34. Show and Tell (Patreon)

A/N: Hello! Thundamoo here. Sorry this chapter is a day late, but in my defense this chapter ended up over ten thousand words long, which is a new record for Bioshifter and the second-longest chapter I've ever written, so... woo. Anyway, enjoy!



"Wow," Ida says, staring at the red-orange mess of stomach acid and unchewed finger bits splattered all over her jean skirt. "Rude."

"I'm sorry," I sputter, the aftertaste of vomit clinging to my mouth and throat and dripping from my lips. "I'm so sorry, I can fix this."

I start to cast Refresh but my brain stalls, forcibly requesting an answer to the question of 'where does vomit belong?' I can't just remove the stuff, I have to put it somewhere. The toilet? Too far away. My stomach?

…No. It's terrifyingly, disgustingly tempting, but thankfully I'm not that far gone. Re-ingesting my own vomit is too much even for my horrible, horrible monster brain. B-but I have to clean this, I need another container. I can't just drop it in my trash can, it has to be something no one else will find, it has to… it… right! It's like the teeth. I fumble for my backpack in a daze, crawling away from Ida and ignoring her look of concern as I open it up, find a spare ziplock bag from my various collections of supplies that I've paranoidly stuffed in there whenever I think of something new I might need, and open one up, magically pulling all the vomit inside and leaving Ida's outfit—as well as my own mouth—perfectly clean.

There. Much better. I drum my limbs on the ground in a circular pattern—Except for the ones I'm currently kneeling on—to help calm myself down. It feels weird, like my legs are all different shapes and weights and right they are, I'm… I'm on Earth right now. I shudder, and drum my limbs in a circle again. Two still missing.

"...Hannah?" Brendan asks, concern obvious in his tone. I turn my head to look at him, sealing the ziplock bag and belatedly realizing that I am still, in fact topless. I twist the limbs on my hips up over the front of my body and press them against my chest to cover my nipples, a blush forming on my face.

"Uh, hey," I say awkwardly. "Thank you. Sorry about all this."

I start to stand up, decide that's maybe not the best idea with how wobbly and dizzy I still feel, and return to the floor. I guess No Less Than Perfect isn't quite the perfect spell after all; two fingers and my huge mess of wounds and blood loss must have strained its limits. …That or I'm just dizzy from shame. Possibly the recent vomiting? That came after Ida's spell.

I think maybe I'm just not doing great in general.

"Sorry," I say again.

"Jesus, Hannah," Brendan says quietly, cautiously stepping closer. "You don't have anything to apologize for, alright?"

I pulled him and Ida out of school. I scared them half to death. I'm basically flashing them, which is super inappropriate. I vomited on Ida. I ate Ida, I ate her, I tasted her blood and severed her bones and it was delicious, so delicious.

"I agree with Brendan," Ida chimes in, "but since you're obviously spiraling I'll add that you're also forgiven. Okay? You don't need to apologize, and I forgive you for everything you're trying to apologize for anyway. Get checkmated, bitch."

She then dabs, of all fucking things, the sheer corniness of it projecting such an overwhelming aura of irony that I can't help but smile at the absurdity. I chuckle humorlessly, feeling tears start to fall down my face. Oh, Ida.

"You are truly peerless, you horrible fae gremlin," I tell her, and she shoots me a supremely self-satisfied grin. Brendan watches the interaction blank-faced, though the small tells I've learned from him over the years lead me to assume he's confused, but not unpleasantly so.

With the help of my new limbs I crawl back towards my bed, using another spell to clean up the blood, forcibly extracting the water from it so it doesn't stick to the inside of my trashcan. Dry blood is just kind of a weirdly colored dust that easily mixes with trash without being conspicuous, and water can be separated out into small enough droplets that naturally dissolve into background humidity. These are well-established places to sort things, I do this stuff all the time. Couldn't repeat the trick with vomit, though; dry vomit would still be way too thick and smelly. Also there's human fingers in it.

Ida lets out a low whistle as she watches Refresh in action, walking over to my bed and starting to peel the comforter off. For some reason. The act reveals the parts of my sheets that have been shredded by my talons, as well as the foam blocks that all fell off at some point during my pained writhing.

"Oh shit, these are for your claws, right?" Ida asks, picking up one of the foam blocks and sticking her finger (her fingers her fingers) in the hole I've gouged in them. "That's so fucking cute. You think of this, tallboy?"

Brendan flinches at the address, nodding stiffly.

"Well, it's a good idea," Ida nods, turning the foam over in her hands. "We should replace these, though. The gouges are getting worn down so they'll just fall off when she moves. We should also get bigger ones, too. My parents probably have some packing stuff in our basement I could swipe, but if not we can probably buy them from like an OfficeMax or something."

She tosses the packing material away, finishes peeling the comforter off my bed, lays it out flat on the floor next to me, and then points down at it.

"Alright, Hannah. Get in the burrito."

I blink.

"What?" I ask.

"Get in the fuckin' burrito, Hannah," Ida orders again. "We have to smuggle you into my car and get you outta here before your dad wakes up, so I'm gonna roll you up into a big Hannahrito and throw you in the backseat. Easy peasy."

"...Is that going to stand up to scrutiny?" Brendan asks.

"Of course not, but it doesn't have to stand up to scrutiny. If anybody scrutinizes Hannah she's fucked no matter what we do, so it's a moot point. Thankfully, nobody will give a shit. Come on big guy, help me roll her up."

"Um, I didn't agree to this," I protest meekly.

"Well I ain't fucking you yet so I don't need your consent," Ida grunts, pushing me down onto the blanket.

"That's now how consent works at all," I insist, but I let myself be laid down and rolled up into a comfy tube of blankets anyway. My burrower instincts chitter happily in the back of my mind, my many limbs wiggling slightly with both happiness and comfort. This was always the perfect trap to ensnare me.

Wait, what did she mean by 'yet?'

"We're going to Brendan's house, right?" I ask from within my muffled cocoon as Ida and Brendan lift me up with a pair of grunts. Ida balances my legs on her shoulder as Brendan holds my torso under one arm.

"We are," Brendan confirms.

"Shit you're fucking heavy," Ida grunts. "Why are we heading to his place?"

"It's empty," Brendan shrugs. "No one there but us."

