#it’s only a mater of time before we get someone getting whisked off on a large adventure

[gt-squirrel]

When am I getting my g/t isakai?

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - prologue - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The auditorium clapped loudly and Elide could hear her friend’s cheers as she finished her valedictorian speech for the Fenharrow University School of International Relations. She smiled brightly, accepting the gold plaque that the dean held out to her and posing for the photographer. 

Elide waved as she walked off the stage. She didn’t have time to wait for the other announcements - Ress was already trying to hurry her up - but she managed to catch Asterin and Yrene’s eyes, blowing them both a kiss and waving. 

She made a note to ask Lysandra if she could fly them both out over the summer. Elide knew she’d be busy, with the title and the official resignation of her uncle, but hopefully she could sneak a weekend away before the ceremony, which they were both coming for anyway. 

“Miss Lochan, we really–” 

“Ress, I told you to call me Elide,” she reminded the young man, smirking at the way he blushed. He was Aelin’s favourite guard and her most trusted, which was probably why he’d been sent to collect her from university and whisk her back to Perranth. 

Ress cleared his throat, “Of course. Elide, we need to hurry. The plane is waiting.” 

She smiled and followed him through the back halls. Ress led her out to the street, where a black SUV was waiting. He opened the door for her and Elide smiled her thanks, sighing in relief once she was sitting. 

A bag was on the seat next to her. Elide rolled up the partition just as Ress started the car, pulling smoothly away from the curb to the airport. 

She changed into a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a hoodie from her now alma mater. Then, she rolled down the partition again, leaning forward to rest her forearms against it and her chin on her wrists. “So,” Elide cackled when Ress jumped, spooked by her proximity, “how’s Terrasen?” 

“It’s very good,” he replied, slowing to a stop at a red light. Elide took the opportunity to crawl through to the passenger seat. “Miss Lochan- Elide, stop that! It’s not safe for you to be up here!” 

“Oh, come on! I know you have bulletproof windows and the windshield is too,” she argued, relenting by buckling her seatbelt. Elide continued, adding, “Plus, if someone does shoot at me, you’re closer to throw your body in front of mine to save me.” 

Ress rolled his eyes in jest and the light turned green. “Your logic is impeccable as always, milady.” 

Elide punched his shoulder for that, cursing when her ineffectual blow was met with solid muscle, “Fuck me, you couldn’t be a bit softer for when I punch you?” 

He just laughed and continued driving. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The plane started to rumble beneath her and Elide gripped the armrest tightly, her long, black acrylics digging into the plush, cream-coloured leather. Despite being a regular flier, she never had gotten used to the sudden lurch in her stomach as the glorified tin can sped up and shot into the sky. 

Landing was easier, but only by a smidgen. 

Elide kept her eyes screwed shut until a soft ding sounded, indicating that they had reached cruising altitudes. She let out a long breath, opening her eyes to look out the window as they flew away from Bellhaven. 

The stewardess came by with tea and a sandwich for both Elide and Ress, who was sitting in the comfortable chair opposite hers. Elide thanked her and started on her tea while Ress practically inhaled his sandwich. 

Elide snorted and handed him hers. When he declined, she insisted, “C’mon. I’m not hungry, we went to the diner to see Sorscha anyway, just take it.” He conceded, obviously making an effort to eat it slower as Elide stirred her tea. 

She watched him curiously and sipped from her tea. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” Ress muttered, his cheeks pinking. 

“I’m not staring at you,” she replied loftily. Elide placed her cup to the side and rested her elbow on her armrest, propping her chin on her fist. “Are you still seeing that boy?” 

Ress choked on a bite of food and coughed. When he finally got his breath back, he shook his head, “Did Aelin say- is the sandwich a bribe?”

Elide gasped, “So there is a boy, I knew it!” 

“Don’t you have preparations to look over,” he shot back at her, eyeing the manila folder on the tray next to her. 

Elide sighed and gave him a dirty look up as she picked up the smooth packet, looking at the shiny seal, her family’s crest staring up at her. Ress took it as his exit and practically fled. Elide called after him, “This isn’t over, Ress!” 

“Oh, yes it is!” he yelled back, collapsing into a seat facing away from her and slinking down so she couldn’t even see his brown-haired head. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide smoothed her hands over her white tweed jacket, fingering the button stamped with a double C. She turned to appraise the matching pants.

Her hair was curled, clipped back and resting over one shoulder. As usual her makeup was done to perfection - she had long since perfected the barely-there look - and Elide decided to finish the look off with a dark black lip that matched the piping of her suit. 

Someone knocked on the bathroom door, “Elide? Captain says we need to return to our seats.” 

“I’ll be right out,” she called back, testing her ankle. She had gotten the necessary surgeries two months after she turned eighteen and had control over her medical needs. Since the injury and subsequent abuse due to her uncle’s refusal for medical attention, it would never heal to what it once was, but Elide was diligent about her physio-therapy, so she could usually go without her brace unless she was exercising. 

Elide packed her bags up and walked out, stashing them on her carry-on before sliding into her seat and buckling her seatbelt. 

Ress smiled at her, tilting his head to the window, “Welcome home, Duchess of Perranth.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Ress half covered her from the press as she walked off the plane and across the tarmac. “Elide, I don’t want you being too open.” 

“I’ll just smile and wave,” she argued, flashing him a blinding smile as she stepped around him and waved, “What’s the point of looking this good if I can’t show off?” 

He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like Aelin is rubbing off on you. Elide laughed and approached the fence, bending down to accept the bouquet from a little girl dressed to the nines in a tulle dress and a tiara. “Oh, thank you. I love peonies,” Elide said, “and your tiara, it’s beautiful.” 

The little girl beamed, flashing where she was missing her top front teeth, and then ran back to her mother, who shared a warm smile with Elide. 

Elide waved once more and dodged Remelle DuBois, one of the countless entertainment reporters who spent her days chasing down royals and their family members. She had always been too… friendly with Rowan. Remelle wasn’t one for subtlety and was a vocal critic of Aelin’s policies. 

Elide had always doubted it had anything with her cousin’s skills as a competent monarch. 

Ress ushered her away before Remelle could sink her claws into Elide and showed her into yet another SUV, its windows tinted black. 

Elide stayed glued to the window for the entire drive. She always returned to Perranth during her breaks, but that reading week back in February, she had been too busy with midterms and couldn’t find the time to fly out. 

She had missed her home more than she thought possible and drank in the sights as Ress drove through the city. The castle was a short ten minute drive from the city limits and Elide looked excitedly at the landmarks telling her she was getting closer and closer. 

They turned onto a nondescript road. After a minute of thick forest - strategically grown as a natural defence - the rolling green hills of the property came into view. Elide gasped happily at the sight of the soaring towers. 

When Ress parked in the roundabout driveway, Elide didn’t bother waiting for one of the footmen to open her door before she was hopping out. A familiar pair stood at the top of the limestone steps, next to Vernon, who looked at Elide with a slight sneer.

Aelin smiled and managed to contain herself as the majordomo announced, “Her Royal Grace, Elide Amara Lochan of Perranth.” 

There was a short trumpet fanfare played as Elide walked up the steps. She thanked Anneith that it was customary to address the queen and king consort before any other royal. Elide curtsied formally, bowing her head before Aelin and Rowan. 

Their arresting eyes were both filled with mild amusement at the formality of it all. “Welcome home, Elide,” Aelin said, leaning in to kiss both her cheeks and squeeze her hands. In a soft whisper, she said, “I’m so proud of you, my love.” 

Elide mouthed Thank you and turned to Rowan, breaking protocol to throw her arms around his shoulders. The silver-haired man laughed deeply and hugged her back, kissing the top of her head, “Hey, Ellie.” 

“Hi, Ro,” she croaked. They had grown even closer and it wouldn’t be remiss to call Rowan her best friend. Vernon cleared his throat obnoxiously and Rowan reluctantly put her down, never happy to relinquish his protective hold on her around her uncle. 

Elide patted his bicep, telling him she was fine. She dipped her head, internalising her smirk at the indignation on Vernon’s face when she hardly bowed. “Uncle, it’s lovely to see you again.” 

He gave her a slimy smile and Elide visibly stiffened when he grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles, his grip near crushing. “My sentiments exactly, niece.” 

Aelin’s personal assistant, Lysandra, appeared, smiling widely. “Elide, I thought I heard your name.” 

“Hi, Lyss,” she said, hugging the green eyed beauty warmly. “Oh, I missed you.” 

“I missed you,” Lysandra answered before drawing back. “Now that we’ve all said hello, why don’t we move this inside?” 

They all chuckled and followed her as she led them through the front doors, thanking the doormen with a dazzling grin. The moment the doors shut behind them, Aelin squealed and threw herself at Elide, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, it’s like it’d kill you to visit your poor cousin - you know how I loathe spending my days with stuffy old men.” 

Elide laughed, “You’re the one who insisted I finish my degree before assuming the title.” Tears pricked her eyes, “I missed you, Ace. You have to tell me what you’ve been up to.” 

Aelin pulled away, looping her arm through Elide’s, “It’s been a busy year. Most of my meetings are about you, you know. It takes a lot to prepare for your–” The blonde was interrupted by a derisive snort, poorly disguised by a cough. Slowly, she turned to face Vernon. “Have a cold, do you?” 

“No, no, I’m quite alright.” He cleared his throat, “I thought I might be more involved with the preparations, that’s all. If I may, how far along are the plans?” 

Elide glanced between her uncle and her cousin, feeling dread settle in the pit of her stomach. 

“...quite far. Why do you ask?” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want to get ahead of ourselves.” 

Elide tugged Aelin along before she could snap back a snarky response, “I think we can discuss this later. I’m rather tired and would like to get settled.” 

Aelin looked ready to fight, but softened after Elide’s pleading look, “Of course. I have a surprise for you, El.” 

The tension eased from her shoulders as their party moved swiftly, leaving Vernon in their wake. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin insisted on keeping Elide’s eyes closed as they moved through the halls. 

Elide was sure her cousin purposefully took her all over, so she had no idea where they had ended up. “Ae, come on, let me see!” 

“Ok, ok, ready?” 

“For the love of the gods, yes!” 

