#but also not really please don’t worry about me it’s just a reoccurring intrusive (?) thought and nothing more serious

[artistfingers]

the other night, the “makes me want to kill myself” mental refrain of the night spontaneously morphed into “makes me want to eat myself” and I mean,,,, at least it made me laugh ?

[princeanxious]

Part One; “A Wounded Snake Lies Still”

A continuation fic in the au i built from this art piece I did and this post that I’d written that inspired this whole idea. I don’t know how many parts there will be, but the plan is for it to be hurt/comfort? It’s just that the comfort comes in small increments, but I promise the ending will be happy!

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Ships: mentions of past healthy Anxceit, start of story begins w/ analogical, end goal is analoceit! Side royality, Remus is lowkey Aro.

Minor Trigger Warnings: in no particular order.. brief mentions of painful memory loss, brief food mention, Remus and Deceit as sympathetic characters in general, accidental revealing of a secret-Remus feeling awful about it and Deceit being completely forgiving on it. Deceit being sorta selfish but also being very selfless without realize it. Deceit lying when he speaks/ backwards talk.

Serious Trigger Warnings: (slight spoilers) Deceit ignores his own distress in favor of keeping up a nonchalant act around the others, and doesn’t process his inner emotions in a healthy way. Deceit repressing years of his own resurfacing emotional trauma that originally came from his separation from Virgil, Deceit also briefly relives said trauma in the fic and pretends nothing is wrong even though something Really Is. Patton has minor empath abilities in this au and accidentally gets hit with a ride of very negative emotions that Deceit is already internally feeling when he touches Deceit.

(Let me know if I need to tag something else!)

Summary: Virgil’s missing memories have always been a touchy subject. After Remus and Deceit gain their acceptance of from the Light Sides and Thomas, Deceit still seems to have a few secrets to hide. If you asked him, he’d tell you it was for the best that he kept them. Partially concealing the truth was a slippery slope, indeed. But, could you really blame him? When Virgil was dating Logan and finally seemed happy again? To him, All the repression of his own trauma was worth Virgil’s happiness. Their years of love were lost with Virgil’s memories of the past, and there was no way in hell Deceit was about to jeopardize Virgil’s current stability now, not when the only person at fault for losing was Deceit himself.(or, was it? He’s never sure anymore. Trauma is a fickle beast.) Well, one slip up from Remus is all it takes before Deceit finds himself faced with that exact dilema fast approaching, and he finds he is less than prepared to face the music..

[[MORE]]

“Ugh, gross. In front of my deodorant?? Could you guys like. Not?? Be romance-y in the living room?? You two remind me of when Dee and Virgie were dating.” Remus grumbled offhandedly, too tired to deal with his twin’s particularly loud and loving attention directed towards Thomas’s literal representation of the heart this late into the afternoon.

They’d been loudly and shamelessly flirting back and forth from across the room while everyone set up for movie night, Roman in the living room with the others and Patton in the kitchen with Deceit making snacks. It was only seconds later that the duke realized his slip up as everything and everyone around clattered to a halt, the other sides turning stare at him in confusion.

Three years. It had taken Deceit three long, painstaking years and counting to distance himself from the years of memories he’d spent in bliss, to separate his mind from the heartbreak of losing his only love. Three years to come to terms with the fact that his only love now held no memories of the time they spent together, to accept that his love now deeply loved another.

Three years to come to terms with the fact that Virgil would never know what it was like to watch helplessly as his love writhed in pain. To watch as The Line ripped the memories from his love’s very being, forcing Virgil into a clean slate. Three years to come to terms that Virgil would never remember.

Three years of patience and heartbreak and anguish and lies, telling himself that it’d be okay, telling himself that he would move on and heal eventually. Three years of painstakingly separating himself from the narrative he and Virgil used to share, and ensuring that Virgil never had any inkling to what had been of his past. It was the only secret Deceit ever asked Remus to keep.

Rest assured, he’d tried to respark Virgil’s memories many times in the first few months after Virgil crossed over The Line from Dark side to Light, having ultimately crossed for good. It’d only led to fight after fight, driving a wedge further and further between them with each escalated argument. With a bleeding heart, he’d eventually given in, and stopped any further attempts. After all, each attempt only seemed to fuel Virgil with irritation. It had been clear then, that whatever they’d had, was never going to be again.

Three years it’d been. He thought he’d nearly healed, really. Most days he found he could exist and interact with the others and not be reminded of the past, and be comforted that he himself would not be a reminder to the past. Repression had always been his strong suit, though, conciously or not.

The Line had diminished as of late, after Thomas had really begun accepting Deceit and Remus. They could cross The Line for long amounts of time now, and mostly be fine. Occasionally they suffered from a bout of fatigue when disagreements with the others briefly turned sour, feeling The Line tugging back at them insistently. It never lasted for long, but there was always that underlying worry that The Line would finally snap them back into the dark for good if one of them made a final wrong move. The Light Sides didn’t know about The Line, not even Virgil remembered stumbling away from it after all that had happened. And well, if it were up to Deceit? They would never find out about it. Too many questions, too many messy answers.

Three years later, Deceit finds his heart splintering once more, an ache sinking into his chest that he knows Patton feels as they stand nearby one another. Memories flood in harshly, a deep painful longing resurging from the depths of his mind as it always did when faced with his reoccurring trauma sinking its claws into his psyche.

It’s only been seconds, but the silence is starting to feel heavy. Instead of moving on from the previous comment, Remus glances to Deceit, eyes pleading and devastated by having made his mistake, breaking the only promise to Dee he’d ever been seriously asked to keep. And Deceit knows he must do what he does best to save face, there is still time to redirect the carnage.

“Remus, please don’t refrain from spreading lies, that’s certainly not my job, after all.” He teases lightly, keeping his tone precisely on the edge of amused confusion, though his eyes hold an understanding none of the others know to read for. “Next you won’t be telling me that your favorite animal is a squid, not an octopus. Not your worst try at shock humor, yes?”