"Eh, good a reason as any."

Miraculously, my dad either sleeps through all of this nonsense or is simply blaring Netflix too loud to hear or care, and I am tossed unceremoniously into the backseat of Ida's car without further incident. Then we start to drive, and since I'm blinded by blankets my spatial sense freaks out a little at the high-speed movement, making me like… extradimensionally carsick. It's a bit odd but I manage to not vomit on or destroy Ida's stuff so by my calculations I'm hitting under par.

Ida parks in Brendan's driveway and the pair shuffle me into his house before depositing me on the floor. Despite the disorientation and nausea, the car ride was kind of nice to help me center myself a bit, adjusting and getting used to my new limbs while I look myself over as best I can with my spatial sense. It's still not quite here, not quite showing me everything all at once with perfect clarity, but if I focus on something I want to 'see' hard enough I sort of… gah. It's hard to describe. I feel like I get a memory of what it might feel like to have already seen it, if that makes sense?

"Okay tallboy, get out of here," Ida orders. "I'm gonna unroll her so she can get dressed."

Again, Brendan looks distinctly uncomfortable at that. He probably doesn't like the nickname 'tallboy,' which… oh Goddess of course he doesn't, he might not be a boy at all. Uh, I guess I should include him in the girls-only activity? Include her? Agh I really have no clue how to handle this situation so I'm just going with my gut.

"Brendan can stay," I announce from within the filling of the Hannarito. "It's fine. I need to steal his hoodie to hide my new legs anyway."

"Y'know Hannah, you're really not gonna shrug off the gossip about Brendan being your boyfriend by letting him see your tits and then putting on his clothes," Ida taunts, using her foot to unroll me with her hands on her hips.

"But hi… but Brendan's hoodies are so big and comfy!" I whine.

"You've already been stealing his clothes?" Ida blinks. "...Wait, was that a pronoun correction?"

Brendan freezes. Goddess flipping dang it why is she so observant? How's a girl supposed to make basic mistakes with somebody like Ida around? I'd have never caught that in a million years.

"...Can we just focus on helping Hannah right now?" Brendan sighs.

Ida gives my best friend a suspicious side-eye, then shrugs.

"Sure, whatever, welcome to the bra party," she grunts, going back to kicking me free of the blankets. "So your little extra arms grew out in an inconvenient spot vis-a-vis your wardrobe, Hannah, and we will probably have to fix that today. Get you something backless. Or you can borrow some of my Nippies."

"Uh, your what?" I ask, extending my new legs to push myself straight into a standing position. Brendan and Ida do a bit of a double-take, though Ida mostly seems amused.

"Uh, haha. Woah. Um, Nippies are basically just this flesh-colored silicone sticker that turns your headlights off. Comfy, hard to see, weirdly sticky. I use 'em when I need to breathe a bit more. Also, wow that was cool, how are you already so good with those legs?"

"I mean, I have ten legs on the world tree," I shrug. "Though I suppose it's not super comparable since I'm a completely different size and shape, so… I dunno. It just feels natural, I guess?"

"Fucking wild," she says, chuckling. "Does it come with instant kill mode?"

I freeze up, mentally calculating how fast I could lash out and carve her open with a Spacial Rend, how easily a human life can fall away at the ends of my limbs. Is it instant? It's certainly close. Goddess, why does she taste so good? Why am I even thinking about this? What sort of monster am I going to end up as? How many people will I end up killing? More than Helen? More than Sela? Will my apocalypse be nothing more than the work of my own two hands, little by little, personal and hungry?

"Uh, Hannah?" Ida says hesitantly. "I mean like, the Spider-Man thing? From the Avengers movie?"

"She has PTSD, you idiot," Brendan grumbles at her.

"I don't have PTSD," I say automatically.

"Yes you fucking do!"

I don't know about that. PTSD is for like, war veterans. People who actually did something. Also, what the heck is Ida talking about? Avengers movie? Oh, right, yeah. The scene from Endgame. We saw that together like three years ago. Right right right. It's a funny reference. I'm supposed to laugh at those. I let out a belated, half-hearted chuckle. It seems to make everyone a lot more worried. Man, I'm really bad at this.

"Uh, sorry Hannah," Ida says sheepishly. "Also, sorry to you too, string bean. I definitely shoulda been helping out earlier, she's a real piece of work. I bet you're at the end of your rope, huh?"

She elbows him in the hip and he flinches away.

"...Don't touch me, please," Brendan says.

Ida sighs.

"I just can't win," she grumbles. "Alright, I nabbed a bunch of clothes from your drawer, Hannah, pick whatever shirt you'll be least sad about if you end up ripping it to shreds."

I guess that's a good metric on how to dress myself today. I look over the collection, shrugging slightly.

"Eh, most of these are short sleeved, so it's not like I can ever wear them in public again anyway," I say.

Ida and Brendan glance at each other, then back to me.

"Hannah, just allow yourself to care about normal things a little and pick a shirt, okay?" Ida says softly.

I pick one at random and awkwardly shrug it on. It binds my new legs tightly, restricting their movement without feeling safe like a burrow. I kind of hate it, and despite how mortifyingly embarrassing it would be I almost want to just take it back off.

It also, of course, does very little to hide those legs. The tight cut of a woman's t-shirt is designed to show off figure, and would you look at that, my figure involves giant flippin' bug legs folded up behind my back. The legs on my hips are even more obvious, since my only options there are to stick them down my pants—which basically just doesn't work—or fold them up in front of my chest or underneath my armpits, which… also doesn't work, but at least it doesn't prevent me from walking. All things considered, it's probably less conspicuous to have them hanging out in the open. At least then I just look like a mutant instead of someone trying to hide the fact that they're a mutant, which is way more suspicious.

I'm totally fucked, aren't I? Well, it was a good run.

"At least I probably won't have to go to therapy tomorrow," I sigh.

"You think literally turning into a monster will get you out of something your mom has planned for you?" Brendan asks. Aw, dangit, he's right. I don't even get that happy little lie, do I? There's no way to hide my spider legs.

…Right?

I cross my legs and lean back, supporting my weight with good old limbs five and six, the hip-mounted classics. I guess I'll call them my… bonus legs? Spider legs? Whatever else they are, they're legs, unlike my back-mounted limbs which are clearly blades. Anyway, I bring my fist up to my chin for a proper think and start tugging on the idea I just had. Namely, the fact that I use a foolproof method of hiding my legs basically all the time, literally without thinking about it. I've just only ever done it on the world tree.

