110;

    n
    +

    &#111;

    o
    +

    &#112;

    p
    +

    &#113;

    q
    +

    &#114;

    r
    +

    &#115;

    s
    +

    &#116;

    t
    +

    &#117;

    u
    +

    &#118;

    v
    +

    &#119;

    w
    +

    &#120;

    x
    +

    &#121;

    y
    +

    &#122;

    z
    +

    &#160;

     
    +

    &#8192;

     
    +

    &#8193;

     
    +

    &#8194;

     
    +

    &#8195;

     
    +

    &#8196;

     
    +

    &#8197;

     
    +

    &#8198;

     
    +

    &#8199;

     
    +

    &#8200;

     
    +

    &#8201;

     
    +

    &#8202;

     
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#8239;

     
    +

    &#8287;

     
    +

    &#9724;

    ◼
    +
    +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    + +
    + +
    +
    +
    +

    Installing Webfonts

    + +

    Webfonts are supported by all major browser platforms but not all in the same way. There are currently four different font formats that must be included in order to target all browsers. This includes TTF, WOFF, EOT and SVG.

    + +

    1. Upload your webfonts

    +

    You must upload your webfont kit to your website. They should be in or near the same directory as your CSS files.

    + +

    2. Include the webfont stylesheet

    +

    A special CSS @font-face declaration helps the various browsers select the appropriate font it needs without causing you a bunch of headaches. Learn more about this syntax by reading the Fontspring blog post about it. The code for it is as follows:

    + + + + @font-face{ + font-family: 'MyWebFont'; + src: url('WebFont.eot'); + src: url('WebFont.eot?#iefix') format('embedded-opentype'), + url('WebFont.woff') format('woff'), + url('WebFont.ttf') format('truetype'), + url('WebFont.svg#webfont') format('svg'); + } + + +

    We've already gone ahead and generated the code for you. All you have to do is link to the stylesheet in your HTML, like this:

    + <link rel="stylesheet" href="stylesheet.css" type="text/css" charset="utf-8" /> + +

    3. Modify your own stylesheet

    +

    To take advantage of your new fonts, you must tell your stylesheet to use them. Look at the original @font-face declaration above and find the property called "font-family." The name linked there will be what you use to reference the font. Prepend that webfont name to the font stack in the "font-family" property, inside the selector you want to change. For example:

    + p { font-family: 'WebFont', Arial, sans-serif; } + +

    4. Test

    +

    Getting webfonts to work cross-browser can be tricky. Use the information in the sidebar to help you if you find that fonts aren't loading in a particular browser.

    +
    + +
    +
    +

    Troubleshooting
    Font-Face Problems

    +

    Having trouble getting your webfonts to load in your new website? Here are some tips to sort out what might be the problem.

    + +

    Fonts not showing in any browser

    + +

    This sounds like you need to work on the plumbing. You either did not upload the fonts to the correct directory, or you did not link the fonts properly in the CSS. If you've confirmed that all this is correct and you still have a problem, take a look at your .htaccess file and see if requests are getting intercepted.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in iPhone or iPad

    + +

    The most common problem here is that you are serving the fonts from an IIS server. IIS refuses to serve files that have unknown MIME types. If that is the case, you must set the MIME type for SVG to "image/svg+xml" in the server settings. Follow these instructions from Microsoft if you need help.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in Firefox

    + +

    The primary reason for this failure? You are still using a version Firefox older than 3.5. So upgrade already! If that isn't it, then you are very likely serving fonts from a different domain. Firefox requires that all font assets be served from the same domain. Lastly it is possible that you need to add WOFF to your list of MIME types (if you are serving via IIS.)

    + +

    Fonts not loading in IE

    + +

    Are you looking at Internet Explorer on an actual Windows machine or are you cheating by using a service like Adobe BrowserLab? Many of these screenshot services do not render @font-face for IE. Best to test it on a real machine.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in IE9

    + +

    IE9, like Firefox, requires that fonts be served from the same domain as the website. Make sure that is the case.

    +
    +
    +
    + +
    + +
    + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/symphonypixel-demo.html b/symphonypixel-demo.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e38905 --- /dev/null +++ b/symphonypixel-demo.html @@ -0,0 +1,600 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + symphony Medium Specimen + + + + + + +
    + + + +
    + + +
    + +
    +
    +
    AaBb
    +
    +
    + +
    +
    A​B​C​D​E​F​G​H​I​J​K​L​M​N​O​P​Q​R​S​T​U​V​W​X​Y​Z​a​b​c​d​e​f​g​h​i​j​k​l​m​n​o​p​q​r​s​t​u​v​w​x​y​z​1​2​3​4​5​6​7​8​9​0​&​.​,​?​!​@​(​)​#​$​%​*​+​-​=​:​;
    +
    +
    +
    + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
    10abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
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    16abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    18abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
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    24abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    30abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
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    48abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    60abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    72abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    90abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
    + +
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    +
    ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼body
    +
    body
    +
    body
    +
    body
    +
    +
    + bodysymphony Medium +
    +
    + bodyArial +
    +
    + bodyVerdana +
    +
    + bodyGeorgia +
    + + +
    + + +
    + +
    +

    10.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    11.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    12.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
    +
    +

    13.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    14.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    16.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    18.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    20.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    +
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    24.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    30.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    10.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    11.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    12.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    13.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    14.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

    + +
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    16.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    18.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    20.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    24.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    30.Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue.

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    Lorem Ipsum Dolor

    +

    Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod

    + +

    By Aenean Lacinia

    +
    +
    +
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    Donec sed odio dui. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + + +

    Pellentesque ornare sem

    + +

    Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit.

    + +

    Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.

    + +

    Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue. Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur.

    + +

    Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla.

    + +

    Cras mattis consectetur

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    Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

    + +

    Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

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    Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

    +
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    Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius.

    + +

    Vestibulum id ligula porta felis euismod semper. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Vestibulum id ligula porta felis euismod semper. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

    + + +

    Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Vivamus sagittis lacus vel augue laoreet rutrum faucibus dolor auctor. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur. Nullam quis risus eget urna mollis ornare vel eu leo.

    + +

    Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus.

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    Language Support

    +

    The subset of symphony Medium in this kit supports the following languages:
    + +

    +

    Glyph Chart

    +

    The subset of symphony Medium in this kit includes all the glyphs listed below. Unicode entities are included above each glyph to help you insert individual characters into your layout.

    +
    + +

    &#13;

    +

    &#32;

    +

    &#33;

    !
    +

    &#34;

    "
    +

    &#35;

    #
    +

    &#36;

    $
    +

    &#37;

    %
    +

    &#38;

    &
    +

    &#39;

    '
    +

    &#41;

    )
    +

    &#42;

    *
    +

    &#43;

    +
    +

    &#44;

    ,
    +

    &#45;

    -
    +

    &#46;

    .
    +

    &#47;

    /
    +

    &#48;

    0
    +

    &#49;

    1
    +

    &#50;

    2
    +

    &#51;

    3
    +

    &#52;

    4
    +

    &#53;

    5
    +

    &#54;

    6
    +

    &#55;

    7
    +

    &#56;

    8
    +

    &#57;

    9
    +

    &#58;

    :
    +

    &#59;

    ;
    +

    &#60;

    <
    +

    &#61;

    =
    +

    &#62;

    >
    +

    &#63;

    ?
    +

    &#64;

    @
    +

    &#65;

    A
    +

    &#66;

    B
    +

    &#67;

    C
    +

    &#68;

    D
    +

    &#69;

    E
    +

    &#70;

    F
    +

    &#71;

    G
    +

    &#72;

    H
    +

    &#73;

    I
    +

    &#74;

    J
    +

    &#75;

    K
    +

    &#76;

    L
    +

    &#77;

    M
    +

    &#78;

    N
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    &#79;

    O
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    &#80;

    P
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    &#81;

    Q
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    &#82;

    R
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    &#83;

    S
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    &#84;

    T
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    &#85;

    U
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    &#86;

    V
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    &#87;