Aelin pulled her hands away and stepped away. Elide exhaled sharply, “This- it’s my parents rooms.” She looked in confusion at Aelin, not understanding what was happening. “Wh-what?” 

Aelin shrugged, “Since you’re about to be the duchess, I thought it might be more appropriate for you to live here instead of your old rooms.” 

Elide reached out, squeezing Aelin’s hand. She hadn’t spent much time in the rooms since her parents died - no one had. Vernon had once mentioned moving in, but after Elide objected by refusing to eat, he relented and they remained empty. “Thank you, love.” 

Aelin beamed, “The pleasure is all mine. Now,” she put a hand on the handle, turning it to the side, “shall we?” 

Nodding, Elide braced herself as Aelin opened the door and she walked in, taking in the entry hall. A flash of black, brown, and white fur shot towards her. 

She managed to keep on her feet as Bear crashed into her, the large pup’s body wiggling uncontrollably in excitement. Elide laughed and kicked off her precarious heels, crouching down to hug her dog. “Hi, Bear, oh, hi, lovie.” 

Bear barked excitedly, her fluffy tail whipping back and forth, coming close to toppling the hall stand and the vase placed there for Elide’s flowers. The house she had rented with Asterin, Sorscha, and Yrene hadn’t allowed pets, so Bear stayed in Orynth with Fleetfoot. 

The fluffy Bernese Mountain dog butted her big head into Elide’s hands, asking for pets. Elide laughed and scratched her floppy ears, “Were they treating you well in the castle? Yeah?” 

Bear growled playfully, nipping at Elide’s hand before moving past her to the door and sitting expectantly. Elide stood and dusted off her pants, chuckling at her eagerness, “Not now, Bear. I just got home!” 

“Speaking of,” Aelin said, patting Bear’s head, “let me show you what I’ve done!” 

Elide faked a groan and let herself be dragged over through the entry hall, noticing the new armchairs placed around the table. She waited excitedly as Aelin dramatically flung the double doors open to her bedroom, “Welcome!” 

Stepping in, Elide took in the opulence of her room. It was painted a pastel mint and cream. She smiled, looking at the large bed in the middle of the room, its wooden frame edged in gold with a diamond-tufted headboard. 

Pillows upon pillows practically overtook the bed, the sheets a neutral white. Aelin stood nervously by the bed, running her hand along the soft throw blanket, “I got the white just in case you wanted to change it, you can. And we can repaint this, too, of course. And–”

“Aelin, really, it’s amazing. I love it,” Elide said, turning to take in the floor-to-ceiling bookcase flanking the fireplace and large, flat screen television. There was a white armchair by the wall of windows, the middle two Elide knew were French doors that opened to the balcony that oversaw the courtyard and the gardens. 

The queen smiled softly and beckoned her over to the closet, “And this is a little birthday present, just from me to you, ok?” 

Elide bit her lip to contain her smile as Aelin opened the door with a flourish, “Ta-da!” 

She walked in, her mouth dropping as she took in the racks of clothes in the walk-in dressing room. There was a full length mirror that lit up when Elide touched it and she gasped, whirling to look at the clothes hanging. “Oh my gods, Aelin.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, let me show you this,” Aelin said, drawing her attention to the island in the middle of the room. She pressed a button and after a slick hiss, drawers popped open, sliding out to display accessories and beautiful jewellery. 

“Oh, Aelin, it’s beautiful,” Elide gushed, most excited about the wall of shoes and purses. She pulled Aelin into another hug, “Thank you for everything, Ace. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” 

Too overcome with emotion to say a word, Aelin just returned the embrace and they stayed there for a while, trapped in the moment. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide sighed calmly as she sipped a glass of wine, holding a tattered paperback in the other hand.

She rested her feet on the opposite lip of the sunken bath, tapping her toes to the rhythm in her head. The bathroom door was nudged open and big paws padded against the marble tiles. Elide smiled, turning to look at Bear as she rested her head on edge of the tub and whined softly. 

Laughing, Elide put her glass and book down. “Have I not paid enough attention to you?” she asked, lovingly stroking her hand over Bear’s head. The dog huffed through her nose, making her eyes big and wide. 

Elide laughed again, leaning over to kiss the top of Bear’s head, “I missed you too, Bear.” She reclined further back as Bear slumped to the floor, her chin resting on her paws. It seemed for the first time in Elide’s life, the future was clear and nothing could ruin that for her.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: i hope u liked her 🥺 next chapter is fun ! really really quite fun hehe

@mythicaitt​​ @tinywolfofeyllwe​​ @schmlip-scribble​​ @the-regal-warrior​​ @empire-of-wildfire​​ @ladyverena​​ @ttakeitbacknoww​​ @shyvioletcat​​ @alifletcher2012​​​ @tswaney17​​ @ourbooksuniverse​​ e @flora-and-fae​​ @thesirenwashere​​ @queenofxhearts​​ @maastrash​​ @mynewdreamwasyou​​ @cursebreaker29​​ @empress-ofbloodshed​​ @b00kworm​​ @hizqueen4life​​ @silversprings98​​ @amren-courtofdreams​​ @minaidss​​ @superspiritfestival​ @januarystears​ 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part nine)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7  Part 8

Word count: 10,088

TW: Blood and gore

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

-Alma Mater-

  “We found these in the dumpster behind what’s left of the gym.”

Bessie recoiled so sharply in disgust she nearly fell backwards out of her chair when Mulaney dumped several pieces of paper onto the table in front of her. She looked at the pile as if it were made of actual human hearts, wrinkling up her nose.

  “I can’t believe you touched those!” She exclaimed in an almost humorously repulsed way. “They’re probably swimming with diseases.” 

  “Recognize them?” Mulaney asked, sitting across from her.

  “They’re prom ballots,” Bessie said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m the one who Xeroxed them.”

  “According to these, Ruby and Leila won prom king and queen.”

Bessie blinked at Mulaney in shock, as if he had just told her the secrets of the universe. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish caught on a hook, then she sputtered out, “I-I counted those ballots myself. Principal Holbein checked my work! You can ask him...yourself…” She trailed off with a grimace, hunching her shoulders in and looking away. For a moment, she looked a lot younger, and a lot more shaken than she thought she was.

  “Anna and Joan won fair and square.” She finally spoke up again, although there was a not-so-subtle shakiness to her voice. Madeline gave her a sympathetic look.

  “I’m guessing by a landslide?” Mulaney asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

  “I just thought they were pity votes.” Bessie said, shrugging.

  “They weren’t pity votes, Elizabeth.” Mulaney told her grimly. “Someone switched the ballots.”

------

  “Attention! Attention, everyone!” Bessie called jovially from the stage. The mic she was using gave a few abrupt screeches of feedback, so she tapped it with a manicured finger. In the fairy lights, her dress glistened in shimmering waves of purple and made her look like a walking amethyst. “Can I have your attention, please!”

The DJ cut the music off hastily. Everyone inside the gym quieted down one by one and turned their heads to the stage. Bessie’s hair was blindingly white in the light.

  “Thank you,” She said, then raised her voice excitedly, “We will now be voting for this year’s prom king and queen!”

  “This contest insults women!” Margery Horsman shouted from near the globe tree. There were a few scattered applause and one loud, whooping cheer from a girl who must have been her friend.

  “It insults men, too!” Francis Dereham piped up mockingly. Laughter followed, along with several eye rolls.

  “Take your seats, please!” Bessie went on loudly. “Time to vote!”

Everyone began to swarm back to their respective table as Maggie and two other girls started to pass out prom ballots and small pencils. Anna, Joan, George, and Jane were already sitting, recovering from their intense dance session and playing Spoons with a deck of cards George had brought in (“I still cannot believe you brought cards to prom.” “I never leave home without ‘em! You know that, Anna!”). As far as games being played at a school party went, it definitely wasn’t the lamest option they could have gone with.

  “Aha!” Jane exclaimed, seizing one of the three plastic spoons on the table after she got a match of four aces. George looked up at her lovingly. “I have totally figured out this game! I am the new Spoons champion!”

  “Ow!!” Anna yelped. “You SCRATCHED me!” She had been trying to grab one of the other spoons when Jane’s fingernails raked viciously over her hand. She rubbed the scraped skin tenderly, giving Jane a playful pout.

  “This is a very violent game,” Joan observed. When someone got a match of four cards, they were supposed to grab a spoon as quick as they could, prompting everyone else to do the same, which resulted in some mayhem. Especially because there were four players and only three spoons, so clawing and yanking and merciless tug-of-war would sometimes happen as a result. There was even a moment where they all lurched forward at the same time and bonked their heads together.

  “What can I say?” Jane said with a shrug, flicking her spoon back and forth. “I play to win.”

At that moment, Maggie came around with ballots, setting four papers and four pencils on the table for them. Before she whisked away, she declared a louder-than-necessary, “GOOD LUCK!” into Joan’s ear. Joan rubbed her ear uncomfortably as Anna and Jane both glowered after Maggie, then examined the ballot in front of her. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Anna,” She whispered shakily, grabbing onto Anna’s arm tightly. “W-we’re on here!”

  “I saw that,” Anna said.

  “Woah! Congrats!” George beamed.

  “Can we decline?” Joan asked anxiously.

  “Hell no!” Anna said, laughing slightly. “If you win, all you do is sit up there on those thrones for the school song, wave some scepter around, and look like a jackass.” 

  “Oh, and then you get your picture taken for the yearbook so everyone could see that you looked like a jackass.” George added. He, Jane, and Anna laugh lightly. “You also get to lead a dance! So that’s pretty cool.”

  “Well...who do we vote for?” Joan asked Anna. “They’re more your crowd than mine. I don’t really have a crowd.”

  “Ourselves, duh!” Anna said.

  “Isn’t voting for yourself like voting for Ralph Nader?” George asked.

  “Who’s Ralph Nader?”

  “Well, I’m voting for you.” Jane said to Joan. She smiled and checked off Joan and Anna’s names.

  “Thanks,” Joan whispered, ducking her head shyly. She glanced over at the thrones on the stage and couldn’t help but be enamored by them. They were so sparkly and pretty. “They are beautiful…”

  “You’re beautiful.” Anna grinned, taking Joan by surprise. She would never get over the shock of hearing someone say that to her. “To the devil with false modesty.”

