Hi! My name’s Brooke, and I’m the leader of the Magical Girl Ideals Squad~! There’s only three of us, but that’s all we need to fend off the forces of evil that gather around Saint Victoria’s All-Girls School. Bravery, Wisdom and Ambition. Together, our ideals transform us into magical heroes who keep peace at our school… and the whole wide world beyond!

We all sense it at the same time: evil is astir. Whenever the Demon Legion appears on our doorstep, our precious trinkets—the Gemstones of Ideals—tip us off to its presence immediately. Oh how I wish they’d just leave us humans alone, but then, without them to fight I suppose there’d be no need for the Magical Girl Ideals Squad… and I’d no longer have cause to sneak out of class with the same overused excuse alongside my best friends in the entire world, transform into our ideal selves, and take on the baddies at our front door. In that sense, perhaps I secretly find myself grateful for their existence.

“Teach! I ah… I need to use the restroom!” I’m the first to throw my hand up and interrupt class; it’s only natural I would be, as the leader. Long, silky blonde curls spill down my shoulders in this stuffy uniform I wear as I yearn the embrace of another set of threads. My Magical Girl costume is a lot more freeing, and not just because it allows me to fly!

“I need it too! Been holding it real bad, you understand right, Miss?” There’s my best friend, Amber, right on cue. She’s a natural redhead and her hair is almost as long as mine, but she wears it in pigtails to separate herself. I think it’s really just to look cute, but don’t tell her I said that. She is cute, though… If I were a boy I’d be all over her. Miss Winter gives us that same old, knowing look, restraining the curl of her lips to keep our cover. She’s been a sort of coach to us since becoming our homeroom teacher, since we accidentally let her catch us transforming back into our regular selves on our first day. The woman, knowing a third is coming, waits to respond.

“Me too. Can’t hold it.” That’s my other best friend, Willow. She’s the brains of our trio, but she’s also a heck of a lot shier than me or Amber. She’s also the shortest of the three, with mint green hair that doesn’t even reach her shoulders. My parents won’t let me cut my hair that short, so I get something of a vicarious thrill from the way Willow wears hers. Like Amber’s, it is, of course, so terribly cute…

Miss Winter covers her soft pink smile with her hand and assesses us from behind her gold-frame glasses. “Alright, girls. Just don’t be too long okay?”

“Yes Miss!” “’Course, teach!” “’Kay.”

“And girls…” she whispers behind her hand, hoping it’ll reach us. It does. I can hear you, Miss Winter. “I am always cheering for you.”

“Phew… hahhh, I thought they’d never stop coming out of those portals. That’s gotta be a new record, eh Brooke?” Magical Girl Ambition watches the defeated demons recede into the earth and takes a moment to catch her breath, hoisting her baseball bat—which is imbued with the spirit of ambition for a better tomorrow—over her shoulder and glancing back at her teammates.

“C-Call me Bravery when we’re transformed! That’s like the first rule, c’mon…” I try my best to pout like I mean it, but the sight of Amber in her costume—light sheen of sweat glazing her skin—makes me weak. A leader needs to be strong, embody Bravery, but I just can’t help swallowing my pride for the moment.

“We should get back to school soon. My parents will murder me if I don’t get into a prestigious college next year, and we’ve been absent from about half our classes this semester fighting monsters…” Willow pouts for the both of us, since I lost my composure at the sight of Amber stretching and continue to find myself speechless.

Amber throws her arm around Willow’s neck playfully and pulls her close, infecting us both with her cheerful disposition. “That’s gotta be the most I’ve heard you say all week, Minty. Relax, you’re like… a genius, so you’ll ace your exams no problemo. It’s me and Bravery that should be worried, but you’ll carry us through studying and exam prep like ya always do, riiiight?”

“Hm. I suppose. For a price.”

“You little…”

The strange feeling from before recedes as I watch my two best friends—the greatest Magical Girls in history if you go off my incredibly biased opinion—play-fight in the middle of this empty parking lot at ten-to-noon. This really is the life. We’ll get boba, be accosted by some nosy cop for not being at school, then run back to class and apologise to Miss Winter for ‘getting lost in the corridors’ again, like we always do.

Like we always do… yeah.

“Hey, you two. I love you both…” I begin my embarrassingly sappy speech and the girls smile sheepishly, because I give it fairly often. Today’s feels slightly different, though, because Willow’s mention of college reminded me of something. We’re already entering adulthood; school won’t last forever. Does that also mean that… “And I love being a Magical Girl, too… let’s keep fighting evil together for as long as we can, o-okay?”