After all, I'd have to put them in 4D space.

I've performed neither 4D movement nor 4D perception Earthside, and now that I'm thinking about it I'm not really sure why. It's magic, right? Sure, Sindri (ugh) said something about me being a magical beast, a being whose biology relies on having a certain kind of magic available to it. All magical beasts of a given species have access to the same basic set of magical capabilities, simply because if they didn't they'd just kinda die. They can have extra spells on top of that, but the initial set is guaranteed. Over on this side of the multiverse, my biology doesn't rely on that magic at all, so the magic just hasn't manifested. Right?

…No. Wrong. Dead wrong. That doesn't make any sense. Biology might rely on it, but biology doesn't cause it. All magic is Hers and only Hers. Her gift comes from the soul, and my soul is the same regardless of the world.

"Hannah?" Brendan prods, causing me to glance up. "What's up?"

"When magic gives you lemons," I muse, "use magic to make lemonade."

"Um."

Carefully, I start shifting the blade-limbs on my back, trying to find the right direction in the way that always comes so naturally to me on the world tree. Still, there's something odd going on with my spatial sense. It feels like I should be able to see, so why… hrm. Actually, it kind of feels like the first time I tried to use Spacial Rend on this side of things. Like it's being clogged up somehow. Why? I didn't have this problem with Refresh. Whatever, the problem seems basically the same and so the solution does too.

Name the spell.

"Ida, I'm gonna need you on standby," I say. "Preferably in another room. If things go bad here I might need another patch."

"Ooh, are we already getting sexy and dangerous again?" she says, rubbing her hands together. "I gotcha covered, Hannah Banana. What's the plan?"

"Well, I have to name a spell. So this might go really wrong! But also it's a pretty straightforward one and I don't think I can mess it up that badly."

"Why must you always tempt fate!?" Brendan laments.

"Naw, seriously though, it's just a sensory spell. …I mean, I think it's just a sensory spell."

"God damnit, Hannah," Brendan grumbles.

"Goddess," I correct.

"I wonder what ironic punishments you get for fucking up a sensory spell," Ida muses. "Removing every sense except the one you're trying to give yourself? Overloading your brain with too much information? Debilitating synesthesia?"

"Catatonia," Brendan suggests. "Brain aneurysm."

"Can we stop freaking out about possible consequences here and just help me pick out a good name?" I grumble. "It's currently between… actually wait, I should write these down instead of saying them out loud. Did you guys bring my phone?"

Brendan, ever the greatest, hands me both my phone and my capacitive gloves. I thank him and tap out the two Pokémon moves that fit the situation best.

Extrasensory or Miracle Eye, I send to the group chat. The former has the better name, but worse thematics since it's an attack move. The latter isn't quite as good of a name in itself but the in-game effect matches a bit better.

"Do thematics matter?" Brendan asks, looking at his own phone.

"Pretty sure they do," I nod. "I think the spell will be stronger the more the Goddess likes the name, and She's a sucker for drama."

"Yeah, I got the same impression," Ida agrees. "No way to know how much it affects things, really, I just chose the best name I could think of without worrying about optimizing for time spent speaking it. But uh, my spell name is awesome and my spell is awesome, so…"

"Yeah, I'm not really in love with either name, unfortunately, but keeping the theme feels important," I muse. "The entire thing gets weaker if I don't commit to it, right?"

"Definitely. You have to commit to the bit."

"What are you two on about?" Brendan asks. "How are you so sure of this?"

"Look cloud cover, when you put your big girl panties on and join us in the cool magic spell club the Goddess'll get all up in your shit and you can give us your own opinions on the process. In the meantime you're just gonna have to trust our intuition."

"Soft magic system," I confirm, shrugging helplessly at him.

"Ugh. Soft magic systems," Brendan says, wrinkling his nose. "Neat in concept, but really annoying to work with."

"Have you not figured out a spell yet?" I ask.

He frowns, glancing away awkwardly.

"I'm not sure. Maybe. It'll take me a while to set it up, though."

"Why's that?"

"Well, you said I'm an Art mage, right?" he says. "I think I have to draw something."

I mean, that makes sense. I give him an encouraging nod just before my phone buzzes. Oh, it's a message from… one of the Autumns. I dunno which Autumn, so I guess I'll just call her Autumn.

What exactly is the context here, she sends. Also, where are you all?

Oh right, she's at school. Crap, she's at school and I haven't told her what's going on!

I'm not really able to hide anymore, I text her. Grew too many extra bits. But if I can name a spell that lets me see 4D on this side of things I should be able to figure out how to move there and hide my limbs in w-space.

There's a pause as Autumn spends a bit of time composing a response.

What the actual fuck? she decides on.

I glance at Brendan.

"Is it cool if I invite her over?" I ask.

"Sure," (s)he shrugs.

You can come to Brendan's house if you want. Easier to show you.

I attach the address and put my phone away for now.

"Okay, so back to the names," I say.

"Do you need to name it?" Brendan presses. "Is it absolutely essential?"

"Possibly not," I admit. "But I'm pretty sure that not being able to see into the fourth dimension is my primary impediment for not moving into it. Because I'm not… I mean I'm already… I'm part of the fourth dimension all the time. That's why I can make sounds like this."

I hiss at them, the impossible vibrations causing them both to shudder.

"I can try to move my legs into the fourth dimension without seeing it, but it'd be a lot harder," I continue. "On the other hand, I'd probably be stuck with my spatial sense always on when I get it working, and that could be… kinda gross."

"Because you'd be seeing everybody's organs all the time?" Brendan asks.

"No, I'm super used to that," I say. "Because I'd be peeping under everybody's clothes all the time, but on Earth I have a libido."

"Coulda fooled me," Ida mutters.

I groan quietly. She's just gonna keep doing this, huh?

"Look, Ida, first of all I have a girlfriend now, so I'd just generally appreciate it if you stopped coming onto me."

"Wow! Phrasing!"

"Second of all, you're a huge part of the reason I figured out I'm a lesbian in the first place. I spent years getting over the crush I had on you and now I have a bunch of baggage about it, so it probably wouldn't work out anyway. Sorry."