Joan smiled. “To the devil,” She said, and checked off her and Anna’s names.

------

  “Look at how she’s smiling. Stupid little cow.”

Cathy peered over the shrouded edge of the catwalk they were hiding on. She could see Joan Seymour, the poor bitch this prank was on, playing cards at one of the tables with Anne’s younger brother, his girlfriend, and Anna von Cleves. Her dress was beautiful, Cathy had to admit, and she looked so happy.

It was such a shame it was all about to be ruined.

The buckets were poised and ready.

  “God, and my stupid brother.” Anne rolled her eyes. “I should have known he would befriend the resident freak.” She shook her head and turned to Cathy, smiling again. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cathy mumbled, feeling ill.

  “Oh, cheer up.” Anne nudged her. “We’re just playing a little joke! Nobody is getting hurt!”

  “Anne, this is--this is sick. Really, really sick.” Cathy said. “If we get caught--”

  “We aren’t going to get caught.” Anne said firmly. “Calm down, will you? It’s not that bad. We’re just gonna give her a little scare, that’s all.”

Cathy shook her head and cast a dark look at the two metal buckets. She could still smell the contents from her spot, the scent of three-day-old pig blood and guts wafting heavily in the air. It was a miracle nobody else on the stage had smelled it yet.

  “Do you really think they’ll vote for them?” She finally spoke up again, glancing at her girlfriend. In the dim light, only half of Anne’s face could be seen, and there was madness reaching out of that amber eye.

  “Of course,” Anne answered her. “I set it up. Nobody else will even be close.” She smiled wickedly. “Do you want to pull the rope?”

------

Katherine was restless. It was starting to worry her sister, she knew. She kept getting up in the middle of the movie they were watching and would pace around the living room like a lion in a circus cage. She couldn’t help it- something felt off.

  “Kit?” Isabel called. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah,” Katherine replied, shaking out her wrists as if they were crawling with caterpillars. “Just a little anxious, that’s all.”

Isabel paused the movie and turned to her completely. “About the prom?” She asked.

  “What else?” Katherine sighed. “I texted Anna and she said everything was going fine, but still… I’m worried about Joan. I hope she’s having a good time.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Isabel said. “You’re letting your Mum Friend status get to you too much.”

Katherine managed to laugh. “Maybe.” 

She took out her phone and checked it for what felt like the tenth time that evening. Just like last time, there were no new messages. Just her reply from Anna after she reacted to the picture that was sent, which was marked as “read.” Anna must have been too busy having a good time to text back, which was good. She was giving Joan her full attention. But what if she wasn’t answering for a different reason…?

  “Ugh--” Katherine collapsed down on the couch next to Isabel, who looked quite amused. “Anxiety SUCKS ASS.”

  “Preach it, sister.” Isabel laughed. She patter her shoulder with a tender smile. “It’s going to be okay, Kat. I’m sure everything is just fine.”

But she was wrong.

------

  “You really make all your own clothes?” George was asking with great interest. After Maggie had come around again and picked up the marked prom ballots, the group decided to take a small break from Spoons to let their maimed hands rest and stop burning. Now, they were just chatting idly, talking about random things as they waited for the score to be tallied up.

  “Yeah, most of them,” Joan answered, nodding.

  “That’s so convenient.”

Joan smiled shyly. “Yeah. Sorry I’m not better at conversations. I don’t have a lot of interesting stories.”

  “No worries!” George said dismissively. “You’re much better company than most of the people here. Some of them don’t know how to keep a secret.” Then, he turned his head and shot an irritated look at a boy in a dark navy blue suit at a navy table. “And SOME OF THEM think very HIGHLY of themselves.”

The boy in navy blue whipped his gaze around and narrowed his eyes at George.

  “I can HEAR you!” He shouted.

  “We all can!” Piped up someone else.

  “I KNOW.” George shouted back. “We’re in a GYM! But I’m having a PRIVATE CONVERSATION, so stick your nose somewhere else!”

  “Then why did you look at me?!” The boy in navy blue cried.

  “Because I was MAKING a POINT to my FRIENDS!” George snapped.

  “You WISH you had friends!”

  “Go suck a LIME!”

  “Now, now,” A teacher chaperone said in a bored voice. “Settle down.”

George turned his head back to the table and smiled. “Anyway,” He said, his voice all sweetness again, “Where were we?”

The other three burst into laughter.

And then, silence was called over the gym. 

  “Attention, everyone!” Bessie said into the mic. “It’s time to announce the elected prom king and queen!”

There was a drumroll as Bessie excitedly pulled out a slip of paper from an envelope. Everyone held their breath in anticipation.

  “ANNA VON CLEVES AND JOAN SEYMOUR!!!”

Anna, who had been mindlessly taking a sip from her cup, not thinking much of the election, spit her drink out in George’s face. Joan froze, her eyes opening wider than possible. All heads turned to her table. Gasps and murmurs whisked through the crowd. The gym went very quiet.

And then, there was a huge, booming, explosive eruption of applause that seemed to shake the walls like thunder. Everyone began to clap and cheer loudly, roaring into one big celebratory mass of noise. One person even yelled, “Yeah, go Anna! Go, Joan!”

Two student body members dressed in (school appropriate) togas, a boy and a girl, walked over to the table, smiling. Anna laughed and stood up with her arms spread in a queenly gesture of sorts, and the crowd went wild, shrieking their support. George, who quickly recovered from being sprayed with mouth soda, was beaming in pride for his friend and Jane looked both a little stunned and absolutely thrilled. Anna nudged Joan’s side and then extended her elbow for them to lock arms, but Joan did not get up. She was far too starstruck to stand at the moment, lost in the whirling of the radiant, overwhelming glee rocketing through her. She had never been clapped for before like this, nor had she ever been so joyful in her entire life.

Prom Queen. Her. Joan Seymour. She was Prom Queen. A queen. Royalty. Important. Her.

It was a dream come true.

Anna gently grabbed Joan by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, effectively snapping Joan out of her daze. She still remained breathless and dazzled, however, as the entire prom screeched for her when she finally got to her feet. She nearly fainted from joy right then and there, but managed to cling to her consciousness. She grappled onto Anna’s arm, a smile coming to her lips that she knew would not be leaving for a while.

The two of them, escorted by the toga-clad student body duo, began to stride through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea when they passed. The band boomed and swelled into a loud, upbeat melody. The audience continued to applaud and scream and cheer. Any sarcasm was lost to its cacophony; this was honest and deep and genuinely happy for the elected pair. Someone whistled. Someone else patted Joan’s bare shoulder as she passed by. Miss Aragon, at the edge of the trench of students, looked so proud.

Tears were welling up in Joan’s eyes. Her mouth was starting to hurt from smiling so widely. Has she ever smiled for this long before? She doesn’t think so. She hoped she wasn’t hurting Anna, she was hanging onto her arm really tightly. Anna didn’t seem to mind, though. The older girl was practically glowing in the fairy lights, like a goddess of sorts.

They reached the short flight of stairs to the stage, where Bessie and Principal Holbein were waiting. The thrones were pushed up to the front arches of the decorative Parthenon, glistening in the spotlights poised on the apron. They were inlaid with gold and fake jewels and were so much more breathtaking up close.

  “Come on up, you guys!” Bessie shouted over all the noise. She beamed at Joan as Anna helped her up the steps, then turned to shake hands with Principal Holbein. “You look so beautiful! Congratulations!”

Joan couldn’t possibly must up a reply with all these endorphins sprinting through her, so she just smiled even wider, if that were even possible at that point.

She and Anna were whisked over to the thrones (but not without Bessie launching herself into Anna and hugging her very tightly). A silver scepter was thrust into Anna’s hands by the boy student body member in the toga, while the girl swept a furry velvet and sunflower yellow cloak with a puffy collar around Joan’s shoulders. They sat in the thrones and another ear-splitting bout of applause broke out.

Joan was glad to be sitting. Her legs were shaking and her knees felt weak. She was dizzy from shock and bliss and excitement.

(look at me Mama look at me)

(i made it)

(i did it)

The crowns were taken out on big wine red pillows. Both were encrusted with surprisingly realistic looking diamonds and glittered like captured rainbows in the light. Joan nearly sobbed when her tiara was set on her head and she reached up to touch it instantly, just to make sure it was there and real. And it was. The jewels were smooth and bumpy beneath her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna grinning at her affectionately.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Bessie said energetically into the mic, “your king and queen on senior prom! Anna von CLEVES and Joan SEYMOUR!”

The audience howled. Anna laughed. She stood up and thrust her scepter into the air.

  “Long live King Anna!!!” Someone yelled.

  “SPEECH!!!” Someone else, George from back at the table, cried out.

Anna grinned brightly in his direction.

The band cracked and rose into a fever pitch as the school song was played. The audience began to sing along to the music, their hundreds of mixing voices spiraling into a cloud of haunting sound. Anna basked in it, her chest puffed out with pride, then turned and gently gathered Joan to her feet so she could bathe in the glory with her. Joan probably would have crumpled right to the floor if Anna hadn't helped her up.

It was such a dizzying feeling, being the center of so much positive attention when it was usually all so negative. All these people were cheering for her, Joan Seymour. And they didn’t look to be doing it mockingly at all. They liked her. They really, really liked her!

(i told you Mama i told you)

  “Long live Queen Joan!!” Shouted the person from before. 

  “Queen Joan!!!” Someone else whooped gleefully.

Joan was shaking all over. She knew everyone could see that she was, but it wasn’t deterring their applause. They just kept clapping and cheering and singing, even as she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.

But unbeknownst to her, among the crowd, Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee were smirking rather than smiling. Maggie kept glancing up every few seconds, which caught the attention of Jane, who began to sidle over slowly to see what she was looking at.

Bessie waved her arms and all the noise began to diminish. She turned to Anna and Joan, still grinning her head off.

  “Your Highnesses,” She said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Like that, the cheering started up again.

