February 2015
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents “Trust in the Track,” a poem by Vivian Griselda Cover: “Tripartite Theory,” Illustration by Hecate “The Ballerina,” a poem by Iris Rainbow This Page: “Rescued My Heart,” a photograph by Ja- Page 12: nus “Muddled Heart,” a photograph by Aceso “Nostalgia,” a poem by Luna Moon Sparkles Page 3: “Decadence Pt. II,” a poem by A.T. Pacem
Ask Aphro & Dite
Stuck in love is moving on Fangirl dreams of OTPs
The Lady of the Underworld on chocolate and chastity
Our favorite nymph learns her lesson
Calypso’s Island: Echo’s Echo
Page 4:
“The Regrets of a Boy,” a poem by Zenyatta “Her Lips,” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Two Lips,” a photograph by Japanda3 “Flowers,” a short story by Stevia Plath
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“Decadence Pt. III,” a poem by A.T. Pacem “The Start of Something New,” an illustration by Winter
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“The Amour Effect,” a short story by Janus “To Halcyon Days,” an illustration by Japanda3
Page 14:
“11 Reasons Why Scira is Better Than Scallison,” a list by Rabid Fairy “The Fruit of Death,” a poem by Zenyatta “Don’t Eat The Berries,” a photograph by Calypso “This is Not a Romantic Poem,” by Anonymous
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“Zutara: Burning Romance or Icy Hatred?,” an argument by “Carnival Tail: Chapter Five,” a story by Calypso Calypso “I Will Go Down With This Ship,” an introduction by Hades “Carnival Tail,” continued and Athena “Centaur,” Illustration by Hecate “Beautiful Beyond Repair,” a short story by Rabid Fairy “Yin and Yang,” Illustration by khokokat
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Page 6:
“BBC’s Sherlock: Johnlock,” an argument by Athena “Heart Locked,” a photograph by Janus “BBC’s Sherlock: Sherlolly,” an argument by Hades
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“Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit: Thilbo Bagginshield,” an argument by Athena “Wish You Were Here,” a photograph by Aceso “Sun Never Sets on Love,” a photograph by Aceso “Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit: Fem!Thilbo Bagginshield,” an argument by Hades
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“Romione vs. Krumione,” a ship war by Calypso and The Owlish Bookworm
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“Through a Screen,” a short story by Bluejay “Star Trek: Spirk,” an argument by Athena “Star Trek: Spockura,” an argument by Hades
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“True Love’s High Five,” a poem by Rabid Fairy “The Boy Everyone Loved,” a poem by Bravery “The Loneliest in Paris,” a photograph by Aceso
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“Decadence,” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Ferris,” a photograph by Aceso
issuu.com/midnightwriters midnightwriters2015@gmail.com
Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphrodite, This is going to sound ridiculous, but how do you get over someone you never dated? Yours, Stuck in Love Dearest Stuck, Ahh, the ever-lasting problem of what mortals call “fangirls.” I’ve heard of this, caused this, had to go through it, and honeybunch, I’m just letting you know, it’s not easy. The problem is that you’ve never dated this person, so all you’ve got of them is a romanticized version. The trick is to find their flaws and focus on only the flaws until you can’t even remember why you liked that person in the first place! This works extremely well on humans, but when it comes to fictional characters, it gets a little more difficult. With fictional characters, there really is no cure, and I highly suggest you find others who are as obsessed as you are. Then gather together in a dark room and weep together, I say. Nothing else you can do, really. Of course, if you want to do things the easy way, you could always find someone you like and date them, but then I’d be out of a job. So! And if you don’t, just give me a call, and I’ll shoot you with an arrow. Good luck dearie, Aphro Dear Aphrodite, If you're the goddess of love, do you have access to Eros' bow and arrow? If so, do you think you could help make some of my OTPs canon? Yours, Fangirl My Darling Fangirl, Access? I’m his mother, of course I have access. Dear Zeus, I have them all the time, he misbehaves so much. Always mismatching humans, just because he thinks he can! But as far as righting the world, I’m afraid I can not, darling. See, the thing is that, in all honesty, I could. I am a goddess after all. I cold do real life, fictional, nonexistent, any kind of relationship-I could make it happen. But Zeus tends to look down on that sort of thing, interfering with humans on every level. So, I’ve stuck to holding back. It does make sense, though. Humans can’t have everything they want! If they did, BBC would go out of business and there would be far too little conflict in the human world (Yes, yes, that sounds awful, but it’s the only thing that keeps us gods going when there’s nothing to do on Olympus). Basically, I won’t use my powers for evil or chaos because I prefer being one of the calmer goddesses—I really don’t like drama. Sorry about that, Aphro
Calypso’s Island
Echo’s Echo
Happy Valentine’s Day, Midnighters! ‘Tis Happy belated Valentine’s Day, everyone! the season to appreciate the loved ones in Hopefully February 14th was a pleasant and your life and to let those you love know about enjoyable day for you lovely folks. Even if it your feelings. It’s not a terrible time to eat as was spent alone with your face stuffed with much chocolate as your heart desires, either. chocolate, binge-watching Netflix. Speaking of which, all of the chocolate in the So, how did I spend mine, you ask? Well, I Underworld has gone missing—even my prireunited with an old flame, old feelings revate stash of caramel chocolate squares! I surfaced, and things were just like they’d wouldn’t be too concerned (ghosts love taking been before. things from the palace), but I haven’t seen Before you coo and gush “aww,” let me Cerberus lately either, and Hades will have break that down bit by bit for you: my head if those two events are related. It has — “Reunited with an old flame”: Yes, to be someone who knows both me and the you’ve guessed correctly. It’s Narcissus. You palace well enough to get in and out while I know, the man too infatuated with himself to was making rounds, and I’ve been compiling acknowledge the presence of anything else. a list of suspects. Unfortunately for me, I — “Old feelings resurfaced”: Goodness, I haven’t gotten very far, although I’m going to thought some distance from him would rehave to check Elysium to see if a certain Ithaduce to rubble any lingering affection for can king has been eating any chocolate lately. him. It didn’t. And unfortunately, his old Aside from my chocolate dilemma, I orgafeelings had resurfaced too—feelings of disnized a small get together for those who are gust and repulsion. Good vibes. single in the pantheon. Valentine’s Day is — “And things were just like they’d been such a romantically oriented holiday, so I before”: I was left heartbroken again. thought it would be nice to focus on nonIt’d been so long since I had last seen him, romantic relationships. Echo was invited, obso I thought it would be nice to drop by for a viously, and so was Artemis, who can be the visit and see how he’d been doing. And altlife of the party if you give her the chance. hough he is still as beautiful as ever, surprise, Most of the other gods and goddesses had he hasn’t changed one bit! He was still mespartners at the time, or at least were involved merized as ever at his reflection in the river. with some being or spirit, and the rest had What I wouldn’t give to be gazed upon in plans, so it was just the three of us. Unfortuthat way. Eventually, I went up to him and nately, we hadn’t even settled down for the tapped him on his shoulder, which broke his first movie when a few ghosts appeared and staring contest with his reflection. He turned started pestering Artemis. She’s a rare visitor to me and roared at me for disturbing his to the Underworld, and she’s something of a precious time with his beloved self. Humilicelebrity, so they really went wild, asking for ated and heartbroken, I fled the woods and autographs and questioning her on everything spent the remainder of my Valentine’s Day from her favorite hunting bow to her chastity. cursing myself for falling head over heels for For some reason, people just can’t seem to such an insolent man. wrap their heads around her lack of desire for At the end of the day, though, I concluded a romantic or sexual relationship. She might that as horrid as that occurrence was, it was have taken the vow of maidenhood, but it’s necessary. My unreasonable affection for not as though that was a struggle for her. Aphim has gone on far too long. This incidence parently mortals have a difficult time wrapwas the final straw, and now, I am finally, ping their minds around any sort of love or finally through with him. relationship that doesn’t involve a man, a I hope you all know that you all deserve the woman, and some level of sexual intimacy. utmost love and respect, and no one should We sent the ghosts away, but it ruined the ever make you feel any lower. Never forget mood for a movie marathon. Still, it got us this, Writers. You all rock. thinking of creating a campaign for the pantheon to raise awareness for asexuals and aroSpecial thanks to Sra. Steele, Owlish mantics. We’re working on the final stages now, so hopefully that’ll trickle down to the Bookworm, Calypso, Khokokat, Bandermortal world soon. See you next month, Midsnatch, Aceso, Bellum, and Janus nighters! 3