Ida doesn't respond, seeming neither hurt nor offended. She just gives me a calculating stare, causing goosebumps to prickle across my skin until I break eye contact.

"...My vote is that we table the spell naming discussion for now," Brendan says, stoically ignoring the prior conversation. "You've mentioned that your spatial sense is coming in slowly on its own, and rushing it seems needed only if you can't figure out how to hide your extra limbs without it. And at the very least, we have the whole rest of the school day to help you practice."

I sigh. I wanna name the spell, though! I mean like, yeah it's crazy dangerous, and so Brendan's assessment makes sense, but… hmm. Well I can't think of anything after the 'but,' but… um. Aw, poop.

"Okay…" I whine. "I'll practice first."

"Thank you," Brendan says, sagging with relief and giving me a smile.

"But while I'm practicing, I wanna watch you practice!" I demand, pointing a finger at him. "It'll be safer for both of us to have backup and also I wanna see your magic!"

"Ooh, yeah, good idea!" Ida agrees, turning on Brendan with a vulpine grin. "Let's see the artist in action!"

"Uh… I don't… I mean I'm not really comfortable drawing around people…" Brendan hedges.

"Ah, but is it or is it not a good idea?" I counter smugly. "Should you or should you not be getting assistance and oversight while working on something dangerous for the first time?"

He deflates completely, slumping over in defeat.

"...Fine," he grumbles. "To the basement, then."

We gather up the blankets and extra clothes brought from my house and shimmy downstairs, Brendan sitting down by his computer and powering it on. Behind me, Ida pulls out a pocket knife and flicks it open, causing me to instinctively lash out behind myself with my extra limbs, tangling my blades in my shirt as Ida steps back out of reach of my hip-legs.

"Woah, chill out," she snaps, though she frowns and backpedals afterwards. "I mean, sorry. I shoulda warned you. I just figured since it's just us down here and you don't care about this shirt anyways we should free your back bits. Cut them some holes so they can stretch out. Yeah?

I don't respond at first, focusing on my hammering heart rate and the horrible, sinking feeling that I'm not safe to be around. I nearly stabbed Ida! I take a few deep breaths before nodding anyway.

"Sure," I say. "Thank you. Maybe I'll be less tense if I don't feel as trapped."

Ida nods, and much more carefully approaches me to cut some slits in my shirt. I realize belatedly that it might be smart to take the shirt off before letting her do that, but the chitinous limbs underneath where she's cutting aren't damaged by the knife at all even when she does brush it against one. Possibly on purpose.

"Fucking wild," she mutters to herself. "Alright. There you go."

I wiggle my blade limbs out of the back of my shirt, and sure enough I do feel better almost immediately. I can be such a frustrating mess of contradictions sometimes. Why do I like being enveloped when I rest but hate being restrained while awake? Whatever, it doesn't really matter. I have to focus on moving these things across the w-axis to make them vanish in the way my legs vanish on the world tree all the time.

Brendan, meanwhile, has just opened some Photoshop-like art program and is scribbling away on his drawing tablet. I try to glance surreptitiously at what he's doing without alerting him that I'm doing so, but I still have to use my actual eyes for the job; my budding spatial sense is useless for this since computer monitors work by emitting light. The image depicts a dynamic shot of a flying woman levitating a bunch of debris around herself. She's also butt-naked, though the aforementioned debris protects her naughty bits from being in view. Hmm. I think that's one of Brendan's GURPS characters?

"Hey, you're pretty good," Ida says, walking right up behind Brendan and causing him to jump. He scrunches up a bit in his chair, turning slowly to face her with a glower. Aw, beans on toast. This probably isn't good.

"Is there a reason you're bothering me?" Brendan grumbles.

"Uh, yeah, actually," Ida confirms, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly is your problem with me, string bean? I never really cared before, but in the likely event that things end up as us against the world I figure you're worth getting to know."

"That seems like a good summary of my problem with you," Brendan answers, turning away from her and returning his attention to the computer screen.

"Oh?" Ida presses, smirking a bit as she steps closer to his desk to keep herself in his peripheral vision.

"Um, guys…" I say hesitantly, trying to head off the incoming mess, but I'm way too late.

"You're selfish, arrogant, manipulative, and don't give a shit about the messes you leave other people with," Brendan says firmly. "You toy with people, use them for as long as they're fun and then throw them away. It's disgusting."

Ida grins, not seeming bothered.

"Is that so?" she says. "What terrible things have I done, exactly?"

"Well, there was that time you got Melody's last boyfriend to cheat on her with you, gaslit her about it, and then dumped him when he broke up with her for you."

What? I haven't heard about this. Ida just barks out a laugh at the accusation, though.

"Shit Paul Bunyan, I didn't know you were friends with Melody," Ida sneers. "I'm surprised you know her name."

"We're not friends," Brendan grunts. "I don't even like her. I just pay attention."

"Clearly not well enough," Ida says, crossing her arms and leaning against Brendan's desk. "Melody was just abusing Jeremy for his money, she didn't give a shit about him. So yeah, I seduced his ass to get him away from her, all while encouraging her to prefer more and more expensive things so that when he does dump her, she goes broke. It's hilarious. A perfect fucking revenge story. The bitch gets owned, her whole wardrobe full of useless gaudy shit that looks terrible and costs too much to be practical, and the nice guy gets a good fuck before being released into the world with finance lessons and better vaginas on the horizon. That whole scheme was my good deed for the month, thank you kindly."

Uh. That's… a lot. Gosh. Brendan responds before I can really wrap my head around how I feel about that.

"That's completely insane and messed up on so many levels," Brendan groans, dropping his stylus and massaging his temples. I wouldn't use such harsh phrasing, but I don't entirely disagree. "You're seriously framing a premeditated destruction of someone's relationship and finances as a good thing?"

"I made bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people," Ida shrugs. "That's better justice than the world normally dishes out, don't you think?"

"You think you have a right to decide what counts as justice?" Brendan asks.

"You think I don't?" Ida counters. "Then bring it on. Stop me from living my life if you can, bitch."

Brendan stares at her in disbelief for a moment, but with a shake of his head he peels his eyes off of her, returning his attention to the computer screen.