    W
    +

    &#88;

    X
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    &#89;

    Y
    +

    &#90;

    Z
    +

    &#91;

    [
    +

    &#92;

    \
    +

    &#93;

    ]
    +

    &#94;

    ^
    +

    &#95;

    _
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    &#96;

    `
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    &#97;

    a
    +

    &#98;

    b
    +

    &#99;

    c
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    &#100;

    d
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    &#101;

    e
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    &#102;

    f
    +

    &#103;

    g
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    &#104;

    h
    +

    &#105;

    i
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    &#106;

    j
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    &#107;

    k
    +

    &#108;

    l
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    &#109;

    m
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    &#110;

    n
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    &#111;

    o
    +

    &#112;

    p
    +

    &#113;

    q
    +

    &#114;

    r
    +

    &#115;

    s
    +

    &#116;

    t
    +

    &#117;

    u
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    &#118;

    v
    +

    &#120;

    x
    +

    &#121;

    y
    +

    &#122;

    z
    +

    &#123;

    {
    +

    &#124;

    |
    +

    &#125;

    }
    +

    &#126;

    ~
    +

    &#160;

     
    +

    &#161;

    ¡
    +

    &#162;

    ¢
    +

    &#163;

    £
    +

    &#164;

    ¤
    +

    &#165;

    ¥
    +

    &#166;

    ¦
    +

    &#167;

    §
    +

    &#168;

    ¨
    +

    &#169;

    ©
    +

    &#173;

    ­
    +

    &#174;

    ®
    +

    &#8192;

     
    +

    &#8193;

     
    +

    &#8194;

     
    +

    &#8195;

     
    +

    &#8196;

     
    +

    &#8197;

     
    +

    &#8198;

     
    +

    &#8199;

     
    +

    &#8200;

     
    +

    &#8201;

     
    +

    &#8202;

     
    +

    &#8208;

    ‐
    +

    &#8209;

    ‑
    +

    &#8210;

    ‒
    +

    &#8211;

    –
    +

    &#8212;

    —
    +

    &#8239;

     
    +

    &#8287;

     
    +

    &#8364;

    €
    +

    &#9724;

    ◼
    +
    +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    + +
    + +
    +
    +
    +

    Installing Webfonts

    + +

    Webfonts are supported by all major browser platforms but not all in the same way. There are currently four different font formats that must be included in order to target all browsers. This includes TTF, WOFF, EOT and SVG.

    + +

    1. Upload your webfonts

    +

    You must upload your webfont kit to your website. They should be in or near the same directory as your CSS files.

    + +

    2. Include the webfont stylesheet

    +

    A special CSS @font-face declaration helps the various browsers select the appropriate font it needs without causing you a bunch of headaches. Learn more about this syntax by reading the Fontspring blog post about it. The code for it is as follows:

    + + + + @font-face{ + font-family: 'MyWebFont'; + src: url('WebFont.eot'); + src: url('WebFont.eot?#iefix') format('embedded-opentype'), + url('WebFont.woff') format('woff'), + url('WebFont.ttf') format('truetype'), + url('WebFont.svg#webfont') format('svg'); + } + + +

    We've already gone ahead and generated the code for you. All you have to do is link to the stylesheet in your HTML, like this:

    + <link rel="stylesheet" href="stylesheet.css" type="text/css" charset="utf-8" /> + +

    3. Modify your own stylesheet

    +

    To take advantage of your new fonts, you must tell your stylesheet to use them. Look at the original @font-face declaration above and find the property called "font-family." The name linked there will be what you use to reference the font. Prepend that webfont name to the font stack in the "font-family" property, inside the selector you want to change. For example:

    + p { font-family: 'WebFont', Arial, sans-serif; } + +

    4. Test

    +

    Getting webfonts to work cross-browser can be tricky. Use the information in the sidebar to help you if you find that fonts aren't loading in a particular browser.

    +
    + +
    +
    +

    Troubleshooting
    Font-Face Problems

    +

    Having trouble getting your webfonts to load in your new website? Here are some tips to sort out what might be the problem.

    + +

    Fonts not showing in any browser

    + +

    This sounds like you need to work on the plumbing. You either did not upload the fonts to the correct directory, or you did not link the fonts properly in the CSS. If you've confirmed that all this is correct and you still have a problem, take a look at your .htaccess file and see if requests are getting intercepted.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in iPhone or iPad

    + +

    The most common problem here is that you are serving the fonts from an IIS server. IIS refuses to serve files that have unknown MIME types. If that is the case, you must set the MIME type for SVG to "image/svg+xml" in the server settings. Follow these instructions from Microsoft if you need help.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in Firefox

    + +

    The primary reason for this failure? You are still using a version Firefox older than 3.5. So upgrade already! If that isn't it, then you are very likely serving fonts from a different domain. Firefox requires that all font assets be served from the same domain. Lastly it is possible that you need to add WOFF to your list of MIME types (if you are serving via IIS.)

    + +

    Fonts not loading in IE

    + +

    Are you looking at Internet Explorer on an actual Windows machine or are you cheating by using a service like Adobe BrowserLab? Many of these screenshot services do not render @font-face for IE. Best to test it on a real machine.

    + +

    Fonts not loading in IE9

    + +

    IE9, like Firefox, requires that fonts be served from the same domain as the website. Make sure that is the case.

    +
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    +
    + +
    + +
    + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/t3f8in3h_400x400-232690.jpg b/t3f8in3h_400x400-232690.jpg new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3bde5ae Binary files /dev/null and b/t3f8in3h_400x400-232690.jpg differ diff --git a/test.html b/test.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cbb9edd --- /dev/null +++ b/test.html @@ -0,0 +1,63 @@ + + + + + + + + My Page + + + + +
    +
    +

    WELCOME TO THE ALIEN HOSPITAL! +

    +
    +
    +Welcome to my website.
    + +
    + +This site contains written adult content, flashing images, and bright colors. It may not be safe for photosensitive viewers. + +Click below to enter. + +
    + + +
    + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/test/testabout.html b/test/testabout.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0181a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/test/testabout.html @@ -0,0 +1,163 @@ + + + + + + alien hospital + + + + + + +
    +
    +
    fljnerknfr
    +
    + + + diff --git a/test6.html b/test6.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c16d8a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/test6.html @@ -0,0 +1,30 @@ + + + + + + My Page + + +
    + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/tnscolors.png b/tnscolors.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6fa09b Binary files /dev/null and b/tnscolors.png differ diff --git a/tnsmylove.html b/tnsmylove.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e816f71 --- /dev/null +++ b/tnsmylove.html @@ -0,0 +1,794 @@ + + + + + + ALIENH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
    + + + Skip to content + +
    + + + + + +
    +
    +

    DP-S01-E13-1215-Copy
    +
    +
    + + + + +
    +
    + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
    + + + + + + + + +
    + +
    myhusband
    +

    my main fictional partner of ALL TIME!!!!! Is the Negative Spirit from doom patrol tv (only the show!!)

    + +

    i've been in love with them (i use xe/they for the negative spirit exclusively) since before i even knew what being fictoromantic really WAS!! at first i thought it was just a self ship, but my feelings were so, so real. i didn't really begin to realize i was fictoromantic until people pointed out to me that i was more passionate about the negative spirit than any other aspect of my life, and i only started identifying as ficto in fall 2024. however, i do consider myself to have been married to them since 2019 - for 6 years as of the time i'm writing this. the first time i saw them on screen, i was fascinated, and by the end of episode 1, i was obsessed. i've never had such a strong attraction to a character before; it transcended feelings and transcended the fictional realm.

    + +

    i've been told it's silly to love them so much, because xe is a very minor character, but... to me that makes our bond even more special. i can't say for certain, and i don't mean to step on any toes if there are other tns fans out there, but as far as im aware, im probably the only one who has ever paid this much attention to them, and i'm probably the only one who has ever truly loved them in a wholly positive way. they try to be a hero in the show, but they struggle to do so because of their emotional volatility. vic understands their nature, and larry clearly cares for them in the later seasons, but.. no one in the show Loves them and especially not in a way that lacks all destruction.