“Yeah.” Willow pushes Amber away and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. On my other side, Ambition hugs my arm.

“’Course. There ain’t nothing better. Gets me out of that stuffy religious school for an hour and as a bonus, I get to hang with my two best buds. We love you too, leader.”

I feel my heart begin to swell. What a truly blessed existence I lead.

“Then, here’s to us… as adults! Let’s stay magical~!”

We all put our hands together and share in one another’s warmth.

Together, with bashful smiles and budding hearts, we make a promise.

The Magical Ideals Squad will live on, forever!

15 Years Later

“Ffffuck…” I let out a low grunt into the fabric I hold to my nose. I keep it there with one hand while digging fingers into my begging sex with the other. I’m so turned on I can barely control myself, huffing the costume in my grip and rutting my hips into my hand like the scum I am. God, I’m pathetic. I’m such a fucking loser. Amber… there’s still a faint trace of you in these threads, and I’m going to fuck my loser cunt silly to the scent I delude myself into catching whiff of… o-okay?

I sit in darkness, in the centre of my single bedroom apartment, and let my eyes fall closed. In my fantasy, I’m out on mission and we find ourselves overwhelmed by monsters. The sticky, slimy kind this time, ehehe… Willow is caught by their spray first, pushing a reckless Amber out of the way and immediately paying for her heroic act. The slime dissolves her outfit in seconds and she writhes uncomfortably at its gross touch spreading all over her body. I’m in heaven, shamefully, staring out with starry-eyes and a face redder than Amber’s cute pigtailed hair, as I watch Magical Girl Wisdom’s intelligence drool out between her dizzy, smiling lips. The slime transforms the smartest person I know into a ditzy airhead, thrusting her hips against it as it holds her suspended in the air and starts to fill her up.

“Bravery, we need to save her!” Declares a flustered Magical Girl Ambition. I’m too far gone to pretend I want to save her in this inaccurately pornographic reimagining of one of our final battles, but I do my best to act the leader I’m supposed to be.

When Amber is the next to be drenched, in our poorly hatched rescue plan—Willow always was the smart one—I watch excitedly as the brain-draining slime covers the tomboy from head to toe and turns her into another puddle of manipulable, fuckable meat for my viewing, huffing pleasure. Fuck. My toes curl painfully into the cheap rug beneath them and I throw my head back onto the sheetless mattress behind me, wishing I’d remembered to replace the damn batteries in my vibrator; it eats them like a fucking glutton. I bury myself in Ambition’s skirt like I mean to die there and resume the daydream that has me moaning like a bitch in heat.

“B-Bravery… ahhh… ahahahah… gosh, I uhm… it’s so… soooo hot in here. Y-You should like, uhm… j-join us~!”

Willow, my introverted, brainiac best friend, now speaks like a slutty whore. A bimbo. I’m delirious, wishing I had something of hers to touch myself to as well. Like her panties, or some socks. Maybe if I offer to send her more humiliating collateral, and money, and beg like the insufferable pay-pig I am, she’ll start paying some attention to me again and mail me some. A Magical Girl’s dirty socks would fix me, I think, giggling into Amber’s skirt as the fantasy overtakes me.

“You know… you’re both just… so cute. The cutest ever.” Speaks Magical Girl Bravery, who has the courage to face that rippling darkness in her chest—and the heat that spreads across her loins. I’m back in my prime here, in the daydream I’ve conjured. I’m eighteen again, with flowing blonde hair, the body of a competitive gymnast and the gumption of a young, sheltered girl. Except, not at all. Where the Brooke who moonlighted as a Magical Girl was hopelessly innocent and naive—a good daughter and student, who always went to church with her parents and looked to the future with blindingly bright optimism in those obnoxious, glimmering eyes—Brooke at 33 is a complete disaster. My present day depravity cannot help but bleed into this perfect dream and taint the simulacrum of my old self with her future perversions.

I suppose they were always there, beneath the surface. Senior prom still haunts me, after all. Once the team officially disbanded, though, my ability to pretend I was sweet began to deteriorate, and fast. It was a freefall of constant new lows. I just kept getting worse, and worse, and worse. I suppose it’s akin to the gifted kid syndrome, except I was obsessively masturbating—while skipping lectures—to the thought of my old friends, who slowly distanced themselves. Together forever… except their beloved leader became a complete loser dyke who was too embarrassing to be seen with in their college years, and it only got worse after I flunked all my first year exams and had to drop out.

I get a monthly check in text from Amber, and for a while I was letting Willow take advantage of me for cash to stay on the leash, but it’s been almost a year now since the last time she called on me. Despite all of this… I love them both. I’m so pathetic.