Flowers
By Stevia Plath The day her divorce was final should have been the happiest in her life. But now the scenes that had once filled her mind– the arguments, the shouting, that time she threw her hairdryer at him, narrowly missing his head and cracking against the bathroom mirror behind him– were gone. Instead it was his crinkling eyes as he read a particularly corny joke from a Laffy Taffy stolen from their daughter’s Halloween stash. His warm breath against her ear, fervent love words as they snuggled beneath flannel blankets. His callused hand was no longer hers to hold. His smiling mouth was no longer hers to kiss. She glanced again towards the innocuous florist’s box balancing precariously on the corner of her desk. It had arrived hours before but sat still unopened; she knew it was from him. Who else would send her flowers on the day her marriage was over? And knowing him, they were probably roses, because after fifteen years of disastrous marriage he still didn’t know her favorite flowers were daisies. Countless bouquets of Valentine’s Day roses dutifully thanked for, but every year more and more repulsive. She should probably throw away the box, or take out the note inside and give it to someone else in her office. But still she sat motionlessly in her desk chair, box balancing on the corner, untouched. Finally she stood up, stretched out unused limbs. It would do her
good to take a walk around the building complex, for her to breathe in fresh spring air. But as she walked around her desk, she bumped her hip against the corner. Disturbed from equilibrium, the box clattered onto the floor. Daisies in every color scattered across the carpet. Slowly she bent down and, ignoring the white card sitting on top of the flowers, picked up a yellow daisy. She touched the velvety petal, marveling at its delicacy. Surely something so beautiful and fragile would have been trampled by now, but here it was. The yellow petals shone bright against her pale skin, a patch of warm sunlight on frozen winter snow. She picked up the box and began shoving the flowers back in. But instead of replacing the cover and dumping it in the trash, she felt herself walking towards her open office window. Years of work had given her an office on one of the upper floors; from her view up here she could see miles of forests rustling in the wind, divided by straight highways. She took the yellow daisy from the box and tossed it out her window, watching it tumble several stories down to the parking lot below. The next one in her hand was blood red, and she tossed it out too until it was a bright crimson dot against the dark pavement. Again and again until the parking lot was covered in daisies of every color, red and yellow and green and blue and purple polka dots strewn across the gray parking lot. And her mouth curved in a rusty smile. Because somehow, the colors reminded her of a rainbow.
Her Lips By A.T. Pacem i shall kiss her lips and feel her divine love through the touch of our skin and when i see her look at me i feel something more than, something more than love i worship her and all she does i am her peasant and she my queen yet it feels so odd to have her say the same thing “Two Lips,” Photograph byJapanda3
The Regrets of a Boy By Zenyatta
A card with a heart And a flower bouquet, I found in the store At the start of the day. A big teddy bear With a smile on his face, A hot pink balloon With a bow tied in place. A red heart shined bright from the card, The flowers were perfect in every regard. The teddy was cute, If I say so myself
The hot pink balloon The best on the shelf. So why did she throw The card in my face? And pop the balloon, With its bow tied in place? She yelled: "You're a fiend! A cheater and liar! The seat of your pants Is aflame with red fire! I saw you with her in that sketchy café! You better run fast, or I'll punch you, I say!" And I ran down the street Without once looking back And I cursed myself hard, For the luck that I lack.
For all my good friends Had not one girl, but two Or more, I don't know, I don't care any who. And they never got caught, And they never messed up, Yet here I was, With my luck all used up. And the girl whom I liked Just told me to leave. Oh how stupid I was, It is hard to believe! Well, the lesson is learned And the time can't return, But I'll never do this againFor my lesson, I've learned!
ZUtara By Calypso Who doesn’t like a good yin and yang romance, especially with the good old trope of enemies-turned-more-than-friends? Stemming respectively from the Water and Fire Nations, Katara and Zuko endure many hardships. While some were experienced together, most were from opposite sides of the same coin, which only makes them a better match for each other. Katara becomes a fugitive the moment she takes Aang into her care, and she’s on the run from Zuko. It may not be the ideal way to start a relationship, but it’s the initial mistrust and hatred that make their developing friendship even more endearing. Even on the run from his sister, without his princely resources, Zuko is still determined to find Aang. No, I’m not about to make this a romantic chase for Katara. What do you take me for? Anyway, he clings to his values with rare strength and conviction. Once he realizes that his father’s love can never fulfill him, he shifts his goals and values to helping Aang defeat his father. He is able to make friends--true friends—for the first time, and the relationships he has with them become what he values most. He wants their acceptance and trust and is willing to do anything to prove it. Katara,is the slowest to trust him. Because he realizes that he had hurt her the most, he is determined to remedy his relationship with her. Yes, he helps break Sokka’s father and girlfriend out of prison, and he does a dragon dance with Aang, but he helps Katara track down the man who killed her mother. To an extent, he understands her experience and her feelings, and the sense of unconditional acceptance of them creates a bond between them that Zuko doesn’t create with any of the other Gaang members. Speaking of which, Aang is an excellent friend to Katara; he reigns her in when she begins to lose control, and he balances her temper and seriousness with wis-
dom and playfulness. In turn, she protects and guides him and acts as his rock. But Aang was brought up in the shelter of the monastery. Zuko and Katara were born into a world at war. Yes, Zuko lived a much more privileged life than Katara, but he lacked the nurturing environment Aang had. Both Zuko and Katara were forced to grow up before their time, and because of that, they understand each other in a way that Aang cannot. Not only that, but their personalities push each other to be better. Zuko realizes what Katara needed—closure concerning her mother’s death—and he goes out of his way to help her get it. He doesn’t give it to her because he knows it would be pointless, and he doesn’t try to stop or talk her out of her feelings. Katara does the same for Zuko. When they face off against Azula, Azula challenges Zuko to a one-on-one duel, the same type of duel that left Zuko scarred and exiled. Zuko has already faced his father, and now he must face the other demon from his childhood. Katara, while worried for his safety, knows that he needs to face her alone. She doesn’t step in, allowing Zuko the closure he needs. When Azula attacks Katara with a fatal lightning strike, Zuko jumps in the way, saving Katara. In turn, she saves him and defeats Azula, showing her strength and the extent to which her relationship with Zuko has changed. But they’re dangerous for each other! They’re enabling each other to do bad things! Alright, hold up. I’m not advocating murder as a fun first date. However, I am advocating being in a relationship with someone who understands you, accepts you, and validates your feelings. Zuko and Katara do that for each other, and the relationship that springs from their experiences lead to deep mutual trust and understanding. After the war, Katara enters a romantic relationship with Aang as Zuko continues his relationship with Mai. However, while those relationships may be comfortable, they lack the extra spark that Zuko and Katara have together.
I Will Go Down With This Ship By Hadethena, a.k.a. The Geek Mythologists Greetings, mortals. Former Prez Hades and Former Veep Athena here. For you sad mortals who don’t understand the joys of shipping, it is the support of a certain relationSHIP, usually between fictional characters. As you may have guessed, Hades and I have slightly different views of shipping: I tend towards shipping two males (not that I don’t ship any straight ships, but the majority is M/M), whereas Hades tends towards straight ships (that is, F/M). Since this can sometimes cause a bit of a disagreement between the two of us, we thought we would both share our side and see what you all decide! Throughout the magazine, there will be battleships and warships, but to be clear, there is no hate meant from either of us towards the ship we disagree with—this is a civil argument in a no-hate zone!
Beautiful Beyond Repair By Rabid Fairy When canaries sing beyond the window sill, she smiles in the mirror. Lips stained with the blood of her past and teeth white as the ice cold snow. Hair tied back with shards of broken glass, smashed wine glasses broken by a dove’s anger. The stilettos on her feet are propped up with knives and sharp words. Each click against the depressed tile of the hallway releases an authoritative command. She’s pretty enough to love and beautiful enough to fear. I wonder if the black paint on her nails reflects her feelings of the world.