Remus catches on after a millisecond, drawing out a full cackle. “Sorry, not sorry! You should’ve seen the looks on your faces though! Priceless!! Who knew a shitty joke falling so flat would shock everyone so good!”

Their reactions held the desired effect. Quickly, everyone around the room seemed to relax, Roman even firing back his own playful quip to further lighten the mood. In the end, it was just a bump in conversation, something Remus caused every once in a while as everyone adjusted and Remus learned. Not a single step amiss that wasn’t already expectedly out of line.

Still, he’d have to talk to Remus in private later. Remus was just as sensitive to rejection as Roman was, and paired with his inherently intrusive thoughts, it would come to no surprise if Remus already thought Deceit now hated him. He didn’t, it’d been an accident, and Remus’s first ever slip up in three years since making the promise. Even if Dee had been mad about the slip up, he wouldn’t have had any right to be. He’d be sure Remus was the first person he sought to soothe when they got a free moment alone, it wasn’t right to let those kinds of thoughts fester.

Remus first, Virgil next, as it wasn’t quite crisis averted. He could feel Virgil’s eyes on his back from the living room. He denied his bleeding heart the closure of meeting Virgil’s gaze, of sharing his expression. He was too vulnerable, even now the anxious side could read his tells far too well, often without even realizing why. There was no doubt Virgil would try and talk to him later about it, and no matter how good the terms they were on with each other now were, Deceit knew the conversation would be a rough one. Virgil knows he has missing memories, and only recently had he accepted Remus and Deceit’s vague answers when he’d asked lightly about his past. It was at least him acknowledging they had the answers to the past he doesn’t remember.

If he wasn’t careful, each and every brick in the wall that Deceit had carefully worked to build up in the past three years could crumble right before his eyes, leaving him stripped emotionally defenseless, his trauma bared for all to see. And who knew what the others would do if they knew so much? What would they think of him then? Deceit inwardly shivered at the thought. It would not come to that.

Slipping into the nonchalant act was an easy card to play, it being his strong suit and most comforting form of security, a version of his own little lie of omission to soothe the bumpy situation over.

What he didn’t account for, was Patton gently reaching to touch his arm when everyone else had settled and their attentions returned to their tasks at hand. Deceit fought against his immediate urge to pull away, knowing the moral side just preferred connection through touch when addressing another, and instead looked up to meet Patton with a questioning gaze.

Whatever Patton was about to say died on his lips as he suddenly seemed to reflect an absolutely heartbroken expression, tears welling up in his eyes. Pain and sorrow and surprise seemed to seep into the other’s expression, warring for dominance amongst the primary confusion. It was only then that Deceit realized that Patton was still touching him, his bare arm with an equally bare hand, to be exact. The memory that Patton bore minor empath abilities that were tied into his existence as the representation of Thomas’s morality and feelings sunk in two seconds too late.

Direct skin to skin contact, something Deceit sought often to avoid in general nowadays anyway, was a direct way for Patton to tune into another's current feelings through said abilities, often by accident. There were limits that Patton could control, of course, and Patton only ever seemed to struggle coping with that ability when faced with an overwhelming swell of emotions from the other side. And, well.. Deceit’s mind certainly hadn’t taken well to being reminded of his repressed past, seeping through his protective mental walls with all sorts of roiling negative emotions.

From self-loathing, to dread. From anger, to guilt. From longing, to grief, then to depression, and finally apathy. It just couldn’t be helped that Deceit, a master of disguise and deception, had had three whole years to perfect the act that hid it from the outside and controlled it all from within.

Carefully, Deceit pulled Patton’s hand from his arm, and gently tucked it against the moral side’s chest. Still, he keeps his gloved hand there, letting Patton grasp it with both hands to ground himself after such an emotional ride.

“Deep breaths, dear Patton. Whatever isn’t the matter?” He asks gently, still playing into his act but his eyes plead a different story. ‘Not now,’ they say, ‘I will tell you, but not here,’ they beg. Patton nods slowly, and Deceit carefully wipes away Patton tears. In a move he knows he might regret later if it raises questions, he slips his hat off to gently plop onto the moral side’s head, and gently presses against the others clothed shoulder with his own in a show of comforting affection. It has the desired effect of distracting Patton and lightening his mood, Patton’s lingering upset masked by a watery smile only they can share. Deceit silently mourns the loss of his safety blanket, but accepts that a few minutes of feeling vulnerable while comforting Patton is a good trade to escape having his distress found out. He couldn’t have the other sides cornering him into explaining why Patton had suddenly begun crying without reason. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he felt guilty for Patton having experienced second hand an echo of his painfully raw emotions, no, not at all.

Thankfully their little scene goes unnoticed by the rest of the preoccupied sides, who are far too busy bickering over the movies they want to watch. Well, unnoticed by all but the one who sits to the side. Said side keeps an unconcerned but intrigued eye on the two in the kitchen, glancing over every time he adjusts his glasses to avoid suspicion. Logan says nothing, but knows he has questions for his dearest Virgil when movie night is over. He can only hope that the answers Virgil gives will not raise more questions.

(..Unfortunately, they do raise more questions than answers.. However, they now know exactly who has the answers they seek. It’s only a matter of getting those answers that is a task far harder than they’d ever expected it to be.)

To be continued..

[nblenasabrewing]

Does Lena have PTSD?

This excellent post from @drummergirl231-2 goes into a detailed analysis about Della and the examples showing possible PTSD. I, being who I am, wanted to look at the same for Lena. Full credit goes to them for the idea and format!

According to the DSM-5, in order for a person to be diagnosed with PTSD, they must have a certain number of symptoms from eight categories: Criteria A through H.

