Would you ever write a time travel fic where nothing needs to be changed? Like … like a domestic AU story, but with time travel, in concept? Nothing to prevent, no horrors to avert, just … life, but with a character that can time travel.

I think I’ve hit a point where every time I get a prompt for a concept I’m always just like: wait a second… have I already… seen this before…

And in this case, yes, sort of here, in which rockstar!Gaara goes back in time after both breakups to the day he and his siblings had their first official gig and the same day he met Shikako.

And, well, explained like that, I suppose it doesn’t match your prompt, anon, because while it’s not a horrible crisis, arguably Gaara starts off maybe wanting to prevent the breakups. But he quickly finds that there’s no big mistake he made…

But it’s still not quite what you want, anon, so I went back to the drawing board.

So… “life, but with a character that can time travel.” And again I stumble because my brain just automatically wants to make certain connections. “A character that can time travel” to me is my original character Leanne Peridot from my series Counterclockwise but then again her life is pretty awful. If anything, for her, the time traveling IS the horribly crisis that she’s trying to prevent.

It’s, again, not what you want, anon, so I went at it for a third time, trying my best to stay away from any preconceived notions, and I think I would say it depends on the mechanic/type of time travel. And I came up with two tentative possible stories based on different time travel mechanic/types.

A) The Accidental Rewrite

It’s, as you said, someone who goes back in time not to prevent anything horrible, but it just… happens. And I think, maybe, the time traveller has no say in it. One day they went to sleep the next day it was three years in the past. And the thing is, they didn’t have a shitty life… I mean, could it have been better? Yes, maybe. But it was a satisfactory life.

Except… was it? Now they’re starting to wonder, were they supposed to do something more with their life? WERE they supposed to prevent some horrible thing from happening and they messed up so badly to the point that they didn’t even KNOW about the thing they were supposed to prevent?

And at this point you have to wonder: is it a loop–which makes the time traveller doubt everything about their life–or, which I much prefer, is it just the once. And life moves on.

Because if it’s a loop then that means the looping becomes the center of the story. How the time traveller games the system and what differences they make between lives, not so much what they make of this new chance at life. So I think if I were to do this kind of mechanic, it would very much be a “it happened once and I still don’t know why, and maybe at first I tried to look into it but otherwise I just figured it was my second chance at the three years,” got a slightly better job, maintained my friends and family relationships better, etc. Maybe met a significant other when before they didn’t have one. The time travel is what causes them to change their life and it is a mystery but it doesn’t become their life.


B) The Chronic Condition

(That pun though)

Basically, Counterpoise but without ALL THE HORRIBLE THINGS I DO TO MY CHARACTERS. Time traveller slides in and out of different points in time and lives their life out of order from everyone else, but it’s okay because they know people in each era and it’s kind of just like traveling and visiting friends/family except instead of around the world it’s across time.

Maybe at first it is scary. They can’t control it. They don’t know when they’re going or what will happen. But after a while, they grow accustomed to it. They can’t control when they’ll travel, but maybe they can control what era they’ll go to. Or maybe they can sense when they’re about to travel and maybe they can hold it off for a few hours or days just to get ready instead of just getting ripped away from what they’re doing. It becomes easier. Manageable.

And I quite like the idea that a person can always have loved ones even if they don’t see them often or even in the same order. My grandparents meet me for the first time when I am the same age and we are friends, then they meet me as after a few years whereas I am younger. Then they see an old, familiar looking guest at their wedding. Then every so often, I visit them at their house, give gifts to their kids (my parent and aunts/uncles). Then I am born and for all intents and purposes meet them for the first time and they get to witness the stages of my life as I grow up.

Like… who cares if the milestones are out of order so long as the people we care about are there.

So I guess what I’m saying is. Yes, anon, I would maybe write a story about time travel without a dramatic purpose.

Story A would work in any series–original fiction or fanfiction–whereas Story B is just me being nicer to Leanne. Which, I mean, I probably should be nicer to her anyway (because if her entire life is suffering, it won’t be as deliciously satisfying whenever I make sad things happen).

