#my current fix. Constant. Cough drops.

[californiaboytoys]

🩷🧡💛💚🩵💙💜💐🌸 for Steve, Billy, Jason, Nancy, Chrissy and/or Eddie. I'm in need.

Okay okay, I’m gonna do a mix of them depending on who I have the best answers for. Some questions may get multiple answers :P

🩷 Why are they your favourite?

Billy, Eddie and Nancy are three of my all time favourite characters in a show ever, because I can relate to all of them in very different ways.

With Eddie, it’s about growing up an outcast and visibly out of place in a small town. I was tall, queer and autistic in a town where the last two weren’t welcome (and the first made me stick out, because I was the tallest in my class, especially among girls, at 5’11 by fifteen years old).

For Billy, it’s about the cycle of abuse and the anger that being mistreated brews inside. It’s about sitting outside of school and purposefully missing the bus because I didn’t want to go home. About how- even eight years after leaving the situation- I can’t handle being shouted at without breaking down or lashing out.

And finally, with Nancy, it’s about being constantly underestimated just because I’m a woman. About having a drive to prove people wrong, and sometimes realizing I’ve stepped on toes or treated people unfairly in my path to be seen.

🧡 Anything in common with them?

I kind of got into this above, so I’ll pick different characters for this question.

Chrissy - I was a cheerleader for several years in high school!

Jason - I can sometimes be so set in my beliefs that trying to convince me against my deeply held convictions can be… challenging. Not impossible, but might give you a slight headache.

💛 Do you have any polar opposite traits to them?

A few, yeah.

While Steve is constantly seeking validation through romantic connections, I rarely do so. My need for validation comes more in the form of approval of things I’ve done, or towards my intelligence or creativity. I can and do fall in love, I am in love currently, but in the past it hasn’t been a burden to me to be alone. Romance isn’t something I go out of my way to find, just something I appreciate when it comes along.

💚 Favourite representation headcanons?

Oh, this is a real long list but I will narrow it down for readability’s sake.

Chrissy - I tend to head-canon as suffering from chronic pain. As someone who spent 14 years of my life between competitive gymnastics and cheerleading, as an adult I struggle daily with constant levels of pain from injuries, being dropped, being kicked by flyers, the stress of competition season and more. Cheerleading is incredibly hard on the body if done for multiple years.

Steve - my favourites have to be dyslexic Steve and Italian Steve.

Eddie - Appalachian Eddie truther. Also, that boy is so autistic. Please, just look at him. I tend to double him up and make him AuDHD for projection reasons but also because it just… makes sense.

🩵 What’s a popular headcanon for them that you just can’t get behind?

As much fun as it can be to explore in fics, I can’t see Eddie secretly getting laid all the time. This boy is no sex god. He gets overwhelmed when someone attractive breathes on him. Tripping over his feet when people flirt. He’s too focused on music and D&D. I could see someone trying to hit on him, making some comment about his wand and him getting excited and showing off an actual magic wand replica from a book series he loved.

Also please look at his van for ten seconds and tell me he loves cars and knows how to fix them. That thing coughs up rust in the equivalent of a vehicular smokers cough.

💙 What’s a popular headcanon that you adore for them?

As mentioned above: Dyslexic Steve, touch-starved Billy, Eddie with an oral fixation (Hellfire had to give him the Heimlich one time because Jeff spooked him and he choked on a dice he’d been rolling around in his mouth).

💜 Put that guy into situations / take him out?

See, now, I would love to take them out of situations and give them a break with a vacation and unlimited icy drinks and a on-call therapist but… I do be putting them in horrible situations in my head. Whoops.

💐 Favourite polycules for them?

MMM.

Eddie/Steve/Billy/Jason

Steve/Nancy/Billy/Eddie

Jason/Patrick/Chrissy

Steve/Eddie/Chrissy

Jason/Billy/Patrick/Steve

🌸 Favourite mono ships for them?

Billy: My favourite Billy ships are Mungrove, Byergrove and Harringrove.

Steve: My favourite Steve ships are Steddie, Harringrove, Stargyle and Cheerscoops.

Jason: My favourite Jason ships are Tigerfreak, McCarver, Cargrove and Stason.

Chrissy: My favourite Chrissy ships are Buckingham, Sleuthcheer, Patrick/Chrissy (I refuse to call them Pissy and I can’t think of another ship name 😭) and Hellcheer

Eddie: My favourite Eddie ships are Mungrove, Steddie, Tigerfreak, Edgyle and Edancy.

Nancy: My favourite Nancy ships are Edancy, Bubblesleuth, Sleuthcheer, Bancy and Ronance.

[just-my-fandom]

Death Awaits (Vanya Hargreeves x Reader)

Summary; When Vanya Hargreeves wife is put in a coma thanks to Hazel and Cha-Cha, the apocalypse arises. The other Hargreeve siblings must do all they can to stop the apocalypse, starting with making sure Y/N wakes up from her coma.

Request; Umbrella Academy Vanya story- where reader isn’t apart of the 43 children but she has powers, and she is with Vanya when Cha Cha and Hazel attack the manor, and she helps the others fight them off-her powers being able to control earth, and water, and air to where she can like cut off people’s breaths lmao fiesty- but Cha Cha gets a shot at the reader and Vanya has to watch the reader collapse with blood loss? Thanksss

Request 2; I know you said you haven’t watched Season 2 yet (Or even finished Season 1) but AH please write a story with Vanya where the reader somehow finds Vanya after they are thrown into the 1960s and Reader actually lands with Vanya and she’s scared Vanya won’t remember her?

Warning(s); Gunshots, fighting, near death, angst.

A/N; I finally finished the show! I had a lot of fun doing this story. It is EXTREMELY long. Sorry.

Another A/N; Leonard is JUST A FRIEND. Like, reader and Vanyas best friend kinda shit.

Date started; Demember 16, 2020

Date published; December 16, 2020

. . .

“Too high,”

Vanya grunts in slight irritation at your comment. Her hand slides up her violin to fix the miss-pitch of her note, eyes barely glancing at where you sat on her bed in the manor.

Your legs gently swayed, wearing black riding boots- acquaintanced with a checkered shirt you had bought not too long ago with dark jeans. Leaning on your knees, you watch as Vanya repeated her line of notes, smiling when the wrong note is now fixed,

A slight jerk of her hand causes Vanyas note to hit too low, her shoulders dropping in defeat as she huffs a breath, “It’s never right,”

“Not if you give up that easily,” You raise an eyebrow, your wife copying your motion, “Breathe, baby. You’ve got this. There’s no one else in the room but me,”

Vanya smiles, tilting her head down before raising her violin to her shoulder, starting from where she had first messed up.

A muffled gunshot directs your attention to the door, going unheard by your wife due to the music right against her ear, so when she sees your brows pinch and your body move to stand up, she stops to watch, “What is it?”

On cue, two more gunshots ring, louder, Vanya setting her violin down gently enough despite being in a rush, following after you with you already feet ahead,

You skid to a stop at the bottom of the stairway, two masked figures standing back to back with Luther on one side, Diego on the other, and Allison opposite of you,

“Stay back,” You demand to the woman behind you, Vanyas eyes shifting to the back of your head before she steps back, moving to the empty hall feet from her,

You move three steps forward before raising a hand, fingers curling as you watch the earth under you raise, the masked killers looking down when the ground cracks beneath their feet, both pushing away from each other to avoid being dropped into the earths crust, now raising their guns to you,

A gust of wind forces their guns into the air and behind them, free hand raising to throw off their masks, revealing one male, and one female,

Your fingers clench on your left hand to wrap an invisible field around the males neck, his hands instantly raising in reflex in an attempt to pry the false pressure off,

Before the woman could run back for her gun, a bubble of water wraps around her head, and the Hargreeves siblings are forced to watch her hold her breath in a panic,

“What do you want?” You hiss, moving closer to slightly drop the water from her mouth, allowing her to gasp in a choked breath,

“We just want the boy,” Cha-Cha spits, your eyes narrowing- Five. “And we’ll be on our merry way,”

“Well he’s not here,” You flick your hand to where Cha-Cha is thrown back into the wall, turning your attention to the male, Hazel. He has now turned blue due to his circulation for air being cut off, a slight smile in your face.

You drop your hand so Hazel dropped forward with his hands on his knees, gasps wheezed as he coughs and hacks for air. You lift both hands so walls of rocks came from the ground, pinning at his sides so he yelled in pain at the pressure of his body.

Then you feel it. Vanya sees it. They all see it. Your powers screech to a halt when the bullet pierces the front of your shoulder, the bolders dropping to release Hazel to collapse, your eyes widening when you see Cha-Cha lower her used gun.

Diego is first to lunge forward, catching the top half of your body before you could fully collapse, your vision already falling black before Vanya could make it to your side,

“Y/N!” Vanyas voice is high pitched, breathy, in alert, “Oh my God,”

“Get Grace,” Luther demands, jabbing his finger to Allison, who stood in high alert,

“Now!” Diego and Vanya shout, Vanya pulling off her button up so she was left in her sweater, pressing the button up to where your white and black shirt was already stained dark red,

Vanya forces herself to look up to your face, eyes shut and skin pale, Diego’s finger pressing to your neck in search for a pulse,

“We can’t wait for Grace,” He hisses, moving to lift you off the debris littered floor, Vanya following, staring at the blood that stained the ends of her sleeves,

She’s quick to follow after her brother, the robot she called her mother calmly waving Diego into the medical room that had been used too many times, Diego lowering your body into the table so Grace cut the front of your shirt, revealing the bullet wound that Vanya forced herself to look away from,

“Pogo,” Grace calls, softly, pulling on gloves as she glanced to the ape, “Please escort the children out,”

“Wait,” Vanya pleas, brows pinched as she steps up to the table, but Diego is swift to catch her at her front, leading her backwards to the door Luther and Allison stood, “I need to be with her,”

“Grace has excellent medical experience. Miss Y/N is in great hands,” Pogo reassures, Vanyas eyes snapping up to your face, before she allows the door to shut, her chest tight with fear.

. . .

“I always knew your family having powers was weird,” Leonard lowers his steaming cup from his lips, frowning, “But now it’s just scary,”

“I know,” Vanya murmurs, stirring her cup mindlessly, “Y/N was just trying to protect my family,”

“How-,” Leonard clears his throat, “How is she? By the way,”

“She’s resting. At home. She hasn’t woken up yet,” Vanya shuts her eyes, pressing her hands to her eyelids, “My tryouts for the front chair is this afternoon. I don’t know if I can do it,”

“Dont do that,” Leonard shakes his head, Vanya lowering her hands to pinch her brows, “Dont put yourself down because Y/N isn’t physically here. Just,” Leonard pauses, hand waving in thought, “Is there anything that Y/Ns ever said that just- stuck to you?”

“Breathe, baby. You’ve got this. There’s no one else in the room but me,”

Vanya smiles, nodding, slowly, “Yeah. Just this one thing. It’s always been a constant reminder she gives me when I’m rehearsing. No one else but her is in the room. Even when someone else really is in the room,”

“See?” Leonard chuckles, sipping the last bit of his coffee, “Y/N gives off that effect to make you believe what she says. She knows it’s a sense of comfort for you,”

“She’s always been good at that,” Vanya murmurs, watching Leonard set down his mug and nudge her arm, standing up,

“C’mon. I’ll walk you home. We can get your apartment nice and cozy for when Y/N gets back,”

. . .

“What is your name again?”

Vanya regrets it. She regrets everything. Coming to this audition, letting you nearly give your life for her family. She regrets it.

“Vanya,” She cant stop how low her voice is, but the conductors booming, louder, please, demands her to state, “Vanya Hargreeves,” Four notes higher.

“Right,” The conductor clicks his tongue, looking up at Vanya on the stage which makes her want to run off, “Well?”

“Breathe, baby,” Vanya nearly hears you say, as she lifts her violin to her shoulder, “You’ve got this,” She raises her bow, “There’s no one else in the room but me,” And plays,

She finishes her last note with a pause, terrified of opening her eyes, but when she does and sees the conductor staring at her in awe, she can’t help the breath she lets out, head tilting back with a smile of relief.

She had gotten the front chair.

. . .

A short gasp enters your lips. Whining out in pain, you force your head to the side. Home. How did you get here? The academy-

You sit up, shortly, crying out at the sting of pain it caused to your shoulder, eyes pinching shut before you raise your head, looking around.

“Three new voice messages,” The voicebox of your phone startles you to cover your face, heaving out an exhausted breath, “Hey, Y/N. Just checking on you in case you wake up and I’m not home,” Vanyas voice speaks, your head raising. “I’m currently at rehearsal, on March 29th, about four in the afternoon. I love you. Call the Academy or the theater if I’m not home,”

“Y/N, it’s Allison. I haven’t heard from you, not sure if you had woken up. But if you have, please call me back. Vanyas went missing. I think she’s with Leonard,”

“Leonard?” You push off the bed, stumbling into the kitchen. You lean against the wall beside the phone, running a hand down your face. Vanyas keys were gone. As was her violin,

“Hey, Y/N?” Diego’s voice comes next, “You remember that apocalypse? Yeah. Vanyas the cause. Get your shit together and meet us at the theater the night of the concert. We need you,”

Your eyes widen, flickering around for your shoes before you grab your keys, moving out the door with a shaky hand on the door, “That’s tonight,”

. . .

“What the hells going on?” Your voice startles four of the Hargreeve siblings to turn around, all watching you rub your patched shoulder,

“Y/N!” Klaus cheers, arms up, “Youre awake!”

“Vanya has powers,” Luther hisses, your eyes flicking to him, “She’s out of control, starting with slicing Allison’s neck,” He jabs a finger to said woman, where you see a patch at her neck,

“Why are we here?” You exhale, Diego stepping up,

“The apocalypse starts today. And you had hell of fucking timing waking up. You’re going to be our distraction,”

“Distraction, how?” You demand, Allison holding up her finger before jotting down words on her notepad,

She’s been scared you wouldn’t wake up. She may calm if she sees you.

“What triggered them?”

“Leonard?” Diego questions, “Yeah. He manipulated her for her powers. Good thing he’s dead now, huh?”

“Leonard’s dead?” You hiss, Luther shaking his head at you,

“We don’t have time. You need to go. Vanya needs to see you,”

You nod, shaking your arms out and wincing at the pull it gave your shoulder, moving forward to the entrance to the audience.

Your footsteps remain slow as you move down the walkway, eyes firm on Vanyas seated figure at the front of the stage. Her eyes remained a bright blue- nearly white, on her paper.

Her eyes flick up at the sight of movement, meeting your own so you stop your footsteps, smiling tearfully at where she sat. Her lips pull into her own smile, pausing slightly,

“There’s no one else in the room but me,”

Her hand is quick to catch up to her song, your feet moving back down the walkway, screeching to another halt when her head snaps to the side, in time for Diego and Luther to rush out onto the stage,

You watch in alarm as she stands up, a wave of blue thrown off her bow so Diego and Luther are knocked off the stage, the audience around you shrieking in fear and running off in large groups,

“Vanya!” You call, over the panicked shouts of the men and women around you, moving up to the stage, “Baby! I’m here!”

Her glowing eyes force themselves to look down at you, waving her bow so the musicians behind her sat back down, her jaw clenching,

“Y/N, get down!” A rough tug on your injured arm causes you to cry out, Vanyas eyes opening to see Diego pull you behind a row of seats, your back falling against his chest with a short gasp, your hand pressing to your shoulder,

“I need to get to her!” You heave, looking across the walkway to Luther and Allison, “She’ll listen to me!”

Allison shakes her head, gesturing to her own arm. “Screw the gunshot wound,” You hiss, Diego’s attempt to catch your arm when you stand up failing, where you stand in the middle of the walkway,

Luther and his siblings are quick to surround you, “Here’s how it goes!” Luther starts, “We go at her from all angles,”

“I call front,” You state, moving around him to jump onto the stage, stopping feet from your wife, “Vanya!” You plea, hand up as she continued to play, her suit now white, “Baby- it’s me! I’m okay!”

Her eyes don’t leave yours as you take another step forward, before she raises her bow, your body quick to drop before the wave of blue could hit you, the four boys behind you lifted into the air, her power quick to suck the life from their bodies,

You look up in a panic, pushing to stand up in a rush, crying out when a gunshot rings through, dropping the four brothers to the ground. Your arms jolt out to catch Vanyas fallen figure, your shoulder screaming in pain as you lower yourself to your knees, Vanyas head rested in your lap,

“Vanya!” You cry, hand running down her hair as your free pressed to her neck, “No! No, baby-,”

Your sob cuts short when feeling her pulse and no blood, looking up at Allison behind you with a false gun in her hand. “You didn’t shoot her,” You choke out, looking back down to the woman in your hands, “Oh, my god,”

You lean down, lips pressing to Vanyas forehead, sniffling as you clutched her hand in yours on her chest, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re okay,”

“We did it,” Luther heaves, Klaus moving to point at the window in the ceiling,

“Then what’s with the giant moon rock flying towards earth?”

You look up, eyes blurred with tears, sniffling as you look back down to your wife, fingers tucking her hair away from her eyes.

“So much for saving the world,” Klaus mumbles, your head leaning against Vanyas as your eyes shut, hiccuping.

“This doesn’t have to be the end,” Five rushes, moving next to you and Allison knelt by you, “I have a way out of here. I just need you to trust me,”

“Five,” You call, now looking at him, “I trust you,”

You feel your body lift off the stage, Vanyas body leaving your arms so you flailed in mid air, yelping when you are dropped onto the concrete just seconds later

Dallas, Texas, 1963

“Shit,” You whisper, looking up at where the blue vortex vanished, “Shit. Shit! Vanya!”

“Miss?” You look over, to a blonde woman standing with her son, panic on her face, “I have a woman saying her names Vanya. Might she be who you’re looking for?”

“Oh my gosh,” You mutter, nodding as you push off the floor and follow her to her car, where you see two bystanders helping Vanya off the floor, “Hey! Vanya, are you okay?”

“I think so,” She murmurs, taking your arms as she stands, her eyes flicking to your patched chest, “What happened to you?”

“You don’t remember?” You whisper, brows furrowed, your hand sliding to her cheek. You turn to face the woman from before, “Ma’am, do you have somewhere we can go? She needs to be checked up on,”

“Did I cause it?” The woman, Sissy, panics, moving up to you, “I didn’t see her, I swear,”

“It’s okay,” You breathe, and look back to Vanya, your eyes teary, “You’re okay,”

She nods, warily, letting Sissy move you to her car.

. . .

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand,” Vanya exhales, leaning forward on the couch you both sat on in Sissy’s house, “We’re married?”

“Yes,” You nod, licking your lips in fear, “Is that okay? We- we don’t have to,” You pull your hand from where you reached for her own, Vanya shaking her head as she takes your hand, tightly,

“No- I mean- yes, it’s okay,” She smiles, your own lips pulling upwards, tiredly. You lean forward, allowing your forehead to knock hers.

“You two look like you’ve had a long day,” Sissy speaks up, handing you a cup of (favorite/warm/drink), “I only have one guest bedroom,”

“I can take the couch,” You heave, reassuringly, Vanyas brows pinching as she tugs at your hand,

“We can share, Y/N,”

“You barely remember me,” You murmur, clenching your jaw and laughing, tearily, “Why would you want to sleep with a woman who you don’t know?”

“I may not know you but I trust you,” Vanya states, raising your hand and hers to show the rings you had, “You say we’re married. I will keep trying to regain my memories as long as I can to remember our wedding day,”

Your eyes flick up to hers, smiling, weakly, with a nod, sniffling as tears began to refill your eyes. Your hand raises to wipes your cheek, Vanyas smile dropping in worry as her hand touches your jaw, directing your attention to her, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You whisper, shaking your head, “It’s just been a very long day,”

You suck in a deep breath and sniff, looking up at Sissy who smiled, sympathetically, “Do you kind if I borrow your shower? And maybe some help rewrapping this?” You lift your bandaged shoulder, Vanyas hand falling from your face to her lap as Sissy nods, gesturing you to follow her down the hall.

You run a hand through your damp hair, silently shutting the bedroom door behind you,

Your eyes shift to Vanya on the bed, resting in a pair of Sissy’s clothing, same as you, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You move to the bed, Vanya looking up at you- finally seeing the exhaustion in your eyes. What had happened to you today?

“Of course,” Your wife murmurs, extending her hand for you to take so you slide underneath the covers,

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” You whisper, now on your side to face her, “You don’t even know me,”

“But I feel like I do,” Vanya corrects, watching as the tear in your eye slipped from the corner and down your nose, “I’m trying to understand, but I can’t do that without you,”

Your lips purse to stop the sob in your throat, hand raising to cover your pinched eyes. “Hey,” Vanya panics, shaking her head as she slides her hand to the back of your head, guiding you to rest against her chest, “No no, please don’t cry. I’m sorry,”

You let your arm slide to her backside, tightly, hiccuping against the skin of her collarbone, “No, I’m sorry. I’m so emotional and tired, and I want things to go back to normal,”

“I know,” Vanya brushes her lips against your hair, her free hand dragging her nails soothingly across your upper back, “We don’t have to talk about it anymore. What do you want me to do?”

A pause, “Just hold me,” You whisper, leaning your head back to look at her, “Please,”

Vanya nods, quickly, her eyes flicking to your lips before she looks back up to your eyes, your body pushing forward to force your lips against hers.

Vanya exhales sharply against your mouth, her fingers tightening in your hair as you peck her lips, once, twice, barely pulling away so you still felt her breath on your skin,

“I love you, Vanya. I wish I could’ve helped you,”

Vanyas brows pinch, wanting to question what you had meant, but she only finds herself pulling you back in, allowing her lips to recollide with your own, slow against the darkness of the bedroom.

[treksickfic]

The City on the Edge of Forever

I’m so excited to share this with you, anonymous requester! After you sent in your prompt, I had another anonymous reader get in touch with me to let me know they’d already written a story that matched your wishes exactly. 

The author of this story is French, not a native English speaker, and they’ve written a beautifully touching story that expands on the TOS episode, City on the Edge of Forever.  I am posting it here on my blog, with their permission, because they do not wish to have an account nor have their identity attached to the story. This writer has already become dear to me and I’m honored that they trusted me with their writing. I hope you enjoy it!

It’s a long story, nearly 3,000 words, so RIP to your dash if you’re on mobile.  I didn’t want to post it on AO3 or anywhere else except my blog, which feels safer.

Trigger warning for panic attack and trigger warning for some mild emeto, if you’re sensitive to that. It’s not very graphic.

“James Kirk, I demand an explanation!”

Scotty, Uhura, the teleportation technicians, and the security guards were completely dumbfounded by the doctor's explosion. They watched the captain stagger off, livid, as if he had been punched in the stomach. He disappeared without a word, with long stiff steps, from the room.

“Jim!” yelled McCoy.

 “Not now, doctor.” Spock's cold, dry voice stopped him.

Spock squeezed McCoy’s arm firmly and Scott was sure to read in his black eyes a burst of fury. McCoy noticed it too, because despite the storm of his own eyes, he remained silent.

“Everyone, at your posts,” declared the Vulcan. “Scott, you are in charge for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Scotty nodded, refraining from asking any questions.

As soon as they had come through the Time Gate, seconds after they left, it seemed, but many weeks later for them, he had seen that they were not fine at all. The captain was pale, deaf to their questions, obviously struggling with the tears that filled his eyes. The doctor was just as white, his face contracted with a terrible anger. As for Spock, he kept his eyes fixed on Jim, his usual indifference altered by deep and obvious concern.

What the hell had happened?

This is precisely the question McCoy yelled at Spock, pulling himself brutally out of his grip as they entered his office, safe from prying ears:

“Damn it, Spock!”

 “If you calm down, doctor, maybe I could explain.”

 “Calm down? CALM DOWN? Shit, Spock! How do you want me to calm down?”

 “Breathing. Deep, and slowly. Start by sitting down.”

 “Don't fuck with me!”

 “The Vulcans don't fuck with people. Now, please calm down.”

 Jim killed someone without thought. There's no way I can calm down. Shit!”

Spock gritted his teeth and an aura of icy disappointment emanated from him:

“Jim killed someone without thought...do you get along, doctor? You've been aboard this ship for over a year. You even pretend to be the captain's friend. How can you accuse him of this without thinking for two seconds?”

 “I saw it ! He prevented me from—"

“--and your poor little mind preferred to give in to this abject emotion rather than try to find a logical explanation. Jim, the most compassionate man we know…would he have acted like this for no reason?”

These words had the effect of a cold shower on McCoy. He shook his head, gradually coming to himself. He hadn't actually thought for a single moment, mired in a nauseating fury that he hadn't even tried to control. Shame replaced anger and he sagged in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

The past few weeks had been a total blur. He had woken up in a room with antique furniture, with an adorable woman at his bedside: Edith Keeler. It had taken him some time to realize that she was neither a hallucination nor a very good actress, but that he was indeed in a different era. Back in the 1930s. And he had barely had time to figure it out and come out of the bedroom to find answers before Jim and Spock, overjoyed, fell on him.

The next second Edith was dead. And it was Kirk's fault., He had kept him from coming to her aid. It had been too much emotion, too quickly and too soon. He had not managed to digest it, even less to understand anything other than what he had seen:

Jim had killed Edith.

But now that Spock had brought him back to reality, it all seemed absurd. And he noticed certain details: His friend's trembling when he held him; the tears in his green eyes when he leaned against the wall; Spock's unusually soft words when he had defended Jim, "he knows doctor, he knows."

How could he have seen nothing? Holding back a moan, he confronted Spock's stern face again:

“Explain it to me.”

“I'll do it quickly. In the timeline of our current story, Edith Keeler dies in 1930. In the one you walked through, paranoid after the cordrazine syringe accident, her ideals of peace and openness reach Roosevelt's ears and America becomes a peaceful country. That prevents its involvement in the second world war. Germany wins and dominates the world. Our time, therefore, does not exist.”

“Oh.”

“By the time you got there, after roughly locating your destination, we got to know Edith. A very charming woman, particularly intelligent.”

“And, Jim—"

“Was deeply in love with her. But for the good of a whole world and not solely himself, he let her die and prevented you from committing irreparable damage.”

“My god.”

McCoy put his head in his hands, overcome with excruciating guilt. Spock watched him, suppressing the harsh words that itched on his lips. The man had realized his mistake. It was useless to add more in the current state. He sighed for a long time, feeling unpleasantly empathetic towards Jim. He admired the way the man had managed to silence all of his instincts to save everyone:

“You should go see him, doctor. I think leaving him alone right now is not the best solution. Especially since he slept and ate very little while we were on earth, and even less after he realized that Edith had to die. He was ill several times during the night. He needs help.”

“Perhaps it is better ... Chapel—”

“No, Leonard,” Spock said, as kindly as he could. “He needs you.”

McCoy let out a deep sigh. He felt silly, and unforgivable. But for the sake of his friend, and indirectly, the sake of the crew, he knew Spock was right. Grabbing his medical equipment, he left in the direction of the captain's quarters.

 *****

Jim rested his forehead against the cool edge of the toilet. The doctor's words were circling in his mind, adding further weight to his overwhelming grief. He felt sick, his stomach as tight as his chest. A discomfort that had become familiar over the past few days. The intense nausea that rolled and rolled, threatening at every moment to overflow was a most unpleasant physical manifestation of his stress.

Despite his efforts to conserve food that was already scarce in their daily life in 1930, there were times when he couldn't do anything about it. Nightmares woke him in an agonizing sweat, on the verge of ruining the atrocious coarse cover of their flop.

He managed each time to sneak into the bathroom before returning the meager pittance with spasms he tried to silence. He also appreciated the discretion of Spock, who had the delicacy of pretending to sleep when Jim returned to his bed several minutes later, breathless and exhausted. But now that he was alone, aboard the Enterprise, he had no reason to contain himself, and did not fight the gagging that came out violently, like revenge for being held back so long. His stomach, however empty, kept revolting, replacing his sobs with endless contractions.

He had barely activated the door to his quarters when they had started, and he had yielded to the spasms with some relief. As unpleasant as vomiting was, his whole body tense and sore as he curled up over the toilet, at least it kept him from thinking about it. Being sick kept his mind on constant alert, focusing his attention on the spasms, gasps, bile, burning and kept the fear away. Unbearable, interminable, but ... secondary.

He coughed cautiously, catching his breath, feeling even sicker from the pungent smell that hung around him…the smell as horrible as the way he felt. This place of suffering and abandonment suited him.

He leaned over awkwardly when the bile passed his throat for the umpteenth time and spilled out in a long convulsion. He grabbed his stomach and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the mess coloring the water again. The dizziness began to build, the light becoming unbearable as a migraine took hold of his temples, seeping through to his sinuses. He shivered, trying to reach for the chase to vent some of his weakness, when a hand rested on his forehead. Incredibly cool, it brought such comfort that he could not suppress a fragile sigh.

Tenderly the hand placed a damp cloth on the back of his neck and then finally came to cover his eyes. There was the terribly aggressive sound of the toilet flushing, then a voice whispering for the light to drop to 20%.

That voice ...

His comfort immediately ceased, replaced by anguish. He coughed sharply, spitting out more bile in an effort to shake off the impending grief. He could do nothing against the intense tremors that made him gasp, nor the panicked sob that burst through the vomiting.

“Shhh, Jim.” The voice was a broken whisper. “Shhh, everything is fine.”

Kirk wanted to yell at him to go away, to leave him, not to hurt him anymore. Irrationally afraid of the anger that had rained over him earlier at the prospect of having to face reality. Instead he could only moan, shaken by a horrible, nauseating cough.

Feeling Jim shake and panic under his fingers, McCoy was crushed by an intense wave of guilt. He had seen Jim gripped with grief, stress, drunkenness, anger... but never so completely. It was the first time he seemed ... broken ... and it was largely his fault.

The abnormal heat radiating from his skin indicated a high fever and explained his lack of self control. McCoy took a syringe out of his bag and spoke in a very soft voice so as not to hurt his friend's headaches.

“Jim, I'm going to inject you with a painkiller, it'll help you relax.”

He had no other answer than a small hiccup and a burst of bile.

Nervous vomiting, McCoy noticed. It was serious. He was going to have to play it safe to get the captain to calm down enough to free himself from his sadness and he hoped the hypo would act quickly. He thrust the syringe into his biceps and took advantage of the slight respite that followed to quickly run the medical tricorder over Jim’s upper body.

The latter told him what he already knew: extreme stress, high fever, deficiencies in iron and magnesium, low blood pressure...nothing to indicate a gastric bug apart from weakness due to deficiencies, which reinforced his theory of psychogenic nausea.

McCoy was relieved to find that the sedative had done its work: Jim was shaking less and seemed more lucid.

“Bones...what--?”

Bones. So he didn't blame him. This man's empathy would kill him eventually, the doctor thought. He put a protective arm around the Jim’s shoulders and another under his chest to support him. He could feel the angry stomach muscles that continued to struggle and tighten. He gave a sad little smile.

“We are going to talk about all this. But first, we are going to get out of this horrible room. You need to lie down.”

“Um, that's not safe,” Jim grimaced with a little hiccup.

“I'll take a bucket, but I want you to lie down. Doctor's orders.”

 “If it's an o-order,” he stammered, in a slight attempt at humor.

Jim allowed himself to be helped without opening his eyes, too ill to protest, and too weak to fend for himself. Bones almost carried him to his bed.

Once lying down, McCoy carefully removed Jim’s boots and socks, pulled up a wonderfully warm blanket and put a cloth on his forehead. Then Jim heard the familiar whirr of the tricorder passing once more over his body and finally the sound of several mixes. Careful fingers rested on his right temple.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“Urgh, Bones, I'll throw up if I open them.”

“There is a bucket, don't hold back. I need you to look at me.”

Jim groaned but obeyed. The light, even though very dim, made him moan in pain. It penetrated his head like a blade and triggered, as announced, a violent nausea.

McCoy held him very gently as he threw up a thin trickle of bilious saliva. He fell completely exhausted on the pillow once the attack was over. The doctor muttered something unintelligible and wiped his face.

“I should send you to the infirmary, Jim. You have serious deficiencies and that added to the stress...this is a perfect combination for a migraine in due form. I'll put you on an IV to regulate your sugar levels and give you a strong pain reliever. It should help you feel better.”

Once everything was in place, a tactical, hesitant silence settled between them. Jim could feel his presence, sitting on the edge of the bed rather than a chair, and the warm, warm hand pressed to his shoulder. The exhaustion and sadness rose in power now that the disease could no longer build its walls around his mind. He saw Edith again. Edith and her sweetness, her love, her joy, her magnificent ideas.

"She's fair ... but not at the right time," Spock had said, trying to make her listen to reason when he...he told her that she had to...die. He had desperately looked for another way but...but—

He clenched his teeth, overtaken by the intensity of the pain. By the gesture. He had even been unable to look at her body. He had not turned around, refusing to see what he had just done, struck head-on by the horror and disgust emanating from the doctor.

He swallowed, feeling the tremors start again, the despair skyrocketing. McCoy, hearing the gasps in his friend's tight breath, tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“I ... I loved her...Bones—"

A tear gathered in the corner of his eye and he sniffled, trying to pull himself together:

“Jim,” McCoy whispered, his own emotions rising. “I ... I don't even know how to apologize.”

“You have nothing to excuse. You are right. I ... killed her.”

“No. You saved our world. You did what you had to.”

“Oh, you spoke to Spock,” Jim whispered with a bitter smile.

“Yes.”

Despite the darkness, McCoy could see the paleness growing and the captain's face tightening with the effort to hold back the sobs. He searched for a moment for words he could say to alleviate the pain. Not finding them, he shook his head.

Jim tried to speak, with difficulty. “I shouldn't—”

“You have the right to be sad. You just lost the one you love in an act of unimaginable courage. Jim, I'm an overly impulsive old fool, I can't even imagine what you've been through and I sincerely ask forgiveness for this unjustified anger.”

“Please, Bones—"

“No, let me finish. Thank you for your understanding, but you don't have to. I acted like an idiot.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“That's no excuse. I know you and should have taken a step back.”

“What is done is done.”

“Jim, what I'm trying to say is that you must not let my emotionally spoken words get to you. You didn't deserve it.”

“I...I searched and searched...and searched again. I couldn't get away from her even when I knew that—”

“You were in love.”

“No, Bones. I'm in love. A selfish person who regrets choices that he shouldn't regret.”

“You are human, and you are suffering. Let it go.”

Another tear rolled down, then another, and finally it was a torrent that poured into the pillow. The captain put a hand over his mouth to silence the gasps of despair and the overwhelming agony of loss. Bones gripped his shoulder, patting it in a comforting gesture. He watched Jim sob like a child, breathing laboriously through exhaustion and mourning. Then he gradually calmed down until he fell into a deep sleep.

The doctor sighed and wiped away his own tears that had started at the same time as his friend's, and that he had not tried to stop. He readjusted the IVs and scanned Jim’s body for the third time. His fever was still high from a mild viral infection after several weeks in the cold and fatigue undernourishment. Jim would be off for a few days and stay in bed.

When he left the room, the doctor was not surprised to find Spock standing and waiting with arched eyebrows.

“How is he?”

 “Exhausted and cold, but fine.”

 “Has he been able to express his sorrow?”

 “I guess, yes.” McCoy smiled, thinking of his friend's relaxed face as he left the room.

“And were you able to express yours?”

The doctor jumped slightly, not at all prepared for this question, much less for Spock to say it. He was sometimes pleasantly surprised by the well-hidden sensitivity of his Vulcan friend. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it.

“You are about to cry.”

“Damned be your insight, Mister Spock,” the doctor growled, a little annoyed.

“Humans all must cry at one time or another to get better, doctor. I do not understand why you put a manly bulwark in front of this natural mechanism.”

Bones laughed. “Wouldn't you find it embarrassing for me to break down in tears right now in your arms?”

He expected Spock to answer him, "Vulcans don't know the gene, doctor." Instead he replied, in his usual relaxed and serene tone, “If that makes you feel better, no.”

Such compassion was so strange that it almost seemed out of place. Leonard burst out into a frank laugh that turned without realizing it into a flood of tears. Tears of his own sadness this time, not empathy or guilt. Sadness he didn't think he had. Maybe he was also a little in love with Edith after all. And that the Vulcan understood it well before him.

Spock, moreover, did not pretend to leave, contenting himself to stay by his side until McCoy’s tears turned back into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” the first officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Mister Spock, because I’m thinking of the absurd spectacle we would have made if someone had been there. The ship's doctor weeping like a baby in front of a motionless Vulcan and their captain's closed door.”

Spock coughed and McCoy would swear to anyone who wanted to hear it that he was blushing.