    + +

    i feel like what most people don't understand about them is that they REALLY DO care about the things around them, they just don't understand how to deal with the strength of their emotion + the strong emotions of larry that they are forced to feel in addition to their own. niles says that the spirit is powerful, but sensitive; that's another thing that i love about them!! they're in this weird stasis of being close in proximity to humanity, being emotional like humanity... and yet they're so far away from being human in every sense. it makes me ache to think about the loneliness they must feel after being torn from their home dimension and placed into a world of such suffering. it makes me ache to think about the intentional and unintentional torture inflicted upon them over their sixty years on earth. and i do not at all fault them for leaving; they saw future larry be happy with his son in 1996. how could they stay and selfishly deprive larry of that happiness? the scant queen says they want to stay. they just can't, because they care enough not to erase the timeline that gives larry a second chance at fatherhood. but enough character analysis.

    + i like to show my love for them in different ways! i have a negative spirit ita bag, pictured below:
    +


    and here's our wedding band:

    i love them so much and i dont know how to put into words how much they mean to me.

    + sometimes i look back on old messages to friends i had in 2019 and just smile, because my passion for them hasn't died at all throughout these 6 years. i'm just as in love with them as i was when we first met. they bring me so so much comfort. just imagining myself in their arms makes every problem fade away. and my love for them gave me a reason to live all the way throughout the years they were in the show, when i was deeply depressed. i don't know, maybe it is ridiculous to be this in love with a fictional character, but at the same time i don't care if it is. i love what they have given me.

    +
    + + +
    +
    + + +
    + + + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/tnsmylove2.html b/tnsmylove2.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1f6862 --- /dev/null +++ b/tnsmylove2.html @@ -0,0 +1,805 @@ + + + + + + ALIENH0SP1T4L + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
    + + + Skip to content + +
    + + + + + +
    +
    +

    DP-S01-E13-1215-Copy
    +
    +
    + + + + +
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    my main fictional partner of ALL TIME!!!!! Is the Negative Spirit from doom patrol tv (only the show!!)

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    i've been in love with them (i use xe/they for the negative spirit exclusively) since before i even knew what being fictoromantic really WAS!! at first i thought it was just a self ship, but my feelings were so, so real. i didn't really begin to realize i was fictoromantic until people pointed out to me that i was more passionate about the negative spirit than any other aspect of my life, and i only started identifying as ficto in fall 2024. however, i do consider myself to have been married to them since 2019 - for 6 years as of the time i'm writing this. the first time i saw them on screen, i was fascinated, and by the end of episode 1, i was obsessed. i've never had such a strong attraction to a character before; it transcended feelings and transcended the fictional realm.

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    i've been told it's silly to love them so much, because xe is a very minor character, but... to me that makes our bond even more special. i can't say for certain, and i don't mean to step on any toes if there are other tns fans out there, but as far as im aware, im probably the only one who has ever paid this much attention to them, and i'm probably the only one who has ever truly loved them in a wholly positive way. they try to be a hero in the show, but they struggle to do so because of their emotional volatility. vic understands their nature, and larry clearly cares for them in the later seasons, but.. no one in the show Loves them and especially not in a way that lacks all destruction.

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    i feel like what most people don't understand about them is that they REALLY DO care about the things around them, they just don't understand how to deal with the strength of their emotion + the strong emotions of larry that they are forced to feel in addition to their own. niles says that the spirit is powerful, but sensitive; that's another thing that i love about them!! they're in this weird stasis of being close in proximity to humanity, being emotional like humanity... and yet they're so far away from being human in every sense. it makes me ache to think about the loneliness they must feel after being torn from their home dimension and placed into a world of such suffering. it makes me ache to think about the intentional and unintentional torture inflicted upon them over their sixty years on earth. and i do not at all fault them for leaving; they saw future larry be happy with his son in 1996. how could they stay and selfishly deprive larry of that happiness? the scant queen says they want to stay. they just can't, because they care enough not to erase the timeline that gives larry a second chance at fatherhood. but enough character analysis.

    + i like to show my love for them in different ways! i have a negative spirit ita bag, pictured below:
    +


    and here's our wedding band:

    i love them so much and i dont know how to put into words how much they mean to me.

    + sometimes i look back on old messages to friends i had in 2019 and just smile, because my passion for them hasn't died at all throughout these 6 years. i'm just as in love with them as i was when we first met. they bring me so so much comfort. just imagining myself in their arms makes every problem fade away. and my love for them gave me a reason to live all the way throughout the years they were in the show, when i was deeply depressed. i don't know, maybe it is ridiculous to be this in love with a fictional character, but at the same time i don't care if it is. i love what they have given me.

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    back
    +

    My Writing

    +I wanted to have some original writing on here to balance out the massive fanfiction archive, but I don't really have anything that isn't listed on a private, separate author's page already. So here are some excerpts from various scrapped novel projects over the years. +
    +Nemesis Lake

    +Station Z

    +Reposing Force Excerpt #1

    +Reposing Force Excerpt #2

    +Reposing Force Excerpt #3
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    back!

    +

    Nemesis Lake

    +Scrapped 2019. Excerpt. Death TW. +
    +

     

    +

    The drive from Texas to Minnesota is a winding pattern of dust and an aura of lifelessness; the trees and lake lack all beauty when someone you love is dead. The green of it all spins into her unfocused eyes as she hangs her arm right out of the backseat window and feels the air and movement on her skin. Life is like this: a fast-moving car, trapping in and strapping down its passengers, until the crash.

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    Kav is a good kid, mostly. She does her homework. She eats her vegetables. She is kind to animals, the elderly, and even her own sister. She doesn’t stay out past curfew. 

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    What did she do to deserve this?

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    The crash, of course, is a metaphor for death, and Kav has seen it: the wreckage of the car in the aftermath, the shattered window glass, the parts scattered on the ground, the dents and the leaks and the fire. It burns a striking image in the mind.

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    This time around it is her grandmother. 

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    +

    For the deceased, that is. Her mother sunk to the floor, flowing and boundless, upon hearing the news, bruised her knees all up. She doesn’t talk much, now; it has been three weeks and Kav was forced to walk to school, when school was in session. Her mother stopped driving. She’d sit in Economics, swiping back and forth on her phone with her mind grass-stained, her mind sitting next to a grave, running its fingers over the headstone and feeling the cool slate. She is a good kid. She is a good student. Her mother stopped doing most things, and now they are here, adhered to the Minnesota border. Waiting.

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    It’s like that when someone dies. It’s just like that. People react in a spectrum of ways; some sink to the floor and some swallow down the grief, a magical act of sword-swallowing, pricking the internal, endless sleep. Some act flat, as if it never happened and their loved one will come home and press themselves into the couch, fall asleep on the sofa and wake up bright-eyed in the morning, alive. Alive. 

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    Kav reacted inappropriately. She doesn’t care. She tells herself that she doesn’t care, that she’s better off dead than suffering anyway, that her grandmother’s hatred tainted them, but even Eve cried. Even Eve. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t bother her, and she is a good person, despite the sour pit stuck in her throat, she is a good person.

    + +

    A hand grasps the back of her sweater and pulls her back into the car, arm resting at her side now. She looks over; it is Eve, holding her black eyeliner in one hand and Kav’s very white outfit in the other, in bright, bright contrast. Then the window rolls up, and there’s a scoff from the front seat.

    +

     

    +

    “Kavs, that’s not safe,” her sister says. Eve releases her grip. “Mom told you two hours ago to quit.”

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    She wants to roll her eyes, wants to sigh and ignore and sink into the car’s leather seats. But she’s a good kid, and a good sister, and good people don’t do things like that; good people do kind things, and she is, above all, a good person. So she apologizes, and goes back to watching the depths of green, the beauty of the ultimate surrounding, with her head pressed up against the glass of the window.

    +

     

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    “We’re stopping for gas soon,” her mother yells, needlessly loud. “Just a little bit longer, and then we can rest.”