Is there a particular series/fandom you wanted to see either iterations in?


Check out the Ask Box Would You Ever!

Would you ever write a story where the conflict is a bureaucratic fuck-up?

Hm… this one is also a little vague, but not as complex as the last one.

But I think it does also depend on what you mean by the conflict being a bureaucratic fuck-up?

Like… hm… for example: I recently read a fic in which a lower ranked SHIELD agent was in charge of trying to “officially” bring Agent Coulson “back to life.” In the sense that, like most large scale government entities, the amount of paperwork and hoop jumping in order to do something is just ludicrous, and so this character had to go to different departments, deal with typos that threw everything off, file things in triplicate, etc. etc. it was a very entertaining read… it was… ah, there it is: Permit A38 by old_chatterhand

In a somewhat similar vein, I also greatly enjoy Restoration by thehoyden which is a xxHoLic fic about Watanuki having to re-enter society after several years of being the Shop Keeper. And I’ve been rereading a lot of Dark is Rising (by Susan Cooper) fic about Will being immortal and all of his friends aging and dying and leaving him alone its all very sad and lovely.

So I guess what I’m saying is, I would maybe do something that’s less a meltdown/crisis of a bureaucratic fuck-up and more of a sleuthing/journey of discovery in which someone finds some oddities in a file and tries to track it down only to discover that the truth is far more bizarre than even that mistaken form could have expressed.

Kind of like this ficlet

Off the top of my head I have two original fiction series that I think this would work for pretty easily:

1) Counterclockwise. Leanne gets arrested by future police for crimes that she hasn’t yet committed–or, possibly, isn’t intending to commit because unsanctioned time travel might in fact be illegal in the future but since she’s the first time traveller and it’s largely against her will does that count as her committing a crime?

Anyways, there’s one officer in particular that is assigned to her case and in trying to apprehend her, he discovers the secret behind her time traveling (that is, the fact that she can’t even control it yet, but also that she’s far more powerful than any time traveller should be) and maybe the secret behind the time traveler police force. Which is–I mean, spoilers?–that Bastian created the entire force specifically to catch Leanne.


2) Kira Val the Psychopomp series. (I might change the character’s name, but that’s just what everything is tagged as for ease of searching). It would be much shorter and thus more doable than the first one. Basically a school administrator or the counselor or someone tries to track down Kira’s records–since she’s new to the Bellview school district, they don’t have it on file like the rest of their students–and at first it’s difficult just because Kira came from a school within Cadmium City but then when the administrator actually gets her original file it says that Kira is dead. Which. She is kind of…

And it would end with she is called in to discuss this–maybe her aunt Nyx comes along as her guardian–and basically this poor administrator realizes that there’s more to the world than what they originally thought. And I just want it to end like this:

“Forget about this and just go home,” you say, a firm but gentle suggestion, “Spend time with your husband.” He won’t have much time left, you don’t add.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you conclude, getting to your feet, “But… thank you.”


Check out the Ask Box Would You Ever!

Well, I was sort of thinking of the Kyber Crystal and the sword as sort of, well, there’s a semi-tradition of seeing them as almost alive, in-and-of-themselves, of seeing sailing ships, for example, as having personhood. I guess, if I were to narrow it down more, the question would be better worded like so: Would you ever write a story from a very non-human perspective?

Ooooh, okay. So it’s not a human reborn as a non-human thing, I think that’s where I got confused.

It’s definitely a fascinating concept, anon. I like the idea of sentience not necessarily meaning sapience and how there are perspectives in the world beyond human.

Hm… I think if I were to ever write such a story it’d probably be from the POV of a tree, a space ship, or a place–though the last one is specifically fanfiction and more specifically Konoha from Naruto or Vulcan from Star Trek–someplace that gets energy from the people that live there. Either that or a cool family heirloom–a weapon maybe?–that follows its owners down the bloodline/succession.