The toga boy took Anna’s staff from her, but Joan’s cloak was left on. Anna extended a hand and Joan took it as the lights around them faded to soft blue and light purple. They walked slowly down the steps and onto the center of the gym floor, where they pressed against each other and began to dance in long, graceful movements. The band played an airy melody of violins and flutes, which Joan didn’t even realize they had, but she could hardly care. She was too wrapped up in dancing with Anna to care about anything at this point.

Her legs trembled, unsteady, unpracticed, fawn-like. Her head spins and her vision blurs with the opposite of vertigo. Her hands clasp tightly at Anna’s and her shoulder, like the older girl was an island out in a raging black ocean. Moats of silver dust float like moths in the rays of light beaming from the spotlight, and she had never been more awash in radiance. 

Anna’s hand is warm on her waist and she looked up at her, dry lips parting with a slight pop. Anna tilted her head at her and smiled, the corners of her mouth held aloft by the spotlights. Her fingertips trail over Joan’s veins, bluer than hers, rivers snaking beneath her skin and crisscrossing the imperfect planet of her body. 

But Anna doesn’t care.

Each sweeping step they take gave Joan more confidence and made the world come a little more into focus. This was all Joan has ever wanted- being held so gently, being loved despite her flaws, being wanted and needed and swayed like she is. Anna doesn’t care that she’s touching her, Anna doesn’t care about the roughness of her scarred palms, Anna doesn’t care that she wasn’t at prom with her girlfriend.

Anna cared about her and her alone. Nothing else in the entire universe mattered to her. And that was a dream come true.

Anna coaxed her closer in that honeyed voice of hers that makes Joan feel all fluttery inside, whispered that she wanted to show off to all these loons, and Joan does as she's told, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, searching for stable ground as they whisked in loops inside the circle of students crowded around them. 

  “Anna?” Joan whispered.

  “Yeah?” Anna looked down at her, still smiling with so much affection for her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you, Joan.”

Joan was still shaky but that’s okay. If she fell, Anna would surely catch her.

There was a blooming warmth on Joan’s hand and she looked at it, and that’s when everything fell to pieces. Shafts of burgeoning gold cut through soft silver and burst outwards, filling the gym in blinding yellow waves. Violin and flutes were replaced with a marching drumbeat. Silence turned to an uproar of cheering and clapping. The dance floor melted away and the stage rose up beneath Joan’s feet. And there was Bessie and the band and the two student body members in togas and Anna, now up there with her again. And there was blood. On her hand.

  “Your Highnesses,” Bessie said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Joan does not hear her. She can’t even move. 

Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

Her blood?

Was it happening again?

Anna looked at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together. 

  “Joan?” She whispered. “Everything okay?”

Joan does not reply.

Like how Anna does not see the blood.

It was the size of a nickel American tourists would sometimes accidentally drop on the streets. Bright red against her pale white skin, like a ruby buried in fresh snow. Completely odorless in such a small quantity.

Blood.

Where did it come from?

Joan looked up shakily and time seemed to slow down so she, and everyone else in the gym, could watch as two buckets full of blood poured out in an unhurried manner to fall, splash, splash, splash, right over Joan’s head.

------

  “Hail, Alma Mater,”

The singing of the crowd mixed with the band and all the cheering was a mess of noise in Anne’s ears. She grit her teeth in rage and glared down at the thrones, where the pig herself, Joan Seymour, was being crowned Prom Queen. With her tiara.

  “Why are they still clapping?” Anne hissed.

  “I don’t know, babe.” Cathy said uselessly. “Don’t ask me.”

Anne growled lowly in her throat and gripped the rope in her hands tightly. The smell of the blood wafting from the buckets was intoxicating.

  “Oh, Mother, we salute you,”

  “Are you going to pull it?” Cathy asked. “They’re there. The song is playing. Get it over with already.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Anne snapped.

  “We proclaim out devotion,”

Anne’s hands were starting to shake. Her chest burned as she held her breath. 

  “I’m not pulling it for you.” Cathy said. “That thing can sit up there ‘till hell freezes over.”

Anne elbowed her hard in the stomach and her girlfriend reeled backwards in pain.

  “As we set our dreams into motion!”

  “Your Highnesses,” Bessie said from below after the school anthem ended, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Anne leaned forward and yanked the cord with both hands.

For a moment, there was slack, making her think Cathy fucked up the set up to get back at her, that the rope was attached to nothing but thin air, that Joan fucking Seymour was actually going to get away clean.

But then, it snagged and jerked away from her grasp, leaving a thin rope burn across her palms. The buckets tipped and glorious red fell free. She peeked over the edge to watch, then turned to Cathy, smirking widely in victory.

In the darkness, Cathy looked horrified.

And in the light of the stage, someone screamed.

------

Two weeks after the Black Prom, Elizabeth “Bessie” Blount, would write this for the detectives,

          “I had been looking at the crowd when the buckets came, but I turned fast enough to see a majority of it. It got EVERYWHERE. Joan got the most of it. She looked like she had just been dragged out of a river of blood. There were barely any spots of pink left on her dress. But us onstage got some of it, too. Anna was wearing a white tux. She got splattered. She looked like she was in a murder scene. I got splattered, too. My dress and my chest and my face. And for a moment, when my mind flashed back to the showers on Friday, I wondered if this was period blood. It was clearly a prank of sorts, so did whoever planned this (which I now know was Anne), get a bunch of girls to squat over some buckets and bleed into them just to dump it out on this one chick?

          But then I realized that it didn’t smell like period blood. 

          I don’t think any of you or anyone else who wasn’t there really understand the smell. It wasn’t just an awful sight--it smelled, too. Like--like...it’s so hard to explain. It smelled like blood, but blood that has been left out in the sun for a week. Like rotten meat. Have you ever smelled rotten meat? It was like that.

          And it also wasn’t just blood. There were organs and pieces of organs, too. I don’t even know what it was, but there was a strip of /something/ on my face. But Joan was covered in guts. Intestines hanging from her shoulders, mushy livers and kidneys caught against her dress, a stomach snagged on her crown. There were even testicles. One missed her, but the other hit her in her head and then bounced off.

          Joan was still for a very long time. She had been looking up, so her face was dripping and her eyes were closed. Then, she opened them and things all went to hell from there.

          I look back on this a lot. I know it wasn’t that long ago, but it’s always so fresh in my mind. I got my period two days ago and I /cried/ when I saw the blood. Because I wonder, if I had been a little bit nicer, would it have never happened? I know that’s wishful thinking, but I still wonder about it all the time. I do that a lot, now. I just think about what happened. And it gets worse each time.

          I wish about a lot, but I never wish to stop the Black Prom. I just wish I had died in there with everyone else. I could kill myself, but it wouldn’t be the same, you know? I was left alive for a reason, I think. It’s a punishment. Unless Joan thought I was innocent enough to let go. But I don’t think so. So now I have to live with what I did and what happened because of it. 

          I would like to see Anna again, though. I wish I got to say goodbye to her.”

------

She was covered in it.

Blood.

Whose blood?

(my blood)

The smell was overwhelming. Like rotten meat left out in the summer heat for several months. The taste was worse. She didn’t want to describe it. This blood did not have the same metallic tang of normal blood. There was something very, very wrong with it.

The blood was thick, half a liquid, half a solid. It was coagulated and clotted, thick chunks caught in her hair and eyelashes and dress. It drooled down her chest, between her breasts, and over the flat expanse of her stomach. 

Everywhere. It was everywhere.

In her ears and her nose and her eyes and her mouth. 

Blood.

Something else splattered down against her, too. It made a loud slapping sound when it hit her head and made her tiara crooked when it snagged on the points. Something long and squishy draped over her shoulder while something else went down the back of her dress and fell out the bottom with a wet /plop/. They all had a very rank, ripe scent.

Joan’s eyes were closed. She had been looking up, so her face was completely drenched. Her dress was ruined, dyed to a deep scarlet instead of a pale flamingo pink. Her hair was soaked and dripping and red, retaining no hints of the original platinum white-blonde. The cloak around her neck looked like a freshly gutted dog, and it fell heavily to the ground at her feet. Rivulets of red ran down her arms, oozing off her fingers and into the crimson lake all around her.

One by one, the clapping stopped, the cheering died off, and the smiles fell until the only sound was the creak of the two ropes the buckets were attached to and the splattering of blood on the floor. Nobody moved, nobody breathed, nobody spoke a word.

And then, Joan’s eyes opened.

Something was glowing behind those twin orbs of grey-blue.

Joan slowly raised her hands and stared at them, watching tiny rivers of blood snake down the palms. Her breathing picked up slowly, faster and faster and faster, until her body was heaving with the weight of her panting. Her eyes darted around- at Anna, spattered in red beside her; at Bessie, wide-eyed and bloody; at George and Jane, horrified; at Miss Aragon, with her mouth hanging open; at Principal Holbein, shocked into stillness; at the audience, silent. She looked down and saw the blood, then the guts.

She was covered in guts.

Intestines hung from her shoulders, several pieces of pruney and wrinkled pink tissue clung to her dress, a stomach was caught on her crown.

Guts.

Someone spilled guts on her.

Blood and guts.

Something itched in Joan’s throat, and when she opened her mouth, a whimper came out.

And then a cry.

And then a scream.

She screamed a horrible, nightmare-haunting scream that reverberated throughout the auditorium and jammed itself into the ears of the audience. It cut off after a moment and she stared at her hands again in horror, hoping they would be clean, but the red still remained. She tried to scrub at her arms, but the blood only smeared and coated her skin even further. She whimpered and keened loudly, scratching and clawing desperately. Someone in the audience snorted.

  “WHAT THE HELL?” Anna roared in fury. She was the first to snap out of the terror-stricken trance, and now all she felt was outrage. “WHO DID THIS?”

No answer. Someone snorted again. A few people murmured. Heads whipped around frantically.

  “WHO DID THIS?!” Anna screeched again. She looked around and spotted something in the wings- Anne and Cathy. She snarled lowly, like a dog about to bite, then took off after them when they fled.

Like that, with Anna’s jarring sprint into motion, the trance that had descended over the gym was broken. People began to exclaim in shock and whisper to one another. A few took out their phones to take pictures. Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee snorted and then burst into howls of laughter.

And people joined in.

They were laughing at her.