“Yin and Yang,” A Photography by khokokat
5
BBC’s Sherlock
johnlock By Athena A very popular ship on this show is Johnlock, a.k.a. Sherlock Holmes (portrayed by Benedict Cumberbatch) and John Watson (portrayed by Martin Freeman). Simultaneously one of the most beloved and hated ships on the Internet. I ship Johnlock hard - although I am NOT one of the Mary-haters. Mary is AWESOME. **SPOILERS AHEAD UP TO AND INCLUDING SEASON 3** There is literally so much to say on the subject of Johnlock. I am going to be using a lot of material from this incredible article called The Johnlock Conspiracy by V Lyn, found on Hubpages. Seriously great arguments, well thought out and organized. First of all, the article mentions the absolutely ridiculous amount of time the two characters spend looking at each other when the other is not paying attention - at each other’s lips, the back of heads, that memorable moment when John checked to see if Sherlock was or wasn’t wearing pants ;) Overall, the characters have a LOT of incredibly homoerotic moments in the show. AND EVERYONE NOTICES. Especially the other characters. Mrs. Hudson, Angelo, Mycroft, Irene - all of these characters mention John and Sherlock being in a romantic relationship at least once. Mrs. Hudson can pretty much just be appointed the captain of the ship Johnlock, at this point. And yet, why would almost every episode contain some reference to John and Sherlock being in love unless one or both of the men were giving off obvious signals? Not everyone has overactive imaginations. Some people just don’t see what is right in front of them. Constantly John proclaims that he is NOT GAY - however, not ONCE has he said “I am not bisexual” or “I am not attracted to Sherlock Holmes.” Okay John, you’re not gay - but you don’t have to be to be attracted to Sherlock. Now this is an interesting tidbit I had not noticed before: the goodbye scene between John and Sherlock, at the end of the third season, is very similar to the incredibly romantic goodbye scene at the end of Casablanca. Enough said there. The article explains everything much better than I can, I advise any fan of Sherlock to check it out (Johnlock shipper or not). As much as I love Louise Brealey, I really can’t ship Sherlolly. As adorable as it might be, I just can’t see that relationship being anything but unhealthy - with Sherlock holding too much power - not to mention the fact that Molly has NO IDEA what living with Sherlock is like, whereas John does and clearly learned to survive it. 6
“Heart Locked,” Photograph by Janus
Sherlolly By Hades A less prevalent but just as adored ship by fans is Sherlolly, a.k.a. Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper (portrayed by Louise Brealey). Honestly, we’re probably never going to know Sherlock’s real sexuality. Moftiss have too much fun trolling the fans. That said, we do know that whatever his sexuality, Sherlock is at least attracted to women. Cumberbatch himself has confirmed that “something” went down with Sherlock and Irene in Karachi, and though he’s not exactly Moftiss, he’s pretty damn close. Like Athena said, one common argument against Sherlolly is the power imbalance and even the fear that Sherlock would be emotionally abusive towards Molly. First, Molly, for all her loveable awkwardness, is no shrinking violet who’s going to let her BF walk all over her. But she does! Remember all those body parts she gives him, and how she lets him bully her into doing things? Now, what woman with a crush—a strong, obvious one at that—hasn’t done something silly (“We all do silly things”) because of/for the guy she likes? Said or written something embarrassing? Tried a little too hard? I’ve done all of the above, but does that mean there was a power imbalance in my relationship? Even having done all those silly things, there’s no way I would have or will let any guy, howev-
er much I like him, walk all over me. The way I see it, it’s the same with Molly. Molly is an educated, modern woman with an excellent career in a male-dominated field and a healthy sex life. She agreed to help Sherlock fake his death (after he asked her, not demanded). She slapped Sherlock, repeatedly. She’s the only one who’s elicited genuine apologies from Sherlock. She at least tried to move on after Sherlock vanished, instead of languishing like a damsel in distress. This is not a woman who would stand for a power imbalance in her relationship, not when it comes down to it. If Sherlock tried half of what he’s pulled on John on Molly, I’m sure she could just stab his hand with a fork. Now that we’ve established Sherlolly wouldn’t be the disaster it’s made out to be, let’s talk about the romance! I’ll make it quick and rattle off a list: genuine apologies, Molly matters, Sherlock asked her for help, he respects her enough to restrain his deductions when he sees Meat Dagger, the day they solve crimes together, kisskisskiss, he dreads Molly seeing him high, he sees her in his mind palace when he’s shot, and my personal favorite, the look on Sherlock’s face when he kisses her goodbye after they’re done solving crimes and we fans learn for the first time that Molly is engaged. Also: “Back to Work” on the season 3 soundtrack, is playing when Sherlock and Molly see each other before he asks her to solve crimes. Most romantic nine seconds of music I’ve heard in the show.
Peter Jackson’s The
Hobbit Thilbo Bagginshield By Athena A very popular ship in this trilogy is Thilbo Bagginshield, a.k.a. Thorin Oakenshield (portrayed by Richard Armitage) and Bilbo Baggins (portrayed by Martin Freeman). I have to admit that these shippable moments come from recently watching the last Hobbit movie (twice). **SPOILERS AHEAD** First of all, Thorin gave Bilbo literally priceless Mithril armor. PRICELESS. Why? Because he wanted his hobbit to be safe. It’s not explicitly stated, but it’s pretty obvious. Minutes later, Thorin confides in Bilbo that he suspects one of the dwarves to have
Fem! Thilbo Bagginshield By Hades Another popular ship, is fem! Bilbo/Thorin, where Bilbo is genderbent into a girl (Bilba, Billa, Billanna, Bella,etc.). I’ve come across very diverse reactions to female Bilbo. On one end are—as there are in every fandom—the haters. Now, fem! Bilbo usually pops up in romantic fanfics; she’s typically shipped with Thorin, but also popular are Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Bofur, Nori...basically everyone
hidden the Arkenstone (when it was really Bilbo). Thorin suspects his own kind, his brothersat-arms, his nephews rather than Bilbo Baggins. If that is not ultimate trust brought about by a relationship, I don’t know what is. And of course, at the very end of the movie, Bilbo is unable to define the relationship between him and Thorin, eventually falling back on the “friend” explanation. Uh huh. Anyway, my only point to contradict Hades is this: if they’re shippable, but you feel the need to change the gender of one in order to ship it, clearly they were meant for each other in the first place - why bother to change genders? (I mean, at least you have good taste in ships. I can concede that point.) “Wish You Were Here,” Photograph by Aceso
in the Company. Because fem! Bilbo’s most frequent occurrences are in romantic fics, haters accuse fem!Bilbo writers and shippers of being homophobic and/or strongly opposed to slash. As Athena said above (though I am by no means calling her a hater at all), if you ship them, why bother changing Bilbo’s gender? I mean, besides some physical characteristics, there’s nothing different between male Bilbo and female Bilbo, right? INCORRECT. Take a look at these two situations.