For a diagnosis of PTSD, someone needs: to meet Criterion A to have at least 1 symptom from Criterion B to have at least 1 symptom from Criterion C to have at least 2 symptoms from Criterion D to have at least 2 Symptoms from Criterion E to meet Criteria F, G, and H

DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional. I do NOT have a degree in anything related to psychology and simply enjoy dissecting the layers of a fictional character. If you feel you fit any of the criteria, please see a professional for a real diagnosis. This isn’t something that can be easily self-diagnosed, and a professional diagnosis would open you to more opportunities for help.

Lena does and doesn’t fit the criteria in general for PTSD. She’s certainly suffered from traumatic events, but the event is more... her entire life. She’s a classic child abuse victim, which makes her more of a candidate for C-PTSD. 

Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD; also known as complex trauma disorder) is a psychological disorder that can develop in response to prolonged, repeated experience of interpersonal trauma in a context in which the individual has little or no chance of escape. Being stuck with Magica for fifteen years absolutely contributes to Lena’s current issues. C-PTSD and PTSD share similarities, there are a distinct differences - mainly that PTSD focuses on one event and the effect it has on a person long term, while C-PTSD focuses on years of repeated trauma. However, there’s no approved criterion yet for C-PTSD. So I’m using the PTSD criterion with some added explanation where C-PTSD would be applicable. 

Criterion A: The traumatic event

A person must be exposed to one or more events involving threatened or actual death, threatened or actual serious injury, or threatened or actual sexual violation in one of the following ways:

Direct involvement

Witnessing the event happen to someone else

Hearing about it happen to a loved one

Repeatedly hearing details about traumatic events, such as police officers repeatedly hearing stories of abuse

The obvious example here: Lena effectively died. Twice. Following that, she was trapped in a realm where she couldn’t be seen or heard by anyone and she couldn’t touch anything for six months (give or take). Her first interaction with anything since she had been trapped there was smacking the Boggle case in Friendship Hates Magic! And even she’s surprised by that.

In addition, she spent fifteen years with Magica in her shadow, who effectively acted as an abusive parental figure. She’s proven to be an expert in gaslighting, and knows exactly how to manipulate Lena - by hanging the promise of freedom over her head and reminding her repeatedly that people will think she’s a monster if they find out the truth about her.

Criterion B: Intrusive Symptoms

Expected or unexpected reoccurring, involuntary, and intrusive upsetting memories

Repeated nightmares related to the traumatic event

Some form of dissociation, such as flashbacks, where the individual truly feels the traumatic event is happening again

Strong emotional distress when exposed to internal or external triggers associated with the traumatic event

Strong bodily reactions (such as rapid heart rate) when exposed to reminders of the traumatic event.

Nightmares: While we can’t say for absolute sure that Lena has nightmares outside of Magica’s influence via the helmet in NOKH, the fact that no one is surprised by her nightmares does seem to imply that’s she probably had more than she’s letting on. Lena’s biggest fear is turning into Magica, after all - it’s no surprise she would have dreams along that line.

Emotional distress, strong bodily reactions: These really come out in Violet’s library, when Lena gets overwhelmed and tries to hide. The fish-eye view of everyone trying to talk to her while she sees Magica over their shoulders was most likely meant to imply she was having at least the start of a panic attack.

In addition, her reaction to Webby calling her (looking like Magica) a monster was pretty extreme. Again, the dream world setting makes things a bit wobbly, but given everything we know about Lena up to this point, and the fact that she yelled at Magica for saying they’re both monsters, it feels safe to assume she’d be angry and upset and scared if anyone ever called her a monster (again, something Magica constantly used against her.)

Criterion C: Avoidance

An individual with PTSD will frequently avoid reminders of the traumatic event in one of the following ways:

Avoiding thoughts, feelings, or physical sensations that trigger memories of the traumatic event

Avoiding people, places, conversations, activities, objects, or situations that bring up memories of the traumatic event

Whether the nightmares were caused by Magica or not, their effect on Lena is real and pretty easy to see. She sets up an entire sleepover just so the kids can help keep her awake. Avoiding sleep to avoid nightmares is pretty extreme.

She also continues to keep secrets from everyone despite Webby’s constant reassurances that they all care about her and don’t think she’s anything like Magica, because the alternative is having to talk about it or worse, have her fears confirmed.

Criterion D: Negative changes in thoughts and mood

The inability to remember important details of the traumatic event

Persistent and elevated negative thoughts about oneself, others, or the world

Exaggerated self-blame or blame of others for the cause or consequence of the traumatic event

Pervasive negative emotional state (anger, fear, shame, etc.)

Loss of interest in previously enjoyed activities

Feeling isolated or detached from others

Difficulty experiencing positive emotions

Lena’s opinion of herself seems to be pretty low. We only get one episode to really see it, but her fear of turning into Magica and active attempts to avoid such an outcome definitely make it seem like she still considers herself “evil”, and is trying to make up for it. She also readily gives in and says, “I am her”, essentially giving up on herself.

The dream adventures also excellently illustrate how Lena feels “Othered” from everyone else - they get butterfly wings, she gets weird monster wings. She falls behind at Dewey High and is separated from the others. She’s the only one in Louie’s dream, aside from Louie himself, to experience any sort of physical change. Even when she tries to be happy with them, she can’t keep up the facade.

And before all of this there’s the classic example of her being jealous of Violet (under the guise of protecting Webby from being tricked again). She immediately assumes the worst of Violet and follows Webby around telling her not to trust Violet.

Criterion E: Alterations in reactivity that started or worsened after the traumatic event

Irritability or aggressive behavior

Impulsive or self-destructive behavior

Hypervigilance (feeling constantly on-guard, or like danger is lurking around every corner)

Heightened startle response

Problems with concentration

Sleep disturbances, such as difficulty falling or staying asleep, or restless sleep

Lena’s personality in season one was mostly that of the sarcastic, irritating cool teenager who can’t be bothered. Under that, she was an unwilling slave to Magica, and while she did show irritable tendencies toward her, those can be forgiven as “Magica is terrible and provokes her.”