“I can’t help but find you adorable, even like this. Especially like this.” Bravery hums, her voice—our voice—carrying a perfect lilt that reminds me what we sounded like before the smokes filled our throat with gravel. She wasn’t such a wanton bitch like me, but in this fantasy I commandeer the corpse of her memory to take advantage of my talented best friends. They really are so much better than me now, maybe they always were, but that only makes it all the more cathartic to imagine reducing them to babbling morons who can only think of sex.

The slime doesn’t hit me, because I’m not a hero. I approach them with a greedy glint in my eyes and sigh longingly. Amber. Lovely Amber, you were the coolest girl in school. You’re the one that got away. If only I knew that I was gay sooner, and was less of a coward when I did. I know you’re straight now, supposedly, but at that age I… I could’ve been the one to turn you, properly, instead of that poor attempt by Willow.

In my fantasy, she humps my leg like a dog. In reality, I huff her old clothes like a creep. We’re together again. Closer than ever, if you really think about it. In my dreams she wants me; in reality she keeps me in her contacts out of pity. Fuck you, Amber. Magical Girl Ambition would never leave me. See? She’s drooling like the eager, begging mutt she is, all for me, for her leader, and she’s kissing reverently across my thigh as I tighten my fingers into her adorable red hair. You think you’re so grown up now because you work in finance and dye your hair black and wear it down with tailored blouses and slacks, but here in my hand is the real you. Two hair ties to make you shine, and a deferent gaze that tells me you’re mine. Keep kissing, girl. Keep grinding. We’ll blot out the wretched women we all became one troubled orgasm at a time.

“B-Bravery. I… she’s getting all the attention… n-not fair. Ehe… use me too, okay~?” Ah, Willow. As cute as a button. She was comfortable living in my shadow once upon a time, before I proved too disappointing in later academia to reserve any shred of respect for. We used to study together, but somewhere along the line it became apparent just how much I was holding her back. Brooke Williams, proud leader of the Magical Girl Ideals Squad, was dead weight. Now look at us, my fingers sliding under the obedient creature’s chin, thumb prying into her mouth. Incoherent, unintelligent noise spills from those pretty lips I watch her wet with drool as I stroke my intrusive digit over her tongue. She’s gotten so stupid for me, I bet in a state like this I could convince her to part with whatever clothes I’d like. All mine for the taking! God, the fun I could have with a pair of her Mary Janes.

“Why couldn’t you have stayed Magical Girls forever, like we all said we would?” I whine, petulantly. I know the answer, of course I do, but I’m too frustrated to care for logic and my besties are too indisposed in their mindlessness to answer. We had defeated the Demon Legion, more or less, and had more intensive study to keep up with. It wasn’t feasible, and my heart just wasn’t in it when I tried to carry on alone as a solo Magical Girl. Without these two to ogle, did I ever even care about saving anyone? Was I born a voyeur?

I continue to fuck my friends. I keep on fucking my hand. And I tell myself that a lowlife like me has nothing better to do with her evening than jerking off to Magical Girls.

When I finish, I throw the Magical Girl Ambition outfit across the room and curl up in shame. Then, when I’m done wallowing, I step out onto the balcony to light a cigarette.

This city is disgusting, that’s one thing our old religious school hammered into us that I can’t deny even now. Pretty sure they were wrong about god and gays, but those women knew to call a sinner’s paradise like this exactly what it is. I love it. Here, looking down at the filthy streets of this damned city I call a home, I almost get to feel like I’m above it all. Even a deplorable wretch like me—a burnout, deadbeat dyke with no prospects in sight and friends in all the worst places—can manage to make herself feel better when she compares herself to the gutter trash that shows up here when the sun takes off. I’m better than that bum digging through the garbage bins. I’m superior to that yelling whore with vomit on her skimpy dress. I’m most certainly no worse than the gang members who beat the former and flock towards the latter.

When I’m alone like this, especially after I just got myself off to the thought of them, I can’t help but wonder what those two are up to. It’s a worse vice than the smoking, truth be told. Much more hazardous to my health.

“Let’s go, girls.” I clutch my chest, pretending to hold my lost gemstone to it and transform. Then, I laugh drily and take another drag from my smoke. I remain like this for a while, ruminating sadly over wasted time and letting that post-orgasm buzz serve as my only reliable companion, before my typical routine is broken up by something new.

“Caw!” Cries a raven, or is it a crow? I’m startled, but only for a second, as the presence of the jet black bird disturbs my brooding. It really did come out of nowhere, but I suppose I’m outside and birds are wont to decorating balcony railings from time to time. The midnight corvid swoops down and perches itself beside me, its novel presence stealing my attention away from the sorry sights of the city below.