“Well, you're not a hopeless case,” he said with a smirk, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Spock.”

Then he turned on his heel towards the infirmary without hearing the relieved sigh of his alien friend.

[crookswithbooks]

Never the Favorite

Day Five - Declan has always hated the holidays but when Ronan brings a new person into the chaos of their lives he finds himself learning to finally appreciate them.

Declan had never liked the winter.

For as long as he could remember, the entire winter/Christmas season served only to be a nightmare and constant reminder of how estranged their family truly was. When they were younger and Niall was still alive, things had gone smoother but there will still small little inordinacies that you would find if you were willing to look close enough. Whether it was the tree that lit up despite having no visible lights, or the way he was often called away for “business reasons”, there was always something that gave away how different they really were.

Then, after Niall had died, Christmas had only worsened. Ronan was angrier now, less manageable, and Matthew would question why they didn’t have so-and-so decorations that year, or why whoever’s present showed up weeks after the actual date of Christmas. Pulling their family together for the holidays felt more like a chore than a vacation nowadays, and on top of school and dealing with Niall’s messy seconds from the fairy market, Declan didn’t have the energy or time for it. The return of January was always a relief.

This year, however, they had Adam with them. Declan had planned on just Matthew and him for this year, deciding he would skip the obligatory invite that Ronan had ignored for years. Instead, it was Ronan who approached Declan, asking about what their plans for Christmas were. 

“I figured we would just have a small celebration,” Declan had replied skeptically, unsure where this was going but not foolish enough to get his hopes up. “Just family.”

Even as he had said the words, they had been hollow in his mouth. “Family” really meant Matthew and him, something that had been understood for years now. Now though, he decided to stick with the vague term.

“I’m going to bring Adam,” Ronan said as fact, ignoring the fact that Declan had said just family and that Ronan didn’t come to Christmas anymore. He had already walked away before Declan could even attempt to reply.

Now Declan found himself standing at the kitchen counter of the Barns, a tray of cookies on one side of him and hot chocolate that burbled in a pot on the stove on the other. He had been up since five in the morning preparing the abandoned space for guests, and now, five o’clock on Christmas Eve, he exhaustedly finished the last of the tasks he had set for himself. Matthew had been recruited to help out at first until it was revealed that Matthew’s method of helping out was singing Christmas carols and undoing all the work Declan had put time and effort into. He had quickly been removed from helping after that.

Ronan was on Adam duty and was currently picking him up from Stanford. The two should be on their way home about now. Declan had been skeptical about Adam at first, the one person aside from Gansey and Matthew that Ronan had chosen to let into his heart. He had been worried that Adam would break the shakily taped together pieces that made up Ronan and that Declan would have to put him back together after Adam left as he had when Niall had died—not that he had done a very good job of it then. Once he saw the way Adam looked at Ronan, however, like a starving man gazing upon an unexpected feast, he allowed himself to relax a little. Adam loved his brother, that much was clear, and he made him happy. Declan hadn’t seen Ronan happy in so long that he almost hadn’t recognized it when it surfaced.

Now he wasn’t worried Adam would break Ronan. He was worried he would destroy him.

The knock at the door signaled the arrival of the couple in question. Declan smiled, knowing that the courtesy of knocking was Adam’s doing; Ronan hadn’t knocked on any door since he was five. He smoothed out his suit, a gentle gray that Matthew said made him look like a corpse and Ronan said made him look like a douche. He turned off the heat on the stove, whirling around the corner and opening the door.

One of Ronan’s hands was placed securely on Adam’s hip, the protective curl of his fingers a warning sign to anyone who would raise an objection. Adam’s head was turned partway towards Ronan, his lips open on an unspoken sentence, but he cut himself off when he noticed Declan.

“Oh,” Adam said, the word perfectly formed. “Hey.” He glanced up and down at Declan, an involuntary action, and frowned a little. “I didn’t realize it was a formal occasion.”

“It’s not,” Ronan interjected before Declan could say anything. He himself was dressed in a rumpled jacket and jeans that were torn from years of Gansey and he’s excursions. He was wearing neither a hat nor gloves, though Declan noticed the near imperceptible shiver caused from their absence. Adam was wearing a leather jacket that, instead of dwarfing his small frame as it would have a year ago, fit snugly around his torso. He seemed almost more grown-up than when he had left for college, and Declan could see from the way that Ronan stared at him that he had noticed too.

“Matthew’s upstairs,” Declan said, stepping aside to let them inside. “I’ll go grab him. Dinner should be ready soon, I’m just finishing up the last little touches. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“It is my home, dickweed,” Ronan muttered, only to have Adam’s elbow dig gently and discreetly into his ribs. Ronan elbowed him back, but the gesture was affectionate without any real malice. The two made their way into the kitchen, bickering all the way.

Upstairs, Matthew was staring out his window. His attention was held by the snow falling in soft spirals to the ground, some of it pasting against the window. He held his hand up to it, so that each one of his fingertips was touching a different snowflake. Declan watched him for a moment before coughing, knocking on the doorframe. “Adam and Ronan are here.”

Matthew didn’t look away from the window, though his hand fell limply onto his lap. “I don’t want to have Christmas this year.”

Declan paused. Since the moment he was born, Matthew had been Declan’s to look after, a precious new baby brother, a dream in the form of a boy. Whenever Matthew had a problem it was Declan who fixed it, quickly and unquestionably because the reality of Matthew’s pain was one he never wanted to face. When Niall died, Declan had been there to curb the storm. When Aurora came back, Declan was content to sit back and let Matthew have a mother again. When Aurora was gone he was also the first to come to his side. He gave Matthew everything he wanted because when Matthew was smiling he was happy and when Matthew was happy Declan could be okay.

Now though, he felt his stomach clench unpleasantly and he dropped his hand from the doorframe. He sat down next to Matthew, the mattress creaking under the combined weight, and stared out the window with him. “Why not?”

“Because I’m a lie,” Matthew said, and with those simple words the world shattered around Declan. “I don’t even know if I like Christmas or if that was just something that was programmed into me. What if all the happiness I’ve felt with you and with dad and with Ronan was just a fairy tale that you guys let me live? What if none of it was ever real?”

The only one who hadn’t known Matthew was a dream had been Matthew himself, and it was a secret that the two brothers had kept for seventeen years. Both of them had agreed that the information was something that Matthew was better off not knowing—it was about the only thing they did agree on. Unfortunately, secrets are only kept for so long, especially when they relate to the person in question. Declan had never seen Matthew as desolate as he had been that day on the dock when he first found out about his true identity, and he had promised that he would never let him look that way again.

It was a promise that he realized now, looking at the pinch between Matthew’s eyebrows and his bitter frown, that he had failed.

“None of it was a lie,” Declan said after a moment, unable to look at Matthew as he spoke. “Ronan can’t influence your decisions. He only brought you into creation, like a mother would.”

“But that’s not how his dreams work,” Matthew protested. “A mother doesn’t get to choose her child—Ronan chose me. He…” He struggled for a moment to find the right words to explain and Declan waited with a growing sense of unease. “He picked my eye color and the shape of my hair and the fact that I’m happy and that you’re not and that I love him and that you don’t—”

“I love him,” Declan interrupted, Matthew’s words hurting more because he could tell he meant them. “Why would you say I don’t love him?”

“You’re always fighting,” Matthew muttered, picking at a scab on his arm. “And yelling at each other. The only time you ever talk to each other is because of me. I know that. I’m not that dumb. And I say I love him all the time. You never say that you do—not once.”

From downstairs, Declan could hear the clattering of plates that meant Ronan and Adam had started to set the table, and the soft murmuring of voices. He forced himself to look at Matthew, needing him to understand him, needing this Christmas to be a good one because if it wasn’t it meant that they truly could never be normal and Declan didn’t want to have to deal with that fact.

“I do love Ronan—and you. I love you both because you’re my family. And just because you’re a dream doesn’t mean that you’re not a person. Ronan’s dreams don’t always do what he wants them to. They evolve and they grow into something more than just a dream, in the same way that people do. You’re just as real as any of the rest of us. You’re just… different.”

Matthew glanced up at him shyly, a child uncertain at the love of a parent. “Do you… do you really think that? That I can be a real person?”

“You are a real person,” Declan assured him with a confidence he wished he could feel. “Now let’s go have dinner with the others. I’m sure they’re wondering where we are.”

Adam and Ronan were kissing when they finally came downstairs, though kissing was a polite word for what they were actually doing. Evidently the two had figured that Declan and Matthew wouldn’t be joining them for quite a while, as Adam’s body was pressed against the corner of one of the living room walls, Ronan’s body bearing down on him. From the looks of it, Adam’s tongue was halfway down his brother’s throat and Ronan’s hands were unaccounted for under the other boy’s shirt.

Declan opened his mouth to announce his presence, but before he could diffuse the situation delicately, Matthew bounded into the room oblivious to the scene, and starting serving himself up mashed potatoes. Adam jerked back from Ronan, the tips of his ears burning an embarrassing shade of red. Ronan simply leaned back, seemingly uncaring of the two new people in the room with them.

“Table’s set,” Ronan said, shark teeth flashing, a dare for Declan to say anything.

“Thank you,” Declan said coolly, not rising to the bait. “Matthew and I were just having a talk. Sorry to take so long.”

“I’m sorry—that wasn’t—” Adam blustered through a couple more half-sentences before Declan’s smile assured him it was nothing he wasn’t already aware of, knowledge that did nothing to help Adam’s already mortified state.

Dinner, usually a quiet affair for such events, was unusually lively. Ronan and Adam fell into easy conversation with Matthew joining after a moment, the boy seeming to have no end of things to talk about. Even Declan himself managed to get a sentence in or two without having his head chopped off, mostly due to the inclusion of Adam who defused most of Ronan’s snarky remarks.

In fact, as the evening went on Declan found himself having a genuinely good time. Adam and Matthew softened Ronan’s sharp edges, the presence of two of his favorite people together serving to curb his usual anger. There were even moments in the night when Ronan would laugh at a joke Declan made or respond to one of his questions genuinely without being his usual asshole self.

They ate cookies and drank hot cocoa that Ronan had apparently spiked with something, a fact Declan didn’t learn until the warmth in his gut was too pleasant for him to be sincerely angry about it. Matthew was the first to fall asleep, the unexpected alcohol being too much for him, and Ronan and Adam quickly followed pursuit. Ronan’s rested on Adam’s collarbone, their two bodies intertwined on the couch that was to be a makeshift guest bed, and Declan listened to their breathing slowly even out into a gentle hum.

Declan stood up, drawing a blanket over Matthew and going about the process of cleaning up and wrapping presents to put under the tree. Half an hour later, he stood over the pile of bodies in the living room and wondered at the people who had slowly become his family, his real family. Never before had Declan felt like he belonged, always seeing himself as a protector to his brothers and merely a colleague to his parents. Throughout the years, Christmas after Christmas had gone by, and every time Declan only found himself feeling worse as the night went on. In that moment, however, with Matthew’s face smiling and serene in sleep, and the sight of Ronan and Adam curled protectively about one another, he realized he had finally discovered a family that he could not only care for but that might care for him back.

He decided to join them in the living room instead of going to his bed like usual, and as he lay besides Matthew’s gently snoring body, he found himself content for the first time in his life.

[thewatermelloncat]

Pushing Through

Summary: There is no time to rest while sick in the Umbrella Academy. Not even the option to skip out on dinner.

Author’s Note: I wrote this ages ago and it got lost in my folders since I didn’t like the ending. Thought I might as well post it now because I haven’t done any proper writing in ages, especially not for TUA.

Warnings: None

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dinner times were horrible, being forbidden to talk makes for a tense and awkward environment. Something their father never seems to care about.

Five stares down at the half of his food he hasn’t eaten, he can barely taste it. He pushes his plate away, not hungry anymore, before withholding a couple of coughs in the back of his throat.

“Father, may I be excused?” his voice is weak, the complete opposite of his usual confident tone. He wouldn’t normally ask the question, but he knows that his lungs are threatening to choke him again and he’d rather not have his family around to see it.

“Certainly not! Meal times are compulsory and you shall stay for their entire duration” his father rejects.

Around the table the siblings are shocked that Five doesn’t retaliate as he normally would. Instead, he sinks backward in his chair, swallowing hard to keep from coughing, a slight blush rising on his cheeks at the refusal.

He’d disappeared after their training that afternoon with no explanation as to why. Poofing off as soon as they were dismissed, not to be seen again until they were called down for dinner. Initially they had thought he had been in his head about something, he did that sometimes and just wanted to be left alone. Though it all became clear when he’d met them downstairs to file in for dinner, with a pale face and reddening nose.

It isn’t long until his lungs act out again and he pulls the napkin off his lap to shield coughs into it. The deep sounds rock him forward as he tries to repress them, echoing around the dining room. A quick glance at his father tells him he is ignoring him, but he flicks a page in his book over aggressively as a sign of his annoyance.

When Five lowers his hand and takes a steadying breath, his eyes connect with Allison’s across the table.

“Just go” she mouths to him.

He ignores her because although more than anything he wants to; he knows disrespecting his father would put him in a much worse position.

In amongst eating their own dinner, Five’s siblings all spare him worried glances as he sits zoned out in his spot at the table. Occasionally he taps his fingers against the arm of his chair like he’s readying himself to leave, only to think better of it.

It’s not long before he begins coughing again, this round longer than the last. Under the table out of the view of their father, Klaus places a hand on his knee as silent sign of comfort. Surprisingly Five doesn’t flinch and lets him leave it there as he continues to cough before slouching against the armrest of his chair, sniffling into the backs of his fingers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

For all his keenness at leaving the table early, Five is the last to file out after they are dismissed, moving slower than the rest of them.

Outside the dining room Klaus waits for him, holding out an arm for him to walk into. When he reaches him, he places his hand around his shoulders to guide him to the sitting room for their mandatory reading time.

By all accounts Five normally liked the sitting room, books lining the walls and the odd contraption sitting around with an unknown purpose. Sometimes it was fun to debate what they did and where they came from. But currently Five would rather be somewhere else.

The chair he’d situated himself on in the corner is comfy enough with his legs pulled right up to his chest, but his eyes can’t focus on what he’s trying to read. It’s hard to concentrate past the pounding in his head and the constant threat of his body not wanting to breathe properly.

Occasionally Pogo will brush past to check they’re all on task but Five never bothers to look up. Only ever shifting to move his elbow from under his nose when he needs to turn a page.

“Hih’nnx’shew”

Allison’s attention turns to Five after he fails at stifling a sneeze. Seeing him shivering and hearing him sniffling miserably, she pulls the blanket she is sitting on out from under her with a few uncoordinated hops on the spot before carrying it over to him.

“Why don’t you just go to bed? You’re already ahead on your readings” she says quietly as she wraps the blanket around his shoulders.

He takes a congested breath as he shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Dad gave me more.”

Allison can’t help but stick out her bottom lip in sympathy as Five sniffles again, turning another page. Reluctantly she turns around and walks back to her seat, knowing that even if she argued with him, he wouldn’t budge.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Luther feels sorry for Five as he struggles to regulate his breathing, clearing his throat softly every couple of minutes or so, evident that he’s trying his hardest not to be a nuisance. He wishes that he would let himself cough and just get it over with – no matter how subtle he is trying to be they can all still hear him. Though it isn’t until he begins to withhold a series of coughs in the back of his throat that Luther finds the courage to speak up about it.

“Five, just let them out” he says in a surprisingly sympathetic tone. His voice comes out quiet and he wonders for a moment whether Five heard him at all.

He did, and he takes a shaky breath, “sorry” he apologises to the room before he gives in and releases the last of the coughs into his elbow. The sounds almost deafening in the quiet room.

His siblings all look over to him as he shuffles in his chair, settling back into it more comfortably before turning another page in his book.

“Honestly Five, just go back to bed” Vanya says, lowering the book she is reading for a moment.

Although it’s obvious Five heard her, he ignores her.

Though Ben won’t stand for him continuing to push himself, so he stands up and makes his way over to him. The rest of his siblings following suit.

“How long have you known you were sick?” he asks as he crouches in front of him.

“Felt a bit off in training” Five starts before his breath hitches and he ducks his head down to rest on his tucked-up knees. “Hi’ketchu, i’ktcch… hih’utchh!” It takes him a few seconds to recover and he sniffles congestedly before he raises his head. “Didn’t really settle in until afterward.”

He sniffles again messily into the back of his sleeve as Diego of all people reaches forward to check his temperature. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re burning up buddy.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Pogo asks as he enters the room to check on the children. Finding them crowding around a chair with their readings abandoned.

“Five’s not well” as usual Luther is the first to speak, as the siblings all step back revealing Five sitting in his chair.

Pogo had noticed that the boy hadn’t been like himself throughout the course of the night but now getting a better glimpse at him, he thinks perhaps some things had been overlooked. Moving closer, he begins to see the extent of what he had previously glanced over: pale face, watery eyes, reddening nose, and fever spotted cheeks. All signs of someone not being well at all.

“I’m fine, Pogo” – Five attempts to dismiss but cuts off when Pogo levels him with a pointed gaze.

“It takes no extent of my imagination to know that you are not” and after a brief pause, he continues, “come child, you should be resting.”

“I haven’t finished my readings” – Five is cut off as Klaus snatches the book from his hands. Quickly placing the bookmark from where it was tucked in the front of the book to the very back.

“There, you’ve finished it” Klaus states proudly as he drops the book back on Five’s lap. His pleased smile is wiped from his face as Pogo fixes him with a stern look, but he doesn’t make any move to adjust the placement of the bookmark.

“Take your book with you then, if you feel you must” Pogo suggests. “You’d be much better suited to reading in bed, I should think.”

Five sighs as his picks his book up from his lap but makes no further attempt to move.

“Come, Number Five. Your father is studying in his office. If he finds disagreement with this decision, he has me to answer to” Pogo seems to read Five’s mind.

The siblings murmur various farewells as Five stands slowly, letting Pogo lead him out of the room. He only manages a nod toward his siblings as he passes through the group. His body already giving into exhaustion now that he doesn’t have to keep pushing through.

[shou-aizawa]

drained [dadzawa]

pairings: shouta aizawa & reader

warnings: sleep deprivation

summary: reader has a hard time sleeping and suffers the consequences. dadzawa helps out a lil’.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: alrighty, first post! funnily enough i had a completely different idea for a one shot but my own horrible sleeping habits and exhaustion led to me writing this instead. i’m sure it could be better, after all i wrote it on like.... no sleep, BUT im just happy i got anything written at all!

Y/N could barely keep her eyes open, the need to sleep tugging at her mind persistently and slowing her down. Her movements were heavier, less coordinated; feet dragging along the floor as she walked, nearly dropping her pencil nearly thirteen times in just one lesson. Not to mention her head was aching with no end in sight, a constant thumping at her temples.

It was simple. She was tired. Exhausted. Dead on her feet.

But it wasn’t like she’d stayed awake all night on purpose, god no. She’d laid in bed the night before for hours, tossing and turning, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position no matter how she positioned herself. 

By the time five a.m came around, she’d given up trying to fall asleep and chose to get up instead, she had an alarm set for five thirty anyway so what was the harm in getting an even earlier start than usual? It wasn’t the first time she’d done it either, her sleep schedule had been in shambles recently, so it was hard to stick to any solid routine.

She went on a morning jog, breathing in the fresh, morning air and feeling just that little bit more awake. When she got back to the dorms and showered, then fixed herself some breakfast, she was feeling almost normal, as if she’d slept through the night like she was supposed to.

Y/N was foolish enough to let herself be lured into this false sense of security; maybe she would actually make it through the day without much issue, then she could cuddle up in her bed that night and catch up on the sleep she’d missed out on.

Oh how foolish she was.

She lasted maybe three hours into the school day before her lack of sleep began to catch up with her, and her focus crashed. Concentrating on what Present Mic was trying to teach felt gradually more and more impossible. Taking notes? Forget it. Her handwriting was sloppy and the pen just wouldn’t stop slipping out of her fingers.

It was infuriating. Y/N didn’t even realise tears of frustration were pooling in her eyes until one of them dripped down onto her notebook. She gasped quietly in surprise, quickly dropping her pen - on purpose this time - and wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

Once she was sure her eyes were dry, she risked a look around the room. At first glance it seemed as though no one had noticed, but when she looked again, paying more attention this time around, she caught the worried glances some of her friends were throwing her way.

She caught Uraraka’s eye, noticing the worried frown on the girl’s face, and quickly sent a small, hopefully reassuring smile her way. Uraraka didn’t seem exactly convinced… or did she? Honestly Y/N was struggling to decipher the expression on her friend’s face, and decided to just turn back to Present Mic’s lecture, picking her pen back up with a shaking hand.

She could do this. All she had to do was get through the rest of this class, lunch, training, homework, then she could finally sleep. It’d be fine. Definitely.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl from that point on. What Y/N could’ve sworn was an hour, turned out to just be ten, agonising minutes. When the class was finally dismissed for lunch, she packed her notebooks away, only to have one slip from her grasp and fall to the floor with a dull thump, some of the pages crumpling in the process.

She cursed under her breath, reaching down to pick it up, only for it to be lifted by someone else. Could she not do anything by herself?! She glanced up with a frown and was met with the concerned looks of her friends. It was now that she noticed the classroom was practically empty save for her and her friends, and a couple other stragglers. When did time suddenly decide to go faster? It didn’t seem exactly fair.

“Here you go!” Midoriya said quickly, attempting to straighten some of the notebook pages out before handing it back to Y/N. She blinked, then took it carefully, making sure to keep a tight grip on it as she slotted it into her backpack between her other books.

“Thanks,” she said, surprised at how quiet her voice was, but deciding not to dwell on it and instead zipping her backpack up and slinging it over her shoulder before standing up. “I should be more careful, I guess,” she added with a shrug, forcing a chuckle that apparently did nothing to ease her friends’ worry.

“Are you alright, Y/L/N?” Iida spoke up, tilting his head slightly with the question, his brow furrowed with concern more than anything. She couldn’t look that bad, right?

It took her a second to think of a reply. “Me? I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be?” She said, a nervous laugh following the answer. “You know what I am as well as fine? Hungry. That’s what. Let’s go to lunch already!” She announced, forcing what she hoped was some sort of brightness into her tone, then making her way towards the classroom door.

“I saw you, uhm, crying.. In class earlier,” Uraraka said as she and the other two followed. “Just got a little worried, that’s all,” she smiled slightly, and Y/N felt a pang of guilt for making her friends worry.

“Oh- yeah, that. I just got a bit of dust in my eye, I think,” she said over her shoulder as she walked down the hallway. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” she added, smiling apologetically.

Once again, her friends didn’t seem convinced and Y/N had to wonder if she was really such a bad liar. Not like it mattered. She would be fine by tomorrow, she just had to get through today! She was sure that if she just got some food in her, she would get just enough energy to actually make it through.

Oh boy, was she wrong.

Lunch had gone fine, Y/N had managed to choke some food down and even join in the conversation at her table. She still got the odd worried glance, but she hardly even noticed. For just a little while, she felt better, less… well, dead.

And then training started.

It wasn’t anything that she would usually have a problem with; just some sparring with her classmates. But the problem was she just couldn’t keep up. Her blocks were sloppy, her punches weak, and all the while, a strong headache thrummed in her temples, making her feel as though at any moment she would just lose her lunch.

Not wanting to back out, however, she kept going with training, trying to push herself to be quicker and make herself look less pathetic than she currently did. Her headache seemed dead set on stopping her though, getting stronger with each passing minute.

She was paired up with Kaminari when it all just got too much. In all honesty, the blond kicked her ass. Y/N just lacked the strength to keep herself upright, nevermind raising her arms to attempt any kind of defense, she still tried, she couldn’t just give up so easily.

She’d just smacked one of Kaminari’s punches away, and was taking a second to catch her breath, when his fist came flying back, landing right on her cheek. The impact shook her and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and landing on the mat heavily. The pain in her head seemed to double- no, triple, and when she tried to move, to get up, her body barely responded.

“What’d you do, Kaminari?!”

“What do you mean ‘what did I do!?’ I just did what-”

Some part of Y/N knew that she should open her eyes, try to reassure everyone that she was fine, but the rest of her was just relieved to be lying down, to finally be getting some rest. The last thing she remembered was someone calling her name, and a hand on her shoulder, then she slipped into unconsciousness, getting the rest she desperately needed.

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was a stark white ceiling. She felt a lot more comfortable than she last remembered being, and glancing down at herself she realised she was tucked into one of the beds in Recovery Girl’s office. She was mostly confused, wondering how she’d gotten there and, more importantly, what had happened.

Someone cleared their throat next to her and Y/N immediately sat up and glanced over, eyes wide in surprise. She let herself relax just a little when she saw it was just Mr Aizawa. Emphasis on ‘a little’.

“Mr Aizawa, sir!” She said, coughing a little afterwards, her throat felt way too dry. Her teacher held out a bottle of water, and she took it after a moment’s hesitation, uncapping it and taking a couple small sips. “I- what happened?”

“Sleep deprivation,” the man said simply, and Y/N had a feeling he was familiar with the symptoms himself. “You pushed yourself too hard on too little sleep, and ended up getting knocked unconscious by Kaminari.” He paused. “You gave him a bit of a scare, he thought he’d killed you with that punch.”

The fuzzy memories Y/N had became a little clearer, and she lowered her gaze, fidgeting with the blanket.. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would get so out of hand.”

Aizawa gave her a questioning look, and after a moment she continued.

“I’ve just- haven’t been able to sleep too well recently,” she mumbled. “Waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to get back to sleep, that kind of stuff. I had a bad night where I just didn’t get to sleep at all and- I thought I could just take a nap after school or something, I felt fine for a while, so I didn’t think it’d be so bad.”

“You can’t push yourself like that, Y/L/N.” Aizawa said, his voice seeming to take on a more gentle tone. “Getting enough sleep is important, it should be a priority. So if you’re struggling to sleep, talk to someone about it; me, Recovery Girl, any of the teachers, really. We’re here to help you after all. Got it?”

Y/N nodded after a moment, taking a deep breath. “Got it. Thank you, Mr Aizawa.”

He nodded too, reaching out and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze before standing up. “Recovery Girl’s going to keep you on bed rest for a while, just until you can get that sleep cycle of yours back in order. I’ll have one of your friends bring you notes from the classes you missed today so that you can catch up whilst you’re here.”

Y/N frowned, processing that. “Wait- What do you mean- how long was I out for?”

“Just under twenty-four hours, give or take.”

She groaned, mostly out of annoyance at the fact that she now had to play catch up. Aizawa chuckled slightly.

“Don’t stress yourself out, Y/L/N,” he said. “You’ll get back up to speed no problem. For now, just focus on resting, alright?”

Y/N nodded, then watched Aizawa leave. Once alone, she couldn’t resist wrapping herself up in the cozy blankets and letting her eyes slip shut again, drifting off to sleep in a much more peaceful manner this time around.

[seyaryminamoto]

Been thinking for a while that I’d like to do a light behind-the-scenes glimpse into one of the themes in the newest Gladiator story arc. While it’s not the very core element of the arc, the source of Azula’s current struggle in the story came from... an unexpected place.

Unexpected as in, it came from LOK.

Okay, in all fairness, it’s not quiiiiiiiite something that came from LOK itself, but it’s a take on an idea I had while pondering the various reasons why Asami’s character wouldn’t really take off for me in the show. Well, beyond the obvious reasons why it wouldn’t *cough* Book 2 *cough*... 

I’ve always said I’m more than a little confused by how a character like Asami, with just 20-something years of age at the time of LOK Book 4, has enough talent and know-how to not only be a top-of-the-line engineer (which, yes, is believable enough on its own), but to also be a CEO in her own company (I gueeeess since the company falls into her hands and she mismanages it plenty in Book 2, it’s not that impossible to feature this in conjunction with the first thing?), a clothing designer, an architect AND a urbanist, capable of driving every machine known to man, an outstanding hand-to-hand fighter...!

... If you really think about it in cold blood, it feels like a little too much.

BUT. Instead of boringly accusing Asami of being a Mary Sue (which I’m sure some people might) for having a thousand talents that we don’t really see her work for, that she just developed offscreen, I thought the show would have benefited greatly from actually focusing on how Asami is handling the constant, desperate need of so many authorities in Republic City to have HER resolving all their problems.

Therefore, instead of a Reunion episode with a conflict focused on rescuing a kidnapped Wu (whom I profoundly dislike as a character, not for his role, but his personality is simply barf-worthy for me and the amount of focus Book 4 gave him was, as a lot of things, detrimental to the show as a whole, in my opinion), I thought LOK’s Book 4 could have instead featured a Reunion episode focused on Asami... which, of course, would also be a nice way to fix some of the lackluster onscreen development of Korrasami. So... let’s go onwards with my episode pitch:

Picture that Korra is about to reunite with Mako and Asami for the first time in all those years, same as in canon. Asami arrives! Yay, Korra is happy, Asami compliments her hair, just like in canon... aaaand then Asami says she can’t really stay, she just dropped by quickly because this REALLY matters to her, but there’s this pressing issue going on at the company and she has to deal with it RIGHT NOW, because no one else can. So, woops.

Korra is completely disappointed (and probably doesn’t even understand WHY she’s so disappointed, hinting at deeper feelings for Asami that Korra hasn’t even stopped to reason with yet), but she sees Asami off while pretending this doesn’t bug her (for Asami’s benefit), and ends up spending the evening with Mako but clearly she’s not enjoying it as much as she hoped to. Which could result in Mako being pretty surprised by whatever closeness and bond those two seem to have now, noticing that he seems to have fallen to second place in Korra’s eyes somehow.

So! Skipping ahead, perhaps to the next day, Korra tries to check on Asami again! :D Oh, but she’s got to work on the airbenders’ outfits, some have been having trouble with the aerodynamics of it, and it’s just not working as Asami intended, so more calculations are needed! She takes to studying on the subject frantically, has to figure out what formula she’s missing or messing up, and while Korra offers to help, she knows there’s not really anything she can do to give Asami a hand since this stuff is well out of Korra’s area of expertise.

Then, when Asami is finally finished, OH NO! An emergency in the train she inaugurated at the start of the season! Asami has to go deal with that too! And of course, Korra goes too, while wondering how TF does this damn city even run without Asami...

... And then realizing it actually doesn’t. There’s a president who basically dumps all the difficult issues on Asami because she has the know-how and the resources to deal with all the city’s problems, there’s an airbending master who requested for that same girl to help with the designs of his people’s combat outfits instead of dealing with it himself or finding someone else to help, there’s an entire vehicle company (ranging from cars to AIRPLANES) that depends on HER. And it’s just SO. MUCH. SHIT. For a girl who’s like... 20? 21? How old is Asami at this point? xD I don’t even remember. But the point I’m trying to get to...

Is that Asami should be overwhelmed. She hasn’t had anyone helping her, she deals with everything alone, and it doesn’t matter how hard she tries to work through this, there’s always one more problem, one more obstacle, one more bothersome thing she has to tackle, and nobody seems to stop and think that maybe she could use a break. That maybe she needs a nap because she hasn’t had one in 20 months. That maybe things in this damn city would be in a better place if people didn’t rely on her, and her alone, to resolve the bulk of their problems.

Korra, though, with her latest character growth (... that I’m not really fond of anyhow, but still...), has become a lot better at understanding people’s emotions. And her job as an Avatar is, amongst many things, to help people: someone she cares about deeply, her best friend future girlfriend, is currently going through so much crap and the truth is, Asami needs help. Whether Asami realizes it or not, she needs it. And so, whether it’s Korra’s job or not to help her, that’s all Korra wants to do right now. 

So Korra enlists Mako and then all three deal with whatever that train emergency might be! Asami probably rejects their help at first, out of force of habit of doing everything alone lately, until Korra tells her she doesn’t have to do that anymore. And then Asami’s mind is blown because yeah, maybe there’s a bunch of older people in charge who are happy to dump all responsibilities on her! But that doesn’t mean she has to accept it meekly and save all their asses time after time... and it also doesn’t mean she has to deal with everything alone.

After the train problem is resolved, Korra and Asami (maybe Mako too? But for Korrasami’s purposes, it can just be those two) get to have a small chat about what life has been like for Asami since Korra vanished. The conversation doesn’t merely focus on Hiroshi, which... *cringes* let’s not get into that. It focuses on Asami and the hardships she’s dealing with, seeing as the city is basically using her as a non-bender Avatar, in the sense of leaving all the problem-solving to Asami alone. Korra probably apologizes, Asami probably tells her not to feel guilty, because she has had it rough, and Asami understands that better than anyone, especially after what she’s been through lately.

It’s a cute, heartfelt moment, not necessarily romantic yet, but featuring a strong, meaningful bonding scene between these two! Asami wants to go back to work on some pending stuff, and Korra respects that, though she warns Asami not to overdo it. Asami promises she won’t... and the next time Korra checks on her, Asami is asleep on her desk or something like that. Korra smiles and puts a blanket on her shoulders, and when someone else arrives to say something REALLY BAD is going on, Korra shushes them and decides to deal with it herself (as long as she can), and, if she can’t, she’ll find someone else to do it in Asami’s stead so the girl can sleep safe and sound for the first time in ages.

Episode pitch over! :’D

*siiiiiiiiiigh* alright, so yeah, this was something I originally thought of as a replacement episode, to further explore and establish a bond between Korra and Asami that wouldn’t really resolve all of the rushed-Korrasami problems... but it would make it so much clearer that those two share a different bond, and a very special understanding of each other, that the other two Krew members simply don’t have with either of them. It’d deepen their relationship, but the most important element about this for me was that it’d be an Asami-focused episode and plotline. However brief it would have been, my idea was to feature Asami facing her own problems, not problems based on her relationship with other people (be it family or romance). It was also a way to show that she’s not indestructible or just the go-to problem solver with neverending resources and talents that the plot can exploit at leisure whenever it feels like it. And, most importantly, that Asami can’t and SHOULDN’T be the answer to every problem in Republic City, especially when she’s only delivering those answers off-screen, offering the viewers next to no chance to see her in action, kicking ass at all the things she apparently has insane expertise on.

As far as I know, the two LOK comic trilogies haven’t really done much for Asami either. I haven’t read them so I could be wrong, but from what I can gather from comments of people who have read them and the books’ summaries, she’s still Korra’s girlfriend first and foremost, gets kidnapped so she can be used as a hostage to manipulate Korra, and then gets brainwashed into fighting against Korra...? If this is truly how it is, again, Asami just gets reduced to a satellite character, in the sense that she just revolves around other people as though that’s all there is to her character, canon-wise. Which... makes me sad. She had potential, plenty of potential worth exploring, if only the show’s writing had been more paused and allowed their characters to breathe and grow organically, as a consequence of their own actions and decisions rather than by being forced into hellish situations persistently until they broke out of desperation.

So... LOK really had the chance to explore a much more human side of Asami that they’ve neglected to acknowledge so far (from what I know), a chance to deepen her character by displaying that no one of such young age should have so many difficult responsibilities dumped on her shoulders... which, again, could be expanded into a metaphor for the Avatar’s role, showing both Korra and Asami as two highly capable women who could achieve great things... but who need a chance to be normal too, once in a while. From the looks of it, neither of them have had that chance in canon (yes, Korra was stuck in a compound all her life but Asami must have been stuck in constant lessons at every discipline she has mastered? If she can deal with all those jobs of hers as flawlessly as she has, I don’t think she had much of a life before LOK started), and it would have been really nice of the deeper, darker show LOK wanted to be to acknowledge that a bunch of grown-ups, who had relatively smooth lives in their youth, dumping so much heavy work on a pair of girls who are just becoming young adults and barely had childhoods of their own, is just damn nasty :’D just as it was nasty in a show featuring a much younger cast... *innocent whistling*

Alas, this was just one idea that won’t ever go anywhere in canon, as is obvious. I’m sure I mentioned it at least once before, not as thoroughly as I did just now, but this is more or less what I had in mind. If you dump a thousand things on a character, it would only be fair to let them suffer for it, to a fault. Maybe don’t feature them whining because they have soooo much work to do... but turn them into workaholics! Show that they’re struggling to make everything pay off, that this kind of burden isn’t child’s play because in real life, it simply wouldn’t be.

But, as there’s next to no chance Asami will ever get this sort of development, I merely stashed this idea on my back burner, in case it might come in handy in the future... 