“Sun Never Sets on Love,” Photograph by Aceso
One: a bachelor goes on a year+ adventure with a bunch of rough n’ tough male Dwarves he just met the night before. Shenanigans happen. Let’s write a book. Two: a spinster/young girl (fem!Bilbo’s age varies) goes on a year+ adventure with a bunch of rough n’ tough male Dwarves she just met the night before-and canonically, Dwarves are known to have extremely strong feelings about the protection, value, and respect of their womenfolk. I will not wax on about Dwarven culture here, but I will say this: having a woman among them completely changes the dynamic of the Company and its members. Let’s go back to the whole bachelor/spinster thing. Canonically, Bilbo is a middle-aged bachelor, and no one gives him any grief about that. Now, what if Bilbo were a middle-aged bachelorette? Think about how even in today’s society, if a woman is borderline thirty with no intention of settling down anytime soon, people will question her life choices. But if a man is thirty, forty, fifty even, with no intention of settling down, there’s nothing wrong with that. In a traditional farming
society like the Shire, how would a female Bilbo’s decision to simply not get married be received by her family and neighbors? But you need a husband! Don’t you want children? Furthermore, in the stories of fem!Bilbo I’ve seen (which are a lot), her character traits do diverge from canon!Bilbo’s. When fem!Bilbo gets angry, her temper is more explosive. When the Dwarves get unruly, she’s usually able to get a better handle on herself or on them. When she disagrees with Thorin, or Dwalin, or any other alpha male, she’s more likely to confront them and stand her ground. In short, fem! Bilbo tends to be spunkier than canon!Bilbo. I completely agree with all of Athena’s reasons for shipping Bagginshield, hence why my piece is less on the actual ship and more on the Baggins half. But for me, fem!Bilbo would be more perfect. Besides, even today, we’re all so hard-pressed to come up with lists of strong female protagonists (Hermione, Katniss?) can you really begrudge us imagining what if, in a beloved novel where zero females are mentioned, the main character were really a girl? 7
ROMIONE vs. KRUMIONE By Calypso and Owlish Bookworm
Sitting in Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shoppe and getting Chocolate Frog cards. When paying , Calypso’s card reveals legendary Viktor Krum, and The Owlish Bookworm opens hers to find the heroic Ronald Weasley. C: *smiles at the card* You know, I always thought Krum and Hermione would’ve made a good couple. TOB: *stares at Calypso incredulously* Are you quite serious? C: *frowns* What? Of course. What do you mean, “are you quite serious”? I know she marries Ron, but I’ve always been attached to the idea of Hermione marrying Viktor. TOB: Hmmmm. I see no reason why that would have worked—Ron and Hermione were practically made for one another, not to mention the fact that they were best friends for years. C: Well, for one thing, Viktor sought out Hermione because he thought she was attractive and intelligent, and he respected and admired her. Ron was utterly incompetent emotionally at that point, she knew what she wanted, and she went for it. Cheers to her. TOB: If we’re just talking about when they were fourteen, yes, I quite agree. Ron was simply in the process of awkwardly growing up, as most gangly youths are wont to be. At that point in time, Viktor was a bit older and, Merlin knows, far more more mature. Give Ron some slack—he ended up being perfect for Hermione. C: Mmm...I wouldn’t say “perfect.” I realize that they were fourteen at the time, but I like to think Hermione and Krum would’ve become closer and ended up having a romantic relationship. TOB: Closer how? Through having to deal with a long-distance relationship, him traveling for Quidditch, and her still being at Hogwarts? Yes, they probably could have handled it just fine, but who would have been and was there when things went south? Ron. He was there, not to be in a romantic relationship with her, but to be friends with her. Hermione was an independent witch, cleverest in her year—she had things to do! People to impress, a world of stuck-up Malfoy-like wizards to prove wrong! Not the time for romance, but just
fine for friendship that would become something more. C: O.K., one, don’t knock longdistance relationships. Ginny and Harry had to deal with her playing on a professional Quidditch team, and tons of other long distance relationships work. And of course her friends would’ve been there for her for the tough times, but close friends don’t always become romantically involved. It’s a nice trope, and I don’t think they would’ve been involved romantically during the war. However, she continued writing to him, and he wrote back, and I think they were a nice constant in each other’s lives. After the war, they would’ve gotten more involved. TOB: The idea sounds lovely and wonderful, but despite them having a nice friendship, I don’t think that’s what would have made her happy. Ron knew her better than anyone else—with him, it wasn’t just about telling Hermione that she was smart or pretty (perhaps because he was a bumbling fool in those early teenage years), but more about knowing her as a person and friend. C: Who’s to say that Hermione and Viktor didn’t get to know each other on that level through their correspondence? For some people, it’s easier to confide in someone who’s a bit detached from the rest of his or her personal life. TOB: Possibly because no matter how deep or meaningful a letter is, there is no comparison to actually spending time with that person. Being present for facial expressions, stuttering sentences and one-liners and embarrassed hand-touching. C: Yes, and after the war, they could have spent that time together. Of course a relationship can’t be based solely on written words, no matter what some romance authors would have us believe. TOB: Only by that time,the boy who took weeks to realize that Hermione was in fact a girl in their fourth year became the young man whose darkest fear was that she didn’t feel the same way. They’d gone through their ups and downs because all’s fair and horrible in love and war. If Viktor were to pursue a relationship with Hermione after the war, he’d have found a different girl. Not completely, but being a fugitive and fighting in a war does change a person. C: I realize that, but it’s possible that he could have fallen in love with the woman who was forged by
the war. Besides, the news followed the Golden Trio and their motley crew during the war, but Viktor and the other Durmstrang students--who are we kidding, wizards and witches all over the world--were also dealing with the consequences of the war. He changed, too, but they continued their friendship. It would’ve been possible for a romantic relationship to have blossomed as well. TOB: Still, there’s no way his experiences could have come close to hers. Keep in mind, Ron was there when Hermione was being tortured. He listened to that and held her afterwards. I do think that Viktor was charming in his own right, but there’s just no way he would have been able to understand Hermione more than Ron did after that year. C: Right, but romantic partners aren’t there for every moment of your life. People make connections after surviving traumas, and while a romantic partner should be your best friend, they don’t have to have been there for everything. TOB: Agreed. I’m beginning to see that Viktor might have been a nice alternative for Hermione, should Ron have evaporated or died. But because Ron was there with her, not only in the Year of Fear, but also throughout their years at Hogwarts, their connection ran deeper. There’s just no way Viktor can compete with that. C: Yes, I agree that once Ron matured, he made a good fit for Hermione because of their past together. However, I think that Viktor would have made her happy, partially because he was somewhat removed from her experience during the war. He could listen to her— TOB: Yes, he could, but— C: He couldn’t possibly understand? Not fully, because unlike Ron, he wasn’t there. However, she still has Ron and Harry. It’s not as if spending time with Viktor makes them disappear from her life. He’s not kidnapping her, for Merlin’s sake. She can still spend time with them and talk to them and share in the horrible and traumatizing experiences they went through. TOB: I never meant anything of the sort! Of course she’d be able to maintain friendships--she’s quite capable! And yes, I do see what you’re saying about finding romance outside of both extremely close friendships and traumatic experiences. However, Ron and Hermione complement each other in a way that incorporated both romance
and friendship. Could she have had that with Viktor? Possibly. But who did she have a more solid friendship with to build off of? Ron. C: This is going off the idea that the person you meet first is best because they’ve known you longer. People can develop deeper relationships in weeks than they can with people they’ve known for years. TOB: Not what I was saying--if we could take a moment to remember Snape and Lily Evans? They were friends first, but in the end, the love of her life wasn’t the one she’d been friends with for years. In fact, Ron and Hermione had a somewhat similar relationship to James and Lily. The bickering nature of both couples’ friendship made way for something more. C: Hurrah for generational parallels and all that, but Hermione’s bickering friendship with Ron does not necessarily equate to a pleasant bickering romance. TOB: Didn’t it? I seem to recall that they got married… C: If I recall, marriage doesn’t mean a perfect relationship. And I realize that one of the biggest tests of a relationship, especially a marriage, is being able to work through these sort of things. But at some point, you have to cut your losses and do what’s best for you, and I think Hermione’s relationship with Ron works better as a close friendship. TOB: Ah, well, to each her own, I suppose. Though I must say that Ron and Hermione had too many ‘moments’ for there not to be a romantic relationship between them at some point, I can pretend to understand that their friendship could have stayed as such. C: At some point, but not forever. And I appreciate your attempt to placate me. I agree that in the heat of the war and the time after, their relationship makes sense. I simply think that she could have been happy with Viktor, and I’m a sucker for the idea of two people from two completely different backgrounds finding comfort in each other’s company and enhancing each other’s experiences. But I *looks down at the box* Oh dear. Did you see where my frog went? I think it escaped. TOB: Merlin’s pants. Mine’s gone too. *looks around, then looks back at Calypso* Well! I think we should probably leave before we find them! Honeydukes, anyone?