"...That's what I thought," Ida smirks triumphantly.

"I just can't believe you," Brendan says quietly. "You're so selfish. So supremely selfish."

"Yet here I am, spending my whole day helping you," Ida grins. "So to that end: what're your pronouns, jolly green giant?"

Brendan stiffens.

"Is there a particular reason you only refer to me by making fun of my height?"

"Uh, because you're literally taller than the average NBA player? How is that not obvious. Also, as previously mentioned, it's essential to commit to the bit. Also also: that's not an answer to the question."

"U-uh, maybe don't press Brendan on that, Ida?" I hedge, finally regaining the courage to insert myself into the anxiety-inducingly intense conversation. "It might be best to just let that happen how it happens?"

"Oh, it might be," Ida agrees, nodding. "But I don't think it is. Come on, spill it."

"No," Brendan grumbles.

"No? No pronouns? That's a pain but I can manage."

"I mean no, I'm not having this conversation with you. Full stop."

Ida rolls her eyes but finally stops leaning on Brendan's desk, waving dismissively at him as she walks away.

"Okay, we're sticking with height jokes then, Lebron," she grumbles. "Just don't hurt yourself with that fancy new magic of yours, because healing isn't coming your way."

I stiffen at that, my blades instinctively whipping up over my shoulders to show my displeasure.

"Woah, Ida," I say firmly. "You don't have to get along, but that's kind of a fucked up thing to withhold. Magic can seriously hurt people."

"I'm not just saying it to be a fucking bitch, Hannah," Ida insists, crossing her arms and looking away. "It's just a warning. Clifford can let me in or go without."

This… isn't like her. Ida can be spiteful, but not like this.

"What do you mean, exactly?" I ask.

She scowls, shifting her weight back and forth.

"...I mean it literally won't work," she says. "My magic doesn't affect things I don't give a shit about. Like your torn up bedsheets, or your packing foam. …Or your best friend. Not for lack of trying, mind you!"

She raises her voice on the last sentence there, glowering meaningfully in Brendan's direction. He doesn't react.

"It's really arbitrary," Ida continues. "I think they have to be… mine in some way. You're my friend, so I can heal you, but Brendan is only your friend, so I can't do shit."

"Huh," I say. "I mean, can you teach me the spell? It seems crazy useful, and I could potentially heal Brendan in a pinch if you can't."

"Ha! No. You don't have the self-esteem for it. The Goddess would smack you for the hubris of attempting to cast it with insufficient hubris."

I hesitate at that, nervously rubbing my hip-legs together.

"Uh. Ida, don't divine beings generally not like hubris?" I hedge.

"Maybe they don't like your hubris, but I'm different. Better. Maybe even better than the Goddess."

Oh no oh geez oh gosh she really just said that! I wait in terror for the inevitable retribution and… nothing happens. Ida extends her arms wide, flashes me an arrogant grin, and makes 'come here' motions on either side of her like she's encouraging an invisible crowd to cheer louder.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm peerless, and She knows it," Ida brags, and the weight of the Goddess' attention crushes us a moment later, full and overwhelming in its glory.

I stagger as She fills the room, flowing around me but for once barely glancing at me as she focuses on Ida, and her grand blasphemy. Horror at what's about to happen to my friend fills my bones, internal and external, but I can't move, can't so much as cry out during the infinite second between attention and retribution. The memory of my miscasted Spacial Rend is all I can think about, the agony and blood and casual brutality that became my entire world for that horrible moment. The Goddess smiles, cruel and vindictive, and then… boops Ida on the nose. She vanishes with a chuckle, and time returns to the world.

I nearly fall over, catching myself with a hip-leg as my breath comes to me in gasps. Brendan turns around to face us, looking moderately worried, but whatever he felt doesn't seem to have the same impact as my personal terror.

"See?" Ida grins, completely unrepentant and utterly unafraid. "She digs me. Anyway, you need to get back to practice. I'll formulate a plan to maybe convince myself to care about tall, dark, and grumpy over there, and… I don't really care what the fuck else happens. Let's just do it, yeah?"

I sigh, feeling distinctly helpless about everything in my life and completely bowled over by everyone else just kind of doing stuff at me without giving me any time to think. So… I guess I'm feeling pretty normal. Sighing again at that thought, I push it aside and focus on my new limbs, trying to figure out the right muscle to pull in order to yank them in an impossible direction. My understanding of my hyperspider biology is very limited, but best I can tell that body is mostly 3D in structure, with just a rare handful of bits here and there expressing their complexity across more than one point on the w-axis at a time, and even then not that deeply. Still, that's all that's apparently needed to relocate my limbs into 4D space, and considering how huge my recent growths are, surely that part of the joints is done, right? I just have to figure out how to do it. It should be the same as when I'm a hyperspider, or at least pretty similar, right?

An hour later I let out a frustrated groan, flopping forward in mental exhaustion and catching myself on my bug limbs, legs limp and arms dangling. I'm done. Done! Nothing is working, I'm just rotating my extra shoulders over and over until they get sore. Why is dimensional movement so hard?

The doorbell ringing is a sudden but welcome distraction, especially with how my brain automatically updates me with the knowledge of who's on the other side of it. No one else I know has cute little wings growing out of her back, even if they are currently smooshed uncomfortably behind a sports bra.

"Oh shit, should we answer that?" Ida says.

"Yeah!" I confirm, flipping myself over so my stomach is face-up and my head can look at her upside-down. "It's Autumn!"

If I wasn't an exposed mutant horror I'd be running upstairs to open the door myself, dang it!

"How do you know that?" Brendan asks.

"Because she's standing at the front door!"

"...Right, your miracle eye," Brendan sighs, standing up. "Okay, I'll get the door. I wanna meet her anyway."

Hehehe. Brendan wants to judge the worthiness of my girlfriend. I dunno why, but I find that idea really cute. I shove myself back up to my feet and quickly look around for a mirror so I can fix my likely-messed-up makeup before remembering that I was kidnapped by my friends before I could so much as take a shower and I'm not currently wearing any.

"Ida, do you have any makeup?" I ask. "Or did you guys bring my backpack?"

"Hah, you're down bad for her," Ida smirks. "That's both gross and fuckin' adorable."