... And then I returned to it once Gladiator’s Enforcers became a solid reality. Azula has been dealing with challenges that are rather different from those Asami dealt with... but ultimately, the responsibilities both girls have taken up, Asami in canon and Azula in my story, were just insanely big. Azula, in Gladiator, has had very little time to spare for “secondary” pursuits since the previous arc, and in the current one that has become a problem because she simply CAN’T stop working. She goes home and instead of going to bed, keeps on working. She’s constantly on edge, assuming that any time not spent working is wasted time, time she should take advantage of to further improve her projects and endeavors... to the point where people are starting to notice she’s slightly overwhelmed, extremely stressed out, and needs to calm down :’D

I really had wanted to explore these themes in overachieving characters, who take up far too many responsibilities, more than are reasonable. While I’ll always consider it a really big waste of potential that LOK never gave Asami this particular dimension, despite her character 100% warranted it, at least I had the chance to explore this with Azula instead, and I’m honestly really pleased with the result, because it suits her really well too. The outcome won’t be at all like what I just outlined for the LOK episode that never was, and the current story arc will take a vastly different direction... which is why I thought it would be fun to explain where this particular, new dimension of Azula’s character had come from.

Aaaanyways... the bottomline is, Return to Shu Jing is here. And I reeeeeally love this arc. I hope that those of you reading and staying up to date with the story will love it too!

[fsketchart]

A Second Chance - Chapter 3

I'm so sorry for the wait but here's a summary of the sections.

[Advertisement Voice]

WELCOME! Over here to the left we have a heartfelt battle between Evillustrator and a group of rebels. Will Marc's feelings for Nathaniel get in the way, or will he get the job done?

On the right here, we have the latest new Batman vs Superman argument that just came in. It's a limited addition and includes a bonus Wonder Women add on to the set.

Now, we just recently added a new product onto the shelves, including a misunderstanding, panic, and an argument that is an partner set to the previous.

Let's see if first impressions really do stick.

Au Created by @ozmav​

NOTES : 

Thank you so much for the lovely feedback, I truly do appreciate all of the love and support this fic has gotten so far, it absolutely blows my mind that I've gotten so much feedback from this. This chapter in particular is almost 3000 words, sorry if it's a bit long. It was definitely longer than I was intending it to be, but I think it turned out for the best. Also, apologies if there are any errors in here. I'll be going back in later to double check and proofread it. If you catch any errors grammatically, feel free to let me know!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please...Nathaniel don’t do this.  I know you have to be in there!” Marc cried, hands trembling as his knees felt numb.

“That’s Evillustrator to you.  What we had was nice Marc, but if you truly cared you would want me to be happy.  I finally feel at peace, I can draw to my hearts content and every piece become a reality.  If you truly cared, you wouldn’t be trying to stop me right now,” Evillustrator said.

“I know you, Nathaniel, better than I know myself.  I know that you’ll regret what you’ve done, please come with us and give me your pen.  Then, after ladybug gets here, the damage you’ve caused can be reversed, and we can go back to-”

“Go back to what?  When you and your class gets to be happy while I sit in silence in my class?  While I get harassed and bullied, constantly put in your shadow while you’re basking in attention?  The spotlight will soak you up.  Every creation I make is made with so much passion and time, yet nothing ever competes with yours.  Every word I say means nothing in comparison to people like Marinette!  Lila and Hawkmoth have helped me realize this, and you will pay for what you’ve done,” Evillustrator yelled, grabbing his pen and quickly drawing roughly on his board.

His sketching was rushed and rough, as he quickly drew harsh lines, forming many, many stick figures.  Each stick figure slowly stood up , and soon there was an army, each one immediately charging.

Max quickly slammed his laptop shut and moved it aside on the ground, abandoning his bag.  

Aurore on the other hand, immediately started fighting back, her umbrella dueling as both a shield and a sword.  Marc quickly wore off the shock and started grabbing his keys in his hand and began slashing wildly at the stick figures, but to no avail.  Max, however had a different approach.

“Look, at his tablet.  It’s flashing red, it must be running out of battery so he’s drawing messier and faster,” Max said, pointing to Evillustrator.

“Why is that?  He didn’t have that issue before!” Aurore yelled, as she extended her umbrella to block the overhead stick figures, jumping down upon her.

“Hawkmoth must be running out of energy.  If the tablet is shutting down, then I’m guessing he’s too busy to save the stick figures.  We need to make him use all the rest of the battery without saving the stick figure drawing.  If the tablet shuts down, then hopefully the drawings won’t be saved, and they’ll disappear!” Marc yelled, as he attacked the stick figure jumping behind from Max.

Aurore exchanged a look between the two boys before yelling, “Guys!  It’s okay!  I can handle myself over here!”

Evillustrator immediately began to draw more complicated figures.  Gotcha right where I want you!  If I can just get a few more drawings out, they’ll be right where I want them!  Evillustrator schemed.

Aurore however, quickly dodged all their attacks, and began to run wildly while using her umbrella as a shield in front of her, pushing all the other stick figures in front of her out of the way as she charged on through.

Evillustrator began to get more and more frustrated, as he drew more and more.  Eventually, Marc and Max joined in, causing distractions from all over the place.  As time went on, Evillustrator began to get more and more furious, until one point, he was fed up.  He quickly drew out a sword and soon it formed at the feet of one of his stick figures, as it charged for Aurore.  That’ll teach her, no more Mr.Nice GuyTM.  He thought grimly.

Marc, however, was horrified and immediately ran to Aurore.  Marc began to profusely fight the figure but as time went on, his footing got lazier until eventually Marc was knocked on the ground as Aurore was holding off more stick figures.

The stick figure wasted no time in charging forth, extending their sword and raising it above their head.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened as he tried to scream, yet his voice was silenced.  He began trying to erase the stick figures, but lost track of which stick figure was which and who had the sword.

I’m so sorry I failed you, Nathaniel.  Please forgive me.  Marc said, giving up and welcoming death’s embrace.  He closed his eyes and waited.

Yet it never came.

All at once, all of the stick figures began to glitch out and became distorted, and right before the faceless stick figure’s sword came down, a mere inch away from Marc’s eyes, it too froze.  Soon afterwards, each stick figure disappeared, and so did the sword.

Using Evillustrator’s frozen shock to his advantage, Max leaped up and snatched the pen away from him, and Aurore slammed it into two.  Immediately, Evillustrator’s costume dropped as he de-transformed.  Nathaniel stood there, horrified as he took in the site around him, as saw the smashed pen and dead drawing tablet beside him.  He eyes watered as he began to quietly sob, his nose becoming stuffy and his face becoming red.  His shoulders and hands shook as Marc slowly stepped towards him.

“I-I’m so sorry...I’ve d-done horrible horrible things.  I sw-swear I never meant any of it,” he said, as he hiccuped and sniffled.  He then let out a pained sob as Marc immediately embraced him, resting Nathaniel’s head on his shoulder.  Aurore strangled the butterfly in her hands as Max grabbed his previously empty computer case as they shoved it inside.  Aurore and Max began to laugh and cry out of relief as they collapsed in relief on the ground.

“It’s alright, Nathaniel.  I know that wasn’t you just there, and you’re okay now, you’re safe.  I promise you that,” Marc said, brushing away his tears.

“But I let Hawkmoth take advantage of me!  I let him take control!  The things I’ve done are unforgivable-”

“You were manipulated, taken advantage of, and used.  But dwelling on it won’t fix it.  What will help fix is taking Hawkmoth and Mayura down, along with the other villains that are coming to Paris.  Please, Nathaniel we need you.  I need you,” Marc spoke softly.  For a moment, there was silence until...

“I’ll join you,” Nathaniel spoke at last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(⌐■_■)~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-we are living in constant fear, and the heroes have been fighting non-stop since the war began.  Please, we are begging you!.......send help.”

Bruce paused before sighing.  “Was that all of them?” he asked, trying to analyze and break down the information.

“Sure is.  As I said, these claims are getting barbaric.  Anyone can hire an animation studio and editor to make these silly edits, but there hasn’t been any documentation of actual property damage, and look at the Eiffel tower!  It’s being destroyed in every one of these and yet it’s ‘magically’ rebuilt in the next video.  Not to mention, some girl on a teenager’s blog is trying to present herself as a Mary Sue, she’s delusional and stuck in a fantasy to claim that she’s best friends with a superheroes and celebrities.  This has got to be some online joke or trend-”

“But where would these teenagers get the budgets from?  What about the news articles written by adults?” Bruce challenged.

“You can’t seriously think these could be real.  Ladybug and Chat Noir?  Really?  No one’s super powers could reverse the broken arms of people, the ill and the sick, and repair city damage in one fell swoop.  Or better yet, destroy the Eiffel tower with one touch.  It’s CGI, probably funded by those adults too,” Clark countered.

“What about super strength, flight, speed, laser vision?” Bruce argued.

“Supposedly all you have to do to beat these villains is break the options, like a photograph.  So threatening, just terrifying right?” Clark challenged.

“Your weakness if a rock.  A rock.  Is it so far fetched that these could maybe be real?  The Miraculous, Ladybug, Chat Noir, they could easily be real or fake.  We need to do more investigation than this,” Bruce concluded.

“Did someone say the miraculous?” Diana said, freezing in her spot by the doorway.

“Oh wow, looks someone uses the door like a normal person...COUGH COUGH BRUCE COUGH COUGH…”

Diana gave him a stern glare.

“We were just going over video feeds of the current condition of Paris.  Villains like the Joker, Harley Quinn, and Ivy have all been spotted in Paris,” Bruce said, tuning out Clark.

“No, before that you said there was a black cat and ladybug Miraculous?” Diana said, with wide eyes.

“Yes, there were supposedly reports of two...young adults I think?  They were dressed up as vigilantes and were supposedly fighting crime, why do you ask?  Have you heard of them?” Bruce asked.

“Heard of them?  Why my mother grew up telling me stories about her days as the super heroine Ladybug!  Her tales were my bedtime stories for years!” she retold, with a fond look in her eyes.

“Your mother?  That girl looked nothing like Hippolyta, are you sure you’re not mixing it up with something else?” Bruce asked.

“I’m quite sure, after all my mother gave up being Ladybug a long time ago.  The Ladybug Miraculous doesn’t just have a sworn duty to one place, but to the rest of the world.  My mother couldn’t travel to the rest of the world while looking after the amazons, and thus entrusted the miraculous to one of the Guardians,” she spoke.

“Who was is this Guardian?  The Black Cat guy?” Clark questioned.

“Oh heavens no, the Guardians were much much older than that boy is.  These superheroes are powered by an object called the Miraculous, granting each user immense power.  The Guardians are meant to protect these Miraculous, but after the incident at one of the temples...only one of them is still left...but anyways, the Ladybug and Chat Noir Miraculous are extremely powerful, the strongest Miraculous actually,” she explained, while walking over to the video files.

“What do these Miraculous do?” asked Bruce.

“And again, how does that explain the damage to the city?” Clark added.

“Each Miraculous has a different ability; time travel, teleportation, complete destruction, and creation, you name it.  Each Miraculous has a unique ability, that they can only use once.  The Ladybug Miraculous represents luck and has the ability to reverse any Miraculous caused damage.  Buildings, broken bones, illness, you name it.  The only thing the Miraculous of creation and luck can’t reverse is death, for death lies in the hands of the counter partner, the Black Cat,” Wonder Woman said, as she sped up the videos and glimpsed through them.

“The Black Cat represents death and misfortune, and with a simple touch of a hand, entire buildings can collapse and fade to nothing within a second.  If you’re unprotected with a Miraculous suit, the Black Cat’s abilities can kill you in less than a second, and Ladybug won’t be able to reverse that damage.  Each Miraculous, when new, can only use their abilities once in a battle, but as they grow more experienced, can get more abilities or quirks for each battle,” Wonder Woman finished.

“So the reason there is undocumented damage is due to the Ladybug woman?” Bruce finally asked, while side glancing at Clark.

“Precisely, meaning these claims may very well be legitimate.  However, there still isn’t much seen with Gotham’s villains, there are barely any sightings,” Diana added.

“Any lead is still good enough for me,” Bruce said, already getting ready to leave for Paris, and booking an appointment on his phone.  However, he stopped when he looked down to see his phone exploding with phone calls and texts from Alfred.  This of course sent Bruce into a panic, Alfred knew he was going to be out in the suit, and to not call unless there were emergencies.

Quickly, Bruce dialed Alfred back while rushing out the window door.  Immediately, Alfred picked up.

“We are going to have a visitor.  I will be preparing the guest bedroom.  Please arrive immediately, it has to do with the condition of Paris.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~(⌐■_■)~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ll be right, Marinette.  I must go and prepare your room.  Would you like me to prepare you some tea?” Alfred asked, while grabbing her backpack.  He beckoned to the Miracle Box, but Marinette shook her head.  She shook her head, taking the box and placing it in her lap.

“I’ll be alright, you’ve done so much for me already.  I will never be able to repay you for your kindness,” she responded.  Alfred nodded.  As he was about to leave, he got a phone call from Master Bruce.

“Wait right here, I’ll be back soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~(⌐■_■)~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each day was worse than the last.  There were no known leads about the Joker’s whereabouts, and Damian was getting impatient and pent up.  With nowhere else to put his energy, he took Titus out for a run.

Damian knew the Joker was planning something, and it was driving him nuts.  As they strolled around the city, Titus could tell his heart just wasn’t in it and abruptly pulled on his shirt, nearly causing him to fall over.

“What is it, Titus?” Damian asked, before taking notice of the sky.  His father would surely be home by now.  He sighed before changing course, and making his way back home.

When he reached the doorstep, he realized the light was on in the spare bedroom. Strange.  He thought.  Father rarely allows guests over, and always gives them a heads up to be more cautious.

He shrugged as he made his way over to the door.  Suddenly, Titus made a run for it inside and bolted inside towards the living room.

Damian stood up alarmed, ready to attack and dashed around the corner towards the living room.

On the couch, sat a small girl clutching a box.  Her hair was a dreadful mess, and her clothes looked tattered and worn out.  She fidgeting on the couch as she looked around and glanced out the window.

Titus ran over and started barking and trying to grab at and bite the strange box.  He could sense something was strange about the girl, something he wasn’t familiar with and it sent him into a frizzy.  It sent the short girl into a frenzy and she instantly grabbed at the box and made a dash for it.  She leaped over the couch and knocked over the lamp next to it.  She looked panicked but was quickly stopped before she reached the door.

She collided with Damian and fell onto the ground with Titus catching up and barking in her ears as she lie on the ground, shaking in fear.  Her eyes were teary and unfocused, almost lost in the moment.  The Miracle Box shook, and the sounds of jewels and valuables sliding around were heard from inside the box. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted to break into the Wayne Manor to steal its valuables, and Damian was sure it wouldn’t be the last.  Titus’s ears were flattened, his tail between his legs, as his eyes were filled with fear and concern.  Damian’s heart clenched at the sight of Titus looking so scared, before his look hardened into a cold glare at the stranger.

“WHO ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?” Damian demanded, already posed to attack.  When she didn’t respond, he tried to grab the box while Titus was still barking in her ear, fearful of the stranger.

She froze for only a moment before slamming her elbow into his chin and quickly sidestepping him.  Damian charged, startling her enough to drop the box, hearing her call out :

“TIKKI SP-”

Alfred burst into the room stunning the both of them and separated the two immediately.  Damian was about to lunge before Alfred grabbed him from behind and forcefully pulled him off, and then swiftly grabbed the box and placed it into Marinette’s hands.  He grabbed Damian by the shirt and tugged on Titus’s leash, dragging them both outside of the room.

Tag List :

@kceedraws @resignedcatservant @shamefulllove @emotionalsupportginger @ellerahs @littleredrobinhoodlum @graduatedmelon @mooshoon @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mystery-5-5 @kuroko26 

@tazanna-blythe @friedchickening @crazylittlemunchkin @princertain @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @thornangelic727

@constancetruggle < I am so sorry but it’s not letting me tag you, if you see this, am I getting your @ wrong?

Let me know if I missed anyone and let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list, and which tag list you wanna be added on.  (If you want ALL Maribat content, or just this fic updates.)

[mandochlorian]

white flag (kylo ren x reader)

part I part II part III

summary: sneaking out of the resistance base on Ajan Kloss isn’t the safest idea. but you have to reach out to Ben just once more, in case you never see him again.

song inspiration

general masterlist

star wars masterlist

“Get away from me!” You shout, your eyes are wide with fear. It’s so dark that you’re barely able to see the thing in front of you. It’s relentless in its torment, speaking to you in your own voice and racing around the hallway on the Death Star. You swing at it, making sure to hold the Wayfinder tightly in your hand.

“Don’t fight it,” you see the glow of the creature's teeth against you saber and it's only now that you see your weapon has changed colour. It’s once vibrant blue is now red, glowing and hissing like Kylo’s does. “I know you feel it.” It steps towards you, and you can’t help but move your weapon away from her.

“Stop it,” you mutter, watching with curiosity as this dark version of yourself approaches you.

“You could be so powerful together.” It’s almost like looking into a mirror, but your eyes are red and your cheeks are hollow. The thing in front of you... it is isn’t you, yet somehow you feel connected to it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grit your teeth, wishing this hallucination would cease confusing you.

“You,” she continues, you let her circle you as she speaks, “And the Supreme Leader together would harbour power beyond limitations.”

“No.” You shake your head, looking down at your lightsaber, watching sparks fly from it and fizzle away onto the wet ground, “I... I have hope for him.”

“Unfounded hope!” She exclaims, giving you a look of pity, “Poor child, you know the only way to be with him... is to join him.” Reaching her hand out, she waits for you to take it. “The only way you can be together... is to share a throne.” Something compels you to reach your hand out, slowly but surely. Your hand trembles on its way to meet hers, and she lets out a small laugh at her victory. You’re doing it... you’re embracing your dark side. It doesn’t feel completely right but... in this moment of weakness, t’s happening.

Before your hand's can touch, her bony fingers grip yours roughly and she pulls you forward with such force, you’re suddenly brought out of your vision. You flinch away, pulling your hand back roughly from the creature but you stop when you see Rey standing in front of you. Her eyes are confused and worried, and she examines your face whilst her lips move. “Y/N!” Her voice comes into focus, holding your hand gently, “It’s Ren. He’s here.”

You look to your other hand, you see the Wayfinder is gone. “N-No, I-”

“I’m impressed.” The deep voice sends shivers down your spine. You can see the dim glow of the Wayfinder at the entrance of the hallway. He has it. How the hell did he take it from you? “You two make quite a team.” He tilts his head at you, watching you through the dark as you march up to him, stepping into the light, unafraid.

You walk directly to him, hand gripping your lightsaber as you stare him down. “Give it.” Rey sneers, eyes glued to the man before you.

Feeling her untamed rage flow through her words, Kylo lets out a shaky breath. You take a step toward him, “Give it to me.” You order, watching as his eyes snap to you, “You’re outnumbered here, Ren.”

Ren. He’s never heard you call him that before. It sounds wrong. Too formal. Hurtful. He brushes it aside as best as he can. “Yet, I hold the power,” he replies, lifting the object up and toying with it, “The only way you’re getting to Exegol is with me.”

He begins to crush it in his fist, but quick enough your lightsaber is at his throat. “No! Drop it... Now!” You exclaim, closer to him than you’d like to be. Your knuckles whiten and your breathing is heavy, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“You won’t do it,” he whispers, leaning forward and you instinctively pull your lightsaber back so as not to hurt him. You whimper. It reminds you of your vision, but this time it's real. You’re weak. “See?” Kylo whispers, leaning even closer to you, so as to torment you.

Bringing your lightsaber higher, you hold back the tear properly this time, face going emotionless and stoic. He stands up straight. “Do as I say. Or I’ll have no choice but to kill you.” You promise him, clenching your fist around your weapon and taking a gulp.

Kylo casually takes one look at the Wayfinder, pulling his arm back in the air. “No,” you gasp, watching as he throws it down into the depths below. “No!”

You watch it fall from the ledge and sink into the water below, letting out a hateful groan. Your first instinct is to follow it, jumping down after it much to the surprise of Kylo, who is left to fend of Rey and her ignited weapon. The water is freezing and rough, and you struggle to find the object. It’s so dark under the wreck, you’re not sure which way is up anymore. You can hear your heart beating fast. It’s all happening so quickly.

I can feel you struggle. You stop frantically searching, pausing under the water for a moment.

Ben?

Focus, Y/N. You need to focus.

I can’t... All you can think of is the vision, cowering from Kylo, and seeing your blue saber at his throat. Blue. When it was once red. It’s in your head... right? I’m weak. Rushing to the surface of the water, you take a deep breath as you reach it. I’m going to die here... I’m going to die here all alone and everything... everything would have been for nothing.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You’ve never been alone, Y/N.

Sucking in a breath, you close your eyes. One last shot. Your hands are stretched out and you dive under the water, and when you open them again it feels as though everything is clear. The light from the Wayfinder glows amongst the dark water. Reaching for it, you kick your legs as hard as you can, feeling your fingertips graze the object. Even your chest is struggling to comprehend the sudden lack of air as you touch the object once more, just missing it. Angrily, you kick one last time and finally, your hand wraps around the object. It feels like pure instinct getting back to the surface, and when you do, your throat aches with the force of air you heave into your lungs.

The current is unrelenting, and the waves push you against a wall, almost pining you there. At this point, your arms and legs are aching. All you can hear is the constant crashing of water against your body and you try not to let the exhaustion overcome you when you suck in a deep breath. Kicking off the wall, you shoot yourself into open waters. Anything’s better than drowning in the Death Star wreck. As soon as you appear from outside of the wreck, you feel a pair of strong hands on your waist. It takes you everything to not let your body relax against Kylo, but you accept it as he heads for the platform above the water.

But it isn’t much better, you feel yourself being pulled back into the currents orbit. “Hold on!” you can barely hear him shout to you, though his lips are beside your ear. You hold him, your eyes fluttering shut over and over again as you try to fight off the exhaustion. Your back smacks against the wet metal as the water drifts back into its natural pattern. Coughing, you turn on your side to expel the water you had swallowed while trying to stay alive. The Wayfinder is still in your hand. That’s what matters most. Looking up, you see the red spark of Kylo’s lightsaber firing up and you can help but inch away from him until you realise his eyes are focused behind you.

“I won’t let you take her!” Rey shouts, her weapon pointed at Kylo’s as he stands and faces her. You steady your breathing, both hands placed on the platform as another cough wracks your body, “You will not corrupt her!”

“She belongs at my side!” Kylo sneers back, his own lightsaber ready by his side as he stands over Rey, “It is her destiny, you know it to be true.”

“No!” Rey shouts, striking her weapon against Kylo’s.

Something drains you extra fast as you stand up, Kylo glancing over at you as Rey stumbles to her knees. You barely make sense of the scene, feeling a loss in the centre of your chest. eyes are fixed onto Kylo’s, your thoughts drift to Leia. Kylo must feel the same thing. His face loses all expression, his hand going limp and his lightsaber falling as his head hangs low.

And suddenly... so suddenly, you see red light penetrate Kylo’s stomach. You blink. You’re seeing wrong. You have to be seeing wrong, this can’t be real. But then you feel it, and the pain has you doubled over in a groan as you clutch your chest. The ache you felt expands and you look up to see Kylo stumbling back, trying to catch his fall as his back leans against the metal.

“No,” you gasp, stumbling to your feet and rushing to him, “No! What have you done?” You mumble to Rey, your voice quiet and your vision blurry as you stare at the weak man in front of you.

“I... I-” Rey stutters, dropping Kylo Ren’s lightsaber by her feet, “Leia.” Her mind is on the General, the loss of her presence, and Rey rushes to Finn and Jannah who watch from a different platform.

“Ben...” you cry, unable to tear your eyes from his wound, “No, no, no,” you shake your head, placing one hand on his cheek, “Please, please...” you’re not sure who you’re talking to or what exactly you’re begging for.

He whimpers, unable to stop gasping to speak to you. Ben’s eyes are wide as he watches you, his lips parted and twitching slightly as he tries to talk, “G-go,” is all he’s able to muster up. He doesn’t want you to see him. Not like this. He doesn’t want you to be there when his lifeless body is still, unable to pass gently into the force.

You don’t know what to say. Or do. You cry as you look into his exhausted eyes. So you just press your lips to his, for the first time in such a long time. And your tears fall onto his cheeks, rolling down his neck as your hand rests on his panting chest. You feel like you can’t breathe for a second, it feels as though you’re being drained of life. When you pull away, you can see a faint smile on his face. But as quickly as it was there, it fades.

You sob loudly, resting your forehead onto his chest as you cry out. Your screams are unintelligible, almost animalistic. Finn, who watches, doesn’t know what to do.

“We have to get out of here!” He grabs you by the arms, pulling you back as the waves around you build higher and higher. “We have to go, Y/N.” There’s nothing he can do. He holds you to his chest, watching Kylo go still, and he tries his best to pull you to the Falcon. “Please.”

“This wasn’t meant to happen!” You cry into Finn's chest, eyes squeezed shut as water from the waves splashes down on the back of your head, “I wanted... I wanted him t-to find peace. For once! Ben, Ben... I couldn’t help him. All I wanted to do was help him!” Your body wracks with sobs, and you cry so hard that sounds cease to come from your mouth. You whisper now, looking out into the stormy ocean as you’re pulled onto the Falcon, “I wish... I wish you lived in peace for longer.”

taglist: kinkywitchy ah-callie

[name-me-regret]

Till I Touch The Sky - 1/9

Till I Touch The Sky Chapter One: A Bit Of Fairy Dust

Summary: Peter is having weird dreams, and on top of that, May has a new boyfriend that Peter just does not like, and then adding on his ever increasing health problems... Well, Peter’s life seems pretty shitty right now.

Then he meets Tony Stark and he gets offered an internship, and things start looking better. However, he soon realizes that his dreams are more real than he could have imagined.

Chapter Summary: Peter starts having some weird dreams after a fall...

Read on AO3.

FANFICTION MASTER POST

Author’s Note: I wasn’t planning on posting this until it was finished, (because it’s taken over my life and I can’t work on anything till I finish this) but wanted to post it for Tom Holland’s birthday. Also, it’s the start of Pride Month! I want to work on finally finishing Saving Grace and get started on the sequel of Martin Child.

Here’s some art of Harley and Peter meeting in my He Makes Him Happy fanfiction, so check that out. I’m thinking of six chapters for this, and I hope I can stick to that this time. Hope y’all like this story. Leave me a comment and let me know.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 ”Free spirits, free spirits Can you hear me calling? Oh, it's all or nothing When you're free spirits, free spirits Can you hear it calling? 'Cause I don't wanna live no normal life, let go

 Is this Heaven or Armageddon? Are we gettin' high, we could've watched the ending We were trodding down our memories A cemetery full of bottles that are incomplete When you're loving more, caring less It's the highs and lows with no clears And we wanted it all then But we're never runnin' out, we'll be

 Free spirits, free spirits...“

~Free Spirit - Khalid

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

April 02, 2015   Peter and May Parker were a small family unit, just two of them. It had been them against the world ever since Ben had died. However, he knew that May struggled to make ends meet, Peter wasn't stupid. In fact, Peter Parker was quite the genius. Although, that could be debated since he didn't see this coming, not even a little bit.   May Parker started dating.   He supposed he couldn't blame her, because everyone needed a companion and she was perhaps lonely. Also, ever since Ben had died, the burden of the bills and mortgage on the house had fallen on her. She’d been unable to make the payments, which is why they was now living at this apartment, since they’d lost Ben’s parents house.

So, he could understand that she needed help, and the worst part was that Christopher seemed like a real upstanding guy. He had a doctorate and after working for a big corporation was starting up his own medical tech company. He also knew how to cook and was able to get Peter's breathing machine for a cheaper price they could afford.   Peter hated having asthma the most, especially since it was hard on him when the elevator broke in their building and he was forced to walk up the stairs. That's what he was doing now, climbing up the stairs as he huffed and puffed, and by the time he made it to their floor, he'd ran out of breath.   The teenager leaned against the wall by the door for a few moments, feeling his face heat up as the twin brother and sister from down the hall passed by and eyed him with disgust. Peter knew he was grossly out of shape when a few flights of steps had him winded, but when his lungs were weak, he couldn't really exercise.   Peter straightened when the two had passed him, having dropped his head as soon as Riley and Hailey (the twins) had spotted him, having felt his face heat up in embarrassment when they’d seen him struggling to breathe. He'd already recovered after a few moments, but had waited until they had entered the stairwell. Now, he shifted his backpack back onto his shoulders, taking out his house keys and entering his apartment. When he got there, he saw that the usual clutter around the house had been cleaned up, his few LEGO sculptures they’d been able to afford (cheap ones with less than a hundred pieces) had been moved to a small work table in the corner, out of the way.

He tried not to let it bug him, since it had been on the floor before and anyone could step on a loose piece of his latest project. It was not fun to step on a LEGO, and Peter should know from personal experience. So, he supposed it was a good thing that Christopher had moved his structures onto a small table and off the floor.

The teenager huffed as he kicked his tennis shoes off at the door, not in the best of moods due to the elevator being out, and then the twins (who were both so pretty) giving him those looks. He hated his asthma, so much and wished to just be rid of it, or his stupid weak lungs, and his stupid allergies. Peter Parker just wanted to leave his whole stupid, weak body behind.

Peter fumbled for his inhaler as he started to get worked up, taking an inhale and feeling as his airways opened up. He waited a moment before he straightened and tossed his bag against the work table, cursing when one of the structures was knocked on its side. The teen moved over to fix it, hoping none of the pieces had been knocked off. It was the car he’d built from the Bricks On A Roll bucket, which had many wheels and the ability to make different structures. He’d done the red car on the front, a motorcycle, and the ice cream cart as well. He wasn’t sure if his was missing pieces, but it didn’t have the big ice cream cone piece as shown on the pack. Well, judging by how shitty his luck was, it was likely that his was the only one without it.

As he moved away, he failed to realize one of the wheels was missing from the red car, and hissed as he stepped on it. He stumbled back, tripped on his backpack and fell, hitting his head on the work table.

‘Whoa!’ Peter exclaimed as he moved his hands over himself, trying to see if he’d broken something. His head felt fine, in fact, he felt great! The constant pressure he always felt on his airway wasn’t present, and wondered if the fall had somehow miraculously cured him. Maybe, it was possible.

He turned around and froze. Peter should’ve known that his shitty Parker Luck would kick in. Because miracles didn’t happen to Peter Parker.

There in front of him, was his body on the floor with blood on his forehead where it’d struck the work table. He was looking at his body from the outside, so... did this meant he was dead?

‘Aww, come on!’ Peter cried out.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Peter hummed as he tried to figure this out, because as far as he could tell, he wasn’t dead. It didn’t help that he was currently floating over his body like a damn ghost. However, he could tell that his body was still breathing, if the way his chest was moving up and down was any indication.

So, not dead.

If that was true, then what was happening right now?

His thought process was cut off as he heard the key in the lock, and glanced at it. His eyes widened as he saw his aunt come through the door and glanced back at his body, and knew this was going to be bad. Peter winced as she screamed and rushed to his side.

“Peter?! Oh baby, wake up!” May sobbed, hands going to his forehead and flinching away from the blood there. She fumbled for her cell phone, her hands shaking so badly that she was barely able to dial 911.

‘May, I’m right here. I’m alright,’ Peter tried to tell her, floating over to her, but when he tried to touch her, his hand passed though her. He gasped and flinched back as if burned, looking at his hand and then at his body as May caressed his face ever so gently. If he could cry, he would, but as he was now, he only felt panic and terror, and a sorrow so profound that he curled up from how intense it felt.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him. Peter just wanted to be wrapped in his aunt’s warm embrace. He wanted all this to be over. Then, without knowing how, he slept and then he felt like he was falling; falling so very fast.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he gasped in a breath, hand going to his throat and he couldn’t breathe! He heard a scraping sound and then a hand on his and he flinched away.

“Peter, you’re fine! Look at me, baby. It’s May,” a familiar voice said. His eyes snapped toward her, and immediately slumped down in relief when he realized it was his Aunt May. She pulled his hand gently away from his throat, fingers soothing away the scratch marks he’d made on himself in his frantic struggle.

“Wha-?” Peter tried to speak, felt a catch in his throat and coughed harshly. The mask over his face fogged up, but he had enough experience with his asthma to know he needed it so didn’t remove it. Peter dreaded to think of how many hours she was missing of work, since his Medicaid would pay for his hospital bills. It was just that it didn’t always pay for all his medicines, and May ended up paying some of it out of pocket. “M’sorry,” he whimpered, hating to be such a burden to her.

May smiled wanly, brushing back a few curls from his face. “It’s alright, baby. We’ll make it somehow. Besides, Chris will help us, you’ll see.”

Peter tried not to let his mood sour at the mention of the man, and instead gave a nod, glad the mask covered most of his face. He might not like the man, but he helped the burden on May. Besides, she was happy with him, and that’s all that mattered.

As he settled back on the bed, feeling his eyes grow heavy, a memory of floating over his body came to him.

‘Huh, that was some dream’, Peter thought.

Although, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had felt so real.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 April 04, 2015

Peter sighed as he came into the apartment, his whole body feeling lethargic and heavy. He wanted to just get in bed and sleep, but he had been sleeping for two days already and he was tired of it. The teenager had thought they could spend some time together; just his aunt and himself.

“Get the door, May,” Christopher called, and the woman pulled open the door as the man entered carrying Peter’s bag and several bags of groceries in the other. They’d stopped to buy them on the way home, where Peter had been forced to stay in the car since he was still on oxygen and it would have been a hassle to carry the small tank inside the supermarket. So, Peter had stayed in the car and tried not to feel too bitter about it.

Now, it seemed like they wouldn’t have some time alone either, seeing as Chris started to help May unpack the groceries. Peter pulled off the mask, sick and tired of having to cart around the small oxygen tank. Besides, he needed to make sure not to use it all up before the end of the month, which still had two weeks left. “I can... help,” Peter said, wanting to feel useful.

“I got it, bud,” Christopher said as he grabbed up the bags Peter tried to get to help with. “Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll come set up your nighttime treatment.”

Peter grimaced at that, since he didn’t want to have his nighttime treatment when it was barely 7:30 pm. He was not going to bed that early, no matter what anyone said. “It’s early still,” he argued, coughing a moment later.

God, he hated having these weak lungs.

“That decides it,” Chris said, motioning toward the bathroom. Peter might have been acting childish or immature, but he hated that the man acted like he had any right to order him around, like he was his uncle or his dad. He wasn’t.

“Alright, how about we watch a movie?” May said, stepping between the sullen teenager and her boyfriend. “Peter, you go take a shower while I make the popcorn and Chris sets up the movie. It can be a cheesy horror movie, like Sharknado.”

Peter nodded with a grin, his bad mood quickly vanishing. “You know, Sharknado isn’t too bad, as long as you don’t take it too seriously,” he said, rushing off. He wanted to hurry in taking his shower so he could get back and maybe sit next to May on the loveseat, their usual spot when watching movies before.

He considered it a win when he was able to plop onto the loveseat when coming back from his shower. May pulled him closer for a cuddle instead of telling him to let Chris have his seat. The teenager settled to watch the bad movie, sharing a bowl of popcorn with his aunt.

The movie was bad but entertaining, and he snuggled against his aunt as they watched. This was nice.

He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep, until he was suddenly looking down at himself. It seemed May hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep either, until Chris pointed it out.

“Should I put him to bed?” the man asked May. Peter didn’t like the idea of being carried like a child by the man, and hoped May let him stay right there.

“Yes, that’s probably best,” she told him. Peter frowned as he watched the man lift him up like he weighed nothing, and since he couldn’t do sports to gain any muscle, he probably did weigh nothing.

Peter grumbled as he floated out of the man’s way, starting to get the hang of moving around. He wasn’t paying attention and realized too late that he was going to hit the wall, and his arms lifted to protect his head. Peter cried out instinctively, but he didn’t hit it... he went through the wall.

 ‘Holy shit!’

He flapped his arms around as he was suddenly in the hallway, and then passed through so he was in the apartment next door, where a young couple and their one year old daughter lived. They were gathered around the table, playing some board game as the little girl giggled. “Ally won!” the little girl cried. The man and woman cheered, lifting her up as she squealed happily.

“And now it’s time to get ready for bed,”  the woman declared.

Peter moved on when he was able to get the hang of moving through the air, glancing back a moment and thought he saw the little girl waving at him, but then he’d gone through the wall of the apartment next to them. He realized too late that it was the twin’s apartment, and he was suddenly in a bedroom.

There were posters of One Direction and other bands he wasn’t familiar with. He turned around as he heard a rustling and he squeaked when he saw that it was Hailey, the girl of the duo, and she was starting to change after having clearly taken a shower judging by the towel she started to pull off.