slows down. I want to fall asleep in his warm sweatshirts, so I can be with him even when I sleep. I want our hands to grow flowers, creating miles and miles of breathtaking scenery just So there’s this boy I’m kind of in love with. He’s lifted me so we can bask in their purity. I want to walk along the beach up in times of darkness and made me feel truly alive. When I with him at my side and watch as the sky bleeds into the ocean, and all the fears of the day return to the horizon. I just look into his eyes and the way they crinkle up slightly as he want to see him, even if it’s just once. I want to be able to smiles, I feel like I’m home. Simply hearing his name sends warmth through my veins and I can’t help but smile quietly to reach out, slowly, our fingertips getting closer and closer, onmyself. His voice is angelic and smooth; truly a masterpiece. ly seconds away from touching. My fingers hit the screen, and He is the highlight of my life. I could go on for centuries just I cry out again as I realize that it’s all in my head. I don’t have describing how much I love this boy, but it wouldn’t change any of this with him; it is only through a screen. As my world anything. Words cannot express the utter passion I feel at this breaks down, and I stare through a computer at the boy I love, moment. I want to be with him, to learn all his quirks and all I push away any sense of logic and reality. Right now, my world doesn’t exist. I am consistently creating a fantasy in my his deepest fears. I want to trace my fingertips over his tattoos, feeling the tension break and the world coming down to head, but I don’t care anymore. He is my escape; the air in my lungs. He allows me to live in this false reality, he allows me just us two. I want to be able to press my head against his to keep dreaming. It doesn’t matter that we are separated by a chest just to feel his heart beat, to confirm that we are both alive in the moment, our pulses intertwining as our breathing computer screen.
Through a Screen By Bluejay
Star Trek SPIRK By Athena
Spockura By Hades
A very popular ship in this film is Spirk, a.k.a. Spock (portrayed by Zachary Quinto) and James Kirk (portrayed by Martin Freeman--jkjkjk, Chris Pine). I have to admit, I ship Spirk really hard. A large part is because of the practically canon Spirk found in the original Star Trek TV series (TOS). In TOS, some of the most important Spirk moments are when Kirk manages to elicit emotion from Spock. As a Vulcan, showing emotion is incredibly out of character for Spock; he was brought up to follow logic before all else. Yet Kirk is able to do so multiple times throughout the show. Even within the movies, Kirk elicits emotion from Spock in a way Uhura never really does. **SPOILERS** In the first movie, during the confrontation between Spock and Kirk at the very end, Kirk manages to exploit Spock’s state of emotional compromise, angering him enough to incite Spock to attack him out of rage. Clearly Kirk affects Spock enough to force him to show emotions. Uhura attempts to breach Spock’s emotional barriers during their interaction in the turbo lift; however, Spock remains cool and collected, resisting her attempts to elicit emotion. Uhura does not seem to have the power to affect Spock’s emotions, which does not look good for any budding relationship between them. In the second movie, again Kirk brings out Spock’s emotions. At the moment of Kirk’s death (don’t worry, power of the plot does bring him back to life), Spock cries. This is something that not even the death of his mother and millions of other Vulcans dying didn’t manage to do. That is rather significant, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention his crying is followed by a fit of anger and beating the man responsible for Kirk’s death, Khan, nearly to death. And in this film you see the problems that Spock being emotionless cause for Uhura and Spock’s relationship - the two fight about it at least twice during the movie, and the only time that Uhura manages to influence Spock’s emotions is preventing him from actually killingn Khan—by mentioning that a live Khan can save Kirk. Is it the mention of Kirk rather than Uhura that stops Spock from killing Khan? I think so. As much as I love Uhura, I really don’t ship her with Spock. I don’t think that she and Spock are very compatible - both are quite logical and serious with explosively emotional undercurrents. They both need someone that will balance them out rather than be their exact equal.
Another popular ship, and this one actually canon in this universe, is Spock/Uhura (let it be known that Hades is unsatisfied by any of the suggested ship names on the internet), or Spock and Nyota Uhura (portrayed by Zoe Saldana). Hades: Confession: I’m really not all that attached to Spock/ Uhura, I just think they look kind of hot together. Personally, Spirk is more of a bromance for me, and I think bromances are underappreciated in many fandoms. If two guys have deep emotional attachment, does it have to be romantic? Spock and Kirk have a great relationship, great camaraderie, great chemistry, and a great emotional bond. Well, in real life, I have a great relationship, great camaraderie, great chemistry, and a great emotional bond with Athena. If these things are the only requisites to a non-platonic relationship, clearly Athena and I are doing something wrong. The last point I would like to address is Athena’s argument that Spock and Uhura are incompatible because they’re too similar, and they need someone to balance them out, not be their equal. First, they’re far from identical. Uhura is more prone to expressing her emotions, not repressing them. Yes, she controls herself in professional/life-and-death situations, as she should. But how many times have we seen her express disgust for Kirk? Lose her temper? Show fear and concern? And bear in mind that Uhura is, unfortunately, more a supporting than main character in the films, which means limited screen time devoted to her and her relationship with Spock, as opposed to the copious amount for Kirk and Spock, individually and together. We have no idea how she and Spock got together, what problems they faced, why they were drawn to each other in the first place, whereas we have the whole story for Kirk and Spock. Who knows what opinions would change if we had Uhura and Spock’s whole story? 9
True Love’s High Five By Rabid Fairy Where romance is romanticized And love is such a fragile thing Kisses are toxic against the skin Loving words are as Hollow as a sober man’s pipe There is one thing that is finite An everlasting anchor in the Chaos of the thunderstorm of life The platonic love between to friends A single friend may be ephemeral Like the sun setting beyond the horizon But like the sun that comes back around Friendship will always return The abyss of the midnight sky holds no terror Moonlight and stars Peppering the darkness are reminders That a friend will soon appear Like a celestial being swallowing up the night A friend equates another layer of armor From all things intimidating Someone to hold your hand When you can’t feel your fingers The song of reason when the Cloud of anxiety looms above you Love not only exists between lustful lovers Surrounded by the red hearts of affection It exists between two friends It exists between siblings Love is an ever-lasting quality in the world Whether it’s expressed by the Fairytale true love’s kiss Or the friendly true love’s high five “The Loneliest in Paris,” Photograph by Aceso
The Boy Everyone Loved By Bravery It’s been a while now. I’ve thought about the last time We spoke to each other, You told me I did great On our final project in English. I was nervous about standing In front of the class. I wanted to go last, But you eased me Into going first. You’re always like that, you know? Always making sure others Feel comfortable around you. You have a kind of confidence That I could never achieve, No matter how hard I tried. You crack jokes during class, Silly ones, ones that don’t Really mean anything. But people still laugh, And I’m one of them, Wheezing so hard that My lungs need more air. I remember two girls Who told me they liked you At some point. It’s funny because at that Moment, I wondered why.
Turns out, I didn’t know you As well as I thought. Then at one point, we sat next To each other in the same class, And you made my eyes light up, Kept me on the edge of my seat, Wondering what was Coming up your sleeve. As the months passed, I began liking you more. I loved getting to know The tiny details about you. Then I understood how Those girls fell for you, How they described the way You were so unique, How you could make them Happier with just one smile, How you made them giggle With your dorky dance moves. I’ve told myself several times That I’ve gotten over you. But I don’t think I’ll ever be. Honestly, I don’t think those Two other girls ever Got over you either. I mean, who could? You’re special, Important, Intelligent, Courageous,
Beautiful, even. Inside and out. When I’m older, And I’m sitting on A rocking chair Outside my porch Wearing a yellow sundress, I’ll think of you. I’ll think of you and wonder, Whatever happened to the Boy with the beautiful Brown eyes, The one with a dimple In his cheek And his smile as glorious As Olympus itself. I’ll wonder where you are, Whether you continued Volunteering as a Firefighter, Or you pursued another Dream of yours. I’ll wonder if you’re living Happily with a loving wife And two beautiful children, And I’ll wonder if you’re Truly the same person I knew Those many years ago. People come and go in my life. I’m glad one of them was you.