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    Just a little bit longer. The biggest question: can she ever rest?

    +

     

    +

    ---

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    Her mother’s definition of soon is too loose, wrapped multiples around Kav’s wrist; she’s checked her phone clock about 4 times, each in somehow perfect 30 minute intervals, and she’s double-checked Eve’s phone to make sure that her phone isn’t malfunctioning, and she’s triple checked with the car’s display of time. 

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    It’s been two hours.

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    +

    It’s been two hours, and Eve is half-asleep, leaning on Kav’s shoulder. Her head is heavy, and her blue hair looks (understandably) unwashed. She’s not sure if Eve has showered since they left for Nemesis Lake four days ago. It is, again, understandable - they haven’t had time. Time feels nebulous, moving swiftly in and out of the digestible knowledge of existence. They have transcended it, in their car and cheap hotel rooms. 

    +

     

    +

    Their mother drives for 16 hours at a time, and when they finally get to their hotel room, they are too tired to shower, or brush their teeth, or live. She has eaten exactly two things today: a large container of gas station mac n’ cheese, and a small package of milk-less Oreos.

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    Mom’s not usually like this; before their grandmother passed, she… cared. She cared. She donated to school fundraisers and took Eve to volleyball games. She made dinner every night, bought groceries every week. 

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    +

    Kav hates her grandmother for a thick variety of reasons; for continually gifting Eve masculine clothing even after she came out, for forcing Eve to try on every gift at every holiday, for smiling when their father left, for ignoring her every time she was struggling. This, however, is her worst action yet, and she continues to be awful even after her passing. How lucky Kav is.

    +

     

    +

    It was ridiculous - her grandmother’s “dying wish”, that is. Go to middle-of-nowhere Minnesota, Kav! Spend the summer in the house I haven’t been to in 66 years, Kav! Her mother went along with it because it would look awful if she did not heed her mother’s last words, but Kav can sense that she thought it was strange as well.

    +

     

    +

    Still. Anger is not going to change their circumstances, and as Kav unfurls her fists, they hit a bump in the road, flying upwards. It shoves her forehead into Eve’s, pain pulsing. Eve’s eyes open quick and wide, and she pushes herself off of Kav’s shoulder.

    +

     

    +

    “That hurt,” Eve says, but her voice is entirely monotone; Kav can tell she’s still tired, because she can rest, she can close her eyes and sleep.

    +

     

    +

    Kav, however, hears the ghosts, feels the haunting cold on the skin of her neck. She cannot sleep in cars because she feels the road turn beneath her, because she hears every whir and every sound; crickets and raindrops and passing cars and the ambience of time. Morning, afternoon, evening, night. She is sensitive to all.

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    “Yeah,” Kav agrees. “When are we stopping?”

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    +

    “Soon,” replies their mother, and when Kav looks into the front seat, her fingers are gripping the steering wheel tightly, paling out her skin.

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    She turns to Eve, leans in close to her ear. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

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    “It’s okay,” Eve responds. “I know she’s hasn’t exactly been jumping for joy lately. I get it.”

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    “Do you?”

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    “I do. I understand, Kav. I just wonder if you do.”

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    Kav inhales, exhales, inhales and holds her breath. She tries to picture it, losing someone and what that looks like, what face it wears & how it digs into the fragile subconscious---someone you love is here, walking on this solidified planet, loving you and loving you and loving you. It takes one moment---just one small, insignificant significant moment---for them to pass through the veil, shroud themselves into the entrance of the afterlife and leave you. Grandma Kavya left their mother and left scarred marks over her fingers, over her chest, the skin of her skull; everything that propelled her existence and pushed her awake every morning.

    +

    When the love dissipates---that can be devastating. Kav understands, but her mother is still loved by her daughters. Kav supposes that she simply doesn’t understand grief. Why can’t she see how loved she is?

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    “I’m trying to understand,” Kav says finally. “I am, I promise. But—”

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    Eve shushes her. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t say it. It’s the last thing she needs right now.”

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    Kav frowns, crosses her arms, makes a big show of her frustration. “What did you think I was gonna say?”

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    “It doesn’t matter.” 

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    “It does matter.”

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    “Not now, Kavya.”

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    Eve never uses her full name unless she is very upset. The thing is! Kavya cannot seem to outrun her roughness. She upset her sister, she must be upsetting her mother, and they are alone without each other so they must stick together. They have to be together. 

    +

     

    +

    The ultimate fear: being alone. Entirely alone in the world, without Eve or her mom. Having no one---floating through the darkness ghastly, never touching the ground again, flying too high and never coming down. Kav’s nightmares revolve around this only, the threat looming and looming.

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    “Sorry.”

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    “It’s---it’s okay. I just wanna keep the peace… what little there is left of it.”

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    Is it Kav’s fault? The lack of peace, that is; her stubborn edges slicing into the car door and making those aforementioned skin cuts. Is she salvagable? Can she be saved? Is she the one ruining everything?

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    +

    Instinctively, no, but your instincts always tell you what you want to hear, at least in Kav’s case, at least in Kav’s mind and Kav’s existence. The truth is that she cannot see through the truth. The truth is that Kav is struggling to grasp it.

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    Whatever. The silence in the car feels heavy on her shoulders, and Eve coughs so hard that it rattles her. 

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    “Let’s play a car game!” Eve announces, her voice upbeat.

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    “Like what?” Kav asks.

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    “You know. Like, uh… I don’t know. I spy?”

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    “I spy,” Kav says, monotone. “Really.”

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    Eve makes direct eye contact, nods her head slowly. “Really.”

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    “Okay, then. I spy with my little eye… something blue.”

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    “My hair? Wow, genius.”

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    “No,” Kav corrects, eyes wide. She points to the car window. “Water.”

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    They both stare---the light illuminates the lake, shining and shining. It is so open and it rings of freedom; no one in this car has seen a body of water in years, and Kav cannot visualize, in this moment, anything more beautiful or serene. She wants to jump out of the car and into it, swim and float and think of nothing but the peace that she is hoarding. She wants to drown and ressurect. She wants to feel something. She wants everything. 

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    “I wish I could swim in it,” says Eve; twin telepathy, as she would have called it when they were children. They have always been perfect, siblings operating gears operating one whole function together. A whole connection of earth and surroundings and mind. Familial love can conquer anything, or so they say.

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    Before Eve came out, Kav could always sense something in her, a deep pitting darkness, but could never quite pin down what it was. Eve is a wonderful girl, and a girl, and the world has written it down in the history books. Of course they like to think that, one day, they will be famous, because what 16 year old girl doesn’t want to be famous? They want to change the world. 

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    Kav daydreams about it; maybe she’ll help out starving children, maybe she will save animals from abuse and maltreatment, maybe she’ll discover a new scientific advancement that will help save the world. Maybe she’ll cure cancer! Maybe she’ll be everything she wants to be, in the end. Whenever the end will be. Kavya Velox: the Loved.

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    The appreciated. She’s never had any appreciation beyond her family; no one wants to be friends with a girl who looks like her, who talks like her, despite how hard she tries to fit in. She spends hours in the morning in front of a mirror, perfecting her makeup, the perfect lines and color and contour, and still she fades into the background, or often the rotten center of attention, ridiculed for just being true to herself. Children are awful. Teenagers are awful. Kav wants to swim in this lake and never leave, wrinkle down until she becomes part of the lake, a spirit lurking underneath it.

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    They pass the lake. Her mesmerized gaze snaps back into its true form; a slight gauzed-over discomfort that only barely exists in this world. Kav sighs. 

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    “Hey, maybe things will be different in Nemesis Lake,” their mother calls from the front seat. She sounds like she’s faking her positivity---in other words, she sounds like she normally does these days.

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    “Yeah, maybe!” Eve responds; the difference is that she actually has hope.

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    “Yeah,” Kav calls back faintly. “Maybe.”

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    Reposing Force Excerpt #1

    +Officially scrapped 2025. +
    +

    For some reason—

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    For some reason?