But I don’t think any of them would be very long. Or, rather, they’d be only a part of another story that is primarily human–or sapient, if we’re talking sci-fi/fantasy.

Hm… here’s something?


Watch. Wait. Ever present, eternal.

Today I am created, but I have always existed.

I am infinite and reaching.

The one who will wield me does not yet live. She is the one who designed me.

I will wait. I am already with her.


The woman who makes me does not truly understand what it is she is creating.

She has seen me before, but does not know the power that lies within. She thinks me only as metal and glass.

My face is shining, my hands are steady. The gears within my body run smoothly.

I am well crafted. Were I able to speak, I would tell her so. But I cannot.

The woman who makes me will not wield me, but she is skilled and her hands are sure.

My wielder will have the same sure hands.


There is a chain.

There is a box lined with velvet.

There is a cold, locked room deep underground.


I need not be patient.

She will come for me soon.


The woman who made me brings with her a boy. Her child.

Neither of them are my wielders.

But they come to the cold, locked room deep underground.

They open the box line with velvet.

They look upon me and the chain that binds me.

The woman who made me tells her son that I am a secret.

A legacy.

To be passed down until the time is right.

If I could laugh, I would.


Generations pass.

The line of the woman who made me visit only to show me to their children, onward and onward.

None of them are my wielder.



Once, a group of masked thieves enter the locked room deep underground.

They begin to open the other boxes, Empty riches into their bags.

Useless material things.

They are stopped before they reach me.

My wielder is there. She glances my way.

I do not skip a beat.

She looks away.

No need. I am already with her.


A woman brings her son to see me.

This boy will die. Not in the way that all of their line die–as a simple matter of age and time. This boy will be killed.

My wielder will be the one to kill him.



The boy who will be killed by my wielder has grown into a man. He brings with him his own child, a daughter.

My wielder.

But not yet.

The man will die. My wielder will come for me. Then she will kill him.

It is too early.


I have already told you what I am.


A/N: Surprise! It’s Leanne Peridot’s pocket watch from Counterclockwise.

… so I realize now that trying to do the POV of an inanimate object is probably not helped when said object is capable of time travel/is the concept of infinite time. Whoops.

But it was an interesting little exercise, anon, so maybe I’ll try to incorporate more non-sapient perspectives in my work from now on 🙂

Check out the Ask Box Would You Ever!

Word Prompts (J7): Joy

“So angry,” Allen says with his easy, genial smile, a softer version for so early in the morning. He’s fond of her and her brother, still thinks of them as the orphan kids who asked to live in the room above his bakery years and years ago.

“A coffee and pastry would help with that,” she responds, grumpy, but with far less bite than she would with most anyone else.

She’s pretty fond of him, too.

Allen shakes his head, tuts at her; the flour in his hair blends in with the patches of gray and white. He still thinks of her as a kid, but she also sometimes forgets how old he really is.

“You need sleep, not caffeine and sugar. And I need to bake today’s bread, not babysit a brat. Upstairs with you now, your brother’s waiting.”

It’s not Allen’s fault that’s a lie.


She hears it a lot–

You don’t look very happy.


Shouldn’t you smile more, then?

Or, even,

Your parents were pretty wrong about that.

–the last one usually causes her to lash out, parents are a touchy subject for good reason, but it’s not exactly inaccurate.

There’s not a lot in her life that matches her name.


The world has gotten a lot stranger in the past year or so. Or perhaps it’s always been strange and only now she’s beginning to notice, only now it’s beginning to resurge.

Regardless, she prides herself on being the best; on being so skilled that rumors whisper maybe something is strange about her, too.

It’s sheer competence, mostly, with some engineering and parkour of course. And luck, she’d grudgingly admit.

Still, she makes a name for herself, one much larger than herself, and for a while she thinks that’s enough.

One night she runs into a man who can turn into a literal wolf.

Luck isn’t enough.


She always loves the wrong people.