Decadence By A.T. Pacem i was an aimless wanderer lost to time but at some moments, some instances i felt life again i felt laughter and genuine happiness i felt whole. i saw you and felt something like love or at least something close enough that whenever i saw you my heart jumped from my chest, my hands, my hands they trembled my eyes dilatedmy breath grew short you held me through every war i waged and i knew i knew in your heart you were enraged because i was reckless yet we said nothing and i– i became selfish i was reckless enough not to see
that when i laughed you had tears of sadness running down your face when i felt whole you were pieces of shattered glass it wasn't love i felt but power and i tore you apart limb from limb to your last bone now my eye sockets are hollowed out my soul dormant again i don’t want to imagine your lips or your thoughtful gaze i don’t want to remember your soothing touch and the way you smiled i don’t want to remember your eyes the calm of my stormy soul i don’t want to remember my mistakes and what you turned me into because i broke you
i broke you beyond repair i broke you and i should not be forgiven your glass was stained with an unspoken red what a sin broken hearts are and mine cuts deeper than a knife but you– you feel the pain of a thousand more i wish i didn't stop looking for you because i am too lost and i can’t see where i’ve stopped to sleep i don’t know why it’s so dark and why i can’t breathe there’s an odd warmth on my cheek but i know it’s not you i’m so cold so very, very cold where am i? it seems i've forgotten my role as an aimless wanderer lost to time
Trust in the Track By Vivian Griselda
“Ferris,” Photograph by Aceso
The Ballerina By Iris Rainbow Oh, how I adore the ballerina, Her fair complexion I oversee The supple stance she overruns Her tall and willowy structure Is never bent. The bun that crowns her scalp So perfectly, Every fine blond hair each
Wrapped deftly Her aquamarine blue eyes that Remind me of The miniature swimming pool Layered in each iris Her petite nose that matches Her gorgeous eyes set perfectly On her framed face The carnation pink uniform That twinkles when she moves Oh, how I want to be like her, But I am just the janitor
I’ve never been quite sure about who I am, Just a confused girl lost in the shadows of a set plan. Defining who she is through the scantron of an exam, Longing for the taste of a sweet romance from a man. For the acceptance of a foe, And the respect of an elder, Praying for something spectacular To come and show her the way, Perhaps a sparkling light that could indicate a miracle. Diaries and chords that were as broken as the soul, Rushing through my blood giving me the strength to rise. So I’ve finally found what makes me feel whole, Apparently what you’re destined for isn’t the real prize. Ridiculed among the ruins and strung along the strings, Even when I’ve realized it’s this Spontaneous dream that I want. Somehow I’m surrounded in A circle of domineering things, Saying, ‘silly sweetheart’, A fantasy so absurd isn’t even worth such a thought. I’m finally quite sure about who I am, But no one can ever accept a confident girl Without a set plan. 11
Nostalgia by Luna Moon Sparkles I have Lived life on the run, Rarely looking back at all. Never saw the point. It's just a bunch of old, wasted Emotions. What's the point anyway? I could be conquering the world in that time. But as I am growing older, I have some need to reconnect with the past. I don't know whether it's fear or Something confrontational inside me. Whatever it is I must destroy it. Nostalgia is overrated. “Muddled Heart,” Photograph by Aceso
Decadence (Pt. II) By A.T. Pacem we are aimless wanderers lost to time yet in the midst of pain and cold and despair
you found me buried the coffin i lay in beneath the ground i saw a marble statue instead of glass when i saw you i saw beauty
rebirth, strength, power and when you picked me up i couldn't look at you because now i was the glass i was the glass and i wanted you to drop me shattered is what i sought to be.
Decadence (Pt. III) By A.T. Pacem
when i wake up and see you i trace your lips with my thumb and watch as you open your eyes to kiss my palm and i smile i smile so widely you laugh, and i feel your lips on mine your calloused hands on my cheeks and i cant help but laugh im laughing and knowing how terribly we missed out on this but a day anew is a day to be loved a day for me to hold your hand as we walk down the streets of tomorrow down cobbled streets of Italy and sleek sidewalks of London absolutely anywhere because you are my adventure my essence and everything i could've imagined love could be i love you and oh... how sweet it feels when you say “I love you.” 12
“The Start of Something New,” Photograph by Winter
The Amour Effect
“To Halcyon Days,” Illustration by Japanda3
By Janus My elementary school celebrated Valentine’s Day with gusto. We were encouraged to wear pink, bring in candy, and play festive activities. On Valentine’s Day, I exchanged cards and candy with my classmates, and afterwards we raced to the playground for recess. I ran to the swing set with my friend Jess and clambered onto my favorite swing, a worn one with rusty chains. I gripped my feet against the ground and pushed myself forward. With each push, I gained momentum, and as I lifted off the ground, I grinned. As I swung, I saw a gray plane zooming across the sky, flying surprisingly low. I squinted at it, and as I did, the bottom of the plane opened up. Tiny objects fell towards us, and I realized that they were going to land onto the playground. I pushed off my swing and landed on the ground, slightly unsteady. Jess was already looking upwards, her mouth agape. The recess monitors stared at the sky and jabbered into their walkie-talkies. Before any of us realized it, the first wave of Cupid’s Arrows had landed. They hit the grass softly, with barely a whisper. Hundreds dropped on pavement, cars, and roofs, littering the school like torn bubblegum wrappers. One landed right in front of me. Cautiously, I bent down and looked at it. It was a thin, clear container the size of a chapstick. A pink gas was swirling inside. It looked like an arrow, with a red heart tip, and red fletching on the bottom. On the container was inscribed tiny golden words, Happy Valentine’s Day! I backed away from the “arrow” just as the pink gas started to seep out of it along with the smell of heady perfume. The monitors and teachers yelled at us to go inside, but it was too late. Jess and many other children were sprayed with the gas, and I would’ve been too if I hadn’t backed away just in time. At first, the wispy gas rising out of the “arrows” seemed harmless, until my friends started to scream. Jess clawed at her face, before collapsing onto the ground. I shrieked and ran, almost tripping over my own feet to get away. The teachers seemed to be collapsing
too, and the gas was spreading further. I pulled part of my pink sweater over my mouth and tried to run as fast as I could away from the gas. As I reached the trees that bordered the school’s fence, I looked back, watching in horror as my school was covered in layers of pink mist and became lost in its haze. I screamed and tried to scramble over the decrepit fence. Despite not being very strong, I hoisted myself over the fence and dropped onto the other side of it like a stone. I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked of me. I dragged myself up and started running again. I have to go back to my house, I thought, thinking of my mother, who stays at home with my little brother. Mom would know what to do. My house was about a mile from the school, so I decided the best course of action would be to go there. As I got farther away from school, I saw more and more concentrated areas of “arrows” lying in manicured yards and scattered in the streets. I heard no cars on the road. Luckily, all of the “arrows” were empty. Still numb from what I saw the gas do to my friends, I tied my jacket over my mouth and nose. My nose itched from the mist’s nauseating smell, and I tried not to throw up thinking about it. On the way, I couldn’t help but cry. Every few minutes I would stop to wipe my nose on my sleeve and let out a sob. After about twenty minutes of walking, I saw a car. It was stalling in the middle of the road, black tire tracks left behind it. Smoke oozed from the tailpipe in languid puffs. The driver’s window was smashed, but as I approached the car warily,
the car door creaked open. “Hello? Are you okay?” I tried to whisper, but only a squeak came out. The man smiled at me, his grin stretching as far as humanly possible. I noticed the bleeding scratch marks on his face and arms. He didn’t answer, but giggled, a high-pitched unnatural sound. I backed away, one step back, then another. He pounced at me, and I found myself the recipient of a bear hug by this middle-aged man. “Stop! Get off me! Stop!” I cried, Finding a new reserve of strength, I managed to push him off me. He fell to the ground weakly, chuckling to himself. By the time he got to his feet, I was already running as fast as I could. He didn’t follow, but I knew he was watching me go, still smiling widely. After a five minutes and no more incidents, I got to my house. I started to cry again and stumbled across my lawn, covered with “arrows”, to the front door. I sniffled as I reached for the spare key, hidden under a flower pot. I tried to compose myself before opening the door. I bet Mom and Jeremy are O.K. They’ll be inside and be normal, and everything will be O.K. I fumbled with the key but steadied my shaking hands enough to open the door. With a quiet click, the door opened, and I crept into my house. “Mommy? Jeremy?” It was silent except for a muffled sound that seemed to come from the kitchen. I stepped into the doorway. Mom was singing. That was it! The tune sounded so familiar. As I