    +

    For some reason, Ivy feels a need to impress her. Kira Ramos is so perfect that it’s horrendously annoying, and maybe that’s exactly why Ivy wants to impress her - so she can feel Good Enough. So she can feel useful. So she can feel useful in more ways than just throwing a treadmill out of a window. It’s an addictive adjective.

    +

    Ivy darts for the most difficult object she can reach — a chunk of concrete. She looks directly at Kira, pounds her fist into it, and watches the concrete crumble into sad powder. Kira’s lips curl into a very faint smile, and Ivy knows she’s done well. She reaches for another — this one made of steel— and warps it effortlessly, never breaking eye contact with Kira as she decimates everything around her.

    +

    The other prospective recruits are watching her in annoyance, some even in anger, but it doesn’t matter;

    +

    the attention Ivy is getting from Kira is making Ivy soar — she’s spreading her wings and landing directly on the roof of the Reposing Force HQ, and this time she’s got the world’s throat squeezed tightly in her palm. She’s doing well. The others are struggling to even dent their objects.

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    When Ivy turns around to grab something else to destroy, she freezes in her movement; there’s nothing left to ruin.

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    Kira’s gripping a clipboard so hard it looks like it’s going to break. “Thank you, Ivy,” she says with barely masked annoyance. “I’ll be right back with more material for the other potential recruits, and after that we’ll begin combat testing.”

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    She turns, and Ivy can see her fists glowing red-orange as she leaves. Well. Annoyance isn’t exactly synonymous with being impressed, but regardless, Ivy certainly made an impression.

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    “Nice to meet you all, I’m Dr. Alice Argyle,” says the group leader, and the tone of her voice indicates that she really doesn’t want to be there; she’s bored, she’s tired, and she wants this over with. “To begin, we’ll have you demonstrate your abilities so I know what I’m working with. I’ll call you each up by name and you’ll use your powers in any way you want, just make sure we get a good idea of what’s going on. Okay? Okay.” She picks up her clipboard and looks down at it, studying each name with careful intent.

    +

    There aren’t that many people in the Manifestation-And-Manipulation group, in contrast to the others. Besides Kingsley and Rowan, there are about three other prospective members. One of them looks to be asleep despite his standing position, and one of them is glued to her phone, engrossed in a long text message. The third looks rough and mischevious, and he elbows Kingsley while laughing. From his other side, Rowan rages slightly within.

    +

    “Hey, Alice,” says the final member. “Why don’t you do a little demonstration for us first? Show us what you got.”

    +

    He’s laughing, but he’s the only one laughing. Everyone else is looking away in embarrassment. Rowan whispers into Kingsley’s ear, his breath invitingly warm against Kingsley’s skin: “Do you think he knows?”

    +

    They both watch as Alice looks up. Her brows raise, and her black hair waves as she shakes her head. The clipboard is tossed aside with force. “If you want me to,” she says with amusement, “I will.”

    +

    The group watches in awe as Alice’s eyes shut, her head points to the floor, and her short frame is lifted off the ground as her legs turn from human to insectoid. Her head is enveloped in black facial armor, but it looks more organic than actual armor, covering the area above her eyes and nose and meeting solidly at the point of her chin. She continues growing, pitch black rough material flowing over her skin to cover each elbow, wrist, knee, and ankle joint. She grows two more posterior insect legs, raising her to a terrifying height that towers above them all. The cherry on top: the pinscers that extend from her knuckles, the scorpion tail that emerges from her spine.

    +

    None of the other groups seem to notice.

    +

    “Fuck,” Rowan says, because he genuinely can’t keep it in. “I heard but… I hadn’t seen it. You really are part scorpion.”

    +

    “Yes, I am,” Alice responds. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but you got the basics right.”

    +

    They all look over to That Asshole, whose jaw is now comically ajar. Without saying another word, he shrugs, accepts his defeat, and walks to the elevator as Alice reverts,  shrinking into her more human form while her black hair sways.

    +

    She walks over and retrieves the clipboard, unbothered. “Now, let’s get back on track,” she sighs. Her agony is even more blatant now. “Rowan James, please.”

    +

    Rowan steps forward, uneasy. His gaze shifts over to Kingsley, who shoots a smile back in Rowan’s direction that is rooted in both concern and encouragement. God. There’s no way he can go up there and make fucking cheese appear after finding out that the person evaluating his powers can indeed turn herself into a scorpion. It’s going to be anti-climactic. It’s going to be humiliating. It’s going to haunt Rowan for decades.

    +

    But he has to. He didn’t get this far just to give up immediately. So he walks up to Alice, into the center of the group, and does what he does best: bullshits everything. He spreads his arms apart like a wingspan, holding them as far away from his body as possible. Rowan closes his eyes, and focuses on being as impressive as possible in the moment. His face twists, and a variety of cheeses begin to rain down from beneath his reach, falling from his arms and plopping onto the floor with a rather unpleasant noise.

    +

    He opens his eyes, and everyone looks…

    +

    It’s probably good that he can’t read expressions very well.

    +

    He walks back to Kingsley’s side with the most confident stride he can manage, and grasps Kingsley’s hand with a force that screams anxiety even if he can’t outwardly show it. Kingsley turns to him, whispers you did a good job.

    +

    The girl who had been texting finally looks up from her phone. “That was cool as shit,” she exclaims. She picks up one of the wedges and turns it in her fingers slowly, inspecting it. “Hey, can you give me some mozzarella to take home?”

    +

    “Sure, how much?”

    +

    Alice clears her throat. “You can figure that out after the interview,” she says, writing something on the clipboard. “Thank you, Mr. James, that was… enlightening.”

    +

    Okay, maybe she’s starting to regret showing off. Just a little bit.

    +

    But Ivy has never had the chance to show off before. No one cares about her powers, no one has ever wanted to see them. Kira doesn’t really want to see them either, she knows, she’s just doing her job, so now Ivy gets her enjoyment out of annoying Kira instead of attempting to impress her. She’s much better at being a nuisance.

    +

    Thank God for that. She’s trying to convince herself that this isn’t all futile, that she didn’t just accidentally throw this entire interview in the garbage. She watches as Kira prepares for the combat test by retrieving a container holding a few wooden poles. Ivy watches, and watches, and watches, and tries to stifle her giggling underneath her breath.

    +

    Kira tries to avoid eye contact with Ivy when she returns, approaching the group with a pointedly exhausted expression - she’s attempting to communicate, in no uncertain terms, that she’s not having a good time. Most of the other group leaders probably just want to get this over with, and none of them are the Reposing Force’s second-in-command. Kira is probably less pleasant in day-to-day life than anyone else on the floor right now - including Ivy, if that’s possible. She has to be obnoxious. The position comes with an odd entitlement, an attitude she’s seen across the social media of almost every popular Reposing Force hero. She’ll have to check and see what Kira’s Twitter page is like later.

    +

    “Okay,” Kira says. “Now, we won’t actually be engaging in physical combat. I’m testing your ability to think quickly in a fight situation, your reflexes, your strength and dexterity… I’ll do my best not to hurt you and I ask that you don’t purposefully hurt me. Are we on the same page?”

    +

    The group mumbles in a chorus of agreement. Ivy crosses her arms.

    +

    “Good. I’ll call you up one by—“

    +

    “Can I go first?”

    +

    Kira looks like she’s internally punishing herself for not expecting this. Ivy is also internally punishing herself for not expecting this. It’s an impulsive decision, calculated only out of fascination with Kira “Pyromaniac” Ramos, out of a strong desire to see her squirm and shift in annoyance. She’s ruining this for herself; she wishes it was accidental, that she wasn’t dying at her own hands. Ivy’s default mode is to self-sabotage, to destroy everything in her vicinity that could build up to something beautiful with the right amount of care. She’s never been allowed to have anything good, or even anything bittersweet, and it’s not about to start happening now.

    +

    “Sure,” Kira says, between teeth and lips folded into a forced, artificial smile. “Sure, why not? Why not.” She picks up one of the wooden poles and holds it out in Ivy’s direction. “Whenever you’re ready, Ms. White.”