Season two, on the other hand, shows us a much different teenager - one who snaps easily and seems constantly frustrated by her own perceived shortcomings. Those emotions, of course, come out on the other kids (i.e. snapping at Huey and Violet). And while all of that can be attributed to her inability to sleep, which is being driven by Magica, Frank’s already said this isn’t the last we’ll see of Lena’s emotoinal growth and negative feelings.

Criterion F: The above symptoms must last for more than one month.

Obviously time is relative in Ducktales. Given everything that was going on around them, we can assume she’s been home for around a month-ish. Donald left for a month-long cruise two episodes before Lena came back, and everything after that has to have taken place within that month or it would have been way too obvious something was up. And again, Frank has said this is going to come up again. But even while she was still in the Shadow Realm, she was showing signs of trauma.

Criterion G: Distress from symptoms significantly impairs the individual’s ability to function in multiple areas of life (social, occupational, etc.).

While we haven’t seen much of Lena’s daily life, we do know a few things - before returning, she was living in Webby’s shadow, presumably following her around and getting comfortable in her shadow-y life. Violet throws a complete monkey wrench into that comfortable life, and Lena reacts... poorly, to say the least. She initially refuses to take responsibility for the tulpas feeding off her own negative feelings, continuing to project all the reasons she hates herself onto Violet (”She’s a spy, she’s a second-rate me,” etc.).

In NoKH we see that the triplets aren’t quite used to the fun, happy persona Lena tries to project, which immediately gets a frustrated yell and fire flaring up. She’s so worried about trying to be Good that her anxiety bubbles over into her life. She’s also constantly keeping secrets, something that is, unfortunately, normal for her, but not normal overall.

Criterion H: The symptoms are not due to substance abuse, medication side-effects, or another condition.

So the real issue comes in here - while there’s no medication or substance abuse, there is an outside force. Most of what we see of Lena’s symptoms are due to increasing sleep deprivation via Magica’s brainwave helmet. By the time NoKH starts she’s already gone at least several days without sleep, and it’s obvious the dreams are deeply affecting to her, to a point where she arranges an entire sleepover with her friends just to keep from going to sleep. There’s no way to know what she was dreaming about (although I have a few theories), but it almost certainly involved Magica, the main cause of her trauma. And we see how understandably upset she gets when she’s finally face to face with Magica.

In conclusion:

Lena is a complicated character with a lot of different factors playing into who she is, but there’s little doubt that after fifteen years of emotional/psychological abuse, two deaths, and six months trapped in what could almost be summarized as an isolation chamber, that Lena has some serious trauma. And while Magica influenced a lot of NOKH, it should also be noted that Magica, as her abuser, most likely acts as her trigger now. She spends the entire dream sequence running away from Magica, terrified to confront her. And while she has an amazing, empowering moment at the end of the episode, I’m sure this is going to come back up again.

(***All GIFs by me)

[whereyoursoulresides]

Without Words Chapter 7 Update!

This seems to happen every time the winter holidays roll around, but I finally hit a fanfic inspiration streak! So I’m updating and writing as much as I feasibly can. We’re nearing the climax of this fic!  Only 3-4 more chapters to go until the end!

Ao3 link here, or otherwise you can also read it under the cut.

"What is this...feeling?"

Nausea. Inexplicable, terrible nausea. From the moment his vision blurred and his stomach lurched from discomfort to sick, Izou knew something was wrong.

He just hadn't known what …

It was now Saturday. In his old room at the rehabilitation clinic, Izou was sitting in bed, recovering. He had a sketchbook in his lap and a few bouquets of well-wishes on his table.      

Over the past few days, the nausea and its subsequent disorientation had slowly begun to dissipate. However, the nightmares persisted: vivid flashes of grotesque faces, monsters with muscles that were warped like tree roots, and stone columns that reached to a black sky that was smothering as it was endless. A soft coursing of petals that always felt real to his cheek, and filling his blood with a strange sense of tranquility. A garden basking in sunrise; being held by someone warm.

And then he would always bolt awake.

In the quiet solitude of the room, Izou had always felt safe. Even though the anachronism would send his heart ramming or his stomach lurching, the simple tactility of his surroundings would always ground him back to reality. He could understand the things in this world, even if it took some time to remember them. The softness of the cream blankets, the coolness of the metal rails, the brightness of the flora on his bedside table. These were all touchable things, things he knew . Things that grounded his existence, confirmed he was alive.

Even if flowers occasionally filled him with a strange sense of melancholy...

A knock came at the door, and Izou paused from his sketching. When he saw his guest, he perked up into a big smile.

"Saitou-sama!"

The older man was standing in the doorway, in his casual clothes and long, heavy coat. Outside of his usual uniform, he seemed somewhat awkward and stiff, as if he wasn't sure what to do.

"Pardon my intrusion."

Izou quickly waved it off. "No intrusion at all! Please, come in." He pushed the book aside, and scooted over to make room for Kunihiro to sit on the bed.

Despite his enthusiasm, it took some time for Kunihiro to pass through the room. He seemed to be taking great care in his steps, not wanting to upset whatever delicacy he felt hung in the air. As he approached the bed, his eyes drifted over to the flowers on Izou's bedside table in succession: several bundles of classic red roses, a warm burst of peonies and other garden blossoms, clusters and clusters of daisies in every color and size. Finally, closest to him, a clear vase containing a single white rose.

Izou couldn't help but be amused at the slightly disconcerted frown on Kunihiro's brow. "Is everything alright, Saitou-sama? Are you allergic?"

"No," Kunihiro said automatically, his eyes lingering on  the blush-pink peonies. “My apologies, I'm afraid I haven't brought anything to add to your...collection."

"Oh, please, don't worry at all!" Izou immediately waved his hands. "Any more of them and I wouldn't be able to bring them all home. "

Kunihiro nodded, and finally pulled his eyes away. He cleared his throat and opened his jacket to pull forth a manila envelope.