People who will leave her–whether they want to or not. People who would rather see her in jail than free. People who could never make her happy.

When she meets Ann, she thinks this time will be the exception.

And for a while, it is.

Just a little while.

Ann doesn’t mean to leave her, doesn’t want to leave her, but leave she does.

(A decade later, Joy will realize that even if Ann had stayed it wouldn’t have worked. Normal people falling in love with gods rarely ends happily)


A/N: I realize, terribly belatedly, that I should have saved all of my (_7) Word Prompts for some kind of DoS Lucky Sevens thing… because there are a few golden ones (like, N7 Ninja or T7 Teamwork or E7 Emotion or even S7 Sand for a nice Wind Country visit)

Ah well. And, I mean, some of the letters don’t even have seven words so…

In other news: I swear, every time I write something I learn something new about the Cadmium/Counterclockwise ‘verse… Joy and Leanne? Honestly did not see that one coming.

18, Counterclockwise?

I don’t know how to make things right.
So I’ll just keep pretending
that nothing’s wrong.
(you know that I’m no good)

Ellen meets her two years into her stint of immortality on, of all things, a dark and stormy night. She’s slumped against the back door of Ellen’s small clinic, bleeding out and soaked and unconscious.

Perturbed, Ellen rushes over and feels for a pulse. She is a doctor first and foremost–it defines her above and beyond the curse that will plague her forever (and it’ll be a few decades before she becomes the leader in meta-human physiology)–the cardinal rule guides her still.

A steady rhythm, if weak and beneath cold clammy skin, but not for long with that wound.

The woman startles at the touch, eyes blearily blinking open and taking in Ellen’s face.

“You’ll be okay,” Ellen reassures her, “I’m a doctor.”

“Kaiza,” the woman breathes out, “You cold hearted bitch,” before her eyes fall shut and she goes unconscious once more.

It’s not exactly the smoothest beginning.

Then again, Leanne would argue that this wasn’t the beginning at all.


Ellen adapts to her occasional visitor the way a cat might become accustomed to a coyote that hangs around the opposite side of the backyard fence. Which is to say, poorly.

Better than cats and dogs, but not by much.

Later, she will have more than her fill of cat and dog jokes–jaguars and wolves as cooperative as their domesticated counterparts–herding a group of overly dramatic young adults with more power than sense, but for now they have not been spoiled for her yet.

Much, much later she will do it again and wonder why she didn’t learn, but that is for another time.

Everything, it seems, about Leanne is for another time.

For now it is just her and her clinic and her strangely hostile, but helpful guest.

“You won’t want to open that without Nyx,” Leanne says, hand overtop hers, keeping the aged grimoire shut.

Ellen pauses, asks, “Who is Nyx?”

Leanne raises an eyebrow, almost disbelieving, “She’s a devil’s advocate. The best and one of the least cutthroat at that, though you shouldn’t say as such to her face.”

“And I should ask her for help?”

The expression on Leanne’s face would make that a resounding, “No, are you kidding? She’ll eat you alive. And then swindle your soul out from under you.” She looks frankly perplexed, as if this is something Ellen should already know. “You have to make a deal with her, trade something she might want.”

Ellen considers, looks around. She doesn’t have much–she hasn’t lived long enough for her immortality to benefit her; the reason why she even has the grimoire in the first place is because one of her atypical patients gave it to her as payment–unless this Nyx might need medical services?

Leanne laughs, amused by the very idea, before humming, pondering, “Nyx won’t, she’s a demon, but she did have a daughter… Or, she will have one?” Leanne laughs again, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find out eventually.”


By the time Leanne meets her for the first time, she no longer thinks of herself as Ellen. She is Kaiza: a doctor, an immortal, and a cold hearted bitch.

She is sitting across the table from a woman with familiar features wrought in an unfamiliar expression. Kaiza has seen Leanne with resignation on her face, but not mixed with fear and fierce yet futile protectiveness. Then again, Leanne never was a mother–never will be, from what she knows of her–and the woman in front of Kaiza is a mother to three.