‘I’m so sorry!’ he cried even if she couldn’t seem to see or hear Peter, one hand lifting up to cover his eyes as he used that other to rush through the wall. He was in the hallway a moment before he passed through the opposite wall into the room there. That room turned out to be the bathroom, which was being used.

A head popped out of the shower, hair wet with water and Peter was dismayed to realize it was Riley, the male twin. And he was in the shower, naked and wet! “Hailey! You finished all the hot water, you asshole!”

“Deal with it!” Hailey’s muffled voice yelled back.

Riley grumbled about annoying sisters and his head disappeared back inside the shower. Peter figured it was a good idea to leave now, before he invaded Riley’s privacy like some pervert. Maybe it was time to go back to his own apartment. Besides, he felt a bit... sick? Which was strange, since he usually didn’t feel anything besides emotions. Then again, this was just a dream. Wasn’t it?

He found his body in the bed, mask for his nighttime treatment strapped to his face and he felt even sicker now. It was probably that he hated the feel of the medicine and that’s why he felt sick? Maybe next time he went exploring he’d leave the building, even if it felt scary. There was a fuzzy quality to everything, like everything was being seen through a filter, or perhaps a cloud. Also, everything not in his immediate area faded away into darkness. Almost like it ceased to exist.

For now, he floated over to his body as he closed his eyes. After feeling a sensation like falling and falling, everything went dark.    

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Peter moaned as he woke up, the taste of the medicine in his mouth, coating his throat and it was in his nose. He yanked the mask off his face, wincing since his face felt tender from where the straps had been digging into his skin. Peter felt shaky when he stood, feeling like gravity was weighing even heavier than usual on his body. He barely made it to the bathroom before he was heaving, throwing up the popcorn he’d had earlier. The teenager wasn’t even sure what time it was, but since his aunt didn’t come running to see what the matter was, she must have gone to work.

“Peter, is that you, bud?” he heard Christopher ask, realizing that May must have left him watching over him while she left for her shift. There was a light knock on the bathroom door. “Do you need help?”

He was feeling like crap and even if he knew it wasn’t the man’s fault, he didn’t want his help. “No, go away,” he croaked, his body heaving again but he’d already thrown up the little bit he’d eaten, so it was mostly stomach bile.

The door opened as he was washing out his mouth, and he would have scoffed at the man not listening to him if he’d had any strength left. His medicine had never caused him to get sick like this before, so he wasn’t in the best of moods.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Chris said, voice almost gentle. He didn’t know why he didn’t like the man, but he... just couldn’t like him. There was something about him that Peter couldn’t put his finger on that made him dislike him. Maybe he was being unfair or childish, but he couldn’t help it.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, shrugging off his hand as he shuffled back to bed. He climbed back into his twin bed, the mattress already old and a bit too small. Peter just refused to ask for another, since it wasn’t a necessity. He was fine with this for now, and didn’t want to burden May asking for another, bigger bed.

“Maybe I should give you another treatment,” Chris said, glancing at the nighttime machine.

Peter grimaced at the thought of feeling the medicine coating his throat, mouth and inside his nose again and his stomach protested it. “No,” he said as he shook his head, “I’m fine.” Peter knew he wouldn’t get away with not having the treatment again tomorrow night, but at least for tonight, he wanted to be free of it.

Chris hesitated, before he nodded. “Until tomorrow then,” he said, that smile on his face he hated so much. Peter didn’t understand why he hated it, hated Christopher. Maybe he should give him a chance? After all, he’s the reason they had gotten this newer machine practically for free.

“Yeah... thanks, Chris,” he muttered, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

The man paused as he’d been about to leave and after a moment he turned with a smile. “It’s no problem. I want to help you and your aunt.” He pulled the door closed. “Sweet dreams, Peter.”

Peter’s room was plunged into darkness and he curled up under the blanket. He closed his eyes and hoped he was able to fly away again in his dreams. It was nice being able to get away from his weak body and the problems that brought him and his aunt.

So, he flew away in his dreams, that felt more real than they should be.-

[1a-imagines]

Get Jinxed:

@otaku-explosion Request: Please can you make a scenario of Midoriya and Iida with a fem s/o's quirk is called jinxed which causes bad things to happen to anyone and everyone (including herself) to experience unfortunate...and strange...happenings. She still can't really control her quirk, but she was accepted into class 1B so let’s hope the UA's roof isn't ripped off by a storm like her last schools.

Type: scenarios

Characters: Iida, Midoriya.

Iida:

"H-how-"

"I don't know! I was just walking past and sneezed!" You tried to explain to him as he stared at the the water fountain that was currently on fire.

You had actually done the impossible. You had set fire to water. "This is physically impossible! This defys every law of nature." Iida muttered in utter disbelief. He wanted to put out the fire! He simply couldn't let the schools fountain burn to the ground but what should he do?! Should he throw more water over it? Would that even work!? It was seemingly not affect by water at all, so all he could do was watch in horror as the fire grew on the waters surface.

You seemed strangely calm, but he assumed you were use to it. It was your quirk after all. You were probably use to this happening. He already had heard from you what happened at your last school. You walked into school one morning and the roof blew up. You knew it was fault because as soon as you leaned back against the wall of the school it blew up on contact.

If Iida was honest he feared for UA. He couldn't allow you to blow up the roof! But at the same time he feared for you too! He didn't want you getting expelled because you were unable to control your quirk. Not to mention how most of the bad luck seemed to aim at you.

As he was panicking the fire went out by itself. You coughed nervously into your hand. "Usually the things that happen have a time limit, mostly they stop when I walk away. I suppose you could say the chaos likes to follow me where ever I go."

Iida sighed and placed his hands onto his hips. "You have to learn to control your quirk somehow. The last thing this school needs is more problems." You had to agree. With all that's happened with class 1A. You felt almost thankful you were in 1B. At least you weren't put through such scary situations like the USJ attack.

"I'm sorry Iida. I want to! I just don't know how to control it! Where would I even start!?" You sighed in defeat and plopped down onto the edge of the fountain. Iida sat next to you, sympathy filling his eyes. "Well, we can figure it out! It's not like it would be impossible. We just have to try our best!"

You smiled up at him, feeling thankful you had him. Your friendship had been unlikely, so being in a relationship with him was even more bizarre. Class 1A's, class president, who respected the rules more than anyone else with the girl who litrally had bad luck following her wherever she went. You remembered how you two met. It had been within the first week of school.

You were walking down the halls and as fate would have it a rolling baseball came out of nowhere, you stepped on it and fell face first into the floor. But it didn't stop there. You fell in front of the support classes door and it suddenly fell off it's hinges, and fell right towards you. You gasped and held out your hands to shield yourself, but when you felt no impact you opened your eyes to see Iida above you he had grabbed onto the door before it hit you. When he knew you were ok he asked what happened. He had seen it all and it was mouth dropping. A ball came out of no where? No one was around! And the door fell off it's hinges without anything happening to it? It was like someone had set out to sabotage you.

You had to explain your quirk to him and since then he always made sure he was around to help clear up the chaos and keep you out of danger. Though it was hard to keep up with, since most of the things that happened had no explaination and denied the laws of physics. Things he thought previous impossible he had now witnessed himself. You caused him a lot of panic, especially when you coughed and three windows of the school smashed in.

He wanted to help you. Your quirk was actually very impressive. If you got control over it you could be unstoppable! How can people beat you if they're cursed with bad luck?!

"We? You're going to help me?" You asked unsurely. You figured if you were going to willingly use your quirk he would want to be far away. After all, it didn't just affect you but people around you. You tried not to laugh when you remembered walking past Monoma and his pants fell down. You felt bad but it was hilarious. You apologised but he didn't accept it since you were giggling away. You two were good friends though, but he still hasn't let the incident go.

"Of course! You're my girlfriend! I will help you through this and support you no matter what! It's my duty as your boyfriend!" He stated proudly. You grinned up at him and you jumped up off the fountain. "Ok! Let's do this!"

You went to take a step forward but before you could you ended up being swooped up into Iidas arms with a yelp.

"(Y/n)!!" Iida yelled and pulled you to saftey. You turned back to see you both had narrowly missed being hit with a heavy metal ball. A girl ran over and bowed in apology.

"I'm so sorry! I was practising my quirk! I don't know what happened!? It just went out of control!"

You sighed and assured her it was ok before waving her off. Iida put you down. "I know exactly what happened." You muttered and the girl ran away. "This is getting worse everyday! But how do you control bad luck?" You groaned. Iida hummed and thought it over. He wasn't sure himself, it wasn't like you were trying to control something physical, your quirk seemed to be more mental. "Maybe we should focus on what activated your quirk. Maybe bad luck happens what you feel something? Like when you become overwhelmed with a feeling. Have you ever actually tried causing bad luck willingly."

"No... well, sometimes. But it's not like I can just point at someone at bad luck happens to them. I don't know how it works!" You huffed. Feeling hopeless. It was stressful to think about. What if you could never get control over your quirk. You grumbled and turned around. About to start walking away but you ended up tripping over your own feet and fell onto your face. "(Y/n)!" Iida crouched down next to you in worry.

You lifted your head from your ground and met his eyes, you were completely done with today. Your quirk was acting up more than usual and you were fed up. You told him you were fine but his eyes widened, he stood up quickly. "Your nose is bleeding! That's not fine!" He helped you up and reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief. He held it up to your nose as you stared down at the ground in embarrassment. "Maybe I'm just destined to be this way forever."

"That's not a good mind set to have! There will be a way to control it! We just have to work hard. We can do some research on similar quirks as well as some training. You'll see, you have control over it in no time!"

You smiled at his enthusiasm. He was so ready to help you and do whatever he had to, to make you happy. "Funny how the girl with bad luck ended up with such an amazing guy. Maybe you're solution to my quirk. Maybe you're my quirks weakness." You crossed your arms with a playful smirk gracing your pink lips.

He froze up, his cheeks going red. He felt like his breath got caught in his throat for a moment. "(Y/n)! It's innapropriate to flirt in public!" He whispered frantically, looking around to make sure no one heard.

"I can't help it, you make me so happy I just want to make you happy too. I can't keep all the love i feel to myself. I'll explode!" You were about to make this poor man faint. His whole face was burning up. "(Y-y/n)!" he sighed. Though he appreciated the love, he preferred to keep it for when the two of you were alone. You smiled down at the floor shyly. For some reason you couldn't help but acknowledge all the times he's saved you from your own quirk. How he was always there to stop your misfortune. Back at your old school things use to be much worse. You were always in the nurses office or getting yelled at for something but at UA, ever since you met Iida, things have been so much better. Bad things seemed to happen a lot less often and even when they did guess who was there to save the day? Of course it was your precious boyfriend. You were so thankful for him you couldn't even put it into words.

"At least I know I have one good luck charm in my life."

Midoriya:

"Have you seen (y/n)?"

"You're looking for her again? You really need to relax." Kirishima replied. Midoriya slumped over a little at the response. He couldn't help it. Your quirk always caused bad things to happen to you. He's lost count of the amount of times he's had to save you from danger, and the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt. You were a constant worry for him. You had told him several times that he didn't have to worry so much but he couldn't stop. You had even suggested that maybe you shouldn't be friends, when you first met, you already knew he was a bit of a nervous wreck so being around you would only cause him to faint from worry. Yet he refused to walk away from you. So much so you ended up going from friends, to best friends and then from best friends to lovers. Despite the worry he always felt for you, he found your quirk so interesting and he never let it get in the way of you two. Even when you caused him a bit of bad luck too. Like when you went to hug him and tripped, you fell over onto him and he fell back against the pavement. Luckily there was no serious harm, just some bruises. Though he did ended cracking his phone screen. You felt so bad you paid him money to get it fixed, despite all his protests.

"I-i can't help it. I care about her." He replied, walking out of the classroom to go to check class 1b. He looked around to see you walking down the hallway with kendo. Smiling at some joke you made but when you closed your eyes and began laughing someone sprinted out from around the corner and ran right into you. They hit you with their full force and You flew against the window in the hallway, it even cracked slightly from the impact. Luckily it didn't break.

"(Y/n)!" You boyfriend screamed out as he ran over to you. Kendo was crouched by your body that was now on the floor. Shaking your shoulder and asking if you were ok but it was obvious by the lack of response you must've been knocked out. The boy who ran into you was now apologising over and over again until kendo got him to stop. It was more than likely just your quirk acting up again. The boy said he wasn't even sure why he was running so fast. He looked really confused and worried. Guilt was consuming him.

You were unconscious, so it's not like you could even accept his apology anyway. Your head was bleeding pretty badly too. Midoriya brushed the hair from your face to look at the wound. You had cracked your head open. He didnt waste anymore time and bent down to pick you up bridal style. "I'll take her to recovery girl. You should tell your teacher that she'll miss class." He told kendo who nodded in agreement and he ran off down the hall. Seeing the blood drip down your forehead made him panic. He couldn't stand to see you like this. He knew you'd be ok after seeing recovery girl but seeing you bleeding and unconscious in his arms broke his heart.

He had actually been looking for you today because he had been doing a lot of research and learning ways for you to be able to control your quirk. He was pretty sure one of the methods he found would be of help to you. When he got there he placed you on the bed and recovery girl took care of you. Kissing your head and wrapping it up in a bandage. The whole time he stayed by your side, looking at your beautiful face as it scrunched up in pain. It made his heart drop even more. You quirk really was amazing. He could already see all the ways it could be useful in so many different situations. It was strong; the only thing he didn't like about it was that it hurt you, but that could change with some quirk control training.

Even though you always got hurt, you were so dedicated to leaning to control it and training with it. Anytime it caused bad luck for someone else you always tried to stop it or save them before the bad luck could ensue. You had gotten better at telling when you quirk was acting up, so you usually saved them in time.

He admired that about you, even if some people figured it would be better suited for a villain to have a bad luck quirk you were still so passionate about becoming a hero, and you were even proud of your quirk. You knew one day you would be able to use it to save so many people and that's why you were do determined to learn how to control it.

You woke up a few hours later. Your head was pounding. You groaned in pain and looked around, it hurt to even move your eyes around the room. You tried to sit up but everything went dizzy and your vision started to black out, so you lay back down. "Careful dear. You'll need to say laying down for awhile longer. That was a nasty head injury." Recovery girl warned you. You couldn't even remember what happened. You just remember the sound of your boyfriend screaming for you before you were knocked out.

"Wheres-"

"I made him go back to class. Though he put up quite the fight, he shouldn't miss his lessons too. Even if I doubt he's able to concentrate."

You sighed and closed your eyes. You were in here so often Midoriya would sometimes miss some of his classes. Not often, only when something really serious had happened. Like when you fell down three flights of stairs, broke your arm and got a concusion.

"Stupid quirk.." You muttered angrily. Not only is it causing you to miss important lessons but it was worrying all the people you cared about. It was affecting them too, so much so they would miss lessons just to make sure you're ok. It was nice to know they cared but you were starting to think you caused too much trouble for everyone. You felt awful. You were standing in the way of them becoming hero's.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. It's not your fault. If you really want this to stop I suggest working harder to control your quirk. But dont give up." It was like she was reading your thoughts. You knew she was right. You wouldn't give up anyway, you were just feeling down right now. Most students here already thought your quirk was a villainous one anyway. They think you don't belong here. They never said it outright but you could tell by the way people would be more cautious around you or try to avoid you all together. The only ones that didn't act that way were your boyfriend, Kendo and Shinsou. Everyone else seemed to be wary of you. Not that you could blame them. Whenever people were around you bad luck would fall upon them. Even the school itself had even fallen mercy to your quirk more than once.

You lay there for awhile as recovery girl made sure you we're drinking plenty of water to help with the blood loss and dizziness you felt. It must ve been hours later when the door was opened and your boyfriend walked in. It must've been the end of the school day already. Yet again you had missed a full day of hero training.

Recovery girl had left awhile ago to let you rest but you couldn't. Your mind was too busy thinking about what to do. Give up? Or work harder? At this point you weren't sure if you could ever use your quirk for good. Laying here in this bed with nothing but your thoughts hadn't been good for you. All day your brain had been giving you a hard time. Telling you that you would never be a hero or that you'd never be able to control your quirk. That you should just give up because hero's are suppost to bring good luck with them, not bad luck.

You hadn't even noticed Midoriya was there, you were so consumed in your thoughts as you stared out the window at the setting sun. He walked over to the bed, noticing your tear stained cheeks as he got closer. His eyes widened and he let out a dainty gasp. You had been crying? He figured it might've just been from pain but your expression showed to him that you were conflicted about something.

"(Y/n)" he muttered softly to catch your attention. You slowly turned to him with pain filled eyes. It broke his heart to see you like this. You looked so sad, your eyes were missing that bright spark. You did smile when you saw him but it was slightly forced and half hearted. "Hey. Sorry for worrying you. I heard you carried me all the way here." You reached over to take his hand. "You're my hero."

"That so typical of you?"

"Huh?" You questioned in shock when he tightened his grip on your hand. "You're always trying to make other people smile, even when you're sad." He looked into your eyes. "What's wrong?"

You looked down at your other hand that was resting in your lap. He already guessed what you were thinking. He wanted you to admit it and confirm his suspicions. "I just... feel bad that I cause so much trouble. It doesn't just affect me, bad things happen to anything and everyone that's around me. I know people don't like me because of it. They like to keep their distance. How am I suppose to use a quirk that brings bad luck for good? I don't think I'll ever be a hero at this rate."

"Don't say that!" His outburst suprised you. You looked up at him, his eyes were glistening with a mixture of sadness and determination. "You're choosing to use it for good! It doesn't matter what your quirk is! You want to use it for good and that's what makes you a hero! It's not about your quirk, it's about the choices you make. Don't give up Because-" He squeezed your hand as he took in a deep breath. "If you give up then the world will miss out on a great hero."

You felt tears welling up in your eyes at his words, it brought a real smile to your lips for the first time all day. You couldn't ask to have anyone better in your life. You reached forward and opened your arms. Signalling you wanted a hug. He didn't waste a second and sat down, pulling you into his arms. One of his hands began to pat down your hair softly as you rubbed your face into his shoulder.

"I love you. You're everything to me." You whispered into his jacket. Holding him as tight as you could, which wasn't very right considering how weak you felt. "I love you too." He replied happily, feeling his heart soar at your words.

You pulled back and looked into his eyes,cupping his cheeks in your hands. "You know, I'm cursed with bad luck, and yet somehow I ended up being the luckiest girl in the world." You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his. "Because I have you by my side."

A/N: Not my best work since I was struggling to think up a good scenario for it. I really liked writing it though, so hopefully it's not too bad T_T

[nekoabiwrites]

Rain On Me

I re-listened to the Emo the Musical soundtrack today and I just... had to write something. Here’s the song used in the fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eS2c4pvQNrw 

AU: School  Pairings: Pining Moxiety Words: 2160 Warnings: Bullying, Feelings of Isolation, Swear words. If there’s anything else, let me know.

Summary: Virgil starts a new school, meets a cute boy, but doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Virgil was terrified. He was utterly and completely scared shitless. How had this managed to happen?

The young student sat in his room, his skinny jean-covered legs crossed and almost disappearing into the black sheets. His precious guitar was laying across his lap as he was in the middle of restringing it, but his thoughts had managed to distract him.

His mind was stuck on an event that had happened in the halls at school some weeks ago.

As one of the resident ‘weird, scary kids’, Virgil was used to people knocking into him in the halls. They tended to move in close, so they could knock his shoulders, seemingly in attempts to make him drop his things. Others preferred to dodge out of his way and stare at him as he passed, almost as if he were a dangerous animal that was kept there for them to gawk at whenever they pleased. All because he dressed differently. But whatever, it didn’t matter anymore.

This was a brand-new school, where he’d not yet been categorized so harshly. No one here knew him yet, at least not outside of first impressions. And the best part was that he wasn’t even the only one anymore. There were others like him, who looked like him, liked what he liked, and they’d even adopted him into their group on the first day, which was great. Virgil finally had a sense of belonging.

But then, not even two months into his first semester at this school, something just had to happen.

Virgil had been walking through the halls, his head down as usual. He was used to using the limited view he had and sounds around him in order to avoid running into anyone. This one time though, that hadn’t worked.

Suddenly, Virgil found himself bumping into another body, which made him look up sharply and get ready to apologise as best he could. But his voice caught in his throat.

The boy he’d run into was absolutely gorgeous. He seemed to almost radiate light, with his bright wide eyes and his soft-looking, fluffy hair. Even though he was about a head shorter than Virgil was, the boy had a presence that was larger than Virgil could even imagine having. It wasn’t commanding attention, more just grabbing it by accident with a polite thank you as it did so. When the boy smiled and asked if he was okay in the sunniest voice imaginable, Virgil could feel his stomach doing flips and churning. Virgil had nodded lightly in response, unable to speak. The happy student had then grinned wide and went to say something but was interrupted by a call from some other students down the hall. The boy, who Virgil had not managed to pick up the name of, quickly offered up a small apology and a wish for him to have a good day before shutting his locker door and bounding off down the corridor towards the two who’d called for him.

Virgil had been stuck there for a good few seconds, watching the back of this utterly entrancing boy walk away down the hall. From that day onwards, his face had burned brightly whenever he thought back to that moment. He’d also started to notice the boy throughout the school a lot more often, noticing the pastel colours from the other end of the hallway sometimes.

And then, Virgil found out they shared a class together. Not just any class, but their music class. Where they were going to have to perform and sing. And they were sat next to each other. How Virgil hadn’t noticed before, he would never know.

Throughout the rest of the semester, Virgil managed to deal with this set back fairly well. The boy, who he’d eventually realised was named Patton, was friendly and open with him, which was something new. He’d initiated many conversations with Virgil and been extremely patient with him, which was something that utterly baffled the young musician. Patton had also been so excited when he found out Virgil could play the guitar. It took only a few weeks after that for Patton to officially call him a friend, which both excited and hurt Virgil. He managed to find out through their little conversations that Patton had friends all over the school, was a part of the student council, sometimes worked as a library volunteer and helped out at the primary school across the road when he was asked to. Every little scrap of information just made Virgil fall deeper and deeper for the gorgeous student. He could almost see some return of that interest, by the way Patton seemed to giggle at everything, the way he almost reached for Virgil’s hand or arm constantly. Just all these little things started to add up and Virgil began to feel hope.

It was half way through the semester that he started to get a lose that hope.

His friend group wasn’t exactly the nicest group of people, but they were who Virgil stuck with. They were nice to each other – for the most part – but they did love to shit talk everyone else at school. One day, that attention focused on the student council because they’d had an assembly where it was mentioned that they were trying to get a code of dress introduced to disallow hateful or harmful slogans on clothing. His group seemed convinced it was an attack on them and so, since then, all the hate has been directed towards the student council.

Virgil was now stuck in a hard place. He wanted to be accepted by his friends, but he also wanted to stay close to Patton. But with a couple of his friend group also in the same music class, Virgil was at a rough point.

It almost felt as though he was stuck in a storm of his own making.

The only way he could deal with this was through his only personal outlet.

After finishing up the strings, Virgil positioned his guitar just how he liked it and began to play a gentle song.

Show up on my weather report When I least expect it Scare all my neighbours away Through that emergency exit

Hit me like a storm Blow my walls away Peel off my paintwork Tear up my floorboards Come on and rain on me

Come on and rain on me Come on and rain on me

I like everything about you and I think that you like me so Come on and rain on me

In the background, it had actually begun to rain outside, and quite heavily too. The strong winds whipped the trees around, causing loud rustling and cracking as they made contact with the side of his house. The large raindrops fell with a heavy, constant sound that just calmed him even more. Virgil had already had the window open, so the sounds were louder than they would have been.

Had the student been paying attention, he would have noticed a figure standing out in the rain, staring up at his window. He may have noticed the instantly recognisable colour of the umbrella and how it came closer as he began to sing again.

Chase me to a foreign country I've never heard of before Cut off my friends and family Send me marching to war

Break through my bomb shelter And lift the roof sky high Shower me with your rocks and debris Come on and rain on me

Come on and rain on me Come on and rain on me

I'll be weak enough for you if you'll be strong enough for me Come on rain on me

I like everything about you

Come on, rain on me

Virgil hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes as he’d been singing to himself. He opened them slow, feeling the calm that had seeped into his extremities. Only music could do that for him and he was so thankful for it, he had a moment where he wasn’t stressed about everything in his life.

“That was so beautiful…” came a soft voice from his doorway.

The student physically jumped and turned sharply to look at his now-open door. His dark eyes were wide as he took in the boy standing there.

“What? How? When?” Virgil croaked out, feeling his throat beginning to close as his heart rate pounded in his ears.

“I heard you outside. Your parents let me in after I said we were friends… Sorry, I-I’ll leave…”

“No!” Virgil dropped the guitar to the side and almost fell off of his bed as he scrambled to get the other to stay, “No, I…” He huffed, trying to figure out his words in a hurry, “Patton, I just… I didn’t expect someone to be there.”

Patton stopped mid-turn and looked up at the other with a slightly guilty look, “I still shouldn’t have come in… I’m sorry.” He began to back away towards the stairs,

Virgil dove and grabbed his arm desperately, “No, no, no! It’s fine!” He frantically searched the other’s face. There was the worry that this would be what ruined everything for him, this could be the end for both of them.

“Are… are you sure?” Patton murmured, his eyes fixed on where Virgil’s hand currently was holding him.

“Yeah, I’m really sure.”

“Really really?”

“Patton.”

That got the shorter of them to giggle gently. “Okay, I believe you…”

Virgil let out his own breathy laugh, relief swallowing him whole. After an awkward few seconds, Virgil realised he was still holding Patton’s arm. He quickly retracted his arm, “Um, do you… wanna come in and, hang out, or something?” He awkwardly coughed.

Patton smiled and clasped his own hands together in front of himself, “Mmhmm.”

The pair avoided bringing up anything about both of their pink-tinged cheeks, both seemingly trying to mentally dodge the idea that it was anything to do with attraction from the other. They settled down in Virgil’s room, both slowly relaxing more as time passed. Patton was allowed to try Virgil’s guitar, as he was extremely interested.

The emo was more than happy to show Patton a few things about playing the guitar. He showed him how to play a few chords, positioning the other student’s fingers which left his own tingling. Patton asked him about strumming and how that worked, and Virgil knew the best way to instruct but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.

“Uh, I mean, the best way to… show you is to, have me help you?” Virgil said with a soft blush once more.

Patton seemed to understand immediately, as his own cheeks reddened. He continued to smile however, “Would you mind?”

It took a bit of work, but the two of them shifted around so Patton was sat in front of Virgil, who’s legs were resting either side of him. Virgil rested his arms atop Patton’s in order to grasp a hold of his hands, which he did with a slight note of hesitation. It wasn’t until just now that Virgil realised just how much shorter Patton was than him, or just how small he was in general. The emo was able to rest his head comfortably to the side of Patton’s and still not have to peek over his shoulder, his arms were more than able to reach where they needed to be right now. In fact, he could have likely wrapped one of his arms almost three quarters of the way around the other boy.

Virgil tried to not get too distracted by the fact he had his crush so close to him. In a low, gentle voice, he explained what he was getting Patton to do as he strummed with the boy’s hand under his own. After a little bit, the two sat quietly, focusing on the soft sounds of the rhythmic, strumming guitar and rain outside.

“Hey, Virgil?” Patton spoke so softly that Virgil almost missed it.

“Yeah?”

The shorter shook his head, “Uh, nothing.”

Virgil tilted his head around to try and catch a glimpse of Patton’s face, “Tell me.”

Patton pushed himself out of Virgil’s hold and stood, holding the guitar out towards the emo with a heavy blush, “Play that song again?”

Something gnawed at the back of Virgil’s mind that what Patton just asked of him likely wasn’t what was originally going to come out of him, but he left the topic alone. He thought that if it was something Patton really wanted to say, he would say it when he was ready. Virgil took the guitar and set himself up comfortably, giving Patton enough room to sit on the bed along with him. Time passed and the two lost themselves to the calming nature of the gentle music backed up by the beautiful sound of the rain outside. Perhaps they wouldn’t reach a conclusion today, but Virgil really didn’t feel like they needed to, this was enough for now.

------ Next

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly @justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka @notalwaysthevillian @pumpkinminette @doces-e--tuga

[hunnybunnyerza]

Minor Mishaps (Parrlyn Oneshot)

on AO3 as well :)

Here’s a parrlyn oneshot of something that goes wrong before the show!

⚠️ trigger warning: yknow how sometimes u swallow water wrong and choke on it, well that 😂

It was just before a show, sometime in the middle of the week, and all the queens were waiting backstage before places. It was Cathy’s idea to buy a little couch for the corner of her dressing room, which her and Anne were currently snuggled on together.

A light chuckle escaped Cathy’s lips as Anne flung herself across the couch, her head now resting in Cathy’s lap as she squirmed a bit to find a comfortable position whilst keeping her in-ears and hair in place.

“You’ll have to get up soon y’know,” Cathy said, giggling a bit as she played with a stray bit of Anne’s hair. Anne barely mumbled an ‘mhm’ in response before reaching down, grabbing her water bottle from beside Cathy’s foot on the floor.

She fumbled with the cap for a bit before heaving an overly-exasperated sigh and handing it over to Cathy, who opened it with a mocking sense of ease and handed it back to her. Their eyes met, and the loving gaze they shared was the only thing that mattered at that moment. Their eyes glimmered under the gaze of one another, shining brighter than any spotlight could make them appear to be.

This moment barely lasted a second until Anne turned away, content on not letting her currently opened water bottle spill onto herself. She brought the bottle to her lips carefully, considering she was still laying down, and tilted the bottle up the slightest bit to drink.

In hindsight, no matter how comfortable she was in Cathy’s lap, she probably should’ve sat up. And Cathy probably should’ve told her as much. Then the queens could’ve avoided all of this.

Anne tilted the bottle up a little too much but she attempted to swallow all of it. Parr was still playing with a strand of her hair, oblivious to what was happening.

That’s until, in one short, sharp motion, Anne shot up to sit up straight, heaving cough after cough into the crook of her arm. Cathy was startled at first, but soon realized what was happening, and quickly went to help, rubbing circles on her back gently.

“Try to breathe,” Cathy whispered softly yet frantically, as if asking her to do it would make it any easier to do. “Please, just try, please.”

Anne’s free hand drifted over to squeeze Cathy’s thigh, her bright green painted nails nearly clawing through the material of her costume and into her skin. Anne’s eyelids had been tightly pressed shut the whole time, she opened them ever so slightly, revealing her bloodshot red eyes and further adding to the pained expression on her face.

The other queens had realized something was wrong fairly quickly, the sound of constant coughing ringing throughout the room wasn’t exactly something that would go unnoticed.

Anna was trying to comfort Katherine, who was completely panicked to the point where her hands were trembling. Aragon was standing in the corner pretending not to care, but the worried expression on her face gave her away. Jane had rushed over to them almost immediately, attempting to wipe the tears from under Anne’s eyes before her makeup would smudge.

The queens were all a mess, and they had all pretty much ignored the announcement that came through on their in-ears, saying that they needed to get to places. But Anne knew they all had to go, and that she was just slowing everyone down.

“I’m… sorry,” Anne muttered in a nearly inaudible tone, each word between a bout of coughs. She honestly did feel bad about this. With a show starting so soon, it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. And they all looked so worried, and poor Cathy looked so scared.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, love,” Jane replied, her features softening as she caught another tear from Anne’s cheek.

“But, I–”

“Shh,” Cathy muttered, slightly nuzzling her head into Anne’s shoulder. “Don’t talk, just breathe.”

They stay like this for a bit, Cathy holding onto Anne’s arm comfortingly as she continued to cough, Jane moving to rub her back gently. Time passed cruelly slow, but it still did, and the show was getting more and more delayed.

“Maybe we should all start heading to places,” Aragon states simply, her eyes drifting upwards from where they had been fixed on her phone. “Anne could head down and meet us when she’s ready. We’re already going to be late but this way we could save a bit of time.”

“No!” Katherine shrieked, rushing out of Anna’s arms towards Anne, before kneeling on the ground in front of her and gripping her leg. “I’m not leaving!”

Anne had also let go of her grip on Cathy’s leg, just to squeeze her hand, looking at her with eyes that silently begged her to stay. She squeezed it back, gazing up at Anne with the lightest touch of a smile painting her features.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she muttered to Anne, before turning to Aragon. “So I have no problems with the show starting a few minutes late.”

Anne smirked lightly between coughs. Her and Aragon were almost always getting under each other’s skin, some times more playfully than other times, but she was glad that Cathy could do it for her the one time she couldn’t.

Anne hesitantly loosened her grip on Cathy’s hand, as Cathy coached her on how to breathe in a whisper like tone. She closed her eyes and focused on the gentle mutters of, in… and out…, from Cathy.

Soon enough, her major coughing fit subsided, leaving her out of breath and gasping for air. Cathy let out an audible sigh of relief, loosening her iron grip on Anne’s arm. It still took a while for her to catch her breath, but once it had returned enough that she still had time to speak between gasps of air, she insisted on going down to the stage.

Cathy stayed close to her side throughout it all. Clinging to her as they walked down the stairs to the stage, and staying by her side instead of going to places until the last second, when she reluctantly went to the other side of the stage after ensuring that Jane would make sure she was alright.

Her first shout of “beheaded!” was barely more than a quiet squeak, causing Cathy to glance at her helplessly, but throughout the song she managed to get her breath back. Her solo bit in the song wasn’t as energetic as it usually was, but by the start of Aragon’s song she was fully back to being her usual ball of energy.

The rest of the show went surprisingly well, Anne’s song was nearly perfect, and she was bouncing around in the megasix just as much as she usually was. She walked off the stage with a wide smile across her face, one that was contagious to Cathy as she walked off the stage and towards her.

They held hands as they walked up the stairs towards the dressing rooms, both of them out of breath by the time they reached the top, but smiles still plastered onto their faces. They both got out of their costumes quickly, and had to wait for the others to change before walking to Aragon’s car to drive home.

They sat next to each other in the middle row, leaving Cleves and Katherine in the back with Jane in the passenger seat up front. They never had specific places where they would sit, but Cathy and Anne would always end up next to each other.

So here they were, snuggled next to each with Anne at the window seat and Cathy in the middle, leaving an empty seat on the other side of her. Anne’s face was buried into the other queen’s shoulders, their fingers still gently intertwined.

“You slayed your song tonight,” Anne muttered tiredly through smiling lips, before giggling lightly and adding, “I think I’m gay for you.”

“Annie? Aren’t we already dating?” Cathy asked in response, her hand drifting to run fingers through Anne’s scalp. She giggled slightly as well when Anne’s only response was an absent-minded mutter of, ‘yeah… we’re girlfriends,’ followed by a goofy grin on her face.

They were both quiet for a while, so it nearly startled Cathy when, out of seemingly nowhere, Anne mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s absolutely nothing you need to be sorry for,” she responded, her gentle voice resonating in Anne’s mind. She sighed before squeezing Cathy’s hand a bit tighter.

“You looked so scared earlier. And it was because of me,” she reasoned, lifting her head slightly to look Cathy in the eyes. “It was my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, love, don’t apologize for that,” Cathy responds with such tenderness in her voice than Anne swears she falls in love with her all over again. “And don’t blame yourself for even a second. Shit happens, it’s not anyone’s fault, alright?”

“Mm…” Anne affirms, nuzzling her cheek up against Cathy’s shoulder. She gives into the heaviness of her eyelids and lets her eyes close shut, leaving the remnants of her glittery green eyeshadow in full view.

“Don’t fall asleep yet. We’ll be home soon,” Cathy says with amusement, resisting the temptation to wipe the glitter off of Anne’s cheek as she told herself they could just do it at home.

“...yeah, just, resting my eyes,” she mutters through barely parted lips. Cathy chuckles lightly, rubbing the back of Anne’s hand with her palm.

“If you say so.”

She stays awake longer than Cathy anticipated, but soon enough her grip on Cathy’s hand goes slack, her breathing deepening. She shifts her head slightly as a cute little moan escapes her lips, and Cathy smilies down at her.

She’ll have to wake up when they get home. Cathy remembers how much she hated it that time Cleves carried her into the house, nearly panicking when she woke up in someone’s arms and only being able to calm down once her feet were back on the floor.

But until then she can just live in this moment. She bends her head down to let her lips press against the side of Anne’s head, admiring the subconscious smile that painted Anne’s lips when she did so. She dropped her hand from Anne’s scalp and rested it onto her shoulder, before nuzzling her face into Anne’s hair.

A sigh escaped Cathy’s lips as she peered out the window, closing her eyes when she realized there was still a while left to drive. It wasn’t long before she too fell asleep, with her head rested on top of Anne’s, her hand sliding off of Anne’s shoulder and down her arm.