(Mama was right)

Joan felt her body start to seize. She went hot and then cold and then hot again until she was freezing. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, racing faster and faster and faster until she thought it would burst apart. 

  “Pig, pig, pig, pig!” Anthony bellowed through bouts of laughter. “Sweet pig, pig, pig!”

(Mama was right they’re laughing)

(they always laugh)

  “Freak! Freak!!” Maggie shrieked in giggles.

Everything was starting to bleed together. A blur of black and silver marched through the crowd below; Jane Parker slapped Anthony hard across the face.

Joan gasped.

Miss Aragon and Principal Holbein rush up to the stage, along with George Boleyn and Jane Parker. The whispers are swelling into a full thunderstorm of murmurs, but she can’t make them out. Her ears were too clogged with blood to really hear.

  “Joan?” Jane called out, and her voice was but a distant echo. “Joan, can you hear me?” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Miss Aragon gently touched Joan’s shoulder, brushed away the tangle of intestines caught against it. Her nose was twitching; she could smell the overwhelming stench of the rancid blood and guts, too.

  “Joan? Joan, sweetie, talk to me. It’s Miss Aragon.” The coach said.

But Joan does not awaken from the strange state she’s slipped into.

The adrenaline is making the strain on her body bearable, all the beautiful chemicals coursing through her veins as she flexed her powers.

That, and the anger.

It all made her so angry. Her mother. Her treatment at school. Her life. Who she was.

Fifteen long years of being the good Christian girl. Of turning the other cheek. Of enduring and bearing. Of being patient and understanding and letting things go, always letting things go.

It gets old. So fucking old.

She was tired of it.

The pillars of the Parthenon began to quake. The decorative spires and sculptures on the gym floor soon followed. Joan sent her powers through their mass and ripped them into chunks. The pieces locked together in the air like a growing puzzle until a long body was created. Wings from the ripped mural canvases, a tail of ice and marble, curved claws chipped from stone, sharp spikes torn out of chair legs, and a piece of the fire alarm and DJ booth attached to the back of the throat. 

Everyone stepped away and stared in horror as the dragon thumped to the ground on its back haunches and let out an ear-piercing roar. 

  “Say. Hello.” It spoke in a gargled voice. “Everybody. Say. Hello.”

And then, a pipe from up above was ripped free and sailed straight into Maria de Salinas’s heart.

--

August had thought they had been scared when the buckets dropped, but not even that fear could rival the absolute terror pumping through them as they stared at the bleeding corpse just a few feet away. Several people were starting to run, but they couldn’t move. It wouldn’t matter anyway; all the doors were locked. They could hear students shouting over it in a panic all around them, through the screaming.

They looked up at Joan Seymour’s bloody form and realization dawned on them with a jarring shock.

She’s going to kill us all.

The pipe pulled loose from Maria’s heart with a spurt of blood. Joan peered at it curiously, as if it were a new pet. A moment later, it flew around and jammed itself through the spot that connected the second victim’s jaw to her neck. It went all the way through and left her nearly decapitated, spasming wildly on the ground before death overcame her and she stilled. Then, the pipe spun and sailed straight through a boy’s stomach. 

By this point, full pandemonium had erupted throughout the entire theater. Everyone was running around screaming, panicking, crying. They’re trampling over each other like caged cattle—and they very well may have been, because they were all going to burn like the filthy cows they all were.

This is our punishment, August realized. For bullying her. We did this.

They looked up with tears in their eyes. The head of the conjured dragon turned to them slowly and creaked open its jaw.

  “Repent, repent, repent, repent.” It said, and then smashed its talons over August’s head.

--

Nicola couldn’t even scream when August was crushed right before her eyes. Their body crumpled like a compressed can; she could hear their bones snap and break beneath the heavy weight of the strange monster���s talons. When the claws were raised, there was a huge splattering of blood and mushed organs, which oozed slowly off stone nails in droplets of liquid ruby and rose quartz.

August was dead.

Joan was not done killing yet.

Nicola dove behind an upturned table and tried to steady her ragged breathing. She yelped when someone collapsed down in front of her.

  “Ari!” She cried.

Ari, shell shocked, but uninjured, scrambled beside her, ducking low for cover. Their eyes were wide and mortified.

  “What--what the fuck is going on?” They whispered. Each word sounded like it took great effort to speak through heaving breaths. “What--is--happening?!”

  “I-I don’t know!” Nicola replied.

Near the buffet temples, the flying pipe stabbed through a girl’s neck. Nicola shuddered and hugged her knees.

  “She’s killing us,” She whispered. “She’s killing us all.”

  “Oh god,” Ari muttered in horror. They pressed a hand to their forehead. “You know what, Nicola? I-I don’t want to die!” They laughed shakily, tears brimming in their eyes.

  “Shh. You’re not allowed to die.” Nicola said, and Ari managed a tight smile.

And then, the pipe flew by and put itself directly between Ari’s eyes.

The table tipped backward, along with Ari’s body. The pipe pulled out with a squelch and squirt of blood, leaving a gaping hole all the way through Ari’s head. Nicola vomited, she couldn’t help it.

  “Monster,” She whispered raggedly She glared at the stage through tears. “You’re a monster!” 

Joan twitched, but didn’t look at her. Nicola braced herself and prepared for the pipe to come around and take her life, but it didn’t. It was currently embedded in the stomachs of two students at once. No, instead, her executioner was a snake that rose up from one of the candles.

Nicola’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the flaming serpent coil out from the candle. It was huge, with bright golden eyes and a tongue that spewed embers when it flicked out at her. Then, it opened its wide jaws and came at her faster than lightning.

Pain. Blinding pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

She was on fire.

Her dress exploded into golden plumes almost instantly, with her hair following shortly after. She could feel the fabric of her gown fusing with her flesh as it dripped off her body like wax. She screamed and flailed helplessly, but it did nothing to help her. The serpent consumed her.

--

A thick shoulder smashed Violet into a rigid back. Boots stamped down on one of her feet. She heard a screech of pain that sounded like someone from her Economics class. She caught a glimpse of Principal Holbein trying desperately to calm everyone down. Someone grabbed her forearm, and she turned to see Lara, staring at a raging snake made of fire.

  “Oh god,” She whispered. “What do we do?”

  “I-I don’t know!” Violet said. “We can’t escape. The doors are locked!”

  “There has to be another way!” Lara cried. “D-don’t say that! There has to be!”

Nearby, a kid burst into flames when the snake coiled around him. The dragon jumped into the fray, shaking the entire gym when it leapt to the ground. It lashed its huge tail, connecting with a large panicking group of students and sending them sprawling with an awful symphony of breaking bones and splitting skin. It trampled over kids as it made its way to the tree and climbed to the top.

  “Respect me. Respect me. Respect me.” It said over and over again, flaring out its wings. Its mouth did not move when it spoke, rather just hung open like a snake spraying venom.

Violet and Lara backed away, getting pushed and shoved and nearly separated in the process. They clasped their hands together and watched as fire began to spread through the ripped murals against the wall.

This place was going to burn to the ground.

  “JOAN!!”

The pipe, which had taken lodging in the back of a blonde girl’s skull, flashed through the air and cleaved into its next victim’s stomach, silencing them.

Lara gasped and buried her face in her talons.

  “Oh no,” Violet whispered. “Oh no, no, no…!”

--

Anna coughed and was startled to taste blood. She touched her lips and her fingers came back red. Then, slowly, her hands slid down to her stomach, where an even bigger patch of red was spreading across her tux. 

There was a pipe in her stomach.

Her vision blurred and she collapsed to her side, gargling on her blood.

  “Anna!!”

Joan was there, even bloodier than her, grey-blue eyes wide. Her hands hovered around the pipe, then pulled it out, sending sharp bolts of pain through Anna’s entire being.

  “Anna, Anna, no--” Joan stammered. Tears flooded down her face. “Anna, no--”

  “J-Joan--” Anna coughed. She raised a bloody hand and Joan clasped it in her own. 

  “Anna, I’m so sorry!” Joan said. “I-I didn’t mean to…” She glanced at the gaping red horror in Anna’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I know,” Anna said. “I-I know you...you didn’t…” Everything was starting to blur together.

  “No, Anna, don’t die!” Joan begged. “Don’t die! You can’t die!”

  “Think...think I still have a shot at being a singer?” Anna choked out a laugh that was thick with blood.

Joan sniffled and nodded tearfully. “Y-yeah, of course.” She said. “Y-you’d be the best!”

Anna smiled weakly up at her. Her brain felt very fuzzy all of a sudden. The pain was getting worse.

No. No. She cannot die, not now, not after all she’s done. Surely she won’t—the wound is likely not nearly as terrible as it felt, or this is some nightmare and she’ll wake up any moment, and there will be no more blood and George and Jane and Joan will be teasing her for falling asleep at prom and then they’ll go to the Blazer.

She doesn’t wake up.

And now she can’t breathe--her chest heaved and she gasped and coughed, and suddenly her throat felt very hot and full and it’s terribly uncomfortable. 

She doesn’t want to die. But it hurt too much.

  “Joan--” She rasped. “I-I can’t--”

  “No.” Joan said through gritted teeth. Then, she softly pushed Anna’s head up to look at her. The spotlights glowed around her and made her look like a blood soaked angel. “You‘re not dying today. Not here.” She sniffled. “Not in my arms, Anna.”

Anna frowned and parted her lips, gasping for air so loud Joan’s own air almost got pulled out of her lungs. 

  “Please.” She begged quietly. “You have to--”

The rest of the words didn't come out, but Joan’s face paled and she understood.

  “No, Anna,” She whispered. “No. Not after I--”

  “I-it hurts, Joan.” Anna said. 

  “I-I can fix you!” Joan said, shaking her head. Blood from her hair splatter everywhere. “I-I can sew your wound! I-it’s gonna be okay!”

Anna shook her head sluggishly. “Joan,” She whispered firmly. “You can’t. You know that.” She lifted a quaking hand and wiped away one of Joan’s tears, smearing the blood already on her face. “Don’t--don’t be--sad.” 

  “W-we were supposed to w-watch that movie together,” Joan whimpered. “And have a party. You can’t die, Anna.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anna breathed out. Then, quietly, she said, “I love you.”