“I came to give you these,” he started, but there was a note of hesitation in his voice. “A collection of summative assignments. I wasn’t sure if you were up to it, but I also didn’t want your hard work to go to waste…”

Unable to help himself, Izou felt his heart melt. It was so thoughtful for Kunihiro to go through all this trouble for him. Even if it hadn't been the man's intention, these assignments would bring Izou the sense of normalcy that he craved. He raised his hand to take the packet.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “I could use the distraction.”

“How long do you still need to remain here?”

“Perhaps another week, thereabouts. They want to observe me a little longer yet.”

Kunihiro nodded. On one hand, he seemed to want to stay. His discerning gaze was trained on Izou, worried. But on another, he also seemed concerned about overstaying his visit.

“Perhaps I should let you rest, then,” he finally said. “I don’t want to be a both-”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be a bother at all!” Izou exclaimed. He scooted over further, to give Kunihiro some space on the bed. “Please, stay. Just for a little while.”

It was hard for Kunzite to refuse Zoisite when he begged like that. So awkwardly, Kunzite remained. Not wanting to intrude on Izou’s space, however, he first thought to sit down in the guest chair - but then realized it was already occupied with a wreath of sunflowers and a teddy-bear.

“I’m sorry, the girls at the coffee shop maybe went a little overboard,” Izou giggled behind him. “Please, Saitou-sama, sit. I really don’t mind.”

Sighing, Kunzite turned away from the chair, and carefully sat himself on the edge of the bed. He tried to keep himself contained in his space, not wanting to accidentally trigger another memory too suddenly. But, the echo of Zoisite’s voice still drifted in the back of his mind.

“Kun-...zite-...sama…”

“Saitou-sama?” Izou’s voice broke him out of his daze. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Kunzite blinked. “Yes, yes,” he said automatically. “Sorry, I was... distracted by the flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” Izou asked, as he pulled the assignments from out of the packet.

“No, it’s not that,” Kunzite said honestly. “It’s just… a bit hard on my eyes. It’s a lot of colors.”

Izou peeked up briefly, an amused smile on his face. “What would you do differently?” he asked innocently. As he waited for Kunihiro to answer, he flipped through the sheets of the assignment, relieved to find all the equations familiar. So he hadn’t lost any memories this time, as far as he could tell.

“...Separate them,” Kunihiro finally answered. “When they are all clustered, they compete and clash with one another in the same space. It becomes hard to appreciate their singular, individual beauty."

This reply surprised Izou, and he raised his head. He hadn’t expected Kunihiro’s response to turn so… serious.

“I think there’s times when they look good together,” Izou countered. “Like in a garden. Then they become concentrated bundle of beauty. A cluster of joy, like the sun.”

“Yes,” Kunihiro agreed. “I suppose I prefer to view them as stars in the night. That way you can see each bud’s personality, admire its individual imperfections. Appreciate its unique charm.” His voice dropped a bit then, and his eyes grew distant, as though he was just realizing something.

“Yes?” Izou prodded, transfixed.

Kunihiro still looked like he was in his own little world. And give it your utmost adoration , Kunzite had been about to say. Give it the love it deserves…

“Like that one there,” Kunzite quickly said, breaking away from his train of thought. He gestured to the single white rose in the vase next to Izou. “There’s simplicity in its elegance. And I couldn’t help but notice it’s the one closest to you. It must be special to you.”

Izou glanced over to the flower in question. “Oh! Yes.” His smile grew soft. “This one was from Kuroi. It’s his favourite flower.”

Once more, Kunzite felt his gut shrivel up and die a little inside him. At every angle of Izou’s life, this man was wedged between them. This man who shared some similarities to Kunzite, but who was ultimately not. He wouldn’t treat Zoisite the same, give him what he really needed, or truly understand him. The flower wasn’t even Zoisite’s favourite - it wasn’t even pink!

Carefully, Izou pulled the flower out from the vase, and brought it close to his lips. Its scent was calming - clean and fresh like a spring morning. It smoothed his anxieties, sanitized him from his dreams.

“Kuroi-chan used to be a patient here, you know,” Izou started quietly. “He woke up one day in a room like this, without memories, with no recognition of friends or family. But the one thing he knew for sure - the one thing he knew before he remembered his own name - ...was that this was his favourite flower. White roses.”

There was a moment of silence then, as the new information seemed to sink into Kunihiro. Izou continued to hold the stem carefully, twirling it slowly to admire its open petals from all angles.

“I’m surprised,” Kunihiro finally confessed, with some care in his voice. “I would have thought red to be his favourite color.”

“It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” Izou agreed. “But it’s actually white. White flowers, greenery, the sea. Those were his favourite things, the earliest things he could remember with total certainty.” He slowly returned the flower back to the vase.

Kunzite watched Izou closely, considering if now was a good idea to ask what he was thinking of.

“When you woke up, what could you remember?” he finally asked softly. “Was there anything deep inside you that you knew, for sure?”

Izou paused, and his face fell. His hands dropped as well, back down to his lap, and Kunzite couldn’t help but notice they had started to play a little with each other, a little anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Izou mumbled. “When I woke up, apparently all I was speaking was gibberish.”

“Do you remember what kind of gibberish?” Kunzite pressed.

Izou shook his head. “Nothing anyone could understand. Some names, maybe, but I don’t remember them now.”

“Any persons? Reoccuring dreams that felt right?” Kunzite pushed some more.

Izou shook his head again, now feeling a rise of anxiety in his chest. “No,” his voice cracked a little.

“Familiar colours, scents, places?” Kunzite was desperate. He knew that it was in Izou, it was accessible, Zoisite was there - but for some reason Izou was sealing everything in, hard. “Flowers?”