stepped into the house, the floorboards creaked. The singing stopped. “Maggie, are you home from school already?” Her voice was sickly sweet, like cloying honey. This wasn’t my mother. I froze as she walked into the room. Her face and neck was covered in long, deep scratches, and drops of blood had pooled on her shirt. She held my baby brother Jeremy, also covered in marks. I saw behind her that the kitchen window was open, the curtains blowing in the breeze. She and my brother were infected. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when times are gray,” she sang, Jeremy cooing with her. That was the song she was singing. The song she used to whisper to me when I was being tucked into bed. She knew I was coming home. I ran out of my house, and I felt her follow me, her feet thumping against the floorboards. “You’ll never know dear…” I ran faster, already halfway to the next block. She stopped following but was staring at me. She waved at me, and smiled. “How much I love you…” Tears welled up in my eyes, but instead of crying, I started to snicker. I wondered how much of the gas was still around in the air. I laughed maniacally, tears streaming from my eyes. My face began to burn and itch, and without thinking, I scratched my cheeks, my forehead, my chin…I collapsed to the ground in a fit of giggles. “Please don’t take my sunshine away…” 13
11 Reasons Why Scira is better than Scallison (warning: contains spoilers)
The two of them bond over the fact that Kira’s a kitsune and Scott’s a werewolf. Allison, on the other hand, comes from a family of werewolf hunters. By Rabid Fairy 5. Even though both of them could potentially be monstrous, neither of them believes the other is a bad guy. They have 1. While neither is great, Scira is a better full faith in each other. ship name than Scallison. Scallison sounds like it’s trying to say “scalding” 6. They’re always going out of their way to protect each other. or “scab.” Gross. 7. Allison went on a murderous rampage 2. Scott and Kira are awkward and cute. and tried to kill half of Scott’s friends What’s better than awkward and cute because she believed that they were to 3. They go for rides on Scott’s motorcycle blame for her mom’s death. Kira never together and look super rad. tried to murder any of Scott’s friends, 4. Like Scott, Kira knows the struggles of even when one of them was possessed being a teenage mythological creature.
8.
9. 10. 11.
by an evil spirit – an evil spirit that was trying to kill everyone, even Kira’s mom. Scott and Kira both play lacrosse. Every lacrosse game is like a super cute date where they can destroy the other team together. Kira did hours of bardo research for Scott even though he didn’t ask her to. Whenever one of them or their friends is threatened, Scott and Kira work as a team to get rid of the threat. Basically, they’re rad as heck and are there for each other. Why wouldn’t you ship them?
The Fruit of Death By Zenyatta
The fruit of death, A poison so strong, That once eaten they are You don't have very long To say good-bye, To hug once more. Death will quickly come by And you'll leave through the door.
The fruit of death, The ender of life. Just one last breath Will escape your lips. I will close m eyes, Welcome Death tonight. But I'll have to give The cloaked boatman a tip.
This is Not a Romantic Poem By Anonymous This is not a romantic poem, Though it is about a boy I once liked. I will not speak of my adoration of him, Him and his boyish smile. This is not about my affection For his hair that could never be tamed. I will not discuss how I cherished Every minute spent by his side. The purpose of this is not to expound Upon all his faults that I found so dear. My intention is not to reminisce Over those secret moments that we shared. And most of all, most important of all, I will never, ever, ever reveal to you How I wept, how I cried, how I ached, When at last he broke my heart. 14
“Don’t Eat The Berries,” Photograph by Calypso
Carnival Tail: Five By Calypso The glass of the tank cracked. Then it shattered. Water rushed out, carrying me with it and leaving me sprawled out on the parched ground. People cried out, clutching their still -ringing ears as my screech reverberated in their minds. I gasped, the dry air stinging my throat and gills. Ignoring the burning in my throat, I half-slithered, half-crawled forward, but before I could make it ten meters, the ground began to shake. Turning, I flinched as two-dozen centaurs galloped towards me. Several leapt over me, and I shrunk back, trying to keep from being trampled. Muddied water and dirt flew up, splashing my body and coating my skin. Raising one arm in a futile attempt to protect myself, I kept moving, my heart pounding as hard as the centaurs’ hooves. The humans began to stir, but they were drowned out by a throaty roar and a goat’s bleat. An agonized scream accompanied it, and a human stumbled out from the back room, clutching its face. The skin on its arms and neck had been burned away, exposing pink and red and even tinges of white. The human lowered its hands for a moment, and the entire tent held a collective breath as we took in the remains of the human’s eyes, which were little more than inflamed sockets. Then pandemonium broke loose. The chimera bounded into the tent, pausing as it entered. Its tails spat venom into the back room of the tent, and the shadowy figures of carnival workers huddled behind crates and racks of costumes, whips in hand but useless against the corrosive venom that was already eating away at the metal racks and wooden boxes. The humans screamed as they pushed past each other, shoving, kicking, and clawing at anyone who got in their way. Those who had made it to the ground maneuvered their way through the mess of centaurs, some running towards the exit, others trying to escape the chimera, which prowled the edges of the tent, disrupting the flow of humans as they tried to escape. Every few meters, it would pounce at the stands, spitting venom at the unfortunate humans who had so desperately been trying to get to the bottom. The lucky ones scrambled back in time, but most were sprayed. Those who were collapsed, writhing in pain and clutching their burning
skin. As the chimera continued on, the humans began running back up the stands in anticipation, but most only crashed into those trying to go down, creating a bigger target for the chimera. Realizing that the chimera wasn’t targeting them, the centaurs fled, but the small entrance slowed their escape. The humans who’d made it past the chimera also tried to escape, but they slowed the centaurs, its collective weight and strength pushing the centaurs and threatening their balance. Seeing the mess, I looked for another escape route. The back room caught my eye, and I turned, grunting as my tail dragged behind me. The muddied ground made it easier to move my tail, but it also prevented me from placing all my weight on my hands without the fear of slipping. Small circles of pastel light zipped into the tent, and violent chimes were audible above the centaur’s thundering hooves, the chimera’s roars and bleats, and the humans’ cries of fear. The fairies escaped through the top flap of the tent, but not before they cast confusion spells on the audience. The humans’ movements slowed, and their coordination became nearly nonexistent as they stumbled about, their brains unable to translate any sensory information. Those who had been burned were able to move, but their motions were without sense or reason. They collided with each other and wandered into the paths of the centaurs, slowing their escape. Growing bored with the easy targets that the humans provided, the chimera turned its gaze to the rest of the tent. The chimera’s lion head turned to face me, and I scrambled back only scream as a centaur’s hoof clipped my right shoulder. Had I been human, the blow would have shattered the bone, but I wasn’t nearly as fragile. Still, pulsing pain radiated from the shoulder, and when I tried to put weight on my right hand, my right arm collapsed beneath me. I winced as a human kneed the back of my head, tripping over me and tumbling to the ground. The poor child glanced at me, paralyzed with fear as I snarled, grabbing at its clothes with my sharpened nails. An older woman yanked the child up from the ground and sprinted off. The humans seemed to have had the same idea as me. Recognizing the futile efforts of those trying to escape through the main exit, many began moving towards the back
room. Through the sea of bodies, I saw several carnival workers rushing through the crowd, cornering a centaur. Recognizing Cispen, I called out his name, and his ears pricked before his eyes turned towards me. He reared back on his hind legs, kicking his front legs and knocking the workers back with his hooves. Breaking through the circle they’d attempted to make around him, he began wading through the crowd, trying his best to keep his balance as people slammed into him. “Where is my sister?” Cispen demanded. “Wasn’t she in the performance?” Before he could respond, an earshattering—and it was truly terrible for me to consider it so—scream pierced the air. Cispen and I looked around for the source, and we saw a fallen centaur. His hay-colored horse body was lying on its side, and all but one of its legs kicked at the air. The fourth twitched, bent at an unnatural angle. Several humans lay pinned beneath the centaur, and several more had stumbled back, one of whom had knocked over a torch while doing so. My eyes widened as the fire caught on the tent. I stared at the flames, entranced and unable to move as my mind attempted to process what was happening. The flames crept around the perimeter, catching on both flaps of the tent door. Some still ran through, their clothes and hair catching fire before they fell to the ground, rolling as others smothered them with cloth. Feeling the heat seep into my skin, my chest tightened, and I regained control of myself. I looked up at Cispen. He shifted his weight back and forth, his eyes darting around the tent as he looked for another exit. I followed his gaze, and both sets of eyes locked on a slit in the tent behind the stands. The fire hadn’t reached it yet, and the humans were focused on the main and back room exits. “Cispen!” I reached my hands up, and he frowned at me. My stomach twisting in desperation, I begged, “Please!” He hesitated, the muscles in his arms flexing as he met my gaze. “Where’s my sister?” he asked again as humans ran past us. “I don’t know, but I won’t be able to help you find her if we’re both dead.” “But it’s only you who cannot run,” he said, his eyes colder than a plunge in an iced-over pond.