  “I love you.” Joan said back

Anna’s face lit up, regardless of the pain. “You’re incredible,” She said.

Joan cried harder. 

  “Don’t let--don't let this--w-world tell you--otherwise, mh?” She said. “Don’t let it--it ruin--you.”

  “Anna, please.” Joan sobbed. “Please, please don't go. I-I need you. You--you brought me back to life.”

  “And I’d do that again--and again..and again--”

Anna was delirious. She caressed Joan’s cheeks with her thumbs, and Joan leaned her forehead against hers. Joan let the silence between them fill the void she started feeling inside of her for a few seconds, but her sobs soon came back, filling the stage’s space. All around them in the gym, the panic of students and teacher chaperones was unified into stillness. They were all watching transfixed in shock and despair. 

  “Thank you,” Anna whispered.

  “F-for what?” Joan asked.

Anna smiled. “For giving me the best night of my life.”

Anna’s neck snapped. Joan knew where to send her powers into her spinal cord to make her stop crying. Hurting. 

To make it all stop.

If someone had asked her to do this, she would’ve killed herself. She would kill herself for Anna a thousand times. Over and over. She would let anyone torture her, use her, hurt her, however whenever wherever they would like to. But Anna asking her to end her suffering… She could not bear this. She could not bear her pain...not this one. 

Not like this.  

The one person who ever truly cared about her. The one person who genuinely wanted to be around her… She killed her.

Joan let out a long, keening whimper and began to rock back and forth, cradling Anna’s upper body against her chest. 

If they only could’ve had more time. If they only could’ve had some more time to spend together, some more time to share, some more time to be friends. In such a short period of time, Anna had turned into the big sister she never knew she wanted or ever had. She wanted to be next to Anna forever and always. She wanted to be with her and her friends and even Katherine.

But it didn’t matter now. Anna was dead. And no amount of power was going to bring her back.

Joan cried for several long moments, clutching Anna’s corpse. Fresh blood mingled with the blood coating her entire being. Warmth was slowly draining out of Anna’s body.

And then, something itched in her throat and, holding Anna closer, she tipped her head back.

The thing that overcame the silence was just a noise, one that had been boiling up in Joan’s chest for hours; long before she had gotten blood dumped over her head, or walked into prom, or even got invited to prom at all.

Joan didn’t yell a whole lot, never had. She’d always had the tendency to quietly brood when her temper ran high or her spirits low, something that had helped facilitate her transformation over the years of torment and torture. So in reality, the noise that was escaping her right now was one she’d been holding back for a very long time.

It sounded stupid. But it felt good.

So she kept doing it. Screaming. Over and over again until it just turned into one long roar of agony and fury and anguish.

Intimidating or not, effective or not, when a sound was being uttered over and over by a teenage girl who’s been living the closest thing to Hell that could exist on God’s green earth, a teenage girl covered in blood with wild eyes, a mangy body, and a lifetime worth of pain...

It was a goddamn battle-cry.

Joan gently placed her flower crown on Anna’s chest, situating her limp hands to where they were holding on it, then stood very, very slowly as if she were underwater, or her muscles were buckled into place. Her movements weren’t right- they were too twitchy and abrupt like a robot with rusted limbs. And her eyes—god, her eyes… They were wider than humanly possible.

She stood, dripping with blood, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and stared out at the audience. 

(i’m going to kill you all)

Someone should tell the Devil she was going to room with him because she was about to turn this place into a living Hell.

Grace period ended with the striking of the flaming snake. A poor boy in a dark purple tux burst into flames, and screaming erupted all around him once again. 

  “Oh fuck! Oh god!”

  “We’re all going to die!”

  “Open the door!”

  “Somebody call 999!!”

  “HELP!!!!”

Madness. It was pure madness.

(nobody will EVER laugh at me again)

She imagined storming into the school and screaming her head off at the inconsiderate teachers, the rude students. She’s a smart kid, dammit! She’s been in school as long as everyone else, and she’s very good at it. No more questioning her, no more arguing or trying to make her look foolish, no more bullying. 

And then, it happened. Within the space of the gym, it happened. Absolute mayhem.

She imagined setting fire to the entire school, not caring about how much money it would cost to fix it. Just to hear the crackles of flames, just to watch the people scramble, just to be the chaos instead of the shield against it.

Roaring flames tore along the walls of the gym, thanks to Judgement. Her dragon at the top of the tree helped by fanning the fire with its giant wings, throwing embers all throughout the room. Students squealed when they were burned, music to Joan’s ears. Someone crumpled to the ground, charred as black as night. Someone else with their tux on fire was screaming for help. Several burned corpses lay half in, half out of the firestorm, so melted and disfigured that their gender could barely be made out.

She imagined stalking into her classes, kicking the door open like she would sometimes try to do with the prayer closet. She would watch class jump in surprise and fear, not just staring at her like she’s her mother’s trained puppy. 

Her fingers clenched and someone’s head popped like a balloon, splattering bits of brain and bone all over the faces of the people around them. They all shrieked in horror. Someone else yelled in a higher register, and Joan realized it was some guy coming at her with a knife he must have snuck into the party. She couldn’t touch it, but she could feel her power surging through her fingers and she leaned into it, snatching the knife right out of the boy’s hands and making it cut murderously across his throat like the widest, most bloody smile in the world.

She imagined punching Anne in the face, hearing the crack of her nose. Better than any of the bullshit Christian music her mother makes her listen to.

And then, relishing it, she imagined dunking her into water until she couldn’t breathe, she imagined stealing Bessie’s clothes and leaving her stranded naked in a bathroom stall for hours, she imagined tripping Maria in the hallway and having her break her jaw on the way down, she imagined putting a snake in Maggie’s shoe and watching her howl and foam at the mouth when it pumped her full of venom.

Who’s the boss now? Who’s the tough one, who doesn’t take shit, who doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want, ever?

She imagined growling into all of their ears as she tore into all of them and didn’t care how much of a devil it made her.

How do you like me now?

Being strong, and bold, and standing up, taking what she wants when she wants it, for the first time in her goddamn life. Because, before this, she would have never done any of that stuff she imagines.

She never did that.

She never defended herself or stood up for herself or fought back.

She only endured and endured and endured like a good little girl, like Mama wanted, like how Mama made her.

It's what's best for her. What's best for everyone.

But not anymore.

Never again.

Joan reached out her powers and found Maggie among the panic.

(never again Maggie never again)

(you will never hurt anyone else ever again)

She coiled her powers around Maggie’s shoulders and clenched down. When the grasp was tight enough, she began telekinetically pulling away from Maggie’s body. Instantly, Maggie was alerted that something was very wrong when her arms raised outwards against her will. She fought against Joan’s power, but was much too weak, and began to scream loudly at the strain on her flesh.

  “Maggie!” Anthony yelled in shock. “What’s wr--”

Joan halted his sentence. She didn’t want him speaking anymore. 

She found his organs after a quick moment of searching and vacuumed them upwards. Anthony gagged loudly and clutched at his stomach. His throat bulged like an anaconda was trying to slither out of his body, and then his guts came pouring out of his mouth. 

Everyone shrieked much louder than they were before, or at least those not completely panicking. Anthony’s stomach splattered to the ground first, then his kidneys and liver, large intestines, and then his small intestines, which didn’t make it all the way out and dangled from his mouth like a half eaten snake. He collapsed into the pool of his own insides, empty and very much dead.

  “Anthony!!” Maggie shrieked, tears pouring out of her eyes. A moment later, her arms ripped off of her body and began spewing blood everywhere. Delicate bones poked out like stars on a dark night from the fresh openings against her shoulders. She would bleed to death quickly, and Joan left her to die on the floor, hoping it would be painful.

She looked around, noting how many people were still left alive. She watched Judgement corral three students, one of which fainted from terror. He set them all on fire and then whisked off for new prey. The girl who fainted woke up screaming, but the screams didn’t last very long.

Where was Anne?

(she ran)

(coward coward coward)

She had to go after Anne.

Joan got into the sprinklers overhead and activated them. The spray of water felt amazing over her tingling skin. The blood, mostly dried, began to run in red trails, but she knew it would do little to really clean her the way she wanted it to.

(i’m coming Anne)

But first, she had to finish what she started.

--

Violet took one step too close to the white tree where the watching dragon was perched. Having spotted her, the dragon roared a challenge, extending its wings in a brilliant display of dominance.

The roar it made was earth shattering.

Violet was still recovering from the roar when the dragon jumped down and its spiked forearm slammed into her chest, catapulting her backwards. It went after her, crushing several students into nothing beneath its talons, then pierced her with its tail, leaving her dangling several feet from the ground. Rich, ruby red blood drizzled from the razor sharp point.

She felt faint, the pain radiating through her like a dull ache as the dragon slowly brought her around, its beady white glass eyes fixed on her. She tried to wriggle free, but the sharp edge of the tail tearing into her unresisting flesh caused her to slide further down the blood-streaked appendage. The tail grated through her organs, cutting clean through them. She coughed blood and moaned weakly. Everything was starting to spin.

  “Violet!!” Lara cried from down below.

Violet coughed blood again. The dragon lashed its tail and sent her flying free. She hit the floor roughly, hearing several bones snap, and then went very still. The last thing she ever heard was the sound of Lara’s skeleton being crushed in the jaws of the dragon.

--

Aragon was rarely ever scared, but the mayhem that had erupted throughout the gym nearly had her paralyzed with fear. For a moment, as she watched the destruction break out, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, especially when she saw Anthony Lee spill his guts from his mouth, but when the sprinklers kicked on overhead, she put her head back on her shoulders.

She had to get out.

Amid the chaos, she saw a flash of white and purple- Bessie. She hurried over to the bleach-haired student, who was in the middle of a pretty bad panic attack, and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Bessie! Bessie? Bessie, listen to me!” She shook her shoulders. “Come with me, alright?”

Bessie, unable to muster up any comprehensible reply, nodded. Aragon took her hand and began guiding her to a set of side doors that weren’t as blocked off as the rest of the exits. However, they were just as jammed as all the others.

  “Fuck!” Aragon hissed, yanking on the handle.