“Fuck, you too?” I snort, eyeing the rolled up paper it holds in its beak as I continue to fuck my lungs like they’re replaceable. They sure as shit aren’t Magical. This is the Brooke of the present day, I suppose; a self destructive reprobate who occupies herself with gallows humour over things she has the power to change—if only she were Brave enough. I’m too non-committal to go full dyke despite wishing for the courage to be more butch, so I find myself in a futchy limbo within which the hyper-femininity of my high school days finds itself in constant strife with my bad habits and general scruffiness. Everyone knows that presenting more masc as a woman is just putting less effort in, right? I did finally cut my hair short once I left home and moved deeper into the city; the outskirts are almost nice, at least nice enough for a good Christian girl to go her whole life thinking wisecracking demons were the worst this world would throw at her.

I take another look at the bird and contemplate shooing it off, but hell if I ain’t curious. What’s the little shit got in its mouth? I’ll bite, since it seems insistent on interrupting my nicotine nightcap.

When I reach out to remove the paper from the creature’s beak, it does not so much as flinch. My eyes widen when I take a closer look and realise this is no plain bird at all, but a familiar. These are the minions of witches and demonesses, both of which we fought on an almost daily basis back in our heyday. My heart begins to pound as a strange excitement takes me, unrolling the parchment in my hands after ashing out my cigarette and flicking the butt down into my toilet of a city below.

It’s a letter. That much was obvious, but my suspicions are soon confirmed when I see that it is addressed to me. More accurately, it’s addressed to her.

Dear Magical Girl Bravery, I hope this finds you well. How polite, ehehe… god, what… what the fuck is this? Why do I feel so giddy, like I’m a teenager again?

Allow me to introduce myself, the letter continues, my eyes scanning it with sparkles. My name is Belladonna Frore, Mistress of Night and Shadow. Oh my god, a bona fide fucking villain. A villain’s introductory letter delivered via crow. How delightfully stupid, I’m smitten! Except, wait… this isn’t just a fantasy. If this is real, then… uh… hang on. I’m not eighteen anymore, nor am I on particularly good terms with my teammates. I best keep reading, this could be a prank. No, the familiar’s proof of this being sincere, not to mention them knowing my identity. How does this bitch know who I am, and where I live,anyway? Not even the Demon King, who turned out to be some friendless dickhead in our class who ran the chess club—and wanted me to be ‘the queen to his king’—could ever discover who we were on account of the transformation spell.

I’m sure you have your questions, but save them. I will answer them face to face, tomorrow evening, where all of this began. You will come and meet me in your old school, the classroom where you attended homeroom every morning, and all will be revealed.

“Where all of what began?” I mutter under my breath, wondering if this creepy bird can hear me—understand me. Do we know this Frore lady? Maybe a villain of the week too insignificant to have rung any bells. Oh well, I don’t really care. My body has gone flush at the though that this might just give me an excuse to see them again, I couldn’t give less of a shit why. Amber, Willow, you won’t look at me with too much disgust, right? Maybe if you did, I’d feel just as disgusted with myself for letting it feel good.

Who am I kidding? There’s a decent chance that even if they did receive the same letter as myself, from this mistress of the night or whatever she’s calling herself, that they’ll reject the call. I’m the only one pathetic enough to need this. There’s still a chance, though, and that thought is more than enough to fuel me through my second orgasm of the night once I get back inside.

Retrieving my lighter, I hold the flame to a corner of the letter and set the words alight. This almost feels too good to be true; it is a portent fireball of promise and hope that I release from the railing’s edge once I’m sure it’s illegible. I watch it fall, and think about my own decline with a bitter little smile. I’ll get it out of my system now, this dark loathing and desire, so that tomorrow I can be the Brooke I was—all those wasted years ago.

Maybe we can all become our ideal selves again. One last time.

A scrap of smoking parchment paper flutters down towards a city that cares for naught, descending unto asphalt blacker than the sky above. The paper is all but burnt up, damaged beyond repair with its corners curled inwards and turned to ash. Only the back can even remotely be made out, though this too has mostly been destroyed in the conflagration.

Only a single line, written in pretty cursive on the back of the letter, remains. That, and a smear of pink lipstick. It is these words that can only ever be uttered in hopeful secrecy, hidden in plain sight, that no longer reach the girl, Brooke Williams.

These words, meant just for her, have gone unheard—unread—for a decade and a half now.

Cheering for you x