    +

    Ivy’s gaze catches Kira’s gaze and pins it down, clenching its teeth around it and pulling like a dog with a fierce mandible. She reaches out and takes the pole from Kira, eye contact never fading. Her eyes are undoubtedly red, and Kira’s are beautiful, the color of wet earth drilling into her, over her, like being buried alive, and Ivy has already ruined this interview for herself, so she might as well go all the way with it. She has nothing left to lose; at least she’ll be going out with a bang. To quote her opponent: Why not?

    +

    They circle each other for a bit. It’s uncomfortable; she can feel Kira watching her like her stare is scalpel-sharp, cutting into each strip of flesh it pours over. Ivy tries to keep herself vigilant. She watches Kira’s legs, watches each hand grasp the pole with tight exhaustion. She makes sure Kira doesn’t extend in her direction - and when Kira eventually does extend the pole in her direction, Ivy dodges to the side, shoving her own pole lower, against Kira’s leg.

    +

    The force causes Kira to stumble, but ultimately she remains steady in her footing. Nothing, it seems, can knock her over. In response, she swipes the pole at Ivy’s head, and Ivy barely manages to block the move with her own pole, pushing Kira away at the contact.

    +

    “You know this isn’t fair,” Ivy notes. “Super strength against fire control. In stick-fighting.”

    +

    “The goal isn’t for this to be a fight,” Kira corrects. She swipes at Ivy’s knees, but Ivy jumps before the blow can land. “It’s to test a potential recruit’s physical abilities. I understand if you weren’t paying attention.”

    +

    “Oh, I was paying attention,” Ivy says, followed by an unintentional, high-pitched laugh. “Let me ask you something: imagine if, when you swung at my head just now, I wasn’t able to block you in time, and you hit me. These poles are very solid. Were you really—“ she makes a mocking voice when she repeats Kira’s words “—‘doing your best not to hurt me’?”

    +

    Kira sighs, focusing in on Ivy’s movements further, clearly attempting to drown out her utterly boring idea of an intimidating speech.

    +

    “In fact, I could even argue that with my mental state right now - you know, me being under the influence and all, which you knew - that you thought it’d be easy to beat up on me.”

    +

    “That doesn’t even make sense.”

    +

    Ivy swipes forward at Kira’s shoulder - instead of any meaningful outcome, Kira simply grabs the end of Ivy’s pole and pulls her forward, sliding out of the way before they can come into contact. Ivy falls face-first into the soft mat beneath them.

    +

    She takes a moment, on the ground, to collect herself. Her body aches. It isn’t a literal ache - she’s essentially incapable of registering physical pain right now - but her body aches, like someone’s rooting a spoon around inside of her, scooping out her viscera like pumpkin seeds. That was humiliating.

    +

    She feels a warm hand on the back of her neck. She jumps, turns—

    +

    And Kira’s there, trying to help her off the floor, an extended hand and a disgustingly human smile on her face that seems warmer than any second-in-command of the Reposing Force should be capable of.

    +

    Ivy contemplates pushing her away. That would be rude, probably, and it would definitely not get her this job. If she still has any chance of succeeding here, that is. Ivy watches Kira and thinks that she looks horrifically normal, Ivy watches Kira and thinks that she must be cruelly mocking Ivy in her internal world, because the alternative would mean that the smile on Kira’s face is genuine. She can’t deal with that right now. She just can’t. Kira is acting inexplicably warm even after Ivy accused her of attempting physical assault and it’s completely fucking weird.

    +

    She takes Kira’s hand and allows Kira to pull her up. Ivy nods, but doesn’t thank her; instead she looks away, curls into herself.

    +

    “You’ve certainly made this an interesting recruitment session,” Kira notes, with a hint of intrigue in her tone. She turns back to the group. “Who would like to go next?”

    +
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    Reposing Force Excerpt #2

    +Officially scrapped 2025.
    +

     

    +

    It takes a bit of effort to get in touch with Xorna. She can visit the realm of Earth whenever she wishes, but to visit Xulthea, he has to drink a cup of peppermint tea, draw blood from his body, smear blood over his hands, and fall asleep with his hands over his chest. After he falls into deep sleep, the portal opens and envelops his bed in the process, jolting him right awake—into the dungeon cells. It’s always a whole thing when he visits Xorna. She says that peppermint tea is Earth’s greatest invention. 

    +

     

    +

    Graham doesn’t regret this. He will never regret this. He has a connection to Soren, adores Soren more than the moon could ever adore the sun or the stars surrounding it, adores Soren more than a starving beats appreciates its kill, but it’s not worth the risk.

    +

     

    +

    “Please call Xorna in,” he tells a guard. “Tell her Graham Case wants to make a deal.”

    +

     

    +

    The guard blinks at him with all six eyes. Each eye is arranged in parallel vertical lines across his violet-flushed face, and the purple of his skin shimmers in the lack of light. If Graham could read Xulthean expressions as well as human ones, he’d guess that the guard is suspicious. But he shakes his head, the sound of a vicious rattle filling the air, and leaves to fetch their queen.

    +



    +

    Graham sits up from his bed, his fingers staining the sheets as he peels the blankets back. Oh; Merry is out with friends, the Reposing Force recruitment expo is tomorrow and must be prepared for, he doesn’t have much time here, and now he’ll have to wash the sheets when he gets back home. That’s just great.

    +

     

    +

    Graham will sleep peacefully tonight. He won’t regret this. When he washes the blood away, he will wash Jessica Hollows away with his tissues, her essence pouring down into the plumbing. Soren won’t react well—he knows Soren, knows that there is a darkness within him, has known the truth of Soren since Soren revealed his powers, but Soren cannot touch him as long as he gives up what really matters.

    +

     

    +

    Yet his breath halts when he hears the clicking of Xorna’s heels on the dark dungeon floors. Soren won’t react well, and Soren is powerful, and Soren is beautiful, and Soren isn’t capable of anything too terrible. He wears tulip-patterned shirts with plaid pants and he cooks Graham dinner and he smiles at Graham in a way Merry has never once smiled at him. He wouldn’t hurt anyone besides maybe Graham, and that isn’t a problem. He can trust Soren’s harmlessness, he tells himself.

    +



    +

    “You haven’t called in months,” Xorna exclaims, making a grand cinematic with the pink lace of her flowing dress dragging on the floor behind her. “Mixed signals, Dr. Case. That’s no way to treat an old friend.”

    +

     

    +

    “I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “I’ve been busy.”

    +

     

    +

    “Busy with your boytoy?”

    +

     

    +

    Graham’s eyes dart away. “I don’t know—“

    +

     

    +

    “Come on, I keep eyes on Earth. I know what you’ve been doing with—what’s his name? Long dark hair, weird clothes?”

    +

     

    +

    “Drop it, Xorna.”

    +

     

    +

    Her expression flattens, fists tightening at her sides. “Do not speak to me like that again, Case.” She shakes her head. “What’s this I heard about you wanting to make a deal?”

    +

     

    +

    “Yes, and I’m prepared to make a generous offer.”

    +

     

    +

    Xorna smiles, her grin far too wide to be natural, the insectoid claws of her jaw parting in joy. “Finally. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” She turns to the guard. “Release him. Follow me.”

    +

     

    +

    He follows Xorna like a dog following food, right behind her, eager and willing and hungry. They wind through several tunnels, all touched by only the dimmest light, until they reach a room where the walls are lined with bookshelves and the roof is transparent, allowing the purple sunless sky to shine through and illuminate them both.

    +

     

    +

    She pulls a book out of a nearby shelf and opens it. With a wave of her hand, all of the contents disappear, fading into nothingness until Xorna opens her mouth, coughs up a pile of words like a sick cat, and stuffs them into the wood of the bookshelf. The words slide right in, magic, and the shelves glow a bright white.

    +

     

    +

    “Can’t let perfectly good stories go to waste, can we?” she laughs. “I’ll use this to write up the terms and conditions. It’ll take me a while to generate each page, so sit tight and tell me about what you need. What do you want out of our deal?”