Jane turned around and smiled at the sight of the pair of them. In that moment they looked so peaceful together, so happy. Jane swore to herself she would make sure they, and every queen for that matter, would look that happy for the rest of their lives.

[takerfoxx]

RD Walpurgis Nights 8, Part 12

Then…

The further they got into Freehaven, the happier Kriemhild was that this was to be their new home.

It was…nice. Oh, it was beautiful. It was strange in a mystical sort of way. It was lovely and peaceful-looking and fascinating and just seemed like a wonderful place to live.

But overall, it was nice. It was pretty weird, but it wasn’t over-the-top with it. It was beautiful, but not intimidatingly so. It felt kind and welcoming, if a city could be said to be kind and welcoming. And as strange and wonderful as it seemed, it also felt like a place where people actually lived.

Most of the building were tall and pretty close together, but the place that they were led was wide and open. There was a large, three-story building that sat in a white-stone plaza. It had the same white walls and red roof that the rest of the place did, though it had a high tower in the front, and two more towers on either side. The area surrounding it reminded Kriemhild of a school, with sports courts, a swimming pool, a grassy field, a garden, and a concrete quad with tables and umbrellas.

“That’s it,” said the woman leading them. “The Freehaven Integration Bureau. That’s where you all will be staying for now.”

“For now?” said one of the girls. “Like, for how long? And doing what?”

“A little of everything. It’s there to help girls like you learn about your new life and get used to things. And it doubles as a school so you won’t lose out on your education.”

“What! Seriously? We’re supposed to be dead! We still have to go to school even though we’re dead? Like, how is that fair?”

“We’re not dead, don’t you believe it,” muttered another girl.

The woman smiled patiently. “This way, please.”

“Come on,” Kriemhild said, tugging on Homulilly’s hand.

After the bad encounter on that plane…helicopter…thingy, Homulilly had managed to get her hands on a pair of full-arm gloves, ones that covered her all the way from her shoulders to her hands. Personally, Kriemhild felt that she shouldn’t need them. After all, they had already seen several people just as weird as she was walking openly. Heck, Kriemhild herself was just as weird, and no one gave her any problem with her legs.

Still, that was Homulilly’s choice to make, so Kriemhild just held her hand and kept her near. She had a feeling that her friend was finding everything to be a lot scarier than she was.

One of the other girls, a white girl with long, blonde hair, kept glancing at them. As they entered the building, she sidled up to the pair.

“Hey,” she said. “You guys are witches too, right?”

Kriemhild brightened at that. “We sure are!”

“Cool! I was afraid I was going to be the only one. I like your…legs, by the way. Bet you can get some distance with those.”

“Oh, well, yes.” Gretchen bobbled up and down a bit. “It’s pretty exhilarating. What’s your thing?”

The girl smirked. She tilted her head to one side and tapped her neck. “You know, I think I’ll save that for later. But trust me, it’s a riot.” She stuck out her hand. “The name’s Lucy, by the way.”

Kriemhild had already started to bow in greeting, but then stopped. Oh yeah, that was how people from other parts of the world greeted each other. “Er, Kriemhild Gretchen!” she said as she shook Lucy’s hand.

Lucy stared back. “Krimpled Gretchen?”

Homulilly, who had been hanging back, suddenly looked up.

“No!” Kriemhild said with a laugh. “Kriemhild!”

“Uh, okay. Hey, is it okay if I just call you ‘Gretchen’? Because your first name’s kind of a mouthful.”

“You can’t learn her name?” Homulilly said. “Why is that so-”

“Homulilly, it’s okay!” Kriemhild said. She turned to Lucy, who looked a little taken back by the sudden antagonism. “Sure! I was actually thinking of just going by that anyway.”

“Er, okay!” Lucy coughed into her hand. “Nice to meet you!”

As she hurried away, Homulilly turned to Gretchen with a frown. “Why not just have her use your full name?”

Gretchen made a face. “Er, I was actually going to talk to you about that.”

“Huh?”

“I was thinking of just going by ‘Gretchen.’”

“What? Why?”

Gretchen shrugged. “Well, because I think it sounds kind of nicer. Besides, I already had like three people mess up ‘Kriemhild,’ so it’ll just make it easier.”

Homulilly didn’t respond. She just stared.

“But you can call me whatever you want!” Gretchen said hastily. “I don’t mind!”

“Huh,” Homulilly said. “You really rather be called by your second name?”

“Kind of. Yeah.”

“Oh. Um, okay. I guess I can get used to it then.”

Gretchen smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “Come on,” she said. The ground was starting to get pretty far ahead. “Let’s go see what this new world has for us.”

…

Now…

All in all, Ophelia did not consider herself to be missing out on whatever biological functions she had lost when she ceased to be, well, biological.

Periods? That was one of the first things they learned to get their bodies to stop doing. Aging? Forever young, hell yeah! Boys? Girls were so much prettier and they had boobs. Injuries that didn’t just fix themselves in a few minutes? The constant risk of death itself? Surely, it need not be explained why neither of them were missed.

Still, if she were to be truly honest, the one thing that she couldn’t fault those she knew for feeling cheated out of was the opportunity to become a mother, even if it wasn’t something she herself felt strongly about. Sure, it was probably a lot of hassle and heartbreak and way too much responsibility with no real guarantee that things would even work out, but there really was something attractive about creating a tiny person, helping them grow and mature, watching them develop an actual personality and interests of their own, seeing them make the same mistakes that you once made and deal with problems that you once thought world-ending but now feel trite in hindsight. And as someone who knew enough about her past to realize that her own upbringing had been…spotted, she did at times wish that she had the opportunity to correct that karma wheel, to do the good by her own child that wasn’t done for her.

However, being a parent had several significant drawbacks that she also had to acknowledge, and one of them was having to deal with the fallout when your kid had gone and done something really stupid and gotten themselves into an incredible amount of trouble. And as she approached the Militia headquarters to collect a certain Kriemhild Gretchen and Homulilly, she realized that she had never felt more like a parent than she did in that moment.

A very angry parent.

On the bright side, at least they weren’t locked up. Instead, they were sitting together along the wall in the front lobby, with a slightly bored marshal standing watch over them. The two had their heads bowed, and Gretchen’s legs had twisted themselves into so many knots that it would be a wonder if she was even still able to walk.

As Ophelia entered the lobby, Homulilly reflexively glanced up. As soon as she saw who it was, her face reddened and she quickly looked down again. Gretchen just gave her the quickest of glances and winced.

Ophelia, however, did not immediately look away. She stared right at them, eyes narrowed, until the weight of her gaze literally started to bend their shoulders. Oh yeah, they knew that they were in trouble.

Then she turned her attention to the receptionist, who looked just as bored as her coworker.

“Hello,” Ophelia said, her tone cool and professional. “I am Ophelia, and I am here to collect the two smog vapors in the corner there.”

“Hmmm. Hoe-kay.” Not even bothering to correct her slouch, the receptionist tapped a couple keys on her terminal. A pair of marshal reports suddenly materialized in the air in front of Ophelia, one of them containing a very unhappy looking Homulilly and the other an equally morose Gretchen. Next to each of their pictures was a rundown of the charges, which amounted to misdemeanors for breaking and entering of the Freehaven Integration Bureau and participating in the sabotage of their security system, and another for absconding with a special case new arrival, reduced from a felony charge due to the new arrival’s quick return.

“Bail for the pair comes out to seven thousand talents,” the receptionist said. Ophelia winced. It was certainly affordable, but also far beyond the amount she was used to dropping all at one time. Another readout appeared next to the girls’ records, this one providing details of their bail requirements. “As the poster you will then be responsible for the defendants’ behavior until their court date, which you will be notified of within twenty-four hours. I assume that they will be in your care until then?”

“Oh, most definitely yes.” Ophelia pulled out her bank card and slid it into the glowing receptacle on the desk.

“Mmmm-hmmm. Mark here.” A flashing octagon appear at bottom of the holographic display. Ophelia pulled off one glove and stuck her thumb into it. The octagon turned green.

The receptionist swiped her hand through the hologram, and it all immediately collected into a tiny glowing ball hovering over her thumb. She picked up a data crystal and stuck the ball into it. The crystal started glowing orange.

“The defendants have been fitted with tracking implants, and will neither be allowed to leave the city nor enter the FIB protected zone until told otherwise,” the receptionist said as she handed the data crystal to Ophelia. “Any further misdemeanors in that time will result in immediate incarceration with a new bail of nine thousand credits, and another two thousand for each additional misdemeanor. Felonies will result in the complete removal of bail entirely until their court date, and will be judged alongside the current charges.”

“Okay, but what if they behave themselves and show up when they’re supposed to? Can I get my bail back?”

The receptionist shrugged. “If found innocent, then yes. But considering they were kind of caught red-handed, then that’s up to the courts.”

“Ah.” Ophelia cast a sidelong look at the two defendants in question. Both of whom, it must be noted, were finding the patterns of the floor tiles to be extremely fascinating. “I see.”

Moments later Ophelia was seven thousand talents poorer and a great deal angrier. She pocketed the data crystal and made her way over to the pair. The marshal standing watch over them simply tilted her head toward them and shrugged before departing.

However, Ophelia didn’t leave with them immediately. She had just paid a hefty amount of money for her moral high ground, and by whatever nameless prehistorical magical girl that had wished her world into existence, she was going to get her money’s worth.

So she stood there, looming over them with her arms crossed, the fingers of her right hand tapping out a rhythm against her bicep.

As cheery and flamboyant as Ophelia normally was, she prided herself on having a fantastic glower, which she was now turning the full force toward the two criminals now under her care. And they felt it too. Their heads remained bowed, but their shoulders seemed to drop a few centimeters, Gretchen’s legs untangled themselves to lay flat like soggy noodles, and the petals of Homulilly’s flower actually started to wilt.

Ophelia kept the heat on until their discomfort was as palpable as her anger. Then she kept it going for another thirty seconds.

“Okay,” she said at last, making Gretchen visibly flinch. “Let’s go.”

She turned and headed for the door. She didn’t need to check to see if they were following. She could hear Homulilly’s heavy footsteps and the patter of Gretchen’s legs.

The Militia headquarters was nestled in the heart of the city, sitting on the boundary of the FIB protected zone, so it was a pretty long walk back to Ladoga. Sure, they could have taken the roofways, or even called for a zipper. But Ophelia needed time to stew, so they walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Partway there, Gretchen suddenly cleared her throat. “Um, O-Ophelia. I-”

Ophelia whirled perfectly on her heel and stamped her other foot down, bringing herself to a sudden stop after a hundred and eighty degrees.

“What?” she barked.

Gretchen winced. “N-Never mind. Sorry.”

Snorting, Ophelia turned back around again and plodded forward without another a word.

Finally they left the tall buildings and narrows streets and entered the winding cobblestone paths and thick foliage of Ladoga. Ophelia remained silent as she led the pair all the way to the fence, down the front path, up the patio stairs, and opened the door.

Oktavia was in her mechanized chair next to the stairs, and Candeloro was sitting in her easy chair. The two of them immediately straightened up as the trio entered, their faces full of questions.

There would be plenty of time for that later. Her hand still on the knob, Ophelia stood to one side and motioned with her hand for Homulilly and Gretchen to enter. They did so as slowly and heavily like the soon-to-be condemned that they undoubtedly felt like. Once they were fully inside, Ophelia shut the door and locked it.

“All right,” she said to the pair. “Sit.”

Homulilly and Gretchen hesitated for half a second, and then hurried over to the couch. They sat down with their heads bowed and hands in their laps, exactly the same way as they had done on the Militia bench.

“So,” Ophelia said as she removed her hat and placed it on the waiting hatstand. She walked over to stand across from the pair with the tea table between them. “This is an unexpected turn. You’d think I’d be used to them by now, considering how our week has been going, but honestly the two of you getting yourselves arrested is a new one. I sure as hell did not see this coming.” She glanced over to her girlfriend, who was parked right next to her. “How about you, Oktavia? You see this coming?”

“Nope,” the mermaid said. “Absolutely blindsided here.”

“Completely out of the blue,” Ophelia agreed.

“No warning whatsoever.”

“We just-” Gretchen started to say.

“You just wanted to find Charlotte because you were worried that she would leave us and be gone forever,” Ophelia coldly finished for her. “You felt that if you could get to her, you might be able to talk some sense into her. But since you had no idea where she was, you decided to start using your friend Hitomi Shizuki’s powers for good and get taken straight to her. Do I have the right of it?”

Gretchen’s head dropped again. “Yes,” she mumbled.

Ophelia sighed. “Well, congratulations. It worked. Charlotte called about an hour ago, and she and Candeloro are meeting face-to-face tomorrow.”

“But…then it worked!” Homulilly said, perking up. “We saved the family!”

“Yes. It worked,” Ophelia agreed. “You know what else worked?”

“Uh…” Homulilly and Gretchen said in unison.

“You successfully getting that intern that you shanghaied into helping you fired! There goes her chosen career. And probably someone else as well once they’ve finished their investigation! You two now have a record, so that’ll make any future job prospects kind of difficult. You made Hitomi take you to Charlotte without even knowing where Charlotte even was! What if she was someplace incredibly dangerous? What if you had gotten attacked? And…” Ophelia pulled out the data crystal and summoned up the list above her palm. “Oh yeah, the FIB was really pissed about this one. You roped one of the newly arrived, someone who has already proven herself to be extremely fragile emotionally and possibly even mentally, into your scheme!” She closed her fist, banishing the floating readout. “Do I even need to list all the different ways this could have fucked her up in the long term? Say what you want about all the things she’s done, but I thought we all agreed that the best place for her was at the FIB, getting help! But as soon as she was actually doing that, you go and yank her right out! Do you have any idea how fragile the trust is between them and her is right now?”

Homulilly opened her mouth. “But-”

“Take the whole last week out of the equation,” Ophelia said. “Take yourselves and your history with her and put it aside. Now, think back to your own time in the FIB. Think about all the times you’ve seen the newly arrived and how messed up they were over losing their family, losing their homes, and oh yeah, having fucking violently died pretty recently. Now, imagine that you heard that a couple of jackasses from the town decided to sneak into where one of the worst cases was being kept and twisted her arm into using her powers to help solve one of their personal problems. What would you think of those people.”

Gretchen winced. “Well…”

“YOU’D THINK THAT WAS A REALLY FUCKED UP THING TO DO!” Ophelia all but roared.

“But we just asked!” Homulilly wailed. “We didn’t force her or anything.”

Ophelia fixated her glower upon her. “Oh yeah? So you didn’t use her history against her at all? I know you have your own issues with the kid. You’re going to tell me that you didn’t use any of that to help, ahem, convince her.”

To this she got no answer, which was enough of an answer for her.

Ophelia continued. “And here’s another thing: I know we’re all upset over Charlotte having come down with a bad case of the stupid, but it’s CHARLOTTE! Yeah, she can get really stubborn and pigheaded, but odds are that after she had some time to herself to cool down and think about things, she would have come back on her own!”

At this, Homulilly scowled. “Do you know that for a fact?”

“No, I do not!” Ophelia snapped. “Just like you didn’t know that your scheme wouldn’t have gotten all three of you hurt! Or that you wouldn’t have made things worse and driven her off completely!”

Okay, now Ophelia’s smoldering anger was starting to erupt into white-hot fury. So she plopped down into her big red chair and slumped forward, fingertips pressed into her temples as she slowly breathed in and out, gradually getting her emotions back under control.

Once she felt that she had cooled off enough, Ophelia said, “Look. I know you two had the best of intentions. I know you got good hearts and were only doing what you thought you had to for our sake. But good intentions and good results don’t necessarily excuse bad actions. And I’m betting you knew that going in. You probably told a lot of people that if you did get caught, you two would take all the blame. Am I right?”

Gretchen swallowed. “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “We’re prepared to accept whatever consequences you might have for us.”

“Me?” Ophelia sighed. “Aw fuck. What am I gonna do, ground you?”

Then Oktavia cleared her throat. “You know, you technically can.”

“Huh? They’re adults now! Besides, they’re not my kids, I don’t own them.”

“How much did you pay to bail them out?”

Ophelia hadn’t thought of that. “Huh. Well, that’s a good point. I guess I do own you now.”

Gretchen let out one of her frightened squeaks. Homulilly said nothing at all, though her face was now almost the same shade of white as Charlotte’s.

Ophelia mulled on that possibility for a bit, but then shook her head. No, grounding was for kids. This was an adult situation, which called for an adult response.

Besides, as pissed off as she was, she couldn’t deny the results.

“All right, I want you to understand that I am still very angry and very disappointed,” she said at last. “And I don’t like being either of those things, so that makes me frustrated on top of everything else. But I would be lying if I said that I’m also not…” she sighed, “incredibly grateful that you pulled it off. Despite anything I might have said out of anger these last few days, I wanted Charlotte back as much as anyone else, and it looks like that’ll happen.

Both of the girls started to relax a little, but they froze when they saw the look that Ophelia was shooting them.

“But that still doesn’t let you two off the hook,” Ophelia said. “So, here’s how it’s going to go: when we finally get your court date, you two are going to show up, apologize profusely, and accept whatever consequences they give you. Maybe they’ll just let you off with a warning and probation, though considering that the FIB is involved and they take this sort of thing very seriously, I really doubt that. So maybe you’ll have to pay a fine. Maybe you’ll be given community service. Hell, maybe you’ll have to do a little time.

Homulilly gulped. “We might go to jail?”

“Yah,” Ophelia said, staring at her. “That’s what happens when you fuck with the single most protected class in town. They’re probably going to completely revamp security in that whole zone, so future generations will have you girls to thank for the sudden lack of freedom.”

“We didn’t think of that,” Homulilly said, her petals wilting.

“Yeah. Hey. No shit.” Ophelia looked from Homulilly’s face to Gretchen’s. “So, we in agreement here?”

“Yes,” Gretchen said without hesitation.

Ophelia nodded. “That’s one of you. Homulilly?”

“Agreed.”

“Thank you. Now, after the dust have finally settled-”

“But,” Homulilly said, interrupting her. “I’d still do it again. If it meant getting any of you back, I’d do it again.”

Ophelia straightened up in her chair. Her fingers dug into the armrests. She said nothing.

Neither did Homulilly. She returned Ophelia’s stare without blinking.

While that was most definitely not what Ophelia had wanted to hear, she had to admit to being a little impressed. Homulilly had come a long way from the quivering little girl who hated to even go outside by herself. She had some real tough vapors in her gut, Ophelia had to give her that.

Ophelia considered making an issue of that little comment, but then decided against it. She had said her piece. Arguing further wouldn’t help.

“As I was saying,” Ophelia said at last. “Once the dust has finally settled, let’s also agree to put this whole dumb dumbness behind us. In the meantime, I have a lawyer to talk to.” She stood up and headed for the door, grabbing her hat on the way. “Jesus, I need leashes for all y’all, just to keep everything from devolving into pure anarchy! I’m supposed to be the rebel! When the hell did I stop being the rebel?”

With that, she was out the door, slamming it hard behind her.

…

Back inside, Homulilly and Gretchen finally let themselves relax a little. Holy crap, they knew that Ophelia was tough, but they hadn’t known her to be that scary.

“That…I guess it could have gone worse,” Gretchen said.

“Not by a lot,” Homulilly muttered.

“Still. At least she didn’t kick us out.”

Homulilly didn’t respond to that. The now very real possibility of going to jail was still looming all too fresh in her mind.

She glanced up at Oktavia, who was still reclining in her chair, watching the pair with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Oktavia said. “I’m on her side.”

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said. “We didn’t-”

“Ugh,” Oktavia said, making a face. “Let’s wait until we know what’s going to happen before we get to that. Though, uh, Homulilly?”

“What?”

“Now that you also did something really rash because you didn’t want to lose someone you loved, how about you give Hitomi a break if she ends up becoming a part of our lives in the future?”

Homulilly slowly breathed out. “I already talked to her about that. We’re fine. No more grudges.”

“Okay, good,” Oktavia nodded. She touched the control panel on her armrest, moving her chair in motion toward the door Ophelia had just stormed out of. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed to the studio. Ophelia did all the yelling despite promising that I’d get in a lick or two, so now I got all this angry aggression to burn off. I’m thinking…thrash metal.”

For the second time in half-an-hour, the door slammed. Homulilly and Gretchen were left alone.

Alone…with Candeloro.

Candeloro, it should be noted, had been sitting in silence the entire time. She had stayed silent during Ophelia’s entire lecture, she had stayed silent when things had gotten heated, she had stayed silent when Homulilly had started to talk back, she had stayed silent when Ophelia had left, and she had stayed silent when Oktavia had chimed in with her own piece.

But now that the two of them were gone, she finally raised her head and turned toward Homulilly and Gretchen.

Unlike Ophelia and Oktavia, she didn’t look the slightest bit angry. Quite the contrary, she was positively beaming. It was the first time Homulilly had seen her happy since…their graduation day, actually.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not mad at you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you. Thank you so…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. They understood. Homulilly and Gretchen exchanged a quick look. Then, as one, they got up and went over to where Candeloro was crying and embraced her.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Gretchen whispered.

Candeloro shook her head. “No. She said she just wanted to talk to me. But, um, when you talked to her, did she say why she…”

Homulilly shook her head. “She doesn’t really believe that you’re Candeloro. She thinks that you’re just Mami Tomoe.”

“I thought as much,” Candeloro sighed. “How did you get her to change her mind? About talking to me, I mean.”

Gretchen winced. “Um, guilt trip, basically.”

That made Candeloro laugh. “I guess I can’t argue with the results.” She wiped the tears away from her eyes. “I just hope that I’m as effective.”

Gretchen sat up on Candeloro’s armrests. “You know her better than anyone alive,” she said, squeezing Candeloro’s shoulder. “Well, I mean, better than anyone living…existing…you know what I mean! Just make her see you as you.”

Candeloro swallowed back the lump in her throat. “What if I can’t though? I do know Charlotte, and you know how stubborn she is!”

Homulilly sighed. She straightened up on the other armrest. “Then…I don’t know. I guess if she won’t listen now, then just say something that’ll get stuck in her head, something that’ll make her change her mind later. I mean, Ophelia did say that she might just need some time to think about things.”

“I hope so,” Candeloro said softly. “I don’t know how I’m going to face all this without her.”

…

The next day…

The first time Candeloro and Charlotte had gone on a date, Candeloro hadn’t even realized that it was a date until about a third of the way in.

It had been a few months since her friends had bound together to intervene in her cycle of depression and drunkenness. Getting her to get off the drink had taken a lot of coaxing and support, but they had succeeded. Unfortunately, it hadn’t done much for her feelings of shame and self-loathing, and since she no longer had anything to drown them with, they had filled her every waking moment, until it had started to become too much of a chore to even get out of bed.

That had been when Charlotte had stepped in. One day, she had told Candeloro that they were going for a walk, and that was that. Candeloro had been fully prepared to ignore her, but Charlotte had insisted, coaxing her out of bed, to get cleaned up, to get changed, to eat a full breakfast, and then to go with her out the door. And Candeloro had gone along with it mostly because she couldn’t summon up enough willpower to resist. What did it matter?

The walk had ended up being a lot longer than Candeloro had thought it would be. Instead of around the facility grounds Charlotte had led her all the way out of the protected zone and down to the town square. Charlotte had talked nonstop, going on and on about their classes, about some new book she had read, about something funny that Oktavia had said, about some weird alien fact she had just learned about.

Candeloro hadn’t been very responsive at first. She was mostly just humoring Charlotte, after all. But after a while Charlotte ended up saying a few things that she found interesting. Then she began to respond. Then she began to engage. And before too long, they were having an actual conversation, like they used to have before Candeloro had made her big mistake.

By then Candeloro had started to feel much better. And by the time they gone out for lunch she almost felt like her normal self again. But it wasn’t until they had stopped by an ice cream stand and walked along the boardwalk while the sun set over the beach that Candeloro became aware that this walk was becoming a lot more intimate than hangouts they had had in the past. Furthermore, Charlotte was holding her hand.

Right about then was when she started to put things together.

It was one of her happiest memories, in part because for the simple fact of being their first date, but also because it was a time of pure happiness following the darkest point in her life. The town square always had a special place in her heart after that.

It was darkly fitting then that after being the place that her relationship had begun it would end up possibly being the place that it shattered to pieces.

The town square was a large, open plaza that lay nestled in the stretch of flat land between the foot of the hill and the beach, ringed with a short brick wall with a wide fountain in the middle. It was a popular place for town events, concerts, holiday celebrations, and pretty much anything that would require a large outdoor crowd. During the summer, the fountain would essentially become a small water park, with people splashing in the shallow water and playing among the shooting water jets. In the winter, magic would be used to make it snow in the plaza, the fountain would be frozen over into an ice skating rink, and a massive Christmas tree would be placed in its center.

Despite being in the dead of tourist season, the place was actually much less populated than usual. The storm had chased off most of the visitors that had been unlucky enough to be caught when it had hit, and had discouraged new ones from arriving. There was still a fair amount of people wandering about, but only about a third of what there normally would be. Candeloro was perfectly okay with that.

Candeloro got there at about 11:50, a full ten minutes before Charlotte said to meet her.

She stood at the entrance to the square and looked around. Per usual, people were going about their pleasant day: strolling, talking, laughing, flirting, playing, and overall just enjoying the sun, all of them completely unaware that an extreme anomaly in this world of freaks was among them. Had they known what she was, what had happened to her, she would no doubt would be swarmed by throngs of the curious, and that was if she was lucky.

On the one hand, she was thankful that nobody knew. That kind of attention was the last thing that she needed. And yet, on the other hand, she couldn’t help but be a little resentful. Her entire world had been upturned, both without and within, and here everyone was just having a nice time while being completely oblivious to the turmoil she was having to deal with. She knew it was unfair to be upset about that, but there wasn’t a whole of fair happening to her at the moment.

There was no sign of Charlotte, so she walked around until she found an empty bench and sat down. And then she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It was only ten minutes, but the perception of time was a subjective thing, and every second seemed to crawl at a snail’s pace. She could feel her hair growing. She was aware of every itch on her skin, most of them concentrated on her new arms. She tried to lay her hands on the bench’s boards on either side of her, but that felt awkward and unnatural. She then placed one on the twisting metal armrest and the other across her lap, but they wouldn’t stop twitching.

She checked the time. To her dismay, it had only been two minutes. She had worked entire full time shifts that hadn’t felt this long!

Speaking of which, she still hadn’t figured out what she was going to do about her job. She hadn’t officially quit yet, and she certainly didn’t want to, but she kind of had to, didn’t she? There was no way she could hide her new condition from her coworkers, but she also couldn’t let them in on the secret. They had already called the house twice inquiring about when she was going to come back, the first time genuinely concerned and the second a little more on the impatient side. Ophelia had taken the call both times, letting them know that Candeloro was feeling out of sorts.

She needed to let them know that she wasn’t coming back, but she really didn’t want to. They needed to know so they could find a replacement. It wasn’t fair to keep them short-handed for so long. But she felt that if she cut that part off from her life, then she would lose her last bit of her old life. Her sense of self was gone, her wife was gone, and now she was going to lose her job and all her friends there as well, one that she genuinely enjoyed. It wasn’t fair at all.

She checked the time again. 11:46. Bleh.

Wasn’t time supposed to go faster here than it was in the world of the living? Apparently, her entire life as Candeloro had been squeezed into only a few weeks over there. She wasn’t really clear on what the exchange rate was, but that meant that this infuriatingly long ten minutes was contained within the tiniest fraction of a millisecond over there.

And that meant that her new existence as Mami Tomoe had lasted only a handful of seconds probably, if that. Someone alive somewhere on Earth had probably felt a sneeze coming on when she had made the change that still hadn’t come out yet. Or maybe it had. She didn’t know.

11:48

What if Charlotte didn’t come? What if she changed her mind at the last minute? Somehow, that would be far worse than if Charlotte had shown up just to tell her that she didn’t love her anymore and didn’t want to ever see her again. At least that meant that she cared enough to do it in person. But to have Charlotte simply disappear out of her life without so much as a goodbye? That almost made Candeloro regret not just simply letting her get eaten by the karnuk. At least then she could have been recovered and not turn her back on everything once she was hauled out of the beast’s stomach.

Almost.

Candeloro’s legs started bouncing. She was wringing her fingers together and couldn’t stop. Charlotte wasn’t coming. Candeloro was going to lose her without even being given the chance to fight.

Then a tingle went down her back.

It was sort of strange how it felt to be joined to someone on a spiritual level. She and Charlotte spent so much time together that they didn’t even notice the feelings of peace and contentment that the other’s presence brought them, but the longer they spent apart, the more that the other’s absence gnawed at their minds. Spending a few hours on their own to go to work or run errands or anything like that wasn’t a problem. But after a day or two feelings of unease would start to grow, like a persistent itch that they were unable to scratch. The last few days weren’t the longest period of time they had spent apart, but they had been by far the worst. At least with the other instances Candeloro knew exactly when she would be back with Charlotte and still talked to her daily. But the constant yearning for her while not knowing if her wife was ever coming back and knowing how much she was repulsed by her had been absolutely unbearable.

But by the same token, it did mean that they both instinctively knew when the other was near. Candeloro remembered stepping off the elysian from her trip to Ordo’s Furnace and entering the Freehaven skyport. Even though she hadn’t been told where the others would be waiting for her, her head had turned automatically in their direction as she had passed by a junction. And sure enough, there they had been, with Charlotte standing in their midst like a pink-haired angel.

Candeloro did not hear Charlotte’s footsteps over the sound of the fountain. She did not see her coming. But she still knew.

Sure enough, a moment later the space next to her was filled. Candeloro glanced over. There she was, wearing tight white pants that ended right over her calves, a pink-and-black striped shirt, and pink sneakers. She had on a pair of large-lensed sunglasses and was wearing a backpack.

Save for the backpack, all of that was part of Charlotte’s usual fashion sense, and none of it had come from their closet or dresser. Charlotte had bought new clothes. She was truly prepared to leave.

Candeloro swallowed back the lump she felt forming in her throat. Charlotte was there, but she wasn’t saying anything. She wasn’t even looking at her. She was just sitting there with her hands on her knees, gaze directed out toward the horizon.

Finally Candeloro couldn’t take it anymore. Someone had to be the first to break the silence. “You came,” she said softly.

Charlotte winced visibly behind her sunglasses. “Yeah.”

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up at all.”

“I…” Charlotte sighed. “I almost didn’t.”

Candeloro swallowed. “Why? Because…I’m not worth it? Because you still think that I’m just Mami Tomoe, that I replaced Candeloro?”

“That’s…I don’t know. Maybe.”

Candeloro looked down at the ground. “I’m not, you know. I’m not just some…”

Her voice trailed off. This wasn’t working. She had worked on what she had wanted to say, had rehearsed it in her head dozens of times, but now that she was actually there, now that Charlotte was finally here, she couldn’t seem to get the words out. Her throat felt thick, and her chest seemed to tighten every time she tried to talk.

The two sat in silence, watching everyone around them as they had fun. For once the place wasn’t oppressively crowded, likely due to the aftermath of the hurricane, but there still was a lot of people milling around, the sound of their voices talking and laughing mixing with the crashing of the surf and the calls of the gulls.

It all seemed so…normal, as if nobody was at all aware of the changes that had happened in Candeloro’s life. And how could they? To them it was just another pleasant day out in the sun. How could they know that the ninth official de-witching was among them? How could they not that only a few days prior, the two of them had done battle with the alien sea-monster that had caused the beaches to be closed? How could they know that one of their most tight-knit families was on the verge of falling apart?

Change. Change and fear. It really came down to that. Their life had been one where change had been gradual and only came when expected, and fear had been practically non-existent. But throw one major curve-ball at them, and things just collapsed. It really made her question how strong those bonds had been to begin with.

“So,” she said. “Do you, uh, want to go first, or…”

Charlotte sighed.

Then she suddenly stood up, making Candeloro jerk away a bit.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Charlotte said.

…

Spying on someone in Freehaven wasn’t exactly smiled upon. Stalking was, of course, illegal, but keeping an eye on someone wasn’t, not really, though where the line between one and the other wasn’t all that well defined. Still, following someone that really would rather not be followed could get you into big trouble with the marshals, assuming that you didn’t get found out and beaten senseless first. With death a non-factor and most injuries barely worth remarking on, bodily violence actually ranked far below harassment on the felony scale, so that was always something to keep in mind.

That having been said, while stalking was a bad idea, there was nothing stopping the gang from keeping an eye on things. And since Homulilly, Gretchen, and Oktavia weren’t in any position to go anywhere at the moment, Ophelia had become the designated scout.

She stood on a rooftop in the shade of a potted palm tree, chewing on a stick of taffy as she watched the town square. She had on a pair of contacts that functioned as adjustable binoculars. All she had to do was think it, and they would zoom in and out on anything she wanted.

“Okay, Candy’s still just sitting there,” she said into her phone, which was sitting on the pot and was on speaker. “No sign of our little runaway.”

“What’s she doing?” Oktavia’s voice asked.

“I just told you, she’s just sitting there, looking all nervous! And…”

Suddenly she caught sight of a very shapely brunette with a pair of equally lovely redheads, all of them wearing the absolute minimum of clothing walking by, and judging by the way the brunette was hugging the pair of redheads close to her it was pretty evident that their shared relationship was a few degrees beyond being simply friends.

“-oh, hello!”

“What? Is it her?” Gretchen said.

“No, I know that tone,” Oktavia growled. “Ophelia! Stop checking out girls and do your damned job!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Ophelia refocused on Candeloro. “Okay, still no sign of…hang on.” She turned her attention to one of the side entrances to the square. “Oh, wait, wait, wait, there she is. The jackass is in the house.”

“Is she with anyone?” Gretchen said.

“Nope. Just her, and a really stupid pair of sunglasses.”

“I don’t think anyone that wears your kind of hat is in any position to make fun of anyone’s taste in fashion,” Oktavia said.

“Shut up. My hat may be stupid, but I rock it.” Not today though. Her big, red slouch hat was too much of a giveaway, so she had on that baseball cap she had gotten from the Aurora Borealis. “Okay, she’s seen Candy. And…yup, she’s heading right for her. This is happening.”

Ophelia watched as Charlotte walked over to where Candeloro was sitting and took the seat next to her. Unfortunately their backs were to her so she couldn’t make out much beyond that.

After a few seconds went by Oktavia said impatiently, “Well? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Ophelia said. “They’re just…sitting there. I don’t even think they’re talking.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know. Awkwardness, I guess. And…okay, no, now they’re talking.”

“About what? What are they saying?”

“How should I know? I’m like half a kilometer away!”

“Just move and download the lip-reading app! It’s not that expensive!”

“No! I told you, I’m just keeping an eye on them, not…okay, wait. They’re getting up together. And now they’re leaving the square.”

“Where?” Homulilly’s voice demanded. “Where are they going?”

“Hush. Let me…let me see…”

She tracked their movements as they moved from the square and started heading up the hill. It was one of the center streets, so it was wide enough for her to keep them in sight.

Then she saw where they were heading and sighed. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” Oktavia said. “Why uh-oh? What’s going on?”

“I’m about to lose them.”

“You know that already? Why?”

“‘Cause they’re heading straight for the Rising Gardens.”

…

The Rising Gardens was located a little bit up the hill. It functioned as a nature walk, but also had kind of a twist, in that it was sort of a three-dimensional hedge maze. The whole place was a tiered structure made of wooden mesh and had went up about four stories, and those four stories were crammed with vines, flowers, fungus, shrugs, ferns, grasses, and even tree trunks that extended down through all four stories to rise up and spread their branches over the gardens. The paths were winding, rising up and down via random staircases, and no matter where you went you were surrounded by exotic plant life. Special hidden devices filled the maze halls with sunlight, and enough separation had been enforced between the roots, trunks, and vines to keep the interior from feeling claustrophobic. Non-pest insects such as butterflies, moths, and bees flitted everywhere. It was a wonderful place to just go and let yourself get lost in.

“Homulilly and Gretchen said that they found you in Old Town,” Candeloro said as they walked along.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Figured it was the best place to lay low while I figured things out. Still not sure how they managed to find me.”

“Well, uh…” Candeloro wondered how much she ought to reveal. Her younger friends’ legal troubles weren’t exactly appropriate conversation material.

Then she sighed. Oh, to hell with it. Charlotte ought to know what they did on her behalf. “Well, basically they broke into the FIB and convinced Hitomi to take them to you.”

Charlotte came to a sudden stop next to a vibrant patch of pink-and-violet orchids. “What.”

“Yes. And they apparently botched their return and were arrested.” Candeloro made sure that she had a good view of Charlotte’s face. “Ophelia was on her way to go bail them out when you called last night.”