A mother who has been told she will lose one of her children.

“Not again,” says Leanne’s mother, hands over her face, “I can’t do this again.”

Kaiza lets her come to terms in silence, there’s nothing she can say to make this situation better.

Outside the house she hears a car pulling up, the sound of young voices talking and the slamming of doors. “Mom!” shouts the highest voice, the youngest child. Not Leanne. “We totally owned the other team, eleven to three, and I made four of the goals…”

She drifts into silence at the presence of a stranger in their house. A few steps behind the child are her older siblings, all of them with the same leafy green hair as their mother. Leanne looks so young. So painfully unknowing.

Kaiza is going to ruin her, just as cold hearted as Leanne once accused her of being

“Victor,” says Leanne’s mother, “take Faye upstairs.”

“Wha–but, Mom!” says the little girl, pulling shrugging off her brother’s hand, “What about Leanne?”

“Upstairs!” she snaps, before gentling herself, “Now, please.”

The boy guides his youngest sister, cowed and silent, leaving Leanne standing by herself.

Ah. So that’s what she looks like when she’s afraid.


A/N: Some elusive Doctor Kaiza POV. She doesn’t actually have a story of her own, but she does appear in many other characters’ stories as the wise, enigmatic, and–admittedly–cold hearted doctor. [So enigmatic that I apparently don’t have a character tag for her? Whoops.]

Thanks for the prompt, anon! I do love Counterclockwise very much, even if the majority of it is still a gigantic mystery to me.

Number + Ship + (optional) AU –> my ask box

[If anyone else wants to do a softer world prompt that isn’t on the list, you can just send the page id number for the original comic instead.]

Counterclockwise (2017-03-25)

“Hey!” she screams up at the sky, empty and silent and useless, “How long are you going to wait? Haven’t I done enough?”

There is nothing around her, nothing for the sound to bounce back, no echoes just her voice lost to eternity.

She’s reached a new low. Now she does not want an ending. She needs it. And she’s demanding it.

She doesn’t know if there is a god up there, one who will smite her for her hubris or will take pity on her. She’s met people with fantastic powers, people with immortality, people with both. She’s met beings who go by the terms angels and demons. She’s met spirits of long passed people, spirits of ideas, spirits of natural formations. Once, she met a spirit of red crayons who gave her a surprisingly legitimate treasure map after she did it a great service.

But she’s never met a god.

She thinks, if she ever does, she’s going to punch it in its face.

She’s become riskier over the years. Vicious and flippant and aggressive over the eons. Once, she was just some civilian who thought fighting was the arguments she had with her siblings over whose turn it was to do the dishes.

Now she runs headfirst into battles, brushing past a literal invulnerable man and sneering, “Why are you hesitating? What’s the worst that can happen? We’ll die?”

Once, meeting Apex had brought stars to her eyes. Had reaffirmed her confidence that maybe she could one day be hero, too.

Now she is the team’s walking time bomb, all shrapnel and fire and incandescent rage, even he is afraid to follow where she goes.

Sometimes, she wonders, if he had just said something then–years in the future for him, but ages in the past for her–if he had warned her away, would anything have changed?

All these what ifs, more heady and seductive with the growing power in her palm, like coins rattling in a jar, or gleaming at the bottom of a fountain. What if she could just pluck them up and hold them to the sun and wish?

How much more does she need? What is the quota? Or maybe, she thinks, there is none. There is no mystical, mysterious finish line that she needs to cross. There is no time card to punch out, no hours to dock, no sick days or annual bonuses. Seasons barely mean anything to her, she doesn’t know when her last birthday was. She’s beginning to forget what her family looked like.

No wonder Bastian was so mad when they first met: she’s finally on her way to joining him.

Twelve Sessions, 5/? (2017-01-25)

I remember the early years with fondness, grief, and no small amount of embarrassment.

The three of us were boys. Weird, stupid boys with more power than sense and the worst taste in food.