“Cispen,” I said again, my voice breaking as tears rose in my throat. “Please. I can’t die here. Not like this. Please.” He stared down at me imperiously. Looking at the iron bands on my wrist, he asked, “Why should I not leave you here?” “Cispen, please, I’m not the enemy. I’m not—” I coughed as smoke caught in my gills. My voice weak, I managed a pitiful, “Please…” I coughed again, closing my eyes to the smoke that was filling the tent. A warm hand closed on my arm, hauling me up and slinging me over Cispen’s back. I barely had a chance to right myself and wrap my arms around his chest before he neighed, rearing back to clear the area of humans. Clinging onto him, I tightened my core in a vain attempt to keep myself from slipping. He galloped through the crowd, knocking humans out of the way. If he heard the snaps of their bones or the shrieks of their pain, he gave no acknowledgment of it. The fire was creeping towards the slit in the tent, but he slowed, making careful progress up the stands lest he slip and kill us both. My right arm was useless, but the muscles in my left arm burned as every step attempted to cast me off his back. Desperate, I clung on, digging my fingernails into his skin. Once Cispen reached the top, I looked down to see the carnival workers, each carrying a short spear, attempting to circle the chimera. The beast’s tails darted this way and that, spitting venom in every direction it could and keeping the workers at bay. Its footing was unsure, but it roared and bleated, trying and failing to frighten the workers into submission. The remaining humans lay dead or immobilized, broken bones or severe burns preventing them from escaping. Two other centaurs noticed Cispen at the top of the stands, and they charged through the workers, following Cispen up to the top. One lagged behind the other, its scraggly dappled chestnut coat covered in scars from iron chains and whippings. Once more, an iron chain wrapped around its hind ankle, yanking it back and pulling it through the gaps in the stands. Several sickening crunches rang out along with the centaur’s screams, and the workers rushed towards the stands, chains and whips in their hands.
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Cispen glanced at the other centaur, and they both looked at their injured friend. “Go!” the injured centaur urged, and Cispen and the other nodded. They took a running start along the top of the stands, racing the flames towards the open slit. My tail slid off Cispen, and I grabbed on with my right hand despite the pain shooting up my arm, tightened every muscle in my upper half to hang onto Cispen as he leapt off the stands and through the slit. The impact of landing shook me off, and I gasped as the air was knocked out of my lungs. I was dazed, but I could still see smoke billowing up from the tent that was still being consumed by the flames. My skin tight from the heat, I felt a familiar tingling in my tail before I screamed, my arms collapsing as my bottom half split into two. The bones shifted and cracked, and I resisted a sob as two legs replaced my tail. “Here, ocean sister,” the other centaur said, holding out his hand. The change over, I shakily took his hand, and he hauled me to my feet. The initial weight hurt almost as much as the transformation itself, but I managed to stand, leaning against the flank of the dun centaur, without any further tears. “Where are the others?” the other centaur asked. “Already escaped. Have you seen Aurelia?” Cispen asked, but the other shook his head. “Not since she was taken away from the post.” “Very well,” Cispen said, but the other centaur grabbed his arm before he could move. Snarling, Cispen asked, “What?” “We need to escape. There may never another chance,” the centaur said. Turning to me, he asked, “Can you ride?” “I’ll figure something out,” I assured him. “Come on,” the centaur insisted. “We can always return for her.” “I promised—” “She’ll understand if you leave. But she’ll never forgive you if she finds out that you had the chance to escape and didn’t take it because of her.” I nodded in agreement, and Cispen grit his teeth before spitting, “Fine. But we return as soon as we can for her. Agreed?” The other centaur and I nodded, and Cispen offered me his hand to help me onto his back. The dun cen-
taur lifted me from behind and helped secure my posture once I was seated. Clinging onto Cispen, I said, “Let’s go.” “Over here! Two centaurs and—” a worker began, appearing in the alley created by the two main tents. When neither centaur slowed, he dove out of the way, and we continued on. Flying embers from the main tent were landing on neighboring tents, and a soft wind picked up, strengthening and spreading the flames even further. I bit back tears as my pelvic bone slammed into Cispen’s back with each gallop, but I forced myself to focus on keeping my weak leg muscles tight around his sides. We entered the main street of the carnival, pushing past humans trying to escape the conflagration that was consuming the entire carnival. Ahead, I saw the gates of the carnival. Boot prints, footprints, and hoof-prints were stamped into the ground, but they diverged once they left the carnival grounds. The boot prints veered left, following a path leading to a village, but the others led towards the river. Cispen and the other centaur followed the latter. I grimaced as the wind rushed through my hair and bit at my exposed skin. Air was unpleasant enough, but in such strength, it was enough to bring me to tears. Or perhaps it was just the dryness clawing at my eyes. Either way, I squinted and blinked, keeping my head down
“Centaur,” Illustration by Hecate
in an attempt to shield myself from the wind. I was so focused on the wind that I nearly fell off when Cispen shifted his weight and veered left, following the hoof-prints into the forest. Cispen and the other centaur slowed once they passed the tree line, and Cispen sniffed the air, pawing the ground before announcing, “They went east.” “East?” the other centaur asked, frowning and bending down to search for signs of his kin. “Are you sure?” “Positive,” Cispen said, but the other centaur refused to straighten. “Come. We must hurry if we’re to catch up with them.” The other centaur glanced at me. I shrugged, unaccustomed to the woods and to tracking land animals, and the centaur turned back to Cispen and nodded. We continued onwards, staying quiet in the hopes of hearing the others. “Perhaps we should turn back and track them by some other means,” the other centaur suggested after nearly half an hour with little progress. “They got a decent head start on us,” Cispen insisted. “They’ll be here. I know what I smelled, and my senses are never wrong.” “Did they have any fairies with them?” I asked, and both centaurs froze. They glanced at each other before Cispen crossed his arms and
admitted, “Perhaps.” “Well, then, perhaps they didn’t think you’d be the ones trying to follow them,” I said, crossing my arms. “We should try retracing our steps.” “Very well,” Cispen grumbled. We returned to the entrance of the forest, but neither of them could sense anything. “Perhaps we should wait until their spells wear off,” I suggested. “Or at least until they weaken. How long do they last?” “It depends on the strength of the fairy and the number of spells cast,” the other centaur said. “It could last for several hours or several days.” “Then there’s little else we can do besides wait,” I pointed out. “We’re all injured. We need time to recover, anyway.” After a few minutes of searching, we found a small clearing. Cispen agreed to take first watch, and I curled up against the centaur’s flank, wishing I had better protection against the cold. My entire body shivered, but eventually I was able to fall asleep. It barely felt like minutes when a splitting pain awoke me. Something had dug into my side, and when I shifted to look at it, barbs inside my body made me scream in pain. I recognized the burned sensation of iron, and my stomach sank as I heard men's voices closing in on us.
To Be Continued...