Sure enough, Charlotte looked positively horrified. “Homulilly and Gretchen broke into the FIB, absconded with Hitomi Shizuki, and got themselves arrested? Them?!”

Candeloro shrugged. “Yes.”

Charlotte’s face seemed to go to war with itself. Her mouth kept forming itself around words that seemed unable to emerge while her cheeks, brow, and eyes tightened and loosened in response to the many conflicting emotions she was probably feeling. “But that’s…they couldn’t have…don’t they get how-”

Candeloro laid a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge them,” she said. “They did it for you.”

Her face falling in defeat, Charlotte sighed. She gestured helplessly and shrugged.

Then she glanced at the hand on her shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but her face did clench up.

Wincing, Candeloro moved her hand away.

“Sorry, it’s just…” Charlotte motioned toward Candeloro’s arm. “I’m not really, um…”

“It’s okay, I get it.”

Shaking her head, Charlotte started walking again.

“They said you had a flight out of here,” Candeloro said after a bit.

“I did,” Charlotte said with a nod. “Still do. Just…rescheduled. For later today.”

Candeloro winced. “Why? I mean, I understand if you needed some time to yourself. But why were you leaving town?” Well, it was time to broach the question that had been hanging between them from the start. “Does me being…this really repulse you that much?”

“I…” Charlotte pressed the fingertips of her right hand against her forehead. “Ah, damn it. I guess there’s no gentle way to put this. Mami, you scare me.”

Candeloro wasn’t sure what hurt her more: the idea that her own wife was scared of her or that she was still thinking of her exclusively as “Mami.”

“I mean, a witch turning all the way back into a Puella Magi? That’s…you have a better chance of going full witch than you have of that! It’s such a remote possibility that it’s not even worth thinking about, it should have never had happened! But it did. And now you’re here.”

Candeloro shot her a look. “Me being…?”

“Oh, don’t start that. You know exactly what I mean. You being Mami Tomoe!” Charlotte threw her hands up in the air in dramatic fashion, scaring away a few pigeons that had been nesting atop a nearby vine-covered statue. “Mami Tomoe, Puella Magi! The one who got caught up in the Incubators’ stupid system and turned into a witch! The one that’s supposed to be dead! The one that Candeloro was made from!”

Candeloro winced. Thankfully no one had really taken notice of Charlotte’s outburst, or if they had, they were making sure not to pay attention.

To her credit, Charlotte also seemed to notice that she had made a poor decision, if the grimace she was wearing as she looked around was any indication. She lowered her arms and stuck her hands into her pockets.

“So, is that what you think?” Candeloro said after they had walked a ways. “That I’ve…replaced Candeloro? That I’m really not her?”

Charlotte huffed. “I can…accept that you think that you’re Candeloro. I can accept that you might have your memories.”

“I do. And I can prove it.”

“You don’t need to-”

Candeloro took a deep breath. Then she said, “Your name is Charlotte, but your fans call you Charlotte Walpurgis, a name that Ophelia dared you to take because you refused to believe your publishers would take it seriously, and you ended up owing her ten talents when they didn’t even bat an eye. We all went to school at the Cloudbreak Public University, and you used to get into fights with Oktavia because she wouldn’t stop playing her keyboard when you were trying to sleep. You got a Masters in Classic Literature and figured that was enough to get yourself a job at the library.

“You like listening to vaskergoros folk and vekoo jazz, but can’t stand heavy metal no matter what species it comes from, despite going through a very loud punk phase when you were in your second-to-last year. You go into weird fits whenever you come within spitting distance of cheese, something we found out when you literally dove over the lunchline back during our first year and had to be dragged out by your ankles. When we got our parrot, we all threw dice to decide who got to name him, and you won and named him ‘Cheese’ as a joke. You’re allergic to green beans for some strange reason. You and Ophelia once spent an entire month waging war on one another for no logical reason whatsoever, and it only stopped when Ophelia accidentally hit me in the face with a snowball she had been keeping in the freezer. You once tried to prank Oktavia and I into going on a terrifying ride at Sardi’s Land of Miracles, only for it to backfire and you passed out on the ride. We had to replace the kitchen window once when you started showing off throwing darts during a barbeque. You’ve been arrested twice, once during our FIB days for getting drunk and breaking into the pool after hours to go skinny dipping with your friends, and again two years after we all graduated when you, once again, got drunk with your friends and broke into the FIB pool to go skinny dipping. Oktavia was with you both times. And they say I have a drinking problem. You flunked Physics our Senior year and begged Ophelia to tutor you so you could get through the makeup course. She waited four years to call in that favor, and to this day I cannot get any of you to tell me what she made you do, I just know it was kind of illegal and Oktavia was involved somehow. Also, you enjoy having me tie your arms to the bedframe whenever we make love, and having me leave a trail of kisses all the way from your forehead all the way down to your-”

“Stop it,” Charlotte growled. “I get it.”

“I just wanted to prove to you that I’m still me.”

“So I’ve heard. Homulilly even told me that you’re still using her name.”

The constant attacks to her identity were making Candeloro’s stomach sour. “But?”

“I can’t accept that she is the one in the driver’s seat. That you’re really her, instead of someone who just slipped back into your skin and took over.”

“Why?” Candeloro demanded. “Why are you so sure?”

Then Charlotte was taken over by a rage and fury so pure and so hot that it made Candeloro recoil. She had seen Charlotte angry before, but never like that, not with her face twisted up in hate and grief.

“Because she felt you coming back,” Charlotte snarled. “She was terrified of you, terrified that you would wake up and take away everything from her! Remember? Do you remember the day I went to talk to Hitomi Shizuki and learned everyone’s old names? Do you remember what happened that night?”

…

Then…

“Candeloro? Are you all right?”

It was late evening. Most of the household had gone to bed, though Charlotte doubted that any of them would be doing much sleeping. There was just too much weighing on their minds. Hell, Charlotte had learned exactly nothing of her own past, and she was expecting to be kept up for several hours through empathetic insomnia alone.

As if only to prove her point, instead of going to bed after undressing, Candeloro was standing at the window, staring out at the neighborhood. Ladoga was pretty quiet as far as streets went, and most of their neighbors had turned in for the night as well, so most of the lights were out. They had always liked how the neighborhood looked at night, with the heavy foresting and curving cobblestone streets and the graceful, elfin streetlamps. At night, when the lights went down, the streetlamps went on, and the night insects came out, it looked like something out of a fairytale. When they had first moved in, the two of them would often just spread a blanket on the roof and lay there in each other’s arms, listening to the sounds of the night. They still did that on occasion, when they mood took them.

But that look of peaceful allure wasn’t what she saw in Candeloro. Instead, her wife looked pensive, almost haunted. It was pretty troubling.

“Candeloro?”

Instead of turning to her, Candeloro continued to stare out the window while saying, “Do you know what the strangest thing about all this is?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “Uh, the fact that one of Gretchen and Homulilly’s old buddies just so happen to show up right on their graduation day and not only knows most of our old names, but major details about our pasts as well? Because that’s pretty damn strange.”

“I mean besides the obvious.”

After mentally sifting through just about every possible answer to that question, Charlotte shrugged. There was so much strangeness going on that she didn’t even know which one to pick first. “Okay. Shoot.”

“It’s that…it’s despite the fact that I am still technically dead, I’m the one that feels haunted. I mean, that’s strange, right? According to every objective scale, I am a ghost.” Candeloro laid the end of a ribbon against the glass. “But I can’t shake this feeling that the dead are watching me. Calling out to me. Isn’t that weird?”

Charlotte pursed her lips as she thought on that. “Nah,” she said after a bit. She shook her head. “It’s not weird at all. I mean, if you think about it, you’re not the dead one.”

Candeloro glanced at her from over her shoulder, her face troubled. “How do you figure?”

“It’s just something I read in a book once. You can’t be dead in your own world. Every world has its own version of alive, and when you stop being alive in that world, you go to wherever you’re supposed to be next, right? So if this world was made specifically for people like us, then according to the law of the land, we’re the alive ones. But our past selves?” Charlotte shrugged. “Well, they up and died in that other world. So they’re dead and we’re not. What you’re feeling is perfectly logical.”

She actually got a small laugh from her wife for that. “Oh, good Lord,” Candeloro said with a roll of her eyes. She left the window to finally head over to the bed. “Leave it to you to try to take apart an existential crisis with literal terminology.”

“Yeah, that’s me. ‘Charlotte Walpurgis destroys identity angst with facts and logic!’”

Candeloro made a face. “Is that from something? Because it sounds insufferable!”

“Ah, I got it from this anti-witch idiot’s channel on GalacWork. Most of her holos have stupid titles like that. On the one hand, they really are as stupid as they sound. On the other…comedy. Gold.”

Candeloro shot her a very familiar look.

“Yeah, I guess now’s not the time,” Charlotte sighed. She held the bedcovers open, letting Candeloro slide in. “Sorry.”

Candeloro laid her head back into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “Do you remember back at the FIB, how we’d sit around talking about what kind of people we might have used to be, making up lives for our past selves, that sort of thing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember how I told you that I would have given anything to know my story? To know what happened to me, what that car and all those tea pots were all about?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, now I do know! About the car at least. And I can find out almost everything I ever wanted to know! I can ask you her name right now and I’ll find out.”

Charlotte pressed herself close to Candeloro, nestling her chin on Candeloro’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around her torso. “But…you don’t want it anymore?”

“No,” Candeloro said after a pause. “No, I do not. In fact, I kind of wish that I didn’t learn what I do know. It feels like everything I learn wakes her up a little bit more, and if I keep going she’ll…” Candeloro shivered.

Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “She’s dead, Candy.”

“I know. But…”

“She’s dead. Her story’s over. And everything that’s left of her is living a perfectly happy life in you. And if you ask me, she probably prefers it that way.” Charlotte slipped an arm behind Candeloro’s head and gently turned her face toward her. “So stop worrying about something that’s not going to happen. Worst that could happen is that maybe we’ll have to go into therapy for a bit if spiritual dissonance starts to happen. And that happens all the time. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”

…

Now…

“So what am I then?” Candeloro demanded. “Some kind of parasite?”

“No, you’re the host,” Charlotte said flatly. “I fell in love with the parasite. You know, seeing how I’m one myself. Then you exterminated her. Took your body back, took your name back, took back everything. Well, fine. It was yours to begin with. And if the others are so willing to just let you slip in and replace her, then that’s on them. But I don’t have to be a part of it.”

Candeloro slowly breathed in and out. “Charlotte, that might the single ugliest thing I have ever heard you say.”

“I tell it like it is. And you’ll notice that I’ve done most of the talking here. Weren’t you supposed to try to convince that I’m wrong, that you really are still Candeloro, just with some kind of expansion pack or something? Some kind of upgrade? Candeloro+ or something? Candeloro MK II? Candelmami? Mamiloro?”

“Stop it!” Candeloro cried. “Stop it right now! This is tearing me up enough as it is, and you’re making jokes?”

“Then get on with it already!” Charlotte said with an impatient roll of her wrist. “Convince me!”

At that moment, a trio of girls appeared around the corner, oohing and aweing over the flowers. Candeloro and Charlotte froze in place and then tried to look inconspicuous. If the trio had noticed the argument taking place, they made no sign as they walked right past them and headed up a nearby stairway to the upper level.

Once they were out of sight, Charlotte sighed and said, “Well? Go ahead.”

Candeloro opened her mouth…and then closed it again. She looked down at the ground, tears prickling her eyes.

Charlotte tilted her head to one side. “Well?”

“That…That’s just it,” Candeloro said, her voice shaking. “As terrible as it is, I’m not sure you’re wrong.”

…

“Well?” Oktavia demanded. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, because I can’t see them!” Ophelia snapped back. “They’re way deep in the maze!”

“Then follow them!”

“No, you pushy voyeur!” Ophelia said down with her legs crossed Indian-style and her arms folded. “I’m going to sit here and wait until one of them comes out! That’s it! Go read a book or compose a diss-track if you’re so bored!”

…

“Okay,” Charlotte said after the silence between them had gone on long enough. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Candeloro tried to wipe her eyes with her fingers but found them too stiff and too shaky to really do the job without potentially jabbing herself in the eye, so she used her wrist instead. “Right after…right after the change, the whole, um, Candeloro and Mami dichotomy was…pretty stable, I guess. I still had my sense of self, I still had my old impulses and reflexes and tics, I just had this part of me opened up. A-And while all those memories were…painful, I figured I would get used to them in time. And while we were on the Aurora Borealis I had too much on my mind to really give much thought to sorting that out-”

“You mean me,” Charlotte said.

Candeloro sighed. “Yes, you. Being rejected by my wife was a little distracting, yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“Besides, the memories were all fresh then and hitting me all at once. I thought that once I was home, once I was someplace familiar, things might…settle into place.”

Charlotte frowned. “I’m guessing that they didn’t?”

Candeloro shook her head. “That, or they decided to settle in the worst way possible.”

…

Then…

“Only thing is, he won’t tell us the last part! How do you make it? I have to know!”

Despite having spent most of the day walking around in a silent, robotic trance, that actually managed to pull Candeloro out of her funk, at least enough to feel a small trickle of amusement. The recipe that the marshal was referring to actually was not one of her own, or Charlotte’s. Rather, it had been a fairly standard recipe that Ophelia had read out loud to Cheese from a cookbook in a vain attempt to break him of his swearing habit. The marshals could probably just search up the name of the cookbook and get the rest without trouble.

Then Cheese, who had been happily walking back and forth across Ophelia’s shoulders as she talked to the marshal, suddenly took notice of Candeloro.

Candeloro was admittedly not all that close to the family bird, at least not as much as the others. Oh sure, they liked each other well enough, and she did her part to help take care of him, but he always seemed to prefer the company of the two other couples than to her and Charlotte, which had been fine with her. He was great fun to have around, but he tended to be pretty needy when it came to attention, and he had almost developed a bad habit of chewing on her ribbons until they managed to break him of it.

Still, they did get along just fine, and she was honestly glad that he was okay. However, as soon as he saw her, he suddenly straightened up, all of his feather flaring up. Then he started flapping his wings in agitation, squawking loudly.

“Cheese! Hey! Knock it off, you asshole!” Ophelia shielded the back of her neck with one hand while shoving the other arm against Cheese’s legs to get him to step on so she could get him away from the back of her head. “Jesus, what has gotten into you?”

Candeloro said nothing. She was wearing a pretty bulky hooded jacket and had her hands nestled in the front pocket, so if anyone who knew her saw her they wouldn’t notice that something was amiss without taking a really good look.

But still, Cheese somehow knew that something was off.

“Wonder what got into him?” said one of the marshals, who had been in the process of leaving when the bird’s fit had brought her to a stop.

“He’s…moody,” Homulilly told her. “Sometimes he just throws temper tantrums for no reason. I’m surprised he didn’t act out when he was staying with you girls.”

“Well, he was kind of a handful, but I thought he’d calm down once you all got back.” The marshal shrugged. “Animals. Who can tell, eh?”

Candeloro glanced at her and shrugged.

Then she did a double-take.

The marshal was a witch. Physically, she looked to be a short, petite girl with dark skin and straight black hair. A jagged blue line divided her face in half, starting on her forehead over her right eyebrow to zigzag down between her eyes, over about two-thirds of her nose, past her mouth, and down her chin to disappear into the collar of her uniform. Everything on the left side looked perfectly normal, but the entire right looked like it had been carved from an opal. The color seemed to change as she moved, sometimes being marble-white, then sea blue, then pale green, then blood red. The part of her lips on the shimmering side also changed color, but to whatever the opposite her skin happened to be at the time. One dark eye looked perfectly normal, while the other was jet black with a bright golden iris.

Although she knew what she would find and dreaded it, Candeloro’s eyes went down toward the marshal’s arms. Most of them were covered with the thick brown sleeves of her uniform, but she could still see her hands.

They were blocky and made of yellow-painted steel, with gleaming pistons running down her arms into her wrist and across each finger and cables stretching from jutting poles, like a construction crane arm.

All in all, the girl’s witch remnants were striking, but hardly noteworthy. Candeloro encountered people just as strange every day, and not too long ago would have been thought of as just as odd. But seeing the girl had jogged something inside her, something from a long time…

…the massive crane-arm slammed into the steel girders that Mami had been standing upon. Had she not leapt off when she had, she would have been crushed into a pasty smear.

Still, she had dodged just in time. Unfortunately, she had been rather high up at the time, and didn’t have destination in mind when she had jumped; she had just been trying to get away from the witch’s attack.

And once she was in the air, there was nowhere to go but down.

Mami had been nine stories up the skeletal network of catwalks and girders, a little more than halfway to the witch’s head. And with the structure lacking walls, ceilings, or more importantly floors she found her trajectory headed somewhere hard, painful, and quite possibly lethal.

Arms and legs flailing at nothing, she started to fall.

“KYYYYUUUUUUBEEEEYYYYYY!” she screamed as the girder and pipes whooshed past her and the concrete floor rushed up to meet her.

“Your ribbons!” Kyubey called to her, speaking in her head like he always did. “Use them to break your fall! Hurry!”

Her ribbons?

Oh, right. She had those now.

Mami thrust a hand out. In response, a yellow ribbons materialized, one end clutched in her hand and the other wrapped around a girder. With a painful jerk her trajectory was suddenly redirected as she stopped falling and started to swing out.

Too late she realized that swinging outward when surrounded by so many steel beams was just as potentially lethal as falling straight down.

Her ribbon hit one such beam and she was sent hurtling. In desperation she created another and managed to pull herself out of the way before smacking headlong into a girder.

Then one of the witch’s crane-arms came down, hitting where the ribbon was connected and severing it.

Mami was again tumbling through the air, but this time had half-a-second more to react. She thrust her hands right in front of her, created a spiral of ribbons between her and the beam she was about to fly into. They absorbed her momentum, slowing her down. Then, before she could be hit again, she thrust another ribbon at a nearby girder and launched herself through an opening in the beams, sending her safely outside of the witch’s body.

Her landing was still rough, but not nearly as painful as it would have been otherwise. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled under her, and she fell fully onto her back as the world spun around her.

Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, and her heartbeat was pounding away in her ears. This was only the third witch she had fought, and it was easily the craziest. The other two hadn’t come nearly as close to getting her as this one had, nor had she had any kind of escape quite so…thrilling.

“Uh, hey!” the marshal said, suddenly breaking Mami from her trance.

Mami stared back at her. “Huh?”

“I asked you what was wrong. You just…started staring at me. Are you all right?”

Mami didn’t answer. She just stared.

“I said, are you all right?”

A fluffy white blur was bounding toward her. “Mami! Are you all right?”

Mami shook her head to get everything to stop spinning. Then she looked up.

Things were still…weird. The “sky,” if it could be called that, was in actuality a canopy made up of blue balloons painted with white clouds that clustered tightly together. The “sun” was a massive yellow spotlight that was pressed through the balloon, which sent a single glaring beam straight down at the witch, which was a bit on the…large side.

Most of the witch looked like the steel gridwork of a skyscraper still under construction: fourteen stories of girders, beams, and catwalks. Twelve construction cranes protruded from its edges, four on each edge, which were surprisingly fast, considering their size. And suspended on a crisscross of cables top and center was a huge dome-shaped magnet, such as the kind used in junkyards.

Stuck onto the magnet was a metal ring, which in turn suspended a glass bowl the size of a house, full of some kind of clear liquid. And floating in that liquid was the witch’s head.

Half of it looked like a child’s doll, with dark plastic skin, dark straight hair, and a dark plastic eye that swiveled crazily in its socket. But the other, divided from the plastic side with a jagged line, gleamed like mother-of-pearl, its colors constantly changing. Its mouth was open, and it seemed to be reciting an endless deluge of mathematical equations in a disconcerting monotone voice, which were broadcasted throughout its labyrinth courtesy of the megaphones stuck through its body’s framework.

Mami leapt to her feet. “I’m fine,” she said as she started running toward the witch again. Climbing its body so as to get a clear shot at the head hadn’t worked, but she was already formulating another plan. “Kyubey, you said that the weapons conjured up by my ribbons are limited only by my own understanding of those weapons internal workings, right?”

“Correct,” Kyubey said as he bounded after her. “That is why you have had so much success with muskets. Their mechanisms are simple and therefore easy to replicate.”

Mami nodded. She deftly dodged two strikes from the cranes as they tried to impale her and darted into the gridwork. “Okay. But is there anything that says I can’t make something similar to the muskets, only…larger?”

“Nothing at all. Why?”

This time, instead of heading upward, Mami went inward, heading to the center of the structure until she was directly beneath the suspended bowl that held the witch’s head. There were still plenty of beams crisscrossing between her and it, hence her previous attempt to get closer.

But even if she had gotten close enough to get a clear shot, she doubted that she would be able to do much damage. She didn’t know how much in common with real steel its body had, but it was probably close enough to blunt her bullets, magic though they were.

“Because sometimes, you don’t need to get closer,” Mami said as she backed up until she found a point of trajectory that was relatively clear of steel beams. Then she held out a hand. “Sometimes you need to get bigger.”

As was the case whenever she summoned up her muskets, her ribbons twisted around each other, only this time there were many, many times more of them, and they took on a much, much larger shape. When the thing solidified, she was holding into the grips of a cannon that any battleship would be proud to display on its prow.

Mami took aim. Then she fired.

Her gleaming, golden cannonball shot straight and true. What steel beams and cables that did get in the way were shredded in its wake without stopping its momentum. It struck the side of the glass bowl, covering it with cracks and sending the magnet swinging.

The cables holding the magnet snapped, and the whole thing fell: magnet, bowl, head, and all. It struck several of the beams along the way, each one shattering or denting it a little more. Mami rushed out of the way to avoid getting hit by the glass shards.

The witch’s head wasn’t nearly so lucky. By the time it hit the ground, it was already a cracked and broken mess, one that fell to pieces upon impact.

Then, just as the other two witch labyrinths had, this one shimmered and fell apart, and Mami found herself standing next to the steel factory in the city’s industrial zone where she had tracked the witch.

And sure enough, at her feet was a jet-black grief seed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Mami knelt down and picked it up. Using that giant cannon took considerably more magic than her muskets, so this would be of great help. Still, the cannon made for a great finishing move. She should probably keep using it. Though she probably ought to come up with a cool name for it though. Something like that was too good to go unnamed.

“Uh, hello? What’s up? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Ursula the Construction Witch’s patchwork brow furrowed in concern. She waved her mechanical crane hands in front of Mami’s face. “Hellllloooooo?”

Mami jerked abruptly out of her stupor. “I, uh, s-s-sorry…”

Then Homura took her by the arm. “I’m sorry, she’s been feeling a little out of sorts. She got real seasick on the way back and spent the whole trip throwing up, so she’s still a little woozy.”

Ursula took a reflexive step back. “Ah. Say no more. Hope you feel better.”

“Right!” Homura started to move Mami toward the front door. “So let’s just get her inside so she can get her inside and-”

“Wait, hold on.” Ursula suddenly moved herself in front of Mami. She leaned for a closer look. “Have we…met? Because I am getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu right about now.”

Before either Mami or Homura could respond, the marshal that had met them at the door called out, “Sully, seriously? Of course she does! Their photos are all over the house!”

“Nah, that’s not it. I swear we’ve met…”

Mami’s tongue felt like it was glued to the top of her mouth.

Then Ursula shrugged. “Oh well, probably just ran into you…somewhere. Sorry about being weird.”

“No problem!” Homura said with a nervous laugh. She started leading Mami away again. “Um, thank you for looking after the house! Owe you one!”

The others quickly fell into place around them and moved Mami fully inside the house. Once she was inside, the spell broke, and she start trembling.

No, not Mami, she thought. That’s not my name anymore. I am Candeloro. She is Homulilly, that is Ophelia, and Oktavia, and Gretchen. Get a grip. Just because you killed that witch years ago is no reason to…”

“Okay, what just happened?” Ophelia said. “You all right?”

Swallowing, Mami managed a shaky nod. “I am. Sorry.”

“You sure?” Ophelia said, not looking in the slightest bit convinced. “Because-”

“Just a weird. I’m fine. Really.”

But she wasn’t. She was very far from being fine.

…

Now…

“Okay,” Charlotte said. “You’re telling me that seeing this girl not only triggered flashbacks to when you killed her, but it also triggered a full-on identity crisis?”

Candeloro sighed. “Yes, Charlotte. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Ah.” Charlotte’s hand fidgeted, the fingers tapping out an anxious rhythm against her thigh. “That…Wait, just seeing her face kicked this off, but hanging out with the others didn’t? I mean, you knew them when you were all alive.”

Candeloro fell silent.

“What?”

Candeloro slowly breathed in the humid, earthy air. “That’s just it. Once that one happened, the others did so as well.”

…

Then…

“I’ll…I’m just going to go take a nap,” Candeloro said as she wearily made for the stairs.

“Anything I can get you?” Ophelia called after her.

Though she was grateful for the offer, Candeloro just shook her head. After her little episode, all she wanted was sleep. She started up the stairs, one hand laid flat on the bannister. She reflexively tried to wrap her whole hand around it before remembering that she didn’t have that level of flexibility anymore, so she settled for just stiffly curling her fingers around it.

As she walked upward, she heard Ophelia say to Homulilly and Gretchen, “Um, let me know if anything in your room is out of place, I guess. I’m going to go check on the garage.”

Candeloro paused halfway up. She glanced down to watch Ophelia walk into the kitchen.

Ophelia, Witch of Flames. Ophelia, whose lifestyle was as eccentric as her choice of dress. Ophelia, diligent engineer and accomplished dancer, who paradoxically balanced a juvenile sense of humor with a strong sense of personal responsibility, whose attitude was so childish in some ways while being the most grown-up of them in others. Ophelia, to whom Candeloro had lost her virginity during a very poor string of bad decisions but still remained one of her closest friends years later.

But that wasn’t all she was.

Candeloro started up the stairs again. She tried not to look at the framed pictures that hung on the wall to her left, but one did give her pause.

It was all of them back during their time in the FIB, long before any of them had really figured out who they were. That had been a very chaotic time for all of them. Everything had been so new and fascinating, but also kind of scary, full of new surprises and strange oddities.

Everyone looked pretty much the same as they did now, thanks to the benefits of never aging. And yet they all looked so different, mainly due to their evolving tastes in fashion. Candeloro herself had on a pair of black shorts and a midriff-revealing top that she was kind of embarrassed about now. She was of course comfortable with her own sexuality, but it had been a long time since she had felt any need to flaunt it. Her final two years there had been kind of a wild time.

Of all of them, Charlotte had probably changed the most. She had really been into some…very interesting kind of music back then, and was wearing a leather jacket with several band patches sewn on that was probably still at the back of their closet, a pair of faded jeans with a studded belt, and a shirt bearing the main character of a cartoon famed for its racy humor. Her hair was also much different, in that it had been gelled up into some kind of hawk. Also, she had on way more makeup back then, especially around the eyes, and had a lip ring. Candeloro had actually liked that lip ring, though Charlotte had stopped wearing it when it had accidentally gotten caught on Candeloro’s lip when they had made out just a little too enthusiastically.

As for Oktavia, well, she hadn’t gotten her cap then, but she looked more-or-less the same. For some reason she had never deviated from the short, boyish haircut she had shown up with. Candeloro supposed that having short hair made all her time in the ocean easier. At any rate, here she was just a pair of aviator sunglasses and shirt decorated with colorful seahorses.

As for Ophelia, this had been long before she had settled into what would become her trademark style of dress. Instead, she was wearing a simple black tee-shirt, a pair of cut-off shorts, a dark blue denim jacket, a pair of calf-high boots, and black baseball cap bearing the logo of a wrestler she had been a fan of. She was standing with one foot resting on the edge of a low wall, one hand on her hip, and the other touching the brim of her hat as she half-grinned at the camera, her fang showing prominently.

Candeloro stared at her in particular. In her mind, the denim jacket morphed into a green hoodie, and the cap was replaced by a long, flowing scarlet ponytail tied back with a black ribbon.

I’m Kyoko Sakura. Thanks. If hadn’t come by I would have bit it.

Mami reached up and gently pressed her fingertips to the image of the hat, so that Kyoko’s face stood in stark relief.

You saved me. Wow. I never knew there was such an amazing magical girl here in Mitakihara.

Her eye twitched, and she hastily moved the rest of the way up the stairs.

Unfortunately it was too late. Now that her mind had focused on that particular set of memories, they wouldn’t shut up.

So long as we’re talking about selfishness, I wanted to ask you: may I please become Mami-san’s student?

Mami quickened her gait, as if moving faster would allow her to outrun the downpour of memories that were threatening to bury her.

If that’s the case, I’ll be fine then. Ever since I was small, I watched my father and thought about how I wanted to bring happiness to everyone. I guess my wish to make my father happy was the first step towards making that a reality. To protect the happiness of everyone, that’s my wish.

Her hand didn’t tremble in the slightest as she tore the door to her (and Charlotte’s) room open and bolted inside. She slammed it shut and collapsed with her back to the door.

They’re gone. It was my wish. I just wanted them to have happiness, but it broke him. He found out what I did and it broke him!

Her legs buckled out from under her, and she slid down to the floor, her fingertips digging into her temple and forehead.

Huh? What the hell do you know? There’s a difference between losing your family in an accident and losing your family because it’s your own damn fault! It all happened because of my magic! So you know what? I’m never going to use my magic for anyone else’s sake again! I’ve decided that all this power is only for me to use, for my sake.

Mami half-crawled, half-staggered her way over to her bed. She didn’t bother to undress before she hauled herself onto her side.

I’ve had it with you! Our partnership is now officially done!

Her hand instinctively reached out for Charlotte’s, but she then remembered that Charlotte was gone.

Being lonely is a hell of a lot better than putting up with you all the time!

Instead, she seized up Charlotte’s pillow and pressed it down over her head, but nothing would drown out the angry shouting echoing in her head, or the sound of fists connecting with flesh.

Now take that!

And that!

And that!

…

Now…

“Ah,” Charlotte said. “Well. Um, I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“Her father had just murdered her mother and sister before hanging himself because he found out about her contract,” Candeloro said flatly. “She was not exactly in a good place at the time.”

“No kidding. Was she the only one?”

Candeloro sighed. “No. Not by a long shot. It just kept happening.”

…

Then…

“Well, hey,” Oktavia said. “Look who’s up. How you feeling?”

Candeloro walked out into the backyard. There, Oktavia was lounging in one of the lawnchairs, reading a book. “Better,” she said. “A lot better.” She plopped down in the chair next to Oktavia.

“Well, sometimes all you need is a really good night’s sleep,” Oktavia said. “God knows, none of us were sleeping well on the boat.”

That much was for certain. “Can’t argue with that,” Candeloro said. “Um, hey, Oktavia. I don’t suppose you guys have heard anything about…?”

Her question trailed off, but Oktavia obviously knew what she was talking about. Grimacing, she shook her head. “No, sorry. Still no word from her.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t sweat it! You know Charlotte, sometimes she gets all moody and stubborn! Once she’s come to her senses she’ll come right back, probably on hands and knees just begging you to take her back!”

“There’s an interesting image,” Candeloro said dryly.

“Eh, it’s what I do,” Oktavia said with a shrug. “Besides, you know how love is. It-”

“-sucks!”

“Huh?” Candeloro said.

“I said love’s complicated, you know?”

“Really? I thought you just said it sucks.”

Oktavia shot her an odd look. “Nooooo. It’s messy sometimes, but-”

“-I can’t believe she would do this to me! Now! I thought we were friends!”

“Well, sometimes even the best of friends don’t always see the whole picture,” Mami said. “She probably thinks that she’s doing you a favor.”

Sayaka’s face twisted up in confusion. “Candy, what the hell are you talking about? Why would Charlotte be thinking that she’s doing me a favor?”

“But you know what the worst if it is? Maybe she’s right. Because there was a moment where…where I regretted saving her from that witch! Isn’t that awful? How could he love someone who thinks like that!”

“Don’t think like that!” Mami cried. “It’s not your fault. It’s not-”

Then she blinked.

Wait.

What?

Sayaka (no, no, no, no, no! Not Sayaka! Her name was…was…was Oktavia now!) was staring at her in bewilderment. “Er, Candy? Uh, sorry, I know you’re going through a hard time right now, but you are making exactly zero sense. The hell?”

Mami shook her head. “I…I’m sorry. I just had a really weird episode.”

“I can tell,” Saya…Oktavia said. “Um, do you want me to get Ophelia or something?”

“No,” Mami said as she hastily stood up. “No, I just…need to clear my…”

Then she quickly moved back into the house, all the while echoes continued to bounce around in her head.

Some hero! How could I think to be worth anything if I have that in me! How could I ever think I could be like you!

…

Now…

“And happening.”

…

Then…

Candeloro reached for the bathroom door. Before she could touch it, the door opened, and Gretchen stepped out.

The younger girl was obviously just freshly showered and changed, if her still-damp hair was any indication. “Oh!” she said, seeing Candeloro. “Sorry, let me get out of your way.”

“Not at all,” Candeloro said, moving aside so Gretchen could scuttle past. She was about to enter the bathroom herself when she heard Gretchen clear her throat.

“Um, Candeloro?” she said.

“Yes?”

“Are you…are you doing okay?”

Candeloro swallowed. “Well, as well as can be expected, given the circumstances. But I am fine, thank you.”

“Okay. It’s just that Oktavia said you, uh, had kind of a weird…”

“Yes. I had a strange flashback. Just…still need to sort these new memories out, I guess.”

“Okay, because if you ever-”

“I’m fine,” Candeloro said, and then she winced. That had come out a lot more harshly than she had wanted.

“Oh,” Gretchen said. “Sorry.”

“It’s-”

But Gretchen had already scurried off to her and Homulilly’s room.

Sighing, Candeloro went inside and closed and locked the door. She looked at herself in the mirror.

The face of Candeloro stared back at her.

She looked like a horror. Her eyes were sunken, her golden hair a frightful mess. And after snapping at Gretchen, she felt pretty horrible too.

Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen, Gretchen. The sweetest girl Candeloro had ever met. Even as she had grown older she had never lost her kind heart.

Of course, it had come with the territory. She had always been kind to a fault, selfless and caring and…

No!

No, she couldn’t go down that path again! She couldn’t let those memories creep up, memories like-

I’m sorry for crying.

No! Not again!

Don’t be. It’s a scary thing, the first time you get hurt. Now hold still. Magic might speed up the healing process, but we still need to disinfect the wound. This’ll sting.

Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!

I just wish I could be as brave and strong as you. Or Kyoko-chan! Or even Sayaka-chan! I just feel like I drag you all down sometimes.

Candeloro pounded her fists against her head. It did no good.

Madoka, don’t think like that. You have by far one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I want you to stay like that. That is your strength.

Please, make it stop!

We’re in a fight against monsters, against curses born from the worst kinds of hearts. We need someone like you. So don’t ever change who you are.

Who you are.

Change.

Change…into a…

Mami looked back up at the mirror. Her face was no longer a mess, her hair no longer disheveled. Rather, she was properly made up, and her hair neatly tied up in a pair of drill-tails on either side of her head.

She jerked back in surprise and looked down.

When she had entered the bathroom, she had been wearing a pair of jeans and blue blouse. But now she was wearing her Puella Magi uniform.

Mami pinched the hem of her skirt with shaking fingers. Then she lifted her gloved hands and squeezed them. When had that change happened? She didn’t recall wanting to change into her uniform, and yet here it was.

She closed her eyes and gripped her hands into fists at her side.

Go away, go away, go away, go away!

When she opened her eyes again, her old clothes were back, and her face was a proper disaster again.

But so was the rest of her.

She sat heavily down on the toilet lid, her face buried in her unwanted hands.

“I’m Candeloro,” she whispered. “I’m Candeloro! The Ribbon Witch! I don’t want to be Mami, I don’t want to be Mami, I don’t want to be Mami…”

…

Now…

“And happening!”

…

Then…

To her complete lack of surprise and no small amount of irritation, Candeloro couldn’t sleep.

She tossed. She turned. She opened the window and counted backwards from a hundred. Nothing worked.

Tomorrow she was going to meet face-to-face with Charlotte. Tomorrow she might end up losing her wife forever. How the hell could her mind not obsess over that?

Finally she got up with a growl and left her room.

It was a little past two in the morning and the house was dark. She didn’t know if anyone else was asleep though. Ophelia and Oktavia were probably still up, playing some video game or watching a movie.

Even so, Candeloro kept her steps light as she tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

To her surprise, there was a light coming from the kitchen. Specifically, the refrigerator light. Someone had it open and was rummaging around inside.

The door closed with a click, and a dark-haired silhouette straightened up and turned around.