She grabs a purse from where it leans against the couch and tosses a travel-sized makeup kit at me, which I catch, open, and immediately cast—

"Refresh," the Goddess says, and I quickly sort the makeup perfectly into place, cleansing my body of sweat, grime, and dead skin more thoroughly than a shower ever could while I'm at it. Properly freshened up and presentable, I thank Ida and toss the kit back at her, which she catches with a chuckle and a shake of her head.

I nervously drum my talons on the floor, realizing how incredibly underdressed I am all of a sudden. I'm wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and a pair of shorts that barely reach halfway down my thighs. I don't even have a bra on since we haven't gone shopping for one that'll fit me yet. All of my monstrous parts are fully exposed, from mouth to extra limbs to old limbs that are dramatically less human than ever before.

I've just been taking that for granted until now. Enjoying it, even, the feeling of not having to hide suffusing me with a dull inner warmth. Of course Brendan and Ida don't care. Brendan is Brendan, he's probably having a heck of a time trying not to examine the nonhuman parts of me. And Ida is… I dunno. I mean, she clearly doesn't seem to care, right? She's been helping out and the only weird looks she gives me are for things I do, not any part of what I am. Curious, appreciating, sometimes concerned, but never disgusted, never judging. She even seems to still want to have sex with me, which… I… don't know how to think about, so I'm just gonna not do that because I have a girlfriend anyway. The recent revelations that Ida might not care that I have a girlfriend are a bit concerning, but… I mean, it's not like she'd force me into anything, so the only person I'd have to blame if I cheated on Autumn is myself. I can be pretty flaky, but I wouldn't ever do something like that. That's just… no.

The point is, Autumn has seen my transformed bits before, but never quite like this. Never so much all at once. And she's… well, I don't know which Autumn she is right now, but I'd be devastated if either one of them doesn't… I dunno. Like me? Like what I am? Because like, it's over if they don't, right? I'll have screwed up her whole life for nothing. But… no. Wait. I did screw up her life, and… she's dealing with it pretty okay? She's going through the same things I am. She's becoming a monster like me, so… she'll understand, right? She'll get it.

She'll get it. That's part of what makes her so special. It's so, so good to have someone else who will understand. The thought fills me with unfathomable relief, like a soak in a hot tub after a long day.

"Absentee parents, huh? Could be worse," Autumn grunts in a way that sounds rather like Jet. She and Brendan are already mid-conversation as they walk down the basement stairs towards the rest of us.

"Point is, none of this is mine, really," Brendan says, conspicuously avoiding getting into a conversation about how his parents would legitimately struggle to actually be any worse. "Everything but the basement may as well be someone else's house."

"Mind if I take some of it, then?" maybe-Jet asks.

"Huh?"

"The crap in your house. I could pawn any old thing in here for a few months' worth of bills."

"...Are you asking for my permission to steal from my parents?" Brendan asks, blinking with surprise.

"Think of it more like convincing your parents to donate to charity for a reason other than getting a tax writeoff."

"Uh… I dunno. I don't really need more reasons for them to yell at me," Brendan hedges. And then the two of them finally stroll into view.

My whole body is fidgeting with nervous energy as I spot them, hip-legs rubbing together and making soft keening noises, fingers drumming against each other and blade-limbs facing forward out of stress, then retracting out of embarrassment, over and over again. I work my jaw, suddenly hyper-aware of how my smile can get too wide and my mouth can open too far. She's not gonna hate me, right? I mean, I think this is Jet, so I'm not even dating her I guess. I kinda want to, though? Is that cheating? Or I guess… polyamory? I guess it is since they're different people. Gah, whatever, it doesn't matter, Jet doesn't want me.

Jet would prefer I leave them both alone.

I hug myself a bit and do my best to give a normal, non-toothy smile, hoping it doesn't look quite as fragile as I feel when my friends finish descending and turn to look at me. Autumn's eyebrows raise slightly, scanning me up and down, taking in the extensive mutations across my whole body. No, stop panicking. It's okay. She understands. With my spatial sense, I feel her wings twitch involuntarily.

"Are you doing something?" Jet asks, her attention locked on me.

"Huh?" I ask.

"Are you doing something to me?" she presses. "I feel that weird tingle again."

"Uh. Shoot, am I?" I ask, looking down at myself as if that would help. Wee, more things to panic about! "I don't think I am!? I don't feel anything on my end?"

"Hrm," Jet grumbles, scratching her back around the wing base. "Well, maybe they're just going numb from being compressed all day. It's just my wings and ears."

Autumn has ears? Wait, what do I mean by that, of course she has… uh. She has…

"Sorry, could you say that again?" I ask, feeling awkward and disoriented.

"My wings and… ah. Right," Jet muses, smirking slightly. "What am I wearing on my head?"

"On your head?" I repeat, not understanding.

"Yeah, what are you on about?" Ida asks.

Jet smirks, reaching up and pulling a winter cap off her… wait, what? She was wearing a hat this whole time? I mean… of course she was, it was in plain view. How did I not notice—oh right she has weird ears now too! They're even longer and pointier than they were the last time I saw her, pointing diagonally up and away from her head, fuzz the color of her curls growing along the outside and ending as tufts of floof on the tips. She wiggles them, looking smug.

"None of you noticed the hat, huh?" she asks. "Damn, I can't believe it works that well. This magic stuff isn't all bad, I guess."

I take a shuddering breath, stepping over towards the couch so I can sit down, bile rising in my throat.

"Okay, that's… really trippy," Brendan says, blinking away the disorientation. "Not invisibility, but… a spell to make something go unnoticed? Is that Pneuma magic?"

Yes. Yes it is. Pneuma magic. Mind magic. Mind control. I sit slowly and carefully, taking a long exhale as I bury my face in my hands.

"Pneuma and Light, I think," Jet confirms damningly. "Not really sure why it's Light, but it feels like it is."

"I guess it affects whether or not someone can see something, and conceptually that's in line with Light," Brendan muses. "Light or dark, revealing or concealing. Elements can get pretty metaphorical in their classifications, I think. That probably goes extra for spells with more than one element, or elements that are already pretty vague in how they're classified. Because like, something like Order is already a nebulous concept based around societal interpretation, so it fits that Light spells wouldn't be limited to only the manipulation of electromagnetic energy. Does that sound right, Hannah?"