It’s amazing that Doc hadn’t just thrown us to the wolves and been done with us.

(That’s not a pun about Alvin, by the way.)

We were high on the adrenaline, the thrill of being young and being heroes and making a change in the world. We fought bad guys, foiled their schemes, wrapped them up for the authorities to deal with, and went on our way as if there were no repercussions.


Joy made us see that things weren’t nearly so black and white. We grew and we learned and–

–and Leanne arrived just in time to see everything begin to crumble.

No field trip today. Which is just as well. I’m feeling chatty: I’ll talk, but not about what happened.

What happened can’t be changed, why talk about it?

“I know a Simon,” I begin, taking charge for once in these sessions. If she’s surprised at all, it doesn’t show on her face.

“He’s Al–uh, Silverfang’s boyfriend. Shit,” I stutter, uncertain. My identity–neither of them–isn’t a secret, but the same cannot be said of the rest of my team.

It’s hard to keep track of who knows what.

Well, it was. There’s less to keep track of now.

“I know who Alvin is,” she assures, simply, and gestures for me to continue.

“Yeah, so, Simon. Alvin’s boyfriend. I used to think that was hilarious because of the chipmunks. You know, all they were missing was a Theodore. But then I thought about it more and I realized that’s weird because aren’t the chipmunks brothers?”

The words flow out of me too quickly for her to answer, not that there’s much of an answer to give.

“And why is it called Alvin and the Chipmunks anyway? Isn’t Alvin a chipmunk, too? It’s kind of redundant. Then again, I guess Alvin and his two brothers isn’t exactly catchy. Though it’s still pretty shitty considering it’s like saying oh, hey, you two we don’t really care about you. Just do some backup vocals for Alvin. Now he’s the real money maker.

The chipmunk, not the real Alvin. Al is basically the trashiest person to ever live. I swear one time I found him eating pizza he fished out of a dumpster. And you’d think what with the whole enhanced sense of smell that’d put him off, but it was an entire free pizza that someone tossed out because it was also a proposal pizza.

And who does that? Who thinks–oh, hey, I’ll propose marriage via pizza what could possibly go wrong? I mean, the eating dumpster pizza thing is still fucking gross never mind that it had still been warm in the box and untouched, but I already knew that about Al so it’s not like I was too surprised.

But the proposal pizza–the pizza proposal?–that’s just. And it wasn’t even any of the fancy toppings, either. Just pepperoni. Like, shell out for some gourmet chicken or whatever. Honestly, who does that?

Then again, if it were up to Al, he’d do a pizza proposal. Or, you know, try to. Except I’m pretty sure that even Al knows that Simon’s too classy for a pizza proposal. Joy would definitely shut that shit down before it took off. Nothing but the best for her baby brother. Never mind that they started dating before she joined the team.”



“Yeah… Simon’s older sister…”

I fucked up.

There are only two women on the team. Were. Jaguar and Anachron.

One of them is a reformed cat burglar (pun, annoyingly enough, intended). The other is a time traveller that has already disappeared.

Neither of them are public with their identities. Not that it would matter for Leanne.

Shit. I fucked up real bad.

I should have just kept talking, the silence is really fucking conspicuous.

“… I’d at least spring for multiple pizzas, if I were going to do a pizza proposal,” Simone says, slowly, as if the silence had a function to let her consider such a hypothetical and not a complete fuck up on my part.

Still, I take the out for what it is, and continue my word barf.

“Right? And pepperoni wouldn’t have worked, anyway, because Simon’s a vegetarian…”

By the end of the session, my throat feels sore from talking about absolutely nothing and I only slipped up the once.

As a parting gift, Simone tosses me a bottle of water–which I do catch–and, considering there’s not hint of it on the news the next morning, does not pass along valuable intel about still-wanted felon Jaguar.

Twelve Sessions, 4/? (2017-01-24)

This is the pertinent fact of the matter:

We were five and now we are three.