    +

     

    +

    “I want you to imprison someone,” he says.

    +

     

    +

    It takes Xorna a minute to process his request as she holds her hand over the blank pages, each one swiftly filling with words and fine print without a single stroke of a pen. Then she nods, swallows the implication. “Fine, but that’s cold.”

    +

     

    +

    He sighs. “I know.”

    +

     

    +

    “Tell me more.”

    +

     

    +

    “Soren—his name is Soren, by the way—Soren’s wife deduced our relationship. They have a weird situation going on, an open marriage or whatever they’re doing these days, so he thought she would accept it, but she said it was inappropriate, that Soren was making a mistake.”

    +

     

    +

    “So?”

    +

     

    +

    “I’m married, you remember. If this got out, it would ruin everything I have built.”

    +

     

    +

    Xorna is silent for a moment. “Did you consider buying her silence, or, I don’t know, any other possible method of silencing her before deciding to imprison her in a nightmare dimension?”

    +

     

    +

    “Yes, but thinking back on what Soren has said about her, I doubt it would do anything besides make the situation worse.” He bites at his nails, tastes the dried blood. “You don’t have to put her in Xac, but—“

    +

     

    +

    “I’d never send anyone to Xac, you idiot.”

    +

     

    +

    “Right. I just need her off Earth. I’m sure you can find something for her to do here, and… I’m willing to give you 75% of my soul to bind her to Xulthea for eternity. That should be enough, right?”

    +

     

    +

    Xorna sighs, now, her shoulders dipping. “Why are you doing this to someone you care about? I can tell this Soren is important to you. I’ve never seen you so passionate about someone or… anything.”

    +

     

    +

    “I love him,” Graham admits, but his voice is monotonous, dead, devoid of any scrap of passion. He’s never said it out loud before, and he will never say it again. “But he’s not worth it.”

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    +

    Reposing Force Excerpt #3

    +Officially scrapped 2025.
    +

     

    +

    She tries to ignore them. 

    +

     

    +

    She moves throughout the lobby at viper-strike speed, winding and twisting through like she's on a heroic journey to Avoid Kingsley And Rowan. She ducks underneath the crowd, tries to find her escape, but there are simply too many people here for it to be effective. Too many metahumans in this crowded world. Too many people seeking help from the Force that they will never receive in the way that they deserve. Too much selfishness. Too much admiration. Too many people talking to her, too many people perceiving her presence in the universe. Too much, too many. It's all just so much, so overwhelming. Ivy melts over the flooring, tries to keep herself intact until she can leave.

    +

     

    +

    She glances back - Kingsley doesn't look pleased. Rowan has him in tow, his hand tightly clasped around Kingsley's hand, dragging him through the chase. He looks like he's tired of Rowan's antics - he must do this often - and he has the body language of someone who would rather be a corpse than be in the current situation.

    +

     

    +

    But when he catches Ivy's gaze, he manages a smile and an awkward wave with his other hand, and it's entirely infuriating. Today was a mistake. Today was, potentially, the biggest mistake of her whole existence. She transforms into something mistaken, a shimmering, shifting inhuman being composed only of fallacy and untruths. She melts, again, over the flooring, and she groans when she pulls her gaze away.

    +

     

    +

    The ridiculousness of the situation does not escape her. It's not as Kira suggested; they're not stalking or harassing her. For some reason, she wishes they were stalking or harassing her instead of the unfathomable, insurmountable truth, which is: they care about her. They're chasing her down to wish her goodbye after meeting her. They're being kind. Ivy is not too familiar with kind; she is, however, familiar with intimidation. It's easier, sometimes, to deal with facing violence than to accept the opposite.

    +

     

    +

    She finally reaches the door, and the cold air bites her face with violent gnashing as she runs into the parking lot. Kingsley and Rowan follow her, because of course - or because they parked out here too, she's not sure - and she stops for a moment to almost consider feeling guilty about this. She has to maneuver herself into guilt, see. It's rather inconvenient; she doesn't know how to feel it on her own.

    +

     

    +

    She knows what she should be doing. She should be opening up and allowing herself to grow. Maybe she can even make a friend. Two friends! She should allow herself to spread her wingspan out over the skies and escape the confinements of herself. She shouldn't be running like this. It's almost embarrassing; her movements are slow and jerking, her body winding down with each step toward her car. She needs to rest.

    +

     

    +

    She looks back, on unholy instinct, and her puny little human heart sinks into itself when she notices that it looks like Rowan has given up. He's hugging Kingsley; they must have reached one of their cars. The car looks historic - and extremely expensive, coated in a light pink shine. They're about to go home.

    +

     

    +

    Silly Ivy, that's what you wanted, she thinks. That is what you wanted, right?

    +

     

    +

    Right?

    +

     

    +

    Ugh. 

    +

     

    +

    She curses under her breath, exhaling the word fuck so many times it's like a new, invented hymn, but she does walk over. In the opposite direction from her car. Away from her car. She does not walk towards her car. She walks away. This is a very important fact that has to be stressed, underlined, emphasized: she walks away from her car, into the metaphorical skies and the literal road, towards Rowan and Kingsley, towards the path of freedom she has impulsively decided to carve. And she keeps walking.

    +

     

    +

    When she approaches, her hands find the inner pockets of her coat, which are surprisingly spacious, the inner fabric soft. She refuses to make eye contact when she says it: "Hi," and then: "Sorry."

    +

     

    +

    "Whatever could you be sorry for," Rowan asks in blatant sarcasm. Kingsley gives him a look. "Well, it's okay," he continues. "We just don't know a lot of people here."

    +

     

    +

    "We wanted to say goodbye," Kingsley chimes in. "You really helped us out today. We wanted to thank you."

    +

     

    +

    "The treadmill thing," Rowan exclaims, lighting up in intrigue. "Kingsley told me about it. Cool as fuck."

    +

     

    +

    Her mouth stumbles open, and remains there for a few seconds before she can parse what she's hearing. "Uh… wow. It's - it's no problem, really. I mean, join the Reposing Force to help people, right?"

    +

     

    +

    "Yeah, I mean, in an ideal world, that'd be the main motivation, yes," Kingsley says, a saddened laugh.

    +

     

    +

    "Well, it's… my motivation. I think," she lies. 

    +

     

    +

    "So, what else are you gonna do if you get in?" Rowan asks.

    +

     

    +

    Ivy considers it. She didn't think that far ahead. She wonders if anyone does, if most people apply to join the Force after establishing an intricate, detailed plan of how they're going to spend their time within it. In an ideal world, as Kingsley said, that would occur. She feels selfish. She is selfish; she applied for her own well-being instead of wanting to maintain the well-being of others. But who takes care of Ivy? Who believes in her enough, who is kind enough, who is brave enough, to look after her? No one in this city can manage such a difficult feat.

    +

     

    +

    “I don’t know,” she admits. “Um, once I get back on my feet? Might start… uh… painting in my free time?”

    +

     

    +

    She can’t quite figure out why she expects them to laugh, but her first instinct is to expect ridicule. That doesn’t get you anywhere in life, her father once said. You need to make something of yourself. Don’t embarrass us.

    +

     

    +

    Kingsley’s face only lights up at her words. “Oh, you paint?” 

    +

     

    +

    “I used to,” Ivy replies, blatantly awkward. “I haven’t since… a while. But I always said I’d come back to it when I could.”

    +

     

    +

    “If you do, I’d love to buy one of your paintings,” Kingsley tells her, and she hates him for it. She was never supposed to see them again, they were supposed to get lost in the city waters; she wanted to see them again, she was supposed to make a friend. Her desires are failing, and conquering. Defeat, victorious. She wants so many different things, distinct wants and needs and fears, all contradictory, enough to fill up a city. She hates him for it and she wants to fall to her knees in shocks of sobs and she wants to hug him and she wants, above all, to die. It’s not very logical.

    +

     

    +

    “Wow,” she says, her tone flat now. “Thank you.”

    +

     

    +

    “I think I heard they sell their members’ art in auctions sometimes,” Rowan offers. “So, you know, if you get in, that might be something to look into.”