“Only that I like them!” Izou suddenly cried. Tears rushed to his eyes and heat flooded his cheeks. “Only that I love them,” he repeated, heart thudding loudly in his chest. He brought his hands to his face, hiding his eyes and cradling his forehead. “I- …”

Realizing he had overstepped his bounds, Kunzite’s urgency burnt to ashes, and dropped like coal into the pit of his gut. On one hand he wanted to reach forward to comfort Izou, but on the other, he realized that this was his doing. If he wasn’t careful, he could send Izou to another breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. He glanced around and offered the tissue box on Izou’s bedside table. “Forgive me, I - … didn’t mean to upset you.”

Izou was swallowing his tears now. But he accepted the tissues, and Kunihiro’s apology.

"It's okay," Izou managed to say, dabbing his eyes. "I'm sorry, Saitou-sama. I'm just...not ready to talk about these things right now."

Kunzite felt even more ashamed now. "Please don't apologize. It was my wrongdoing. I'm sorry." He let Izou have some time to breathe. "If you prefer, I can go…"

"No, it's okay," Izou insisted. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Kunihiro off. His tears had mostly stopped now, and his heart rate had resumed to a more acceptable pace. "I'm afraid I haven't progressed as far as Kuroi-chan has. I have figured out some friends and family, but…" He shivered a little. "But I still get nightmares that don't make sense."

Kunzite continued to hold the tissue box. "What sort of dreams, if you don't mind me asking?" he ventured carefully.

Izou took a deep breath. "Just...really scary stuff. Monsters. Scary faces. Shadows, terrifying-looking trees. The feeling of being smothered underground, buried alive. A crystal castle, and it suddenly grows these thick green veins, and a heartbeat."

Kunzite reconsidered how far he should push. These were clear examples of Izou remembering his past life in slumber. Nightmares to him, but dreams to Zoisite.

Izou couldn't read Kunihiro's emotionless stare, but he feared the worse.

"Kuroi used to have bad dreams too," Izou was quick to explain, desperate to show Kunihiro that he wasn't crazy, that in time he could be normal too. "He had nightmares of him fighting people. Like the sounds of metal clashing, flashes of a gold and red in a uniform. Winning over someone. Possibly hurting them. Stabbing them, sometimes over and over!"

Kunzite sat up straight. "Izou, are you safe with him?" He immediately asked. "Has he hurt you?"

"No, that's not it at all!" Izou exclaimed. "Don't you see? Kuroi figured it out, in the end. The fighting he was dreaming about was his past sword matches. The red and gold he saw? Those were his competition colors. His dreams of hurting people? They were anxieties that stemmed from not understanding what his dreams of fighting were referring to." Izou looked off to the side. “For the longest time, he didn't want to find out who he was. He feared he was someone horrible. But then it turns out - ...he was fine.”

Kunzite took a moment for all this to sink in. Izou glanced back at him hesitantly, waiting for his response, almost anxiously. His fingers drifted up to twist the ends of his ponytail. He pulled so tightly that they frayed out of their curl, like storm-blown hay.

Finally Kunzite spoke, and when he did, his voice was solemn.

"You've dreamt about something similar, haven't you?" Kunihiro asked softly. "That you've hurt someone."

Izou's eyes flew wide open and his heart stopped. How had Kunihiro known? Izou felt his soul wither and he buried his face in shame. He couldn't tell Kunihiro the worst of it. The worst of the feeling that had surged him in the park.

The feeling of triumph…

"I can't shake the feeling I've done something terrible," Izou whispered. Something terrible, but something also so very good. He deserved it, whoever he had been. The rush of peace, tranquility, confidence at the aftermath. The twisted sense of pride made Izou sick to his stomach.

Very gently, he felt Kunihiro lay a hand on his knee.

"Will it make you feel better," Kunihiro said softly, "if I told you that I know of no criminal record or juvenile offenses committed by a Kozakura Izou?"

At this, Izou's head lifted up. His wide eyes tracked across Kunihiro's face for any kind of lie or deceit, but found none. Kunihiro's face remained as soft and passive as the day he first heard Izou's story.

"You- you're sure?" Izou whispered, desperate to believe it. "Really?"

Kunihiro nodded. "Really," he confirmed quietly. "If any such thing had happened, I would have known."

Izou's eyes lit up, and his heart flooded with relief. The dreams must've been something else. He sank back, hand over his mouth as he tried not to cry.

"You are young," Kunihiro continued. "And have a bright and sensitive soul. It's very possible your dreams are your imagination's way of abstracting your past. But that doesn't mean you've done the things you fear."

Izou's eyes scanned over Kunihiro again, and slowly his hand dropped, revealing a tentative little smile.

"You really think so?"

Kunihiro nodded. "And if your friends are any indication…" He gestured to the flowers and gifts all around the room. "Who you fear you were is not who you are now. Nor, who you choose to be." Kunihiro's eyes were so beautifully kind, even if his expression hardly ever changed. "Your choices in the present are what truly defines you."

Izou let his hand slowly fall to his lap, unable to express to Kunihiro just how much he appreciated all this.

"Thank you, Kunihiro-sama," Izou whispered. He slowly glanced over at the white flower in the vase next to him. "Kuroi-chan says the same thing…"

There was a heavy sigh from Kunihiro, and the weight on Izou's knee pulled away and disappeared.

"He is right," Kunihiro admitted. "You are lucky to have him."

Izou turned back to Kunihiro, and reached forward to lay a hand on his arm.

"I'm lucky to have you too."

There was that moment again: when the world grew quiet and everything around Kunzite seemed to pause. Izou's hand felt so warm and lovely on his arm, even through the thickness of his coat. And the way those bright green eyes were gazing at him so clearly…

"Ahem."

Both were startled out of the moment and looked towards the door. Izou pulled his hand away.

"Kuroi-chan!"

The dark-haired man stood in the doorway, this time with his white-haired friend, as well as the receptionist. Kuroi had another bouquet of red roses collected in one arm, while Shirai was bearing a more eclectic collection of sunflowers, carnations and random greenery. The receptionist was peering into the room, and upon seeing Kunihiro, frowned quizzically.