Put like that, it doesn’t sound too bad. The team used to be only three before. Now we’re back to original numbers, if not the original line-up.

Alvin and Brian and I–we were three, once.

Then came Joy, on an intermittent basis, then Leanne from decades in the future.

Five mismatching parts trying to make a whole.

Then goodbye to Leanne, gone as quickly as she came. Goodbye to Brian who always tried to reach beyond himself.

Goodbye five.

Three doesn’t seem enough anymore.

Outside the door to what’s-her-face’s room, I hesitate.

It’s not a sudden realization, or even a slow creeping one, but rather a reorientation of attitude.

There is no point in continuing the one-sided petulance. It’s more energy than it’s worth. And who does it help? Not what’s-her-face, and certainly not me.

I still don’t think I should be here. But I’m here and being an asshole isn’t going to change that.

Before I can get a hand on the doorknob, what’s-her-face opens the door.

She doesn’t look surprised to see me.

“Ah, good idea, Curtis. Just a second,” she says, gesturing with one hand, before shutting the door in my face.

I stare, stupidly, until she opens the door again, this time with a jacket and scarf on.

She locks the room behind her and walks to the end of the hallway.

“Well, come on!” she prompts, waving me over.

I follow, bewildered.

Outside the building, the weather is chilly. Weak winter sun filtering down through the clouds, but harsh winds more than making up for it. Our breaths puff out as quickly vanished steam.

“What are we doing?” I ask, confused. It seems like today is the day of confusion.

“Have you eaten, Curtis?” she asks, “I’m hungry.”

It’s three in the afternoon.

I say as much out loud.

“That is neither an answer or an argument. Come on, there’s a diner at the end of the block.”

“Is this allowed?” I ask, but follow her anyway. I could always go for pancakes.

“It’s your therapy,” she says with a shrug.

The diner is one of those old relics, clean but aged poorly–not one of those fashionably retro places. I’m not sure if it’s empty because of the time or because of unpopularity.  

Regardless, I’m always up for some pancakes.

It’s a mostly quiet session, consisting of eating noises and the casually indifferent check ins from the waiter.

At the end, Simone pays for the check and leads us back before the hour is up.

Word Prompts (W41): Worry

On her last day in Belleview, she is given three gifts:

From the woman who would one day be her grandmother, she gets a coat. Sturdy leather, satin lining, enough pockets for an entire convenience store. Or an armory.

From the man who would one day be her grandfather, she gets a a key. It is small and easily loops on a chain. The lock it is for has not been made yet.

From the woman who set her on this path–forwards and backwards and against the flow of time–she gets a promise. Doctor Kaiza’s door will always be open to her.

Victor has two younger sisters.


Victor had two younger sisters, and he will never forgive himself for not taking care of Leanne when she was around.

When he was a child–a toddler, really–his mother gave birth to Leanne. Even before that, during the pregnancy, he was happy about it. He was looking forward to a younger sister. Or so his mother recounts.

There’s a picture of the three of them–his mother tired but happy, Victor absolutely enamored, Leanne red-faced and alive in his small arms–all three of them on the bed.

In less than a year, he doesn’t know why, Leanne was sent to live with his grandparents.

He forgot about her when Faye was born another two years later.

Leanne came back, after their grandparents passed away, but by then he was eleven and no longer enamored by younger sisters.

Another ten years later, she disappeared again. This time, never to return.

Tetsuki knows she’ll die doing this job, only because she’s so goddamned good at it that she’ll never stop until death makes her.

If her aunt–great great great many more times great aunt–is a mountain or a glacier, immutable and immortal, then Tetsuki is an explosion, the strike of lightning, a supernova.

All of her energy used in a brief, blinding lifetime rather than stretched out for all eternity.

That sounds better than being lost to time, slipping through fingers, through memories, transient.

Saving lives, fighting crime, that’s all Tetsuki wants–Anachron isn’t suited to be a vigilante.


A/N: hrmph…

Post Word Count: 353, Running Word Count: 3967