“Oh!” Homulilly said, jerking up. The cup of water she had in her hands slipped from her grasp.

She tried to grab it, but Candeloro already had it covered. A ribbon shot out from her hand to lasso the cup and jerk it back toward her into her palm with barely any spilt.

“Here,” Candeloro said, handing her the cup. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s…okay,” Homulilly said. She tilted her head to one side. Though the lights were out, Candeloro knew the curious look she was wearing. “So, uh, the ribbon-whip thing. That’s…”

“My Puella Magi power, yes,” Candeloro said.

“I thought you had guns.”

“It’s…a little hard to explain,” Candeloro said wearily. She quickly changed the subject. “You can’t sleep either?”

“Not really,” Homulilly admitted. “I’m not surprised that you can’t.”

“Well, it’s not something you can face without having some kind of nervous breakdown,” Candeloro said as she went over to the fridge to remove a pitcher of cranberry juice.

“I bet. Mind if I turn on the light?”

“Sure.”

The kitchen light stung Candeloro’s eyes a bit. She blinked a bit and shook her head.

Homulilly was already sitting at the table, her cup nestled in her hands. “Just juice, huh?”

“Just juice,” Candeloro confirmed as she poured herself a cup. “After what happened last time, I’m staying well away from alcohol.”

“Hmmm. But, uh, you still kind of…”

“More than you can believe,” Candeloro sighed. She sat down across from Homulilly. “Thank you again, by the way. For what you did.”

“Of course. I just hope it was worth it.”

Candeloro nodded. “Me too. Um, hey, Homulilly. I hope I’m not prying, but may I ask you a question?”

Homulilly frowned. “Um, sure?”

“Say you were in Charlotte’s position, and Gretchen had turned back into Madoka Kaname. What would…how would you react?”

Homulilly sighed. “Oh, I’ve been asking myself that question longer than Hitomi Shizuki’s been around.”

“Oh. Um, and?”

Homulilly’s skeletal finger tapped against the side of her glass. “Gretchen is the most important person in the world to me,” she said softly. “If she…became her old self, and didn’t remember me anymore, or at least only remembered Homura Akemi, it would…it would hurt a lot.”

“Would you leave?”

“No,” Homulilly said after a pause. “Because…it would still be her, right? How could I leave her? And if she still…still wanted me around, even if it was just as a friend, then that would…” She swallowed. “That would be enough.”

Candeloro sighed and took a small sip. “Yes, you always were very-”

She blinked.

“Very…what?”

We need to talk.

Candeloro shook her head. “Uh, sorry, I just-”

What about, Akemi-san?

Oh no.

You put Madoka in danger. Your plan failed, and she was hurt.

“Candeloro?” Homura said in puzzlement. “Are you all right?

This is unacceptable. You are our leader. Therefore, Madoka’s safety is your responsibility as much as it is mine.

Mami grabbed her head. Not again. Not again!

Akemi-san, it was an accident! I did everything I could to look after her, but fighting witches is inherently dangerous! You can’t prepare for all-

Enough.

“Should I call for help?” Homura asked, rising. “Let me get Ophelia-”

“No!” Mami said hastily. “I’m-”

No life matters more to me than Madoka’s. I helped you convince Sayaka Miki to make a contract for Madoka’s protection. I brought back Kyoko Sakura for Madoka’s protection. If you cannot ensure her safety despite having all that at your disposal, then perhaps a change of leadership is needed.

“Uh,” Mami stood up, and did so too quickly. Her elbow knocked over her glass of juice, spilling it across the table.

“Oh, damn! Shit!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Homura quickly grabbed a handful of paper towels and began mopping up the spilled juice.

“I should-”

“No, I got it,” Homura said. “Look, you’re in a bad place. Let me help, okay?”

Mami nodded numbly. “Okay. I’d…better go to bed, before I knock over something else.”

“Okay. And, uh, Candeloro?”

“What?”

Homura smiled at her. “It’ll be okay. You got-”

-no right to be acting so reckless. So, keep that in mind.

But-

Keep it in mind, Mami Tomoe. Speak to no one of our conversation, do your job and keep Madoka Kaname safe, and we shall have no problems.

“-this, okay?”

Mami numbly nodded. Then she turned and practically fled back up the stairs.

Remember my warning, Mami Tomoe.

Remember my warning.

…

Now…

“Holy shit,” Charlotte said, staring.

“I know,” Candeloro groaned. “It just…I never know when it’ll happen next, it just happens! And the more time I spend around them, the more it happens!”

“Yeah, I bet. Jesus.” Then Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “Still, this just proves my point! We were better off without any of that! We didn’t need to learn our names or our histories or any of that! We should have just said ‘no’ and left Hitomi alone!”

“I know that, Charlotte! But we didn’t! We took that risk, we opened that box, and now we have to deal with the consequences.” Candeloro looked down at her shaking hands. “And they scare me. I don’t want these memories. I don’t want this name. I don’t want to feel like who I am is just…I feel like my entire sense of self is like water in a shallow glass bowl sitting on the tip of a pin, and the slightest push can cause it to tip over and pour me out! I thought I could just g-get used to having this part of me opened up, but it’s more than just remembering everything I used to be. Because whenever these memories hit, then…I don’t know, but my sense of self starts…flowing. I feel less like Candeloro and more like Mami, and it takes longer and longer to get it under control!”

Now Charlotte’s hands started to shake as well. “So you’re telling me that the Mami half is slowly taking over, and when it does there’ll be nothing of Candeloro left?”

“I don’t know! That’s the point, I don’t know how this works, I don’t know what’s happening to me, I don’t know how it’s happening, I don’t know where Mami ends and Candeloro begins or if there even is a divide, I don’t know anything!” Now the tears were flowing freely. “I don’t know, and it scares me, Charlotte! You talk about how much it scares you?” Mami slapped her new hands against her own chest. “What about me? It’s happening to me! And right when I need you the most, you’re just going to run off on me? How could you?”

“I…”

“We were supposed to be together forever! Together, keeping each other strong through the centuries. I love you. I love you so much that the thought of you leaving me hurts more than the storm inside my head. And I thought you loved me too! So why, Charlotte?”

“Because…” Charlotte was starting to shake with agitation. “Because…uh…”

Candeloro reached for her, but Charlotte flinched away.

“I can’t,” Charlotte said as she backed away. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I just can’t.”

“But why? I need you!”

Shaking her head, Charlotte kept back further and further away.

“Charlotte,” Candeloro pleaded. “Please. Don’t.”

“I just…” Then Charlotte turned and fled, running to disappear into the mists. Candeloro was left standing alone, arms that she had never wanted still reaching out, with her eyes wet, her throat clenched up, and her heart heavy.

…

The Rising Gardens were intended to be lost in. There were maps you could pick up that would always keep you informed of your location and marked out the quickest way out, but Charlotte had neglected to grab one. And now that she really, really wanted to leave, she found that she couldn’t.

Every turn just led to more turns, every staircase seemed to just plunge her deeper into the woman-made jungle. It was like being lost in a real jungle, one just as thick and dark.

Come on, come on, she thought as she ran. Where’s the way out?

“Come on, come on!” she said out loud. “It has to be around here-”

Then she turned a corner and came to a sudden stop.

She was staring at Candeloro’s (no! Mami Tomoe’s!) back. Somehow, she had ended up just coming back around again.

Sensing her, Mami Tomoe turned around. Her golden eyes were wet and bloodshot from crying, and her face was scrunched up with pure misery.

Mami Tomoe saw her, and her eyes widened. With hope.

Before she could speak, Charlotte spun on her heel and headed back the way she came.

There had to be a way out! The Rising Gardens had exits on every level! So where were they? Where was the damned-

The next thing she knew, Charlotte was bursting into sunlight.

She was standing on the second level, staring out at Freehaven. Though the sun overhead was nice and warm, she was still shivering.

Charlotte started running again. She hopped off the gardens entirely and ran for the facility exit. As she did so, she had her new phone out, fingers hastily calling for a zipper.

…

“Hey, wait a second!” Ophelia yelped as she leapt to her feet.

“Finally!” Oktavia said. “What’s going on?”

“Charlotte just ran out of the garden!”

“Alone?!”

“Yes, alone! And she looks kind of terrified!”

“Huh? What, did Candeloro summon up those silver guns of hers and try to take her head off?”

“Uh, probably not? Can’t blame her if she tried though!”

Then Charlotte leapt to the street and kept running. Ophelia’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, hell no,” she growled.

“You’re going after her!” Gretchen’s voice cheered.

“Damn straight. Candy shot her shot, now it’s my turn!”

Ophelia dove right off the roof she was standing on. She hit the street in a parkour roll and came up running.

Charlotte was fast. Her slender body and long legs were well-suited for speed. But she didn’t do a tenth of the cardiovascular exercises that Ophelia did daily. Ophelia’s toned legs became a blur as she took off like a rocket, weaving between what people she could and leaping fully over those that she couldn’t.

Unfortunately, Charlotte still had a considerable lead on her. And overhead, Ophelia could see the distinctive silver glint of a descending zipper.

Hell no!

“Hey!” she called as she shot toward the fleeing Charlotte like a bolt of lightning. “Stop!”

If Charlotte could hear her she didn’t make any indication. The zipper landed in a circular designated pick-up point and opened up.

Zippers were essentially egg-shaped shells that surrounded a ring of four padded seats, with a large luggage space on the bottom. But only Charlotte was in need of one, so only one side opened up. Charlotte zeroed in on it and increased her speed.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ophelia snarled. She increased her speed…

…only to be brought to screeching halt when an entire bike team came riding right across her path. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a bridge overhead that prevented her from leaping over them.

“Shit!” Ophelia bounded upward, hoping to clear the buildings entirely before Charlotte got in.

She managed to reach the roof in a manner of seconds, but by the time she reached a vantage point, Charlotte had already reached the zipper and was climbing inside.

“No!” Ophelia leapt onto the road again, well past the bike team, and took off sprinting. “Charlotte! Stop!”

The side of the zipper closed up.

“Wait!”

Then it shot into the sky. Ophelia reached the pick-up spot mere seconds later, just in time to see it vanish over the rooftops.

…

Charlotte collapsed into her seat a panting, shaking, and sweating mess. “Go!” she shouted. The door closed shut, and the zipper launched into the air.

Oh God, she had not expected that. Having Mami Tomoe try to argue with her that she was still Candeloro? Yes. Yes, that had very much been expected and prepared for. But for her to say that she was still Candeloro, but the Mami Tomoe part was slowly taking over and for her to beg for Charlotte to stay and help her fight it off? That possibility hadn’t exactly occurred to her.

Still trembling, Charlotte leaned back…only to scowl. She quickly slipped her backpack off her shoulders and tossed it into the seat next to her before finally slumping back with a sigh. Why had she done that? Why had she run? That hadn’t been the thing that had stolen her love away from her and was wearing her face. That had been her love begging her not to let the thing take her away in the first place! That had been Candeloro all right. If Candeloro and Mami Tomoe were supposed to be the same soul, then Candeloro would be able to tell if it was Mami Tomoe lying. And she hadn’t been. That had been the truth.

Of course it was, said the irritated voice in her head, the one that had been yelling at her all week, the one she had been arguing with or trying to ignore. But you ran away anyway. You coward. You idiot.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

No! You know I’m right! You’re a coward and an idiot who ran out on her family and-

“I said shut up!”

“I’m sorry,” said the digitized voice of the zipper’s AI. “I didn’t quite get that. Where would you like to go?”

Charlotte sighed. She ought to have had this thing waiting with preprogrammed coordinates. “Freehaven Skyport,” she said wearily. “Terminal seven.”

“Acknowledged.” The monitor lit up with the flight route and estimated time of arrival, which was about seven minutes.

Charlotte slumped back into her seat. She blinked. And then she blinked again, slower this time. She hadn’t slept well at all the previous night for obvious reasons. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been sleeping much all week. And though she had expected to pass out on the elysian, she had thought that her nerves would have kept her awake until then. But her lack of sleep was catching up to her in a bad way. This was bad timing too. With such a short trip, nodding off now wouldn’t give her any sort of rest.

But surely it would be all right if she just closed her eyes for a bit…

…

The storyteller was confronted by the griever…

Charlotte finds herself in the inoffensive yet chillingly sterile waiting room of a hospital emergency room. She is sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for her name to be called. There are other people waiting in there with her; she can see them in her peripheral vision, can hear their muted conversations. But every time she looks up to focus on any of them in particular, she sees nothing but empty chairs.

She sits anxiously, hands clutching the sides of her seat. She can’t remember exactly why she was there, but she knows that it’s important. She is visiting someone, someone who is very ill, someone who isn’t expected to make it. She hadn’t been visiting them like she had promised, and that made her feel terrible.

“Charlotte? You can go in now.”

Charlotte sighs and stands up. She heads for the entrance to the hospital halls only to remember that she wasn’t sure of the way. Stopping by the receptionist’s desk, she turns toward the older lady that had called her name to ask her for directions.

“Excuse me, but which was to-”

Then she stops. The chair behind the desk is empty. Furthermore, all the hospital staff that she thought were working behind the counter are all gone.

Charlotte turns back toward the waiting room. As she does so, the muted babble of whispered conversations coming from the other people waiting dies off, as does the sound of the television. There is no one else there, and the television is off.

Blinking, Charlotte shakes her head and walks into the halls. As she does so, the conversations resume behind her, as does the patter of the hospital staff diligently working and the sound of the newscasters’ voices coming from the television.

As Charlotte walks through the halls, she passes many people. Doctors, nurses, security guards, midwives, patients, and other visitors, all of whom simply vanish the moment she gives them her full attention. She nods at the aging man at the security booth and stops to see if he knows the way, only to find the booth empty. She sidesteps a male nurse pushing a young woman in a wheelchair, only to see a solitary wheelchair sitting by itself by the wall. She approaches a nurse’s station with three middle-aged women chatting as they work, only to find the station unmanned. It is like she is trying to find her way through a world of ghosts. But who is the ghost? Is it the people that disappear all around her, or is she the one haunting the halls?

Finally she turns a corner and sees a recovery room down the hall with its door open. A bright line is shining out. That has to be the place.

Charlotte hurries toward the light. As she does so, the shadow people around her start to recede entirely, as does the rest of the hospital. She can feel the halls start to come apart around her while deep, loud rushing builds in her ears, like a consuming flood burst from a dam.

She hurries into the recovery room and slams the door. The rushing stops.

There are three curtain-shrouded beds in the room, two of which are open and empty. The curtain is drawn over the third bed, the one at the far end of the room. Behind it, she can see the silhouette of a young woman sitting in a chair.

Swallowing, Charlotte cautiously makes her way toward the curtain. She lays a hand on the curtain, hesitates, and then slowly pulls it open, half-expecting the woman to disappear like everyone else did.

She doesn’t.

The young woman is sitting in a blue chair next to the hospital bed, her legs crossed and hands clasped over her knee. She is wearing tight green pants and a frilly white blouse decorated with pink and blue mice. Her pink hair is done up in a pair of messy twintails, and her eyes are of the same color. Freckles dust her face, and she has a slight overbite.

It’s her. It’s clearly Charlotte. Granted, the woman’s skin is of a normal human hue rather than alabaster white, the freckles are new, their eyes are of different colors, and the other woman doesn’t have a tail, but other than that they are the same.

“So,” the other Charlotte says. “There you are. You kept me waiting.”

The spell of vague uncertainty that hung over all dreams broke then. In a rush Charlotte remembers everything. She understands what it is that is going on.

“No way,” she says. “Really?”

“Yup. Really really.”

Charlotte fumbles around until she grabs a nearby empty chair and sits down before her legs gives way beneath her. “But…I-I heard that the others, um, that the others-”

The other Charlotte crosses her legs and folds her arms over her chest. “Talked to their past selves in a dream or somesuch. Yeah, I know.”

“But…they all spiritual dissonance, right? Something that woke all that up? I never did though! So how-”

“Well, you know what they say,” the other Charlotte says with a shrug. “Sometimes you get woken up by the sound of your name, but sometimes you get dragged away by the irresistible need to slap a stupid bitch.”

“What?”

The other Charlotte stands up. She walks over to where the dumbfounded Charlotte was sitting and sticks out her hand. “Hi there. My name is Nozomi Momoe. You’re my witch, and you are also the idiot in the driver’s seat, because your stupidity was literally powerful enough to drag me back to life. Pleased to fucking meet you.”

Then before Charlotte has time to process that little revelation, Nozomi’s hand flies, striking Charlotte across the face.

Normally something like that would be enough to jolt Charlotte awake, likely with heavy panting and her illusionary heart racing. However, this was not that kind of dream.

“Got your attention?” Nozomi says.

Charlotte lifts a hand to her cheek. For a dream, the stinging sensation is impressively realistic. “The hell was that for?”

“You know,” Nozomi says with a derisive snort. She walks back to her seat and sits down. “All right, let me clear things up for you and answer everything you’re about to ask. Yes, I am your past self. Duh. Yes, this is really happening. Yes, we are the same person. Same soul, continuation of consciousness or whatever you guys call it. So when I say ‘I’ or ‘you’ or ‘we,’ don’t take it too literally. Yes, this is happening due to supernatural circumstances. No, I’m not telling you how. No, I’m not really real as a separate entity. This is all one big metaphor for how Nozomi would actually feel about what your dumb ass is doing right now. But yes, what I am saying to you comes from a very fucking real place. Are we clear?”

That…really did cover most of what Charlotte wants to ask, though not being able to ask them was kind of frustrating. Hell, she was still in need of a moment to really think on the whole “Nozomi Momoe” thing. “Wow, okay,” she says. “You’re…throwing a lot at me right now. And frankly, I don’t even know where to begin-”

“Great! Because I do.” Nozomi leans forward so as to glower at her more efficiently. “Why exactly are you listening to that big wad of dumb you got lodged in your head and throwing away literally the best thing to happen to you, to happen to us, to happen to me?”

Charlotte scowls. Oh, so that was what this was all about. “This is about Mami Tomoe, isn’t it?”

“Eh.” Nozomi waggles one of her palms. “Half right. This is about Mami Tomoe and Candeloro. Which, incidentally enough, do qualify as the same thing, if you want to get technical about it.”

Charlotte scowls. “I don’t have to explain that to you. I don’t have to explain it to anyone.”

“I am you, of course you don’t have to explain it! And you already had that whole deal torn down! What I want to know is why that even after realizing that you’re wrong, you’re still running away!”

“What, you expect me to be able to deal with…whatever that is? You expect me to be able to deal with any of this insanity?”

“No shit, I do! Because that’s what wives are supposed to do! Love and support in sickness and in health! She wants us to help her, she needs us by her side, and you’re just gonna go run away.

“Well, whatever. I owe you anything, and you don’t know-”

“Yeah, I’m just going to cut you off right there, Cheese-Brain.” Nozomi says, holding up a palm. “I do, actually. Been living through you for sixteen years now, so I know you pretty damned well.”

“Do you? Fine.” Charlotte leaned back in her chair, one arm draped over the back, legs crossed, while she gestured with the other. “Then by all means: explain it to me.”

“Fine. You’re running away not because you really believe that Mami’s gonna completely replace Candeloro, but because you’re scared of what she represents. Because all this time, things were set in a certain way, and you liked it that way! Sure, maybe all your friends had some kind of group dynamic back in the day, but who cares? Right now, everyone’s a witch, you’ve got a new group dynamic to which you are essential, and life is good!

“But then Hitomi Shizuki showed up and changed all that. Suddenly there’s new names being thrown around, reveals about past relationships. And things started to crack. They started to crumble. In just a few short days, people you thought you knew start making bad decisions, start drifting apart, started behaving out of character.

“And that scared you, didn’t it? Not just because it meant that this perfect life you’ve built was falling to pieces, but the thing you were dreading was coming back. Their past. Their group, the group that you were not a part of. And despite all evidence to the contrary, you couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Well, if they all do go back to being who they were, would there still be a place for me? Would they even want me?’” She snorts. “Talk about paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoid!” Charlotte shouts. “It did happen! One of them did come back, and she’s taking the place of my wife!”

“Yeah, Mami Tomoe did come back. She came back to save you, because you were in danger, and now that you wife is in the most trouble she’s ever been, when she needs you the most, you just selfishly abandon her? Because you were afraid that Mami would reject you?”

“No! I don’t care if Mami wants me or not! I care that the person I loved is gone!”

“She’s not gone, you idiot! But she is in the most pain that she’s ever in! She made a choice for your sake, and now she’s struggling with something big and terrifying, and instead of staying by her side like you should, you’re just going to abandon her and the rest of your family! You’re so afraid of change taking away everything you had that you’d rather throw it all away first, just because of a possibility! And you’ll run out on the woman you love more than anything in her time of need! She begged you to stay, she was weeping for you to stay, and you turned your back on her!”

Nozomi then thrusts a finger at the hospital bed next to her. And for the first time, Charlotte notices that it’s not empty. There is a body in it, that of woman. She is not that old, just a little out of middle-age, but she is so frail and withered that she could have been mistaken for being past eighty.

“I had a chance to save the only thing that mattered to me, but I refused to see the situation for what it was and lost our mother. Because of an assumption! So I will be damned before I let your fear hurt the ones that matter the most to us now! I’m not letting you run away!”

“I…” Charlotte struggles to find her voice. “But I…”

However, Nozomi is not letting her have the chance to speak. She thrusts her hand into the air, and suddenly the small space is filled with a burst of dark pink light. When it clears, Nozomi is wearing a sleeveless, double-breasted black tunic with gold buttons in the shaped of wrapped candy and a high collar; a tight black-and-white striped shirt under with frilly wrists; brown fingerless gloves; a knee-length pink skirt; black-and-white striped tights; and dainty ballet shoes. In her hand is a long black pole studded with pink polka-dots, topped with that wrapped candy shape.

Nozomi charges. Charlotte tries to dodge, but Nozomi thrusts her pole out, and golden wires erupt from the tip to ensnare Charlotte’s legs and yank them out from under her.

The next thing Charlotte knows, she’s lying flat on her back with legs straddling her chest, staring up at a face that looks so much like the one she sees every day in the mirror, only it is glaring down at her in pure hatred.

“No, you don’t get to run!” Nozomi screams. She strikes Charlotte across the face, causing her head to snap to one side. “You bitch!” She hits her again from the other side. “You coward!” She hits her again.

Then Nozomi is just raining blows down on Charlotte, from the left to the right to the left to the right again. “You! Won’t! Run! Away! If you do, I swear I will haunt you every time you go to sleep! I will make every second a waking nightmare! You can’t escape me, and you won’t-”

…

Charlotte jerked awake with a gasp. Her hands were in the air to ward off another attack, the screams still echoing in her ears.

There was nobody there. She was back in the zipper.

Charlotte slowly lowered her hands. Then she checked the time. To her shock, she saw that she had only been asleep for less than thirty seconds. The zipper was still moving above Freehaven toward the skyport.

Stupefied, Charlotte struggled to collect her thoughts. Though the details of the dream were swiftly fading away, the terror of it was not, nor was the sense of immense shame, guilt, and self-loathing.

She knew what had happened. She had heard of the others and their dream-meetings with their past selves, and how they had all made peace. And she had finally had her own. Only hers had been anything but peaceful.

And she knew exactly why.

Charlotte felt horrified. Oh God, what was she doing? How had things gotten this far?

“Wait!” Charlotte hoarsely called out. “Stop!”

The zipper paused.

“Cancel the trip! Take me back!”

“Trip cancellations incur a fee of-”

“I don’t care, charge me whatever, and just do it!”

The blue digital face shimmered, and the zipper turned around.

…

“Damn it,” Ophelia groused as she slouched her way across the rooftop. She kicked a pinecone that had somehow gotten up there. “Damn it, damn it, damn it. We were so close. So close. So-”

Then something zoomed past her head, something silver and shiny.

Ophelia froze. No, it couldn’t be. It had to be some other zipper. There were plenty of those coming and going all the time. There was no way it was…

She ran to the edge of the roof. The zipper had dove down to the same pick-up spot that Charlotte’s had departed from. Her illusionary heartbeat pounding away, Ophelia watched as its side opened up.

And then Charlotte stumbled out.

“No way,” Ophelia said. As she watched, Charlotte took off running, heading back toward the Rising Gardens.

Things still sucked a whole lot, but Ophelia couldn’t stop grinning. She pulled out her phone and reentered the group. “Hey guys,” she said. “Cancel the funeral. Guess what just happened!”

…

Sniffing, Candeloro slowly exited the Rising Gardens. She felt more miserable than she had ever felt in her entire life.

What was she going to do? What was she going to tell the others? Oh, they would feel bad for her, try to comfort her, say many bad things about Charlotte, but that wouldn’t change anything. She had gone to bring her back, to heal their family, but she had failed. In the end, Charlotte had rejected her.

Maybe she should just let the Mami Tomoe part take over completely. Mami Tomoe had never been married. Mami Tomoe hadn’t been abandoned by her wife. Maybe that would make things easier to-

“Candy! Wait! Stop!”

Candeloro made a sound not unlike air escaping a bike tire. She spun around, almost not daring to hope.

Charlotte was there, running toward her.

“What?” was all Candeloro could think of to say.

Charlotte looked like she was reaching out to grab her, but then stopped herself at the last minute. She looked at her outstretched hands, swallowed, and let them drop.

“So, uh,” she said as she stared down at the ground and shuffled her feet. “I…kind of just had a change of heart.”

Candeloro’s jaw dropped. “How? It’s been…like five minutes!”

“I know. But you know how your perception of time gets really weird in a dream and you could feel like it’s been hours when it’s only been like a couple minutes? Like how you wake up ten minutes before your alarm goes off and drift back to sleep and then have like this whole adventure that seems like it takes…” Charlotte seemed to realize that she was babbling and cut herself off. “Um, well, I kind of fell asleep in the zipper, and got yelled at by my past self, and she beat me up. Like, a lot.”

“Huh?”

“I finally met my past self,” Charlotte said. “You know, like the others did. And she was pissed.”

Candeloro had no idea what to think of that. “Really?”

“Yes. And…” Charlotte sighed. “Candy, I am so sorry. I’ve been an idiot, and a coward, and kind of a cruel one at that.” She ran her fingers through her sweat-soaked hair. “I don’t know what got into my head, I don’t have any kind of real excuse. I just got scared and freaked out and made a really, really bad choice.”

Candeloro was finding it very hard to put her thoughts to words. She was finding it very hard to have articulate thoughts at all. “Wait, are you saying…”

“I’m not leaving you. I should have never left in the first place. And…okay, this whole thing that’s going on with you still scares the crap out of me, but I don’t have the right to abandon you, and-”

The rest of her apology was choked off: not by tears, but by Candeloro’s arms. Specifically, the ones she had thrown around Charlotte’s neck.

“Thank you,” Candeloro wept into Charlotte’s neck. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had gone.”

“God, way to make me feel worse,” Charlotte muttered, but she wrapped her arms around Candeloro’s back as well.

It felt so good to be held by her again. Candeloro was still a little angry about almost being abandoned, but the relief she felt was so much more powerful.

But then she drew back with a sigh. “But you know I’m still messed up,” she said. “I don’t know even where to begin to fix this.”

Charlotte grimaced. “Yeah. I…I can see that.”

“I mean, there’s no one in Freehaven with any experience with this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, this is kind of way above their pay grade,” Charlotte agreed. “I mean, sure, they can help an angry teenager who lost her family or someone who’s not adjusting well, but this is kind of…”

Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Wait, hold on!” she gasped. “Maybe there is someone!”

…

“Okay, confirmed!” Ophelia said into her phone. “Huggies have stopped, and C1 and C2 are on the move!”

“On the move back home, right?” Homulilly said testily.

“Uh…can’t tell yet. They’re…oh shit.”

“What?”

Ophelia dove behind a planter. “They’re headed for the roofs. Almost got spotted just now.”

“But that means they’re headed back, right?” Gretchen asked. “You go to the roofs when you want to get somewhere in a hurry, right?”

Ophelia peeked out. Then she frowned. “No, wait, they’re going the wrong way for that.”

There was a heavy pause, and then Oktavia said crankily, “Well, then, where the hell are they headed?”

“I dunno. North…eastish? Hey, I’m gonna just tail them for a bit. I’ll call you when I have some idea of what’s going on.”

“Wait, what about-”

Ophelia hung up. And then she got up to follow.

Keeping up was a lot harder than it sounded. Sure, she could probably run either one of them down, but she didn’t want to catch up, she just wanted to keep them in sight, while making sure that she stayed out of theirs. So she had to stop periodically to dart into some kind of shade and hang back until she was sure that they weren’t going to look in her direction.

Fortunately, they didn’t think that they were being followed, so they weren’t glancing over their shoulders or anything. And before too long they came to a stop and dropped down to the streets.

Ophelia came to a stop too. She had figured out where they were headed, and now that she did it made perfect sense.

“So hey,” she said, reentering the group. “I figured out where they’re heading.”

“Well?” Oktavia said. “Where?”

“Probably the one place in town with anyone that understands what Candeloro’s going through.”

…

Despite living in Freehaven her entire life, Candeloro had only been to the museum a handful of times. There had been the obligatory trip back during her integration days of course, and the odd daytrip just for the heck of it scattered over the years. She had always enjoyed the visits and had learned much, but that sort of thing had always been more of Charlotte’s thing than hers, so she had never just gone on her own, and she certainly had never had a one-on-one conversation with the museum’s curator, Astrid.

Astrid, it should be noted, was not her usual calm, unflappable self. Granted, Candeloro hadn’t even seen her during every trip, so she supposed that she didn’t have much experience to really get a read on the older woman, but she had not expected to see Astrid as shaken as she was when Candeloro and Charlotte had shown up during what had no doubt been an otherwise uneventful day looking over the exhibits and answering menial questions about the artifacts and anxiously requested a private conversation on account that she was the only other person that had gone through the same thing Candeloro had that they had any sort of access to.

Still, she had agreed, and had asked her girlfriend to keep an eye on things while she took the pair to her apartment at the back of the complex. Candeloro hadn’t known what to expect of that. Maybe a place filled with as many strange relics of the past as the museum itself was? Or maybe the exact opposite, a place with minimal comforts and Spartan trappings.

As it turned out, it was neither. Instead, the furniture was old, yet comfortable and well-used. There were a great many colorful plants sitting on shelves, on windowsills, and in corners. Several paintings were hung on the walls: some of them landscape, some of them abstract, some of them humorous caricatures, even a couple of nudes. There were several open windows, letting in plenty of sunlight.

There were a number of cats wandering around. They immediately headed for the door as Astrid entered, but upon seeing Candeloro and Charlotte behind her they froze and then bolted, all of them leaping out of one of the windows, somehow managing to avoid upsetting the two potted plants sitting on the sill.

“Are those yours?” Candeloro asked.

Astrid started a little at the question. “What, the cats? No, they’re all strays.”

“Strays?”

Astrid shrugged. “We, uh, learned a long time ago that permanent pets…get kind of depressing after a while, so we just keep the place open to local cats and sometimes birds. That way, there’s always someone fuzzy and warm about, but they don’t, uh, you don’t come home to find their, er, bodies every few years.”

Candeloro had no idea how to respond to something like that, so she said nothing.

“Uh, sit down!” Astrid said, indicating the wooden dinner table. It was covered with a white table cloth and had a vase of yellow flowers in the middle, and its wooden legs were covered with years and years of animal scratches. “Can I get you guys something? Tea, maybe?”

“Thank you,” Candeloro said as she and Charlotte took their seats. “Ginger, please. If you have it.”

“Got it. Be right back.”

Astrid hurried into the kitchen. Candeloro tried to sit still as Astrid put the kettle on and moved around the cabinets. She must have used magic to heat the water, because the kettle started singing in less than a minute.

The Norse woman returned, carrying a tray with an old but quite charming blue tea set. She set it down, handed a cup in a saucer to each of her guests, and poured them each a cup.

“Sugar?” she said.

“No, thank you.”

Astrid nodded. “So,” she said, sitting down. “Let me see if I have this right: you…are a witch,” she said, gesturing to Charlotte.

Charlotte looked down at the pearl-white skin of her hands. She glanced over her shoulder to where her tail hung down through the bars of the chair’s back. “Looks like.”

“And…you are…not,” Astrid said with a look toward Candeloro.

Candeloro took a deep breath. “No. Not anymore.”

“But you were.”

“Until about a week ago. That’s right.”

Astrid slowly breathed out. “Right. When, where, and how?”

“During the storm,” Candeloro said. “That big one that hit recently?”

“Right. We lost some trees and had some minor roof damage. None of the exhibits were damaged, fortunately. But, um, was it the storm itself, or something that happened during the storm, or…?” Astrid rolled her wrist, indicating for someone to fill in the blank.

Candeloro sighed. “It was…a very strange combination of different things coming together all at once.”

Keeping her descriptions as short as possible, Candeloro told her of the events that had led to her transformation, from the sudden arrival of Hitomi Shizuki to the subsequent problems with spiritual dissonance that they all started to feel to the battle with the karnuk and finally her own change.

“I don’t know exactly what happened or who I talked to,” Candeloro said. “I just…know I talked to someone, and they gave me a choice. And I said ‘yes.’”

“Ah. I see.” Astrid slowly stirred her tea with a small silver spoon. “Mine was…rather similar, actually.”

“I know. Th-That’s why we’re here, actually.”

“I figured.” Astrid steepled her fingers and tapped the tips against her nose. “Okay. Well, this is…a lot to take in. Does anyone else know?”

“Well, there’s us two, of course,” Charlotte said. “And the rest of our Walpurgisnacht.”

Astrid’s brow rose at that. “You’re a Walpurgisnacht?”

“Yes. Us two, and two others.”

“Ah. Well, that’s four. Who else?”

“Two close friends who also live with us,” Candeloro said. “And, uh, Hitomi Shizuki apparently figured it out.”

“I see.”

Candeloro looked down into the murky liquid in her cup. “And…everyone on board the Aurora Borealis, I guess.”

Astrid’s fingers froze in mid-tap. “The aquatic research facility?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Well.” Astrid slowly laid her hands flat onto the tabletop. “That is a lot of names.”

“I know,” Candeloro said.

“I assume you’re trying to keep this quiet?”

Candeloro felt her right eyelid start to twitch. “Trying to.”

“Understandable. I…imagine it must be…very stressful.”

“You imagine?” Charlotte said, her tone incredulous. “You went through the same thing! That’s why we’re here! She needs help! Advice! Anything!”

“Advice?”

“Yes,” Candeloro said. “Y-You see, I was friends with everyone in our Walpurgisnacht. And with our two other friends as well. I mean, back when we were alive, I knew all of them and they knew me. And…these flashbacks keep happening. They don’t remember any of it of course, but I’ll just be talking to them or even just look at them, and suddenly I’m back, reliving something significant about our past relationship, usually something tragic, and I feel…” One hand went to her temple, the fingers digging into her skin. “I feel like the other half of me is trying…trying to be all of me. I lose sense of myself, my name starts…” She slowly breathed out. “I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know when the next flash will come or how hard it’ll hit. I just know it gets harder and harder each time to reestablish who I am.” She looked pleadingly into Astrid’s pale silver eyes. “But you had to have gone through the same thing, right? There has to be something you can do to help me!”

“I understand,” Astrid said. “But you have to understand…my change was literally centuries ago! And…I was a little preoccupied with escaping the Withering Lands at the time.”

Candeloro and Charlotte both stared at her in dismay. “So, you…didn’t have those flashes? You didn’t struggle with your sense of identity?”

Astrid let out a long, belabored sigh. “I…didn’t encounter anyone I had known in life. There was no one to trigger any of those flashbacks. Occasionally someone would say something or I would see something that would bring an old memory into stark relief, but those were rare. Besides, after Zoya and I had stolen that boat and headed off to sea, there was a very, very long and uncomfortable trip before we wound up in Freehaven. Let’s just say I had plenty of time and space to really sift through my memories and come to terms with myself.”

Candeloro felt a lump start to form in her throat. She stared back down at her reflection in the murky liquid. “And you decided to go b-by Astrid.”

Astrid shrugged. “My time as Sif was pretty miserable. Granted, my life as Astrid wasn’t exactly fantastic either, but it was at least better. It was an easy change to make.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t want to make that change,” Charlotte said. “She wants to stay being Candeloro, at least in her head. So is there anything you can suggest? Any…tricks or some kind of meditation or something? I mean, part of your job is to help people like you!”

“Yes. Other runaway Void Walkers,” Astrid said. “There aren’t very many of the un-witched coming by Freehaven. In fact, you would make number two.”

“What about the others?” Candeloro said, perking up.

“The others?”

“Yes! The other…the other un-witched. You know them, don’t you? Can’t they help us?”