"Are we interrupting anything?" Kuroi asked from the door.

Before Izou could respond, Kunihiro rose to his feet.

"No, I was about to leave," Kunihiro said, before Izou could protest. There was a certain note of finality in there than quelled any chance of Izou convincing him otherwise.

Kuroi nodded as Kunihiro gathered himself. He turned back to Izou just to say:

"No need to rush the assignments. Whenever you're ready, you can pass it back to me by leaving it at the coffeehouse. Goodbye."

The abruptness took Izou off-gaurd, but Kunihiro was already heading out the door before he could even say anything.

As Kuroi stepped aside to make space for Kunzite to pass, the receptionist's brow furrowed some more. Then, a light of recognition sparked in her eyes.

"Ah, you must be -"

"No," Kunzite cut her off curtly. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else. Good day."

And before anyone else could say anything, Saitou Kunihiro had disappeared down the hall.

[suicidalalarmclock]

🦢 👑

III

XXX

 

Emma awoke groggily in what seemed to be her bed. She moved to sit up and froze in place upon hearing her mother’s stern voice in the background.

“The princess should not be able to slip out into the night undetected!”

Great. Now her mom was on a warpath with her handmaidens. They were sure to have severe attitudes with her for the next month.

“You don’t understand your majesty, she waits until we are asleep.”

“Give them a break mom.” Emma managed to come off unfazed though now that she was sitting up she wished she had stayed laying down. Her entire body hurts, especially her head.

“Emma!” Queen Snow’s doe eyes doubled in size upon realizing her daughter was awake.

“Emma! Why in the world were you out last night?! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you if your father wouldn’t have been there?” Emma’s mind still hadn’t sorted out the details of how she came to be back home in the first place and the splitting headache she was currently enduring made cohesive thought impossible.

“Mom I’m sorry-”

“And of all things to find out that you brought the former King Henry’s daughter with you? What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t . . . I mean I wasn’t . . . is she okay?” Snow’s features softened. Her eyebrows no longer pulled together in a frown.

“She’s fine sweetheart don’t worry. Your father brought her back to the palace. She’s in the south wing with Blue.”

“Oh no mom, she hates Blue.” Snow decided not to touch that as her daughter still appeared delirious and she had more pressing matters to sort out.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I fell off the side of a cliff. What happened last night?”

“Don’t play coy with me young lady. Why did your father find you in the Highlands?”

Emma didn’t know where to start or if she should even start at all. The conversations with Regina had her confused and waking up in the palace with no recollection of how she got there made her anxious. Snow saw the worry flint across her daughter’s face so she decided to give a little.

“Your father said he found you, Daniel, and the former princess arguing outside of Fairy HQ?”

There was no accusation to her tone. In fact, it seemed as if she was asking a simple question.

“We weren’t arguing.” Emma defended until she remembered that they had indeed been in something of a disagreement. “She’s . . . different than us.”

“Who is she? Regina?” Snow questioned earnestly trying to follow Emma’s disjointed train of thought.

“Yes, the princess.” Emma fought with how to further describe the woman she’d met. She wasn’t sure if she could trust her mother with anymore information about Regina so she turned the focus back on herself. “I heard father talking about Ginger village and I wanted to help.”

“You mean you eavesdropped on a classified Round Table discussion? Emma, how many times must we go through this? By doing that you only get half information!”

“Yeah well that half is a lot better than none.”

“Emma, you could have gotten yourself killed. Do you have any idea what is assumed to be taking the children there?”

“No, obviously that was what the entire mission was about.”

“How is that obvious? The Highlands is in the complete opposite direction of the village.”

Emma did not respond. She had no desire to go into the reasons why her father had found them in The Highlands so she remained silent and allowed her mother to continue on.

“Emma,” Snow began in visible distress, “There’s a witch in the woods.”

Emma would have normally laughed out loud at this but her mother’s serious face made her uneasy.

“You can’t mean . . .? Not like a witch with magic?” Magic seemed to be the reoccurring theme of the week.

“Yes, I do mean a witch with magic” Snow stated gravely.

“How is that possible if fairies control it all?”

“It seems it gets the magic from the children.”

Emma’s face became unreadable as she tried to understand how that could be true. “Wh-what does the witch do with the children?

“They aren’t sure. None of the missing have been found.”

“So this witch can somehow take magic form children?” Emma repeated if in an attempt to wrap her head around the idea. “How do we know?”

“Blue knows the signs and insists it’s very dark

magic. Fairy patrol alerted us to an encounter last week. They believe it was a female and they confirmed her use of dark magic. Tinker Bell was creating a tracking spell with a piece of fabric that had come off of the things robes and now she’s missing.”

“Shit!”

“Emma! Language.”

“I’m sorry mom. It kinda just came out. This is a lot of information you know? And I still feel like sh-cr-sickly . . .” The princess cursed like a sailor, it happened sometime around age 15 and now at 17 the filter was barely in place.

“Do you see now? I am trying to be completely open with you so that I will not wake up to a terror like I did last night! You could have been killed!”

Snow continued laying on the guilt. Emma nodded intermittently while tuning her mother’s voice down to a muted level. Her mind back on Regina. She was here in the palace. Emma needed to see her.

“Is that understood?” Snow finished waiting for her daughter to respond. The young princess was sure her mother had listed the punishments if she ever found herself in a similar predicament. She decided not to give her usual quarrel, about almost being an adult and how ludicrous it was for her parents had to think they could shield her from all the evils of the world.

“Yes mother.” and her mother being so tired from the ordeal allowed their conversation to end without further inquiry.

XXX

Regina awoke to a warm hand pressed against her back. The sensation was so comforting that she couldn't help but relax. She found herself disappearing into its promise of protection and courage. A pleasant tingle seeped deep into her bones, unearthing desires she had acquiesced for more stability. It was Healing Magic. The warmth of it radiated out from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, but its intensity dissipated as quickly as it came and it was this fleeting sensation that dragged her back into consciousness. 