"Yeah," I confirm, trying not to vomit.

"You okay, Hannah Banana?" Ida asks.

"I'm fine," I lie automatically, and immediately regret it. These people aren't strangers or family, I can be honest with them. "I just got a little freaked out from having my mind messed with, is all. Could you not use that spell on me, Jet?"

"Jet?" Brendan asks, and Jet sighs in annoyance.

"Oh, fuck," I mutter. "Sorry."

"It's fine, we may as well tell him," Jet grumbles. "I have DID. I'm Jet, and you haven't met Alma yet but she's… in here."

She motions vaguely at her own head.

"...And she's the one dating your friend," Jet clarifies. "I'm just along for the ride."

Jet pulls out her notebook and pen, quickly scribbling something down in it. Probably the fact that Brendan knows about them now.

"Huh," Brendan blinks, not seeming to know how to process that. "Well, okay then?"

"It is what it is," Jet says noncommittally. "Well, I can definitely intuit why Hannah isn't at school today. What's the plan, then? Is the cat finally out of the bag?"

"Not quite yet," Ida shrugs, casually stepping over and wordlessly casting No Less Than Perfect on me. "She's got some Space shenanigans that she thinks she can figure out to hide stuff."

I feel the healing spell wash through me, combing my mind for lingering signs of infiltration and finding none. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm still me. I send Ida a grateful glance, receiving a small smile and nod in return.

"Yeah, I think I should be able to just shunt my legs into higher-dimensional space," I confirm, working up the courage to exist again. "Mostly, anyway. The initial joints will still be partially visible, but it'll just be like a little lump. Way easier to cover up than an entire limb. I just… can't figure the movement out because I can't see myself correctly. I'm not sure what else to try at this point beyond magic."

"Which is where the names come in, right," Jet says, frowning slightly. "Girl, for somebody who nearly got personally murdered by a goddess, you're weirdly eager to toss yourself into more magical bullshit. There's no way you mutated this fast in the first place without casting your transformation spell, right?"

"It's not my fault!" I protest. "Well, okay, it's half my fault. I casted it a bit on the world tree because I wanted to develop the ability to speak, which I did, and it was totally worth it. But then I had to cast it even more because I nearly died rescuing a super advanced robot girl. Or, uh, not girl I guess? She says—schnitzel, I mean it says it's an it, but that feels really mean and dehumanizing to use. I mean, not that she's human, but like… it's clearly sapient? Anyway she was getting electrocuted to death so I tried to help her and two people died but at least I wasn't the one who killed them this time!"

Everybody stares at me in silence for a moment, their brains seeming to chug a bit as they process everything all at once. Ida, naturally, is the one who speaks first.

"Goddess damnit, Hannah, you are so fucking cis."

"Huh?" I ask. What does that even mean?

"Have you seriously never met anybody who uses it/its pronouns?" she snorts. "There's like a gazillion of 'em. I realize you're a sheltered-ass baby queer, but this should be the literal simpliest thing in the world. If you don't understand, don't act like that means you know better. Not understanding means you know worse. Call it what it wants to be called, idiot!"

"S-sorry?" I sputter.

"Ida's virtue signaling aside—"

"Fuck you siren head, I'm right."

"—she is right but I'd really like to focus on the fact that you found a robot on the magical fantasy world tree?" Brendan presses. "Like, the tree where everyone is still using bows and swords and stuff?"

"Didn't I tell you about the robot earlier?" I ask. "I don't remember all that well."

"Yeah, because you were delirious! I didn't think you actually met one!"

"...I think I need to hear about the world tree like, at all," Jet says. "Can we start at the beginning here?"

Oh right, I kinda have been putting off telling Autumn about my world tree adventures. Most of the memories aren't too great, but I guess she deserves to know. I start the story at the beginning: emerging from my tunnel, seeing a 3D world in 4D for the first time, meeting Kagiso, Teboho… and Sindri. The whole story starts flowing once it gets going, the pain not strong enough to stop the words. I get thrown out of my groove about halfway through discussing the city of Grawlika when Autumn's ears start to droop and she timidly asks if I can hold on a moment.

"Alma?" I ask.

She glances nervously at Brendan, but nods.

"Um, yeah," she confirms. "S-sorry. Um. Where are we?"

She fumbles for her notebook, quickly reading it as she simultaneously pulls out her phone to check the time. …And maybe the date.

"S-sorry, I'm not usually…" she glances at Brendan again. "I mean, Jet's been fronting more than usual today. I… she drove here, right? Could someone show me where the front door is? Sorry, I just… I'm a bit disoriented."

"I-it's okay!" I say, standing up rapidly. The motion forces me to flare out my new bug limbs as I lose balance because of them, causing Alma to seemingly notice them for the first time.

"W-woah! It's still Friday, right? Did you grow those overnight?"

"Uh, yeah, it's a long story. I'll restart it for you when we get back… downstairs. Shoot, I probably shouldn't go near street-facing windows."

"I got it," Ida says. "Honestly, that's my cue to head out and buy you some stuff you can cover up with. Follow me, Alma. You have a hat in your right pocket for your ears."

"Oh, um, okay. Thank you," Alma mumbles awkwardly, her ears drooping a little further at the prospect of being trapped.

The two of them head upstairs and Brendan turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

"She okay?" he asks.

"I think so?" I hedge. I wish I had a more sure answer, but I guess I don't actually know Alma all that well. "She and Jet don't share memories, so…"

"Oh," Brendan says, looking back towards the stairs. "Gosh, that really sucks. Is it a magic thing?"

"Uh, I don't think so? No?" I say, surprised. "I'm pretty sure some people are just like that?"

Brendan nods.

"Right, yeah. DID. Okay."

An awkward silence passes for a moment.

"...Do you wanna talk about gender stuff while Ida's gone?" I ask hesitantly.

"Not really," he says. "Probably not today."

"Okay," I nod. "Should I push you about it tomorrow?"

He considers that for a moment, then nods back.

"Yeah, I think so. I should talk about it, just… not today. Too much."

I want to hug him, but I know right now that'd be a bad idea.

"I understand," I say instead. "I can sneak into the backyard and exercise Fartbuns with Alma if you want some time alone down here?"

"That'd be great," he says. "Thank you."