  “Wh-what do we do, Miss Aragon?!” Bessie whimpered, shivering.

Aragon looked around desperately, then located a vent up near the ceiling nearby.

  “Get a chair!”

Bessie obeyed and grabbed the closest, most stable chair she could find. Aragon stood on it and ripped off the vent cover, then hopped back down. She had to let her kids go first.

  “Go!” She shouted over the pandemonium. “Hurry! Get in!”

Bessie didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her heels and stood up on the chair, scrambling into the vent as quick as she could. Several other students who were smart enough to come over followed her in. By the time it was her turn to climb in, the sprinklers had cut off and the ground was covered in a layer of water.

Joan stepped off of the stage slowly. With every step she took, the water around her spread away so she would be walking on dry ground. Above her, the electrical equipment holding up the spotlights crackled, and Aragon realized what was about to happen.

  “EVERYBODY, GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!” She screamed.

Aragon leapt up onto the chair and flung her arms inside the vent. As she was pulling herself up, the chair flipped and she was left dangling above the ground. And, at the same time, the electrical equipment exploded into sparks and fell to the floor.

It was horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. She watched her students spasm as they were electrocuted and then drop to the ground like birds with broken wings. Hundreds must have died, and she would soon join them. Any second now, her arms would give out and she’d plummet into the electrically charged water, joining the kids as a corpse inside the gym.

Her life began to flash before her eyes, surely thinking she was about to die. But then, a strange, unseen force began to lift her up and tuck her gently into the vent. When she turned her head, she saw Joan looking at her with shining eyes.

[egosofipliers]

Dramatic Hearts 1

@egoiplier-shenanigans  has a wonderful world and I am such a shipper I wanted to write them a story based on their egos! And then I went to sprinkle in a bit of angst and the lid came off!  Expect part two sometime tomorrow! (I would have just submitted but it wouldn’t let me....)

Things started off simply enough, meetings went on like normal, conversations were short and often had a reason behind it. All things played out as they had every day before that but there were small changes slowly starting to sink in, eye’s lingered just a little longer, the barest quirk of a sincere smile before it was whisked away into a default expression and just the smallest bit just taking in each others company before going about their days.

All the starts for a budding relationship danced around none of then one Darkiplier and Bim Trimmer but nether would act on it. Bim too sure he was reading too much into it watching too many romances writing too many scrips, Dark wasn’t one to fall in love not without a little magic involved and Bim had way past learnt that lesson.

Dark’s thought process though was on the complete other side of the spectrum, he wasn’t worried Bim didn’t like him not when Bim had already proven to be more then a little loose with his magical talents. Dark was a little more then convinced Bim must have been after something from him more then convinced that slight flutter in his chest and jealously in his blood was nothing more then magic from a show host that didn’t know where to draw the line.

It was odd really to think the manipulator was worried about being controlled and the charismatic incubus was scared no one could have feelings for him. It was as if the world was flipped on it’s head for those two alone yet nether of them was willing to take a step back they danced around it just staying far enough away not to be burned. Bim wouldn’t let his heart break. Dark wouldn’t let himself be the toy in this situation. There was no way such display would go unnoticed.

Months had gone by and nether of their feelings had let up, the other egos were noticing the slight dreamy daze Bim would fall into from time to time especially when he thought he was alone, it was very clear he was crushing on someone but no one could get conformation on who it was. Dark was almost easier to read if it wasn’t for everyone being so sure he was faking it all. The monochromatic ego was getting snippy and especially short tempered when seen with Bim. It was just had to pick out was it Jealousy or anger that someone was in the way of him and his newest toy?

No one knew where to jump in no one knew where to draw the line but after some time Dark couldn’t stand the stale mate and took a step forward and it wasn’t for love. If Bim really wanted to play innocent to using his powers then Dark was going to play just as dirty, They show host wasn’t the only one with a nice smile and way with words. The push forward made everything fall into place for the other egos Dark was being too sweet too smooth his words clearly well chosen and the star stuck shine in Bim’s eyes along with his own flirting set two point of views into place.

Warfstache, the Doctor, and Google_G whole heartedly believed Bim was trying to use his powers on Dark once more seeming to not have learnt his lesson the first time he played with fire.

Where as The Host Google_R and Oliver were firmly rooted in that this was all Dark’s doing, ether from the ability to now tell Dark was meaningfully leading Bim on or from the knowledge of just how Bim’s power looked.

Ether way the fire was going and though many had picked what side the they wanted to be on some stayed firmly out of it and watched as everything spiraled out of control.

Once again Dark had broken first a fact he would forever deny but it had been too hard to ignore the rage that slowly built at how Bim would look at him. Part of him just wanted to melt and make sure the whole building knew the show host was his now but the other part could only think of manipulation. Dark could think of over a hundred ways he would use Bim’s powers and as such he believed that must be exactly what the starry eyed ego must be doing now and heart be damned he was going to let himself go along with it one more second!

There was an outburst almost like an explosion of darkness the first time Bim worked up the nerve to try and give Dark a small kiss. Bim had been knocked back as the other egos ran to investigate getting to the doorway just in time to see Dark making his way over to the shocked and terrified looking ego on the ground.

“I’ve had it with this game! Call off your magic Bim your not fooling anyone we all know your tricks!” Dark’s voice was filled with venom as he did all he could to push down the feelings in his chest especially at the fear Bim’s eyes now held for him, somehow without making a single move Dark had been halted, a hateful expression on his face to mask just how tight his chest was now feeling.

“I—…” Bim couldn’t think of the words to say now he was trembling and confused he hadn’t used any magic on Dark, he hadn’t really done anything more then small pushes that weren’t even enough to be confused as love since the Date my Ass incident. “I didn’t…”

Bim’s voice was low but Dark was just close enough to pick up what he had said and let it sink in. Every part of him didn’t want to believe him but in this moment he could see just how wrong he had been and just how he ended up letting Paranoia control him. Dark’s voice was low there was a growl lingering there “Get out.”

There was a small moment where no one dared to move not till Bim had to let out a shaky breath and Dark was back to attacking screaming for him to get out and literally lifting him up and tossing him right out the door towards the other egos and slamming the door in his face.

Darkiplier refused to let himself sink down he refused to let the pain he was feeling in his chest take control of him. He had already lashed out. He had already let his emotions and paranoia control how he was acting. Breaking down was not an option, no mater how much he realised he had messed up.

[lunascamandersbowtruckle]

Light in the Dark (Newt Scamander x Vampire!Reader)

Request: “Can you please do a Newt imagine where the reader is a vampire and they fall in love? Thanks so much!” 

A/N: I am so so so sorry this has taken me so long to publish! I have been crazy busy and I couldn’t get this to a place I was happy with and have been experiencing insane writers’ block. I hope this anon is still following my blog and sees this story, but if not, I completely understand. I’ve been trying to do research on vampire lore specifically in Rowling’s Wizarding World, but there is almost no information available, so I’ve taken some creative liberties. I hope that is alright with everyone! This was a lot of fun to write, and I am always so incredibly grateful for requests and your kind words <3 Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, and reblogs! I love you all!

Word Count: 2250

Warnings: Injuries, blood, minimal violence, some angst, but ends with fluff!

Living your entire life consumed by darkness is not the existence you would have ever asked for.

But rarely does one ever actually end up with the life they want, and so here you were, a vampire holding onto your still magical blood, capable of complete destruction and complete rebuilding all at once. And this is how you lived your life. You may not have chosen to be bitten by a vampire at the age of 7 when you were out exploring the woods near your cottage at night when you were supposed to be cozy in your bed. You didn’t choose for your parents to frantically search for you the next morning to find you lying in a pool of your own blood, unconscious and barely alive, two distinct holes clearly visible amidst the now almost paper-white skin of your throat. You didn’t ask to have to be rushed to St. Mungo’s in the arms of your crying and frantic parents who were terrified of losing the one they loved more than anyone and anything else in the world. You never wanted to end up lying in a hospital bed for two weeks, barely conscious as the doctors and nurses tried to keep you heavily sedated, not knowing what would happen to the small child who was now almost guaranteed to be a monster. 

While you may not have asked or wanted what life gave you that night, life also handed you everything you needed in your parents. They were the lights of your life who kept away the darkness as best as they could. When the doctors and nurses told them what they had already suspected, that their precious child was now a vampire, they refused to accept you as the monster St. Mungo’s and the rest of their society wanted to make you out to be. Sure, you may have had some new needs, but you would always be the child they knew and loved, and they would never treat you as anything less than that.

And so for the next few years, they kept you well fed, learning how to complete blood draws on their own. They took turns giving you some of their own blood while also working with a kind doctor they had met during your time at the hospital, one who refused to see you as a monster and worked tirelessly to make sure that you would have adequate supplies of blood at all times. As a result, you never grew hungry, and you never felt a need to “feed,” feeling perfectly content and happy, not a care or monstrous bone in your body.

Now this wasn’t to say that life was always full of roses for the young vampire. You still were not able to go out into the daylight, and your rush of adrenaline and energy at night was completely incompatible with the society you were bound to. You longed to know what it was like to feel the glowing sun on your pale white skin, to not have your thoughts and dreams circling and most active at night when you were forced to be all alone with them. You wanted to play with the other children you could hear laughing just outside the shuttered and curtained windows of your home. You loved your parents, but you were still terribly lonely.

Then, on your eleventh birthday, you received the present you had only been dreaming of your whole life. You ripped open the letter addressed to you alone, tearing through the distinct red wax seal to reveal the writing inside. Your heart soared as your eyes danced across the page, but the end of the letter brought reality back into your life. You tore the letter in two, just as your heart was tearing, and you dropped to the floor, sobs wracking your body. Your parents rushed into the room, sitting down next to you and scooping you into their arms.

They looked to the ground to see the torn letter, and their eyes met over your head, small smiles gracing their faces, completely unbeknownst to you. You mother gently placed her hand under your chin and guided your face up to look at her. Your teary eyes met her shining ones, and you felt your father’s arm wrap around your shoulders.

“I just want to go to Hogwarts, mother. That’s all I’ve ever wanted! But now-” Tears started to well up in your eyes again, but your face turned inquisitive once you saw your mother’s smile get wider.