    +

     

    +

    “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

    +

     

    +

    Kingsley turns to Rowan. “I can drive you up the parking ramp, Ro,” he says, and then turns back to Ivy, grinning. “Do you need anything?”

    +

     

    +

    “No,” she says. “Nah, I’m good. So…”

    +

     

    +

    “I can walk you to you car.”

    +

     

    +

    She screams, wails, in her internal world. In the external world, within the constraints of reality, her body speaks of its own accord: “That’d be nice.”

    +

     

    +

    “And I am getting in ours,” Rowan announces. “Sorry. It’s, you know, cold. But it was really nice to meet you, Ivy.”

    +







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    Station Z

    +Written 2018. Excerpt. +
    +

    10:23 PM.

    +

     

    +

    Octavia has:

    +

     

    +
      +
    • Cleaned up nearly the entire main floor of the station, which, unsurprisingly, had been trashed again. Her body aches, now; on first thought it is from bending over, resting on her knees and palms to restore the pristine serenity of Station Z’s flawless clean interior. Upon further introspection, however: it’s a result of more than just work. It’s psychosomatic, but that doesn’t make it any less unbearable.
      • +
    • Calmed down her brother; apparently he, too, is upset over Lilac’s appearance on the station, until he disappeared right into the dark corridors.
      • +
    • Cooked herself a rather large amount of pasta; food replicators, she thinks, taste of rot, and putting her mind on other things---doing things to benefit herself, a rare occurrence--is cathartic.
      • +
    • Finally taken off her tight uniform, the uninvited reminder of her routine (wake up, work, sleep, work, on and on like the snake eating itself) and transplanted herself into her lounging clothes. Octavia loves her job. She does. She truly does! Excitement, however, is something that she simply cannot grasp yet.
      • +
    • Answered the door to her quarters when the incoming call started---
      • +
    +

     

    +

    Wait. No she hasn’t; she’s only processing the disturbance now, torn away from her organizational complaints, tainted with obsession.

    +

     

    +

    “Who is it?” she asks, following a gesture at the ship’s computer, telling it softly to pick up the call; she stretches out on her chair, comfortable, dozing gradually into sleep. This always happens. Why does this always happen?

    +

     

    +

    “Me,” calls Vix, his voice--rough, scratchy, yet inexplicably high-pitched--is always recognizable, always a choir in her mind. “And Cedric. Can we come in?”

    +

     

    +

    “Sure,” Octavia says through a sigh, her muscles slow, her muscles tense. Her body quivers from the thick, breathable air of tiredness that surrounds her now.

    +

     

    +

    God. She just wants to rest. Octavia just wants a resting place, some serenity to let the force of her submissive personality melt down, her existence molded like clay on aging hands. She’s tired, she’s tired, she’s tired, and it is more than just physical exhaustion. Octavia has a lifetime of exhaustion, bones weary and her body fragile like bird bones. Octavia just wants. To let down her hair, like a fairytale—-to shed the concrete skin and unsheath vulnerability—-to exist in a way that people shouldn’t. Openly, that is, and loved. Love as the ultimate desire but the weightless goal.

    +

     

    +

    Vix and Cedric enter. Octavia can feel it immediately; the radiation of fear, the anxiety sewn to their faces.

    +

     

    +

    “Is everything okay?”

    +

     

    +

    They sit down across from her, Cedric’s hand brushing against Vix’s for a brief moment before he recoils it into his lap. Octavia cannot swallow any bad news. She has never been able to cope with bad news, her discomfort a mathematical constant through her life. There are so many possibilities, too many potential abhorrent situations.

    +

     

    +

    “The A.O. girl,” Vix says, coherently. “Remember her?”

    +

     

    +

    “Of course,” Octavia responds. “I’m surprised you do.”

    +

     

    +

    “Hey—-shut up. Anyway, she’s, uh, not here to celebrate Aeon’s third Breakthrough Award, that’s for sure.”

    +

     

    +

    “Vix,” Cedric interjects, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “No one thought she was there to celebrate that.”

    +

     

    +

    “My point is,” Vix says, voice louder in an attempt to drown out Cedric’s protests. “She’s here to investigate my sister.”

    +

     

    +

    “What—why? Aeon’s a saint.”

    +

     

    +

    Vix looks ashamed, ephemeral, and then his face bounces back resilient into his usual smug look. “Yeah. I don’t know. She said she was under orders from a person very high up in the Authority of Operations.”

    +

     

    +

    “Vix explained this to me,” Cedric says. “I asked why an A.O. officer would visit this territory after decades of neglect and silence just to investigate the commander, and he said there’s only one reason for it. It, uh, it’s not great, Octavia.”

    +

     

    +

    “Tell me. I can handle it.” That’s a lie; she can’t handle it, but she’s not going to let them know that.

    +

     

    +

    “They’re trying to shut down the station.”

    +

     

    +

    Octavia’s heart---

    +

     

    +

    Octavia’s heart, so weak, turns a normal pace into a hummingbird-wing flutter, every vein in her body pulsing. The pounding envelops her body like light, the pounding moving her body as a marionette into the white light that everyone sees at the end of the end. She’s walking into it. She should’ve seen this coming.

    +

     

    +

    No one is ever allowed to have a safe haven in this galaxy. Everyone here is pitied by the outsiders, who live in their intricately designed, endlessly large homes. Breaking tradition is like shattering a bone, and holds the same weight as taking a singular brick out of a structure in the process of being built and watching it all crumble.

    +

     

    +

    Conformity, remember. Everyone must conform.

    +

     

    +

    They’re trying to shut down the station! Of course they are.

    +

     

    +

    Station Z is Octavia’s home. They can’t just - rip it from her like this; the station is at the center of Octavia’s being. They can’t do this. They---they can’t.

    +

     

    +

    “Oh,” she says, weak, as her body continues to melt into frailty.

    +

     

    +

    “But we’re not going to let that happen,” says Vix, smiling confidently. He looks up to the ceiling, and to the floor, finally fixing his gaze right into Octavia’s eyes. “We’ve got a plan.”

    +

     

    +

    “We do?” Cedric asks, eyes widening.

    +

     

    +

    “We do. I came up with it just now.”

    +

     

    +

    “Please, share this plan with the rest of us.”

    +

     

    +

    Vix freezes. “Well, uh, Octavia, it kinda requires your participation, so I guess I should ask for that first.”

    +

     

    +

    “I’ll do anything to save the station.”

    +

     

    +

    His face twists into a smile, seemingly sinister; this is never good. “Well, I think you should pay Lilac a visit and talk to her for a while.”

    +

     

    +

    “I don’t follow.”

    +

     

    +

    “I want you to get close to Lilac---”

    +

     

    +

    “Okay? What will that accomplish?”

    +

     

    +

    “You didn’t let me finish. Make her trust you, and then sabotage the investigation if she finds anything that can be used against my sister.”

    +

     

    +

    Octavia crosses her arms. “Vix, that’s not right. I’m not going to do that, I---I can’t morally do that.”

    +

     

    +

    “Oh, so you want to lose the station?”

    +

     

    +

    “Why can’t one of you do it?”

    +

     

    +

    “We’re… occupied.”

    +

     

    +

    “What?”

    +

     

    +

    “Besides, I don’t get the vibe that Lilac would be interested in either of us. Especially not me, after what happened. You’re the most personable, the kindest… you’ve got a charm to you that I don’t think she’ll be able to resist.”

    +

     

    +

    “Well, thank you, but Vix, you don’t get it. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing this. I’m not a commodity.”

    +

     

    +

    “No, no, of course you’re not! But you and I both know we can’t just sit back and watch Station Z crumble. We have to do something, otherwise… everyone here will be without a home.”

    +


    Octavia sighs. She takes a breath, a deep inhale, holds for ten seconds, and exhales slowly. Vix is right. She has to do something. She cannot let this happen. Station Z is the universe’s haven, at least in her naive eyes, and she has to save it. It is a holy duty.

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