I smile and give him a thumbs-up, heading upstairs as Brendan heads back to his computer. I peek my head out from the basement steps and glance down the hall just in time to see Ida driving off and Alma closing the front door… then opening it and closing it again. She sighs and turns around, jumping a little as she spots my head peeking around the corner.

"H-Hannah!"

"Hey Alma," I wave awkwardly. "Sorry. How are you with dogs?"

"Um, fine? I like dogs."

"Cool! Wanna play with Brendan's dog in the backyard? He's gonna decompress a bit."

She stares at me a bit.

"...Is the backyard safe?" she asks. "Like, for you to look like that."

"Oh, should be, yeah," I confirm. "It's huge and the fence is huger. …Wait, Is huger a word?"

"Technically yes," Alma confirms. "Though it sounds really dumb."

"Yeah, it totally does," I agree. "Come on, Fartbuns! Outside time!"

I have no idea where in the house Fartbuns actually is, but the huge Malamute quickly corrects that the moment I proclaim the sacred doggy-words, bounding directly towards our location at record speed. Completely unperturbed by the fact that I've recently doubled my limb count, he barrels into me in a big floofy pile of energy and joy.

"Good boy, Fartbuns!" I coo, bracing my weight on my hip limbs and letting him jump up to put his front paws on me even though I'm not supposed to. I give him a heaping helping of affectionate scritches before shoving him off and going to grab his treats and ball.

"That's Alma, Fartbuns!" I introduce him, pointing at my girlfriend. "Say hi to Alma!"

He gives her an affectionate "Boof!" which causes her to flinch, but he's a lot more careful with her than he is with me and approaches her without any tackling or slobber. Fartbuns is a smart dog, and though it took him a long time he's gotten used to Brendan and either recognizes Alma's anxiety or is just somewhat nervous himself. Hesitantly, Alma reaches out and gives him a scratch, though, and relations with the fluffy pupper look like they're going to go swimmingly from there on. We head out to the backyard and his excitement increases exponentially.

Alma and I sit down on the edge of the porch, our feet in the grass. Unlike me, she's got her usual all-covering complement of baggy sweater, pants, and tennis shoes, although after a moment of sitting in silence together throwing balls for the dog she does the thing where you retract your arms inside your shirt to remove your bra without taking your shirt off, freeing her wings from their cramped conditions without becoming indecent. She gives them a stiff wiggle, sighing with relief as she stretches them.

"You doing okay?" I ask her.

"I don't know," she answers, grabbing the ball from Fartbuns and tossing it again. "Kind of. Not really."

Fartbuns returns. I grab the ball this time, throwing it and ignoring my urge to chase Fartbuns as he runs off after it.

"It's scary, isn't it?" I say quietly.

Alma peels her eyes away from the dog and stares at me. I stare back.

"It's terrifying," she agrees. "Am I gonna end up looking as crazy as you?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly.

"Sorry, that was rude. You don't look bad or anything," she assures me. "I just mean like… we'll never be normal. We can't be normal. And yeah, there's always that trope, like 'ha ha, being normal is overrated,' but… this is so much worse than being the quirky kid no one understands or whatever. We don't even fit into the mold of people who don't fit the mold."

"Yeah," I agree. Fartbuns returns. Alma takes the ball and throws it. He bounds off, and we watch in silence.

"...That's the thing, though," Alma says quietly. "I'd already given up on the idea of having a normal life. I have Jet. I never know when I'll even exist, because she's always there, waiting to take time from me whenever I slip. I'm supposed to be the one fronting in classes all day, but I don't remember anything after I woke up this morning and saw myself in the mirror."

That's… a lot to unpack. I don't know what to say to any of it.

"...Sorry," is all I manage.

"It's okay," Alma shrugs. "That's my point, you know? It's okay. I can forgive you for doing this to me. I don't have a life for you to ruin in the first place."

My heart clenches.

"Oh, Alma…"

"Sorry, sorry, that came out wrong," she quickly mutters, hugging her knees. "I should say I didn't have a life. I never had a chance to be part of anything that mattered. But now? I've got magic, I've got people who actually kinda know my secret and don't make a huge thing of it, and I've even got… y'know."

She blushes a little, an embarrassed smile twitching on her face.

"...A girlfriend," she manages.

I can't help it. An urge to hug her overtakes me. I'm still not sure why I'm suddenly this cuddly, but I'm not going to deny it here. I carefully reach over and wrap my arms around her, slow and gentle so she has plenty of time to pull away if she wants to. She leans into it instead and I squeeze her lightly in my arms, pressing my forehead into her cheek. Hesitantly, she reciprocates, wrapping her arms around me in turn, and together we hold each other until Fartbuns inevitably returns, ruining the romantic moment with a completely unrepentant bonk of his head, knocking us over for having the audacity to not wrestle for and subsequently throw his glorious, glorious ball.

We laugh and extract ourselves from each other so I can yank the item free from his mouth and throw it harder than I ever have before, launching it well to the other side of the yard to Fartbuns' clear joy. I notice that one of my hip-legs is still wrapped around Alma's waist, but she doesn't seem opposed to it so I leave it there, soaking in joy from the warmth of physical contact. It's strange and wonderful and exciting and stressful and it makes me want to burst with joy, to leap into the air and shout my jubilation across the rooftops. Just being here with her is a high unlike anything I've felt in years. A wild and untamed infatuation, bursting with an energy I feel like I've been starved of without ever knowing.

Alma wraps a hand around the end of my hip-leg, holding it as she leans her shoulder into mine.

"It's almost hard to believe this is part of you," she murmurs. "But then all I have to do is wiggle my own wings. Do you think I'll be able to fly someday? I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, I'm probably way too big and heavy for flight."

"I've seen people a heck of a lot bigger than you fly just fine," I assure her. "Just last night I met this massive bat-dragon—over a hundred feet in wingspan!—that referred to itself with the royal we. Or heck, maybe they referred to themselves with the plural we. I have no idea, but they carried me all the way to another branch."

"Woah," she whispers. "I, uh, think I missed most of your story, though. Could you…?"

"Of course," I agree immediately. "We'll start at the beginning."

I tell the same story for the second time that day, one full of trauma and pain. But to my surprise, it's easier this time. I don't normally like repeating myself, but for whatever reason it's not annoying or frustrating.

Not for her.