“Sweetie, your father and I have a surprise for you.”

Your breath hitched as you could feel your heart begin to hope. You quickly tried to clamp it down, not wanting to get excited about something you knew you could never really have, “What is it?”

You could hear your father’s deep but soothing voice then, “You’re going to Hogwarts.”

Your jaw dropped, not believing a single word you were hearing, “But the sun-”

Your parents looked at each other again before your mother’s voice told you everything you had ever hoped to hear, “We didn’t want to tell you, just in case it never worked, but we’ve been talking to both your doctor as well as a professor at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. You see, there is a new professor there who shares your predicament, and he has been working on a solution to the slight burning problem. While it is not perfect yet, there is promise and it has been shown to work for small amounts of time in those who were born magical and bitten in life. You would have to go to the infirmary multiple times a day, and there is no telling if it will work forever. There is also still the problem of regular blood supplies and the like, but as of today, you will start school in September, darling.”

Your sobs continued, but this time, your heart was singing. You crushed your mother in a hug, and you felt your father surround the two of you as well, all three of you laughing and crying together, completely awed and excited about this new opportunity.

In the days leading up to your departure, you began to become more and more anxious. Negative thoughts flooded your head constantly, and it took every fiber of your being not to run to your parents and tell them you changed your mind.

What if no one likes me? I don’t know how to act around other children. What if I miss my parents too much? What if people find out what I am? What if I become a monster? What if I attack someone? It doesn’t matter that I haven’t before. I’ve also never been away from home before. I’ve never not had my parents making sure I’m always properly fed. What if the potion doesn’t work? What if I end up having to come home? What if I hate school? What if my professors hate me? What if I’m not smart enough?

Your thoughts were swiftly interrupted by a knock on your door, your parents’ heads peeking in to check that your were all packed and ready for the train. They saw the worried look you had on your face, the nervous chewing of the inside of your cheek, a sure sign that you were thinking too much again. They quickly entered the room and sat on your bed next to you.

“You are going to do wonderfully, sweetie,” your dad quietly urged. “We will still be involved in making sure that everything is alright, and Professor Dumbledore himself said that he will be keeping an eye on you to make sure of it. We are just an owl away if you ever need anything, but you are always welcome to come home if you end up absolutely hating our dear alma mater.” He gave you a small smile and a squeeze of reassurance.

Your mother softly continued, “And you are such a sweet one, (Y/N). People will love you, if you let them. Just be yourself, and be open to the experience. Children can sometimes be cruel, but they can also be kind and accepting. I know you’re afraid of what might happen if people find out, but they will not unless you let them, and if they do, the right friends will still love you no matter what. I promise.”

You nodded, determined and full of energy and confidence once again. You swiftly stood up, “I think it’s time we leave for the train!” You took a few steps forward to grab your case before you turned back around swiftly, tackling your parents into a hug. They held onto you tightly, savoring having their darling around for just a little while longer. You all let go slowly, excited for the adventure but not quite ready to say goodbye.

You made your way to Platform 9 and ¾, and you took a deep breath, taking in the sight of the train in front of you that was about to whisk you off to your dreams. You turned to your parents one last time, hugging them, “I love you both so much. I promise to write. Thank you for believing in me.”

Your parents teared up slightly before saying their own “I love you”s and “Be safe”s. 

You climbed onto the train, your confidence wavering once again as you saw that everyone seemed to know everyone else. You felt alone and confused as you wandered down the compartments, trying to find an empty one to sit in, not wanting to impose on other groups.

You finally found one towards the very back, and you sat down, staring out the window and waving at your parents one last time. You pulled out a novel, one of your favorites. It was worn down and marked, but it was loved. You tucked your feet beneath you as you tried to read, but tears began to form in your eyes as you once again questioned whether you would ever belong.

You were brought suddenly back into the present by the opening of the compartment door, and you were taken aback by the sight in front of you. There stood a boy, slightly gangly, his cinnamon colored hair a cascade of curls that found their way into his face, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears and covered with freckles, and his eyes refusing to make eye contact with your own. You peered at him curiously as he spoke, “I apologize, but would it be alright if- that is do you quite mind if- I mean if it is alright with you, may I sit here? Everywhere else is dull- I mean full! Though the conversations didn’t seem particularly riveting. I much prefer talk about magical creatures. Did you know that Hippogriffs-”

You cut him off with a small cough, your voice quiet, “I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.” 

You blushed slightly as he made his way closer to you, scooting past you and sitting on the other bench, facing you. He blushed as well, stammering a small “Thank you” before becoming silent once again, embarrassed by his own long-windedness.

You looked at the boy in front of you once more. His clothing appeared slightly too large for his body, but not in a bad way. More like he wore them like that purposefully, as if there was a reason to be in constant motion and he didn’t want to be constricted by too-tight clothes. He also seemed rather nervous, eyes constantly moving, but never resting on you. 

But most importantly, he seemed kind. He gave off an air of not thinking himself better than anyone else, and he was rather gentle in his movements, as erratic as they were. And this kindness was what gave you the small amount of courage you were able to muster, “My name is (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), by the way.”

You blushed again as he made eye contact for a brief second before looking away again. His eyes were a brilliant blue-green, and they were filled with light. You held onto that light in the back of your mind, smiling a bit at the warmth they filled you with.

He spoke softly, “I’m Newton. Newton Scamander, but please call me Newt. It is nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

You stuck your hand out gently, “It’s nice to meet you too, Newt.”

He looked at your hand for a second before slowly reaching out his own to bring it to yours. Your eyes met his again for a moment, and you tried to pour all of your kindness out into your expression. You wanted him to know that you wanted to be his friend, that you found him to be kind and interesting. You both smiled a bit, hands stilling, enjoying the warmth from the other before pulling away quickly, blushing furiously.

You were the one to break the silence again, wondering aloud, “So, what were you saying about hippogriffs?”

Newt broke out into a wide grin before telling you all about his mother’s hippogriff farm and everything he had learned about them while he was growing up. And both of your hearts were hoping quietly that maybe, just maybe, you had each just made a friend, a person to bring a little bit of light into each of your lives.

Thank you for reading! I’m going to write at least one more part for this. I got a little carried away with backstory, but I really want to delve into what their actual relationship with each other would be a little more and for the reader to reveal their darker parts to Newt, so be on the lookout!

[jillmckenzie1]

A Game of Numbers

So, I’ve been dating. It’s a rather obvious statement, but I’m saying it here with a real air of assertiveness that lets you know that I’m “for real,” because dating is what I should be doing if I am blatantly putting out into the universe that I’d like a partner in crime.

And, as painful as dating can be (and, take my word for it, it can be unbelievably painful), the only way to get better at anything is by doing it. Over and over and over again. So, I’ve spent the last few months committed to putting myself out there more as a means of sharpening the side of me that would rather gauge out my eyeballs with a rusty spoon than go on yet another date with a guy who is either too confused or too feminine or too vegetarian or too horny to even see past my backside in yoga pants (feel free to reference this previous dating rant for verification).

Fact. Dating is a game of numbers. You have to weed through a lot of toads to find Prince Charming (at least this is what they tell me).

I, personally, liken dating to Groundhog Day. You know, the movie where Bill Murray wakes up and repeats a sequence of events over and over and over again until he finally transforms from being an arrogant asshole into a good-hearted philanthropist? Yep, that one. Because every first date is essentially the same series of questions, actions, and reactions. The two of you are simply sizing each other up to come to some type of conclusion in regard to whether or not you’d like to do it again sometime.

Sidebar. I’d like to think that Prince Charming breaks the first-date mold. That he asks me for drinks at a college basketball bar where I spend far more time directing my body towards him than Saturday’s primetime matchup. And that we don’t even have to think about asking all the generic questions because the conversation just is. And he whisks me away to a sold-out concert where I’m scalping a ticket from a guy named Chicago in an effort to have another excuse to be next to him. And, at the end of the night, after one kiss that is more electric than the band’s encore, I’m wearing his alma mater shorts and Nike t-shirt to crawl into the left side of his bed and fall asleep next to the warmth of his body.

Unfortunately, this, here, is not that story.

So, let’s return to the vegetarian. Correction. Let’s return to the vegetarian that I met on Bumble. Truly, how else do you meet people these days? It’s altogether mind-blowing. Yet, I’m also living this quasi-nomadic life that warrants the use of technology in order to both make connections and stay connected. So, I jokingly call Bumble the place where we go to die (the ratio of ghosting to non-ghosting has got to be hovering in the 90th percentile); and yet, I am also on Bumble (and last time I checked, I’m not dying).

I digress. The vegetarian. When we started chatting, it happened to be snowing in Breckenridge. I had just landed with the Airstream by way of Texas. And he had just landed at the local hostel by way of New York, quitting corporate America to try on the ski bum life for a winter. We were both new. Great. We were both into powder. Great. And the next day promised lots of the latter. Even more great. Naturally, we agreed to meet on the mountain. And, while this was a risky move on my part (since I knew nothing about his ability level), I felt that I had enough scapegoats for a day date to politely abort the mission (hard rule of first dates is that you always have scapegoats).

We skied. We asked questions. And, surprisingly, I was able to avoid any scapegoating.

The next night, Vegetarian asked me to grab a drink with him to meet some guy that could be his potential roommate (remember, homeboy is living in the hostel while waiting for some housing to open up). He actually pulled the “but I’d much rather be sitting there with you” card, which, as a sucker for words, I found rather endearing. To be honest, I found a few things about him rather endearing.

Until I didn’t. Until, in transit to date two, I find myself sitting in his passenger seat on the side of Main Street while having a passionate discussion about my current diet and my affinity towards eating animals.

That’s right, folks, it’s all fun and games until you disclose that you’re a meat-eater.

If you follow my Instagram Stories, then you know that I’ve been dealing with stomach issues for almost a decade, and I recently engaged in a six-week metabolic reset that was rather strict in regards to the types of foods that I could eat and the portion sizes of those foods. Yes, meat was involved (as it has been involved in my diet for the vast majority of my life). And, yes, I presented this information to him so that he could understand why I wouldn’t be gorging on pizza that evening. Immediately, my diet