  She allowed her eyes to wander about the space. Her back was pressed against goose down pillow tops and her body was covered in a weighty silk bedding. Expanses of marble stretched out across the floor, up columns, and arching open to a balcony where a heavily embroidered curtain fluttered tastefully in the breeze. Regina rolled her eyes. She had to be at the palace and the space was quite . . . charming really.

 “Princess.” The voice was unmistakable and Regina pushed back beneath the sheets. At least she knew where she was but why was this Blue fairy touching her?

“Are you feeling better?” Blue’s gentle tone only angered her further.

“That’s quite a question coming from you.” Are you asking if my soul has recovered from your intrusion or my body after tonight?”

“You’re angry.”

Regina did not feel it necessary to warrant a response. She stared back with an incredulous glare challenging the fairy to try and discredit her dismissiveness.

“I understand your resistance but please try to see it our way.  The dark side of magic is too much for a human to bare.”

Regina had resolved not to speak for the remainder of Blue’s intrusion but she spoke without thinking. 

“How can one measure good without evil to judge it against?”

“We do not survive off of philosophy. It would do you well to remember that.”

“You healed me with magic.”

“You are still a royal and you were hurt. It is my obligation to heal you. Would you prefer that I not?”

“I want you to give me my powers back!”

Blue turned away from her with a sigh.

“I knew this would prove too difficult for you.”

Regina sighed too out of exasperation as she decided to take the bait.

“What would be too difficult exactly?”

“You here in this realm without magic or control. I do hate for my doubts to be correct.”

And the way Blue said that let Regina know she felt the complete opposite. She did enjoy being right, being right about her in particular.

“I can grant one you one wish. ”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I can grant you one wish. Think about it. You could wish yourself free from us and this oppressive place.”

Regina’s mouth hung slack open when commotion at the door muted her entirely.

“Regina!” 

It was Emma dressed in a pale pink housecoat with delicate white stitching. Her cheeks were red and her chest heaved as if she had been running. 

“Emma?” Regina’s tone was kind while also vexed. She pulled the sheets further up her chest, feeling indecent in the summer sleep dress that was so thin it was see through.

“I’m sorry” Emma hesitated bringing her eyes down to her feet “I wanted to make sure you were okay and . . . hello Blue.” She added as an afterthought.

The fairy’s eyes seemed to be lit with curiosity upon watching the two.

Regina’s eyes narrowed to a point, “Blue says I have one wish.”

Emma laughed out loud more snarky than actual joy

“She does hun? Good luck with that.”

“Is that something to laugh at?”

“Let’s just say, I’m still waiting for my ‘one wish’ to be granted.”

“Now princess swan, you know as well as anyone, even fairy magic comes with a price.”

“The sacrifice of my happiness seems to be of no effect.” Emma spat back, Regina watched with rapt attention, clearly theses two had deep seated issues.

“Why are you here?” Regina drew back her attention with the soft inquiry. She watched Emma intently as she wrung her hands together nervously.

“I wanted to show you something and it seems I came in time to stop you from using your wish on a thing she will never grant you. Isn’t that right Blue?”

Blue eyed the sullen princess warily before speaking with carefully chosen words.

“You both are too angry. I can not help you with that. I will leave you two now.” with that Blue disappeared in a puff of blue smoke.

The room fell silent. Both girls staring awkwardly at different spots around the room. Regina cleared her throat laughing a bit.

“What is it?” Emma questioned paranoid that the brunette was laughing at her. She knew she looked deshevled and she was still out of breath from running all the way down the south wing.

“It’s nothing really. I never would have thought that anyone could despise Blue more than me, let alone of all people you.”

Regina watched Emma shuffle her weight nervously between her feet and saw it best to stop teasing her. Clearly, she did not want to talk about it.

“Ahem, you uhm wanted to show me something?”

The blonde took a moment to come out of her daze.

“Right, and I want to apologize.”

“You seem to have to do that often.” She meant it as an insult but couldn’t stop the playful smirk forming on her lips.

“Well yeah. It’s sorta my thing. I should never have judged you. People judge me all the time and I hate it . . . You have every right to your opinions.”

“As you do yours. Really Emma . . . you were probably right, stealing my magic back would have done no good . . . ” It was a truth that was a pain to admit. Emma nodded her head slowly making her way closer to the bed taking a chance to sit along the edge.

“Daniel is at the castle too. I thought you might want to see him.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“No, I - Thank you.” She’d been hoping Emma wanted to show her something more . . . well she wasn’t sure at all. Something that wasn’t her boyfriend. She hadn’t thought about him for two seconds since waking in the Charming's castle and now she found herself studying the slight pink dusted a top of Emma’s cheeks, the gentle curl of her eyelashes as she looked up from worrying her fingers. Regina wanted to run her fingers over those lashes. She wanted to kiss her eyelids and feel the feather light tickle of her lashes upon her lips.

Wow. She needed to slow down some. The healing magic had her feeling all gooey inside and she had to remember to take it easy. The princess was just so pretty and no no she’s now fairly certain that she wants to kiss her. It is all crazy. Things are moving too fast.

“I want to trust you Emma. Against my better judgement . . . maybe now we can be friends?”

The blush upon Emma’s face came back ten fold.

“Friends hun? I’d like that very much.”

The princess paused. Not sure if she should continue on the same train of thought, but she had never been good at impulse control. There was an energy the radiated between them unlike anything Emma had ever experienced in her life so she took a deep breath before she could betray her true feelings, “What if I was to say that I want more?”

“More than what?”

“More than friends.”

Emma reached forward for Regina’s hand and as soon as their fingers touched a blinding white light crackled between the two.

Emma looked terrified and honestly, Regina felt that way too, but she was also elated. She knew fairies couldn’t have control over every piece of magic in this land. Then how preposterous could it be that her true love had been living in another dimension this entire time.

XXX