Astrid made a face. “Shared experience doesn’t necessarily mean we’re friends. Actually, you and I are the only humans that have done so.”

“So? I have alien friends.”

“So do I. But when they’re from species that don’t exactly get along with Freehaven, it makes establishing any kind of rapport a bit of a problem.” Astrid scooped up a spoonful of tea and slowly let it spill back into her cup. “Also, just because someone is on the record of having un-witched sometime in the distant past doesn’t mean that they’re still around. Two of them ended up becoming Void Walkers and have since been released.”

“Oh,” Candeloro said.

“Or at least that’s the official story anyway. And of the others…Filsa the nask ended up getting kidnapped and was never heard from again. Nitrogen and Blitzkrieg the calliopes…well, Nitrogen served as dance leader of her territory for a number of years before retiring. I suppose I could look her up, but she’s something of an attention whore, so if you want to keep your condition under wraps, she’s probably the last person you want to talk to. And last I heard of Blitzkrieg, she’s currently running a cult somewhere out in some remote territory where she’s worshipped as a god.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “Huh.”

“As for the others, well, Ostilk Misanti Viskero the andalite is apparently something of a recluse. She didn’t care much for the fame her condition brought her, and her current location is a closely guarded secret. And you know andalites and their secrets.” Astrid sighed. “Honestly, your best bet would be to contact Silvet the dockengaut.”

Candeloro nearly leapt out of her chair. Charlotte actually did so. “Wait, the last of the un-witched is a dockengaut?” Charlotte said, her voice cracking.

“Yes, believe it or not. And she’s actually on our side, as such things are judged.”

“What,” Candeloro said flatly.

Astrid spread her hands. “There are a small number of dockengauts that do not subscribe to their species’ predatory values. A few even defected after those videos went out. You know the ones, right?”

Candeloro shuddered. Apparently, once the dockengauts’ cannibalistic nature had been made known, several species had banded together in an attempt to intimidate them. The dockengauts’ response had been to send each and every one of them a video showing them devouring a member of each of the species that had allied against them, in graphic detail. Candeloro had never seen any of the infamous recordings, but apparently Charlotte had. And she had stalwartly refused to ever divulge what she had seen.

She glanced over to Charlotte. Sure enough, her wife looked like she was going to be sick.

“I see that you do,” Astrid said with a grim smile. “Anyway, believe it or not, there were a few dockengauts that didn’t care for that attitude, and ended up running away. One of them was a dockengaut witch. And she ended up, well, un-witching during her escape. I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she seemed…pretty decent. A bit shy, actually.”

“Excuse me?” Charlotte said. “A decent dockengaut? And she’s shy?”

“They do exist. Though the rest of their species tend to regard them the same way regard sociopaths. You know, as someone who is critically mentally ill. Anyway, last I heard she was working in Budbrekka. It’s a Norse encampment in the foothills far to the north, one of the last ones. I still try to keep in contact with them, as there aren’t many of us left. I can probably arrange-”

“No, thank you,” Candeloro said hastily. “I’m sorry, I’m sure…she is a very lovely…swarm of cannibalistic spiders, but I’d rather not talk to a dockengaut right now.”

“I thought not.”

Charlotte slumped back into her chair. “Well, I guess that’s that. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Hold on,” Astrid said, holding up a hand. “Now, my experiences may not line up with yours, but I do pride myself as a practical woman. You have to be to last as long as I have.”

“Your point?” Charlotte said.

“It seems to me that part of the problem is that you’re too close to things that are closely connected to your past. You’re constantly exposing yourself to memory triggers, at a time when the wounds are still raw.”

Candeloro swallowed. “So, uh, what are you suggesting?”

…

When Candeloro and Charlotte got back to the house, they found everyone already gathered in the living room, waiting for them.

Candeloro entered first, with Charlotte nervously hanging behind. “I’m back,” she said as she stepped inside. “Well, we’re back, and-”

Then she saw all four pairs of eyes staring expectantly at her.

Candeloro paused, her hand still on the doorknob. She looked at each face in turn before sighing and saying, “Were you spying on us?”

“Yes,” Ophelia said without hesitation.

“So you heard everything?”

“No. Your talk was your talk, so visual only.”

“Well. Thank you for granting us that measure of privacy at least,” Candeloro said in a clipped tone. “Then I guess this part doesn’t need explaining.”

She stood to one side and motioned for Charlotte to enter. Wincing, Charlotte stepped inside the house.

“Um, hi guys,” she said.

“Hi,” Gretchen said. No one else returned the greeting. Ophelia and Oktavia both leaned back in their seats, Ophelia with her legs crossed and arms behind her head and Oktavia with her hands folded in her lap. Homulilly just sat with her arms crossed, waiting.

Her head bowed, Charlotte shuffled her feet. “I guess…I owe you some kind-”

“Motherfucking, bitch-ass traitor!” Cheese suddenly screeched from the kitchen.

Charlotte paused. “Okay. Harsh. But…fair, I guess.”

“Who taught him the word ‘traitor’?” Candeloro asked.

“I did,” Ophelia said. “Or rather, the last wrestling PPV I watched did. Major heel turn. I was pissed.”

“Right,” Charlotte said. “Um, so, like I said, I owe all of you a huge apology.”

“You mean for straight-up running out on us without so much as a text message?” Oktavia said.

“Yes. For that.”

“For abandoning your wife when she needed you the most,” Homulilly said.

“Also that. Yeah.”

“For completely shutting us out so that Gretchen and Homulilly had to go commit actual crimes and get arrested just to have some sense talked into you?” Ophelia said.

“W-Well, that wasn’t exactly-”

“Ahem!”

Charlotte sighed. “Okay. Yes. For that too. And everything else.”

“Okay,” Ophelia said. “Well, say your piece.”

Charlotte swallowed. “Look. I don’t…have some kind of well-reasoned, logical reason for doing what I did. I got scared. Like, really scared. I guess I really do have a lot of issues about, you know, our past selves, about how I wasn’t actually part of your group, and about any part of that coming back. Yeah, I know you told me that it doesn’t matter, but…I don’t know. I got a bad case of the stupid.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” Ophelia said.

“Yeah.” Charlotte sighed. “And…when Candy changed, I thought that, you know, the Candeloro part was gone for good. That it was just Mami Tomoe that was left. I thought my wife was gone, and I couldn’t…”

“Okay, okay, question,” Oktavia interrupted. “Look, we know that already. We figured that part out right away. But why the hell wouldn’t you talk to anyone of us? Why wouldn’t you try to find out if you were right or not? Why just assume that it’s true and split? Wouldn’t you, um, want to at least verify before you lock all your friends out and throw your life away?”

“Ugh. I know, I know! It was stupid! I guess..” Charlotte shook her head. “I guess that…once I had calmed down and started to think about it, I guess I got scared that I was wrong. And if I was wrong, that meant that I turned my back on my family for nothing.”

Ophelia coughed into her fist. “Whichyoudid.”

“Ophelia,” Candeloro said, warning in her voice.

“No, she’s right,” Charlotte said. “But I just kept telling myself that I was right, that I really had lost Candeloro and that meant I was justified in leaving. You know, the universe had conspired to take away the person that I loved the most, so what did I owe it?”

“We’re not the universe,” Homulilly said. “We’re…us.”

“I know! I know! But…imagine if Gretchen had been replaced with someone else. Like, the girl you loved was gone and never coming back, but there was someone that still looked like her, that talked like her, that acted like her, but it wasn’t her, and everyone was openly accepting this new Gretchen in the place of the old one, and they wanted you to just take the new Gretchen when you knew that the one you loved was gone for good.”

“But…that’s not what happened!” Oktavia protested. Her tail started bouncing in its support apparatus, a tic that kicked in whenever she was agitated. “She wasn’t gone! She was just…you know, sort of expanded upon in a kind of disturbing way.”

“I know that now! And I guess I knew that then! But…oh, I don’t know, I was really scared that it was the way I thought it was, so I just kept telling myself that it was that way until I half-believed it!”

“So I guess Homulilly and Gretchen showing up at your hidey-hole wasn’t enough to make you think otherwise,” Ophelia said.

“No,” Charlotte admitted. She glanced over to where Candeloro was standing. “I mean, yeah, they convinced me to at least talk with her before I left, but I still went in thinking I was right.”

“And seeing how you kind of ran away after all that, Candeloro didn’t have much luck either.”

Charlotte’s mouth set in a straight line. “I mean, sort of? She told me some things that I wasn’t expecting, and it scared me, so that’s why I ran.”

“Huh? What’s that mean?”

“I mean she kind of showed me that I was being an idiot. Kind of hard to lie to yourself after that.” Charlotte ran her fingers through her hair while her tail roped itself around her upper thigh. “Also, it’s kind of hard to lie to yourself when yourself is straight up calling you out on your bullshit while she punches your face in.”

As expected, this pronouncement was met with mostly confusion from her housemates, mainly in the form of more blank stares and the scratching of heads.

“Huh?” Gretchen said, tilting her head to one side.

“You’ve lost me,” Oktavia added.

Charlotte swallowed. “Um, you know those dreams you guys apparently had back on the Aurora Borealis where you all met your past selves and made peace or whatever?”

“How’d you know about those?” Ophelia demanded.

“Word got back to me. Anyway, after I got into that zipper, I kind of fell asleep and, well, had one of my own. And it turns out my past self didn’t really approve of recent life decisions and decided to tell me. And she beat me up. Like, a lot.”

“Okay,” Ophelia said after a very long bout of silence. “Where exactly does the metaphor end and stuff that actually happened begin here?”

“I don’t know, it was weird!” Charlotte groused. “But that…that was kind of the wake-up call I needed. So that’s why I turned that thing around.”

“And that’s when you decided to go to the museum, to get advice from Astrid!” Oktavia said, her tail excitedly bouncing.

“Yeah.”

Gretchen looked up, her face hopeful. “But you’re back now, right? I mean, what you just said was extremely weird, but you two made up, so we can…start fixing things now? Go back…well, get used to how things are and be a whole family again, right?”

The younger girl’s voice was so full of hope that Candeloro hated herself for what came next. “Not yet.”

“Excuse me?” Homulilly said. In sharp contrast to Gretchen’s, her voice was full of steel and poison, the sort of tone that not lightly offended.

“Listen,” Candeloro said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate how helpful and accepting you all have been. You’ve all been wonderful. But-”

“You’re leaving,” Homulilly finished for her. When everyone stared at her, she looked around at everyone and rolled her eyes. “What? That’s what she’s saying, isn’t it? We went from losing one member of the family to losing two! That’s the opposite of what was supposed to happen!”

Candeloro said, “Homulilly-”

“No!” Homulilly leapt to her feet and thrust an angry, bony finger at her. “Listen to me! Gretchen and I went and got ourselves into a lot of trouble for you, for both of you! We might go to jail! But okay, that would have been worth it if it got you and Charlotte to make up and everyone was home. But instead, you’re both going away! How is that fair?”

“Hey, I agree with the floral skeleton,” Oktavia broke in. In contrast to Homulilly’s cold steel, she sounded like she couldn’t decide whether to start yelling or burst into tears, but it was no less angry. “What the hell? We’re family! We’re a Walpurgisnacht! Our souls are literally connected! Now you’re just gonna, what, go away? After everything? Charlotte was the one that walked out on you! Why are you choosing her over us?”

Charlotte openly winced at that. “It’s not like that!” Candeloro said quickly. “I-It’s true, we do need to leave for a while, but we’re not going away forever! Probably not even a full year.”

While all this was going on, Ophelia was merely sitting still, upper body leaning forward with her skinny arms crossed over her knees, scarlet eyes boring holes into the two of them. “Explain,” her voice having all the steel of Homulilly’s and all the fire of Oktavia’s.

Though it was hard to keep her voice steady and not to trip over her words, Candeloro did her best to explain the slips of memory she had been experiencing, starting with the one with the marshal and then detailing the ones she had been having with all of her friends. She told them about how her sense of self was far more fluid than she would have liked, and how it was happening more and more often.

“…and the more it happens, the harder it is to regain my sense of self,” she finished. “And yes, you have all been wonderful, but staying here only makes it worse. These memories just keep getting triggered, and I don’t know when the next one will hit.”

“You know there are quite a few qualified people here in Freehaven to help with that,” Ophelia pointed out. Her anger seemed to have cooled, though the firmness had not.

“And none of them can help me with this!” Candeloro said, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, but they can’t! Not even Astrid could! Besides, I can’t talk to any of them without risking blowing my secret!”

Homulilly inhaled sharply through her teeth. “Well, I mean, between us, Astrid, Hitomi, and like at least fifty people over in that science boat, I’d say that’s a ticking time bomb already.”

“Exactly! That’s another reason why I need to just…go somewhere else for a while. Wait for things to blow over.”

Ophelia tilted her head to one side. “And Charlotte?”

“Look,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “I got scared and did a bad thing. And this whole deal still kind of scares me. So, we both have a lot of things we need to come to terms with.”

Gretchen had mostly remained silent during the whole exchange. She had watched with a thoughtful look, privately musing over everything that was being said. And now she spoke, doing so carefully and with great deliberation. “So…you’re not really leaving us. You’re just getting some space to help you deal with these new problems so that when you do come back you’ll both be healthy.”

“Yes,” Candeloro said with a grateful sigh. Leave it to Gretchen to give things the best spin possible. And it wasn’t like she was wrong. “Thank you. That’s it exactly.”

However, Oktavia was less than mollified. “But what if you don’t?” she said, her voice nearly rising to a shout. “What if you don’t come back? What if you get scared like Charlotte did and you don’t ever come back?”

“It won’t! I promise-”

“No! No promises right now. You don’t know what’s going to happen, none of us know what’s going to happen, so don’t promise something you can’t keep! Like, half a week ago we were all set to have our family get bigger! Then all this shit happened, and now you have to leave! What if something new happens?”

“Tavi, babe,” Ophelia said, rising to go over to her. “It’s okay. You don’t-”

Oktavia swatter her hand away. “No! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when you don’t know it’s going to be okay. You don’t know that, no one knows that!”

“Oktavia,” Candeloro said. “I-”

Now openly crying, Oktavia roughly grabbed the controls to her chair and wretched it around. “No. I can’t deal with this right now. I’m…I just can’t. Not now.”

Everyone watched as she stomped off toward her and Ophelia’s room. A moment later the door slammed.

“Well,” Ophelia said after a long while. “Look. I’ll talk to her after she’s had some time to cool down. But tell me honestly: do you really have to go?”

“For a little while,” Candeloro said. “Yeah.”

Ophelia’s jaw clenched up. “But you are coming back? Once you two got all your issues worked out, you’re coming back to us. Right?”

Everything in Ophelia’s voice made it clear that they damned well better.

“Yes,” Candeloro said. “I swear.”

“I see.” Ophelia looked down at the ground, and then up at them. “You’ll keep in touch, at least. Right?”

“Of course we will! It’s not like we’re falling right off the map.”

“Heh. There’s probably places where you can literally do that.” Then Ophelia let out a long sigh. She walked over to the pair and laid a hand on Candeloro’s shoulder.

“Okay,” she said. “But you get better. I don’t care what you’re calling yourself when you come back, I know it’ll still be you. Just get yourself better, okay?”

Candeloro swallowed. She wanted to reassure her that she most definitely would, but she suddenly found herself unable to speak.

So she settled for grabbing Ophelia in a tight embrace instead.

There came a low patter of incredibly thin legs, followed by the steps of two perfectly normal ones, and soon two more pairs joined them. Candeloro, Ophelia, Gretchen, and Homulilly all stood there, wrapped up in each other’s love.

Then without releasing her grip or raising her head, Ophelia said, “Charlotte, you waiting for a written invitation. Get in on this!”

“Oh!” Charlotte said in genuine surprise. “Uh, right away!” Soon her arms were holding the whole group from behind Candeloro.

Then they heard a door open in another place of the house, followed by the whine-hiss of Oktavia’s chair. The mermaid herself appeared a moment later.

Everyone paused, and then turned to look at her. Oktavia’s eyes were red and wet, and her nose looked raw, as if it had been blown very hard recently.

She moved her chair closer. “Okay, look,” she said. “I’m still mad at you, and I’m still going to yell at you later. But I really need a hug too, and you guys don’t get to have one without me!”

“Well, come on then,” Homulilly said. Oktavia came in closer, and Homulilly and Ophelia both lifted her up by the arms and brought her in to join them, completing the set.

Candeloro sighed. Genuinely happy moments seemed to be hard to come by as of late, but this most certainly was one.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank-”

“-you.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it!” Sayaka said with a happy slap onto Mami’s back. “I mean, we’re a team, aren’t we? You woulda done the same for any of us.”

That much was true, but Mami still was grateful. She had gotten a little cocky during that last witch fight, and had nearly lost her head as a result. Had she been alone, she would have surely died.

But she wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Madoka rushed up to her and clutched her hand with both of her own. “But please be more careful, Mami-san!” she said. “You scared me back there!”

“I will,” Mami promised. “I guess that just goes to show that even when you have a lot of experience, you can still get careless.”

“A hard lesson to learn,” Homura Akemi agreed. The dark and mysterious new member to their group held out her hand. There was a flash of violet light, and she was suddenly clad in her normal clothes again, her soul gem reduced to a small, silver ring. “Still, I am glad that you’re unhurt.”

Then she smiled. It was a rare thing for Homura Akemi to smile, but here one was. Mami just wished that she hadn’t needed to endanger her own life in order to see one.

“Come on, I’ll race you guys back!” Madoka took off running, heading up the road toward Mami’s apartment.

“Hey, Madoka! Wait up!” Sayaka ran after her. A moment later Homura followed.

Mami didn’t run after them. Let them have their fun. She would catch up soon enough.

Besides, it wasn’t like she was alone.

“That was a kinda dumb move,” Kyoko remarked as she started to walk beside Mami. “Seriously, what were you thinking, showing off like that? The kids are already impressed with you. No need to drop your guard like that.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll…set a better example in the future.”

“Hmmm.” Kyoko pulled out one of those boxes of pocky she always seemed to have on hand. “Still, don’t tell the others I said this, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

She opened the box, and held it out toward her.

Mami blinked. She looked down at the pocky, and then up at Kyoko.

“Well,” Kyoko said, giving the box a jiggle.

Smiling, Mami took one of the candy sticks and bit into it. It was good.

“I’m glad you came back,” she said as the two started up the hill together.

“Hey, don’t go getting all sappy on me,” Kyoko said as she stuck a stick into her mouth. “I just didn’t like the thought of you going crazy all by yourself. You kinda go to pieces when you don’t have anyone around to watch you. It kinda sucks to be alone, you know?”

“I know,” Mami said. She looked up the hill at their juniors. “But I’m not alone. Not anymore.”

Her arms still entwined with those of her loved ones, Mami’s eyes welled up. Again her sense of self had shifted, but this time she didn’t try to fight it. Because there were happy memories mixed with the bad, and if Mami Tomoe and Candeloro were to be the same person from now on, then at least she was getting those as well.

…

So, um.

Writing this…was a journey, and if I do end up doing a look-back on the Hitomi/Mami arc, this chapter will get a very long section all to itself.

Jesus Christ.

Anyway, this is it. Epilogue goes up next week, hopefully.

Until next time, everyone.

[mountainofgoats]

Puzzle Pieces

Summary: Post mind wipe, Kara seeks comfort from the only place she can think of. Lena steps up. Supercorp if you squint. 

///

               The knock to her door is stuttered and frantic. Like the desperate beating of a trapped animal against its cage.

               She grabs her gun from the bedside table before she answers.

               What she does not expect is to find a trembling, teary eyed Kara Danvers practically slumped against the doorframe.

               Concern immediately replaces suspicion. “Kara what-“

               Kara shakes her head, all but flings herself into Lena’s arms with so much force she nearly drops the gun. She’s absolutely heaving with sobs, something like words spilling from her lips but they’re so ragged that Lena can’t make any sense of them.

               “Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Lena tries, even though clearly nothing is okay. “Shh, Kara, come on.” She holds Kara as tight as she can with the gun still dangling from one hand, hauling her backwards into the apartment and kicking the door shut behind her. Kara lets herself be manhandled onto the couch, where Lena collapses with her practically on her lap. She sits there, murmuring constant and slightly panicked words of comfort while Kara just… falls apart.

               There’s no other words for how Kara is cracking to pieces, absolutely fraying at the seams. She’s nearly hyperventilating, holding on to Lena for dear life, gasping and heaving like she’s drowning. And through it all, she’s rasping out words.

               Or, what sounds like words.

               Foreign words.

               Lena had no idea Kara was bilingual.

               “Kara, I can’t understand you,” she says softly, stroking Kara’s hair and rocking her as much as she can with her best friend half on top of her. “I need English. Or Irish, at least.”

               Kara presses her face farther against Lena’s shoulder, clutching at her. Still crying, shattering to pieces. She gasps out a phrase in that language that Lena has never heard, but she catches one word.

               Kahp sem zehdh. Kahp sem Alex.

               Alex.

               Alex, her sister. Her rock. Her best friend.

               Kara is in pieces, sobbing out her sister’s name, clinging to Lena like she’s the only thing keeping her afloat, and Lena’s panic is only growing. Blood icy, heart thundering, Lena gently pries Kara away just enough to cup her face, swiping away tears from her cheeks. “Kara, what happened?”

God, Lena’s not even sure she wants to know.

               Kara holds Lena’s hands to her face – gasping, heaving – eyes locked on Lena’s with silent desperation. Her blue eyes, usually so bright with life and light, are wild. Haunted. Like she’s in the throes of a waking nightmare.

               “She’s gone,” Kara rasps. Clutching at Lena, tears rolling over her cheeks despite Lena’s constantly stroking fingers. “She wont- she can’t-“

               Oh god oh god oh god. “What are you talking about?”

               Kara squeezes her eyes shut in obvious agony. “She won’t remember. She won’t- she won’t know, she won’t see.” She coughs out another sob, words slurring back into that language that sounds more and more familiar with each word.

               Except the only time Lena’s ever heard it… was before.

               Before Lex was arrested. Before he really, truly went mad.

               Before, when he was just studying Superman.

               When he was trying to decipher Superman’s language. Kryptonian.

               The language that is just spilling out of Kara with the ease of a native speaker.

               “Jesus Christ.”

               ///

Lena’s brain spirals too much to be of much comfort, but Kara soaks her shirt with tears for an hour and doesn’t seem to notice.

               She knows she is still missing vital pieces of the puzzle, but from what she’s been able to discern out of Kara’s anguished cries, she thinks she can build something of a picture.

               And when Kara finally cries herself out and slumps, exhausted and asleep against the back of the couch, Lena eases out from underneath her and immediately plops down at her laptop at the kitchen island.

               She types, taps, searches, and spirals for another hour before there’s a muffled shuffling from the couch.

               “Lena?”

               She looks up, and Kara is sitting up on the couch, groggily rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. And for a moment, she looks just so young and lost that Lena forgets for the briefest of seconds that the woman currently stumbling off her couch can literally catch bullets with her bare hands. Has brawled with Superman and Worldkillers and flown prisons into space.

               “There’s Chinese,” Lena blurts. She gestures a little helplessly toward the cartons sitting out on the counter. “If you want.”

               She doesn’t wait for Kara to respond. Just fixes her eyes back on the screen in front of her, at the countless tabs of news articles and videos she’s spent the last hour combing through. Putting the pieces together and feeling more and more ignorant with each one that fell into place.

               How could she not have seen it?

               She feels rather than sees Kara approach. She keeps tapping away at the keys. Knowing the words she’s writing, but feeling oddly disconnected from them.

               “Lena?” Her voice is tiny. “A-about earlier…”

               “You don’t have to explain right now,” Lena says. Please don’t try to explain right now.

               “But I want – you deserve – “

               “Let me rephrase.” Her voice comes out harsh and cold, and Kara flinches back. “I don’t want you to try to explain why you’ve lied to me for the past three years.” Her heart twists and her eyes burn. “I don’t want to hear it, because I’ll probably say something hurtful and, to be honest, I don’t think you can take much more of that tonight. So just… don’t.”

               Kara is clearly fighting tears, throat bobbing as she swallows and hands wringing together so tight her fingers are turning red. And part of Lena hates herself for it, for making Kara hurt any more than she already was.

               But she feels too damn angry and betrayed to take any of it back.

“I didn’t want to,” Kara whispers. She twists at her fingers, pulls at her sleeves. “I never meant… I just wanted…” She reaches up and wipes at a tear, sniffling softly. Her shoulders drop, heavy and hopeless. “I just wanted you safe.”

And fuck, she just seems so lost.

Lena leans back in her chair, allowing herself to really see Kara.

The last daughter of Krypton. The hero who stands unyielding against those who would do Earth harm.

The girl who lost everything – her family, her people, her culture, her planet – in one fell swoop when she was only a child.

The girl who, apparently, just lost her sister.

And judging by the way she holds herself now – chin slightly tucked, shoulders curled, as if in preparation for a blow – she thinks she stands to lose more.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Lena says softly. Kara flinches again and Lena has to swallow back tears at the way her heart constricts in response. “And we will. But not right now. We’re both too emotional and I’m not going to do that to you.”

Kara shakes her head miserably, opens her mouth to protest.

“Let’s figure this thing out with your sister,” Lena cuts in. “Let’s fix that first, and then… we’ll figure us out, okay?”

And if she’s being honest with herself, she’s not too optimistic for when that conversation inevitably comes. In fact, a tendril of dread curls around her heart at the nanosecond she lets herself consider it.

But looking at Kara now, at the way it’s as if even the barest of touches would send her crumbling to her knees, she can’t bring herself to make Kara explain. Not tonight.

“Okay,” Kara whispers.

Lena gives her a decisive nod. “Okay then.” She returns her attention to the screen in front of her, clicking away at all the photos and videos.

Slowly, Kara edges her way farther into the kitchen, around the island and slips onto the barstool next to Lena. Trembling hands reach out and pull a carton of lo mien toward her. Wordlessly, halfheartedly, she twirls the noodles around a fork.

“But why would you want to help me? After… that.”

Lena glances over, and Kara is staring down at her fork, eyes glassy and bloodshot and absolutely miserable. Her heart aches again despite her best efforts to beat it into submission.

She drags her eyes away from Kara’s. “I know how it feels.”

She hears echoes of laughter, feels the ghost of Lex’s hand ruffling her hair, remnants of goofing off in the lab and playing chess.

Flashes of the witness stand, the burst of betrayal in his eyes before it was swallowed by the fanatical gleam.

The gaping hole in her life where her brother should be throbs.

“I wouldn’t wish that kind of loss on anyone.” Least of all her best friend, who she loves so much.

Maybe too much.

After a quiet moment of Kara trying and failing to eat her lo mien, of Lena trying and failing to not miss the brother she lost, Kara starts to lean over. So incredibly slowly, giving Lena every opportunity to pull away.

But she doesn’t, and the weight of Kara’s head resting on her shoulder brings more warmth and comfort into her aching heart than she wants to admit. In spite of herself, in spite of the flicker of anger and betrayal growing smaller and smaller, she lets her cheek rest against Kara’s hair. And when Kara heaves a sigh like it’s coming from the depths of her battered soul, Lena leans until their shoulders are pressed together across the barstools.

She’ll be flaming mad later, she decides. She’ll yell and probably cry and she doesn’t know if their friendship will survive, but for now…

God, do they need each other to hold on to.

Idly, she moves the curser on the screen up to a different tab, clicks on it. A journal written on memory and psychology blips onto the screen.

“So you mentioned something about a memory wipe? Tell me about it. We’ll start there.”

///

Kahp sem zehdh: I want home.

@storyiicharacter, thanks for the Kryptonian translation. It’s still ripping my heart out. 

[turquoisemagpie]

Hope Springs Eternal. (2)

A few weeks had passed, and the TV still hadn’t ‘fixed itself’. No matter what channel Hope turned to, a screen of buzzing static and a hiss of white noise as all that was picked up. She sighed in frustration and, sitting cross legged on the floor of the lounge, picked up the TV manual and started idly flicking through the pages until she vaguely saw something that would lead her in the direction of get the TV fixed. She could hardly focus on the pages, she was so tired. She swore to herself that the next time Chase has another midnight-masterplan and decides to record a video at 2 o’clock in the morning, she would definitely start threatening to kick him out. She was starting to get sick of losing sleep on a biweekly basis as it would take her another week to get back to her regular sleep schedule, and Hope was sure her boss wouldn’t be happy with her taking a day off work once every two weeks. Luckily, she had a day off that day anyway, so she stupidly decided to take her mind off of feeling bad for missing work, and off of feeling like punching her big brother in the face, by finally fixing the TV.

Chase’s head poked around the corner from the kitchen. “Still broken, is it?” he asked.

Hope slowly turned her head and looked at him scornfully through tired eyes and said sarcastically, “No, it’s fixed. This just so happens to be my favourite TV radio channel. White Noise FM.”

Chase laughed a little before disappearing back into the kitchen and reappearing to step into the lounge, wearing a thick coat and his ‘work’ backpack over one shoulder. He reached for a coffee cup from the coffee table.

“No more mugging!” Hope snapped, before Chase could even touch the cup, “You’ve taken enough of my cups already. Haven’t you got enough of them at work?”

Chase picked up the cup. “I’m not taking it to work!” Chase said with a laugh, “I was just going to take it to the kitchen and wash it.” He turned to walk into the kitchen, not even fully passing the doorway before quietly slipping the mug into his bag. “Is my taxi here yet?” he said idly, not expecting any response.

Hope stood up from the floor and walked into the kitchen. She leaned on the kitchen table and watched Chase as he washed his dishes from breakfast.

“How was last night’s recording then?” Hope asked, rubbing her eyes in hope that the pain of rubbing them would make them open wider and wake her up more. “Worth getting up at 1:43 and making a ruckus for 3 and a half hours for, huh?”

Chase lightly glanced at his sister with a slight look of guilt. “Yeeaaah.” He mumbled, “Sorry if I woke you up. I just had a moment where… I had a sudden burst of inspiration, and I just had to get it out before I went back to sleep and lost it.”

“Oh, really?” Hope said, pulling out the coffee mug that was peeking out of Chase’s bag, that he left on the table. “You sure it was a ‘sudden burst of inspiration’? And not a ‘I haven’t submitted a video in the last week and my bank account is getting a little low, so I’ll just have a last-second rush to make a video at the most ungodly hours of the night, so I can get paid and don’t have to beg my little sister for ‘lunch money’’… panic?”

Chase looked away from the sink so that he couldn’t see Hope at all, not even in the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry.” he said quickly and quietly, “It’s hard to get ideas for videos every now and then.”

Hope chuckled a little and went to join Chase by the sink, so she could wash her mug. She passed it to Chase where he could dry it. As he did Hope asked in a rather cautious tone, “So… have you called Stacey yet?... About talking things over and… possibly apologising for whatever’s happened and then… moving back in with her?”

“I’ll do it later.” Chase quickly said.

“’Later’ when?” Hope asked.

“This evening.” Chase said… and Hope said too, in unison with him. He looked at her as she gazed back at him with a little disappointment.

“That’s been your excuse for a good 3 and a half weeks now.” Hope said, “And you still haven’t called her- and don’t you dare say, again, that you keep forgetting, because I remind you every two days now.”

Chase didn’t look up at her, he kept twisting the mug around within the dish cloth, even thought it was already dried.

Hopes sighed on seeing how uncomfortable he was. She said in a calmer tone of voice, “I’m sorry to keep hassling you, Chase. I know it’s hard, and I can tell you’re scared to call her, you’re scared she’ll start another argument with you and make you feel worse. But, that might not happen. It’s been over a month now, maybe she’ll be happy to hear your voice again. Maybe she’ll be happy to let you back. Maybe she might not have fully forgiven you, but she knows you miss the kids, and they miss you, and will let you back. It’s all possibilities, Chase. But you won’t find out for sure if you don’t call her at all.”

Chase finally put the mug down and fiddled with the dish cloth, wondering whether to hang it up to dry and try to leave this awkward pet talking, or wait and listen to Hope.

“If it’s something else bothering you, you can talk to me about it.” Hope said, leaning in to try and meet Chase eye to eye.

But Chase turned away and headed to the kitchen table to sort out his bag. “I know-” Chase said harshly before pausing and repeating in a calmer tone, “I know what you’re trying to say, and I get it. But…” he sighed and fiddled with his bag.

There was a car horn outside the house. Chase quickly put his bag on his back, trying to disguise his huge sigh of relief with a few raspy coughs.

“I’ll talk later.” Chase said heading to the front door. He turned back when he reached the door, saw Hope looking rather dispirited at him with her arms crossed and leaning against the wall. “I mean it.” He clarified, “When I get back… I’ll tell you what is on my mind… and I’ll call Stacey right after that.” He smiled at her in hope.

His sister gave a small smile back, but as he left the house, her smile dropped. She wondered if he’d ever notice that when he leaves the house always says the same thing. Always ‘meaning it’. And, inevitably, ‘forgetting it’.

She wandered back into the lounge and sat on the couch. She grabbed the manual she was reading from and read a few pages. She then looked at the cover and laughed in exhausted annoyance as she realised she had been reading the toaster manual this whole time.

She needed to sleep.

She plonked the manual on the coffee table and lay down on the couch. Hope usually found the constant sound of rain or wind or waves usually lulled her to sleep, so she left the TV on and let the static fill her head as she closed her eyes and started to drift off.

The suddenly ring of the phone snapped Hope awake. She looked at the clock and was surprised to see an hour and 20 minutes had passed while she dozed off. The sky seemed much darker than before, much too dark for the middle of the day. She got up from the couch and turned the TV off before heading into the hallway where the phone called for her. She picked up the phone and read the screen. Unknown. She accepted the call and put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

It was back. Again, just as it always has been, every day for the past 4 weeks. The static whispering, the warped voice that hitched and gasped, almost certainly speaking backwards. Hope sighed angrily at what was now becoming an all too familiar sound for her. She clicked the button to end the call, but instantaneously the phone began to ring again, this time a number was shown. She already guessed it was Chase’s number; his new number, since he swapped his phones around and was currently using her old cell phone. She quickly accepted the call and put it to her ear to listen in silence. The same haunting disembodied voice and white noise.

“Right.” She said to herself, hanging up the phone and pressing redial, “Let’s see what your excuse is now, Chase.”

She put the phone to her ear and listened to the dialling tone as it called, already predicting the back of her mind that Chase would answer and swear on his life that he didn’t call her. Just as he always did. She waited for the familiar bewildered voice of her brother to answer, but then something caught her attention as she looked at herself in the hallway mirror.

She could hear another phone ringing somewhere inside the house.

She lowered the phone and listened. The ringing was coming from upstairs and it buzzed as it rang. A cell phone. Hope felt her hip and she made a small gasp as she felt her own mobile phone was in her jean pocket. Whose phone was ringing? Was it Chase’s?

Slowly, trying not to make any noise, Hope climbed the stairs, pausing at the top to listen for the direction of the ringing. Her heart beating fast as she realised where the ringing was coming from, Hope gulped and carefully walked to Chase’s room; the door was open, propped slightly ajar by clothes scatter on the floor within the room. She pushed the door open with some effort to push away a pile of dirty clothes that rested against the door. The room was a state, clothes and pizza boxes and piled electrical equipment cluttered around the floor, and a worrying large neat collection of empty alcohol bottles peaked out from under the messy unmade bed. In the centre of the messy sheet something blue glowed, the only light source in the darkened room. Hope slowly took cautious steps around the mess on the floor and stood at the bed, starting in fear at the phone in the middle of the bed, ringing, with her house phone number irradiating from the screen.

It was Chase’s phone, that was what Hope was more than sure about. But Chase wasn’t here. If he did come home while she dozed off, she would have woken up at the sound of the front door shutting, and of all places he would be in the house, his room was the ultimate place he would be. But he wasn’t. Chase was still out. So, who called her?

Hope slowly glided her finger across her house phone to the end-call button and pressed it. Chase’s phone stopped ringing.

The silence was terrible. Luckily, she only had one heartbeat’s worth of time to deal with it. Hope screamed as she fell to the floor as a cold, sickly coloured hand from under the bed, grabbed her ankle and pulled her down.

Instantly she kicked the hand off of her foot and crawled away, her eyes wide in fear and her breath shivering in shock. Not letting whatever happened happen again, she scurried out of the room and slammed the door shut. She held at the door handle, thinking for a second, and then pulled out a key from the dresser at the side of the door. She locked Chase’s bedroom with it and backed away from the door, staring at it in expectation that at any second something from the other side of it would be thudding against it to be let out. But there was only silence. She put the key in her pocket and quickly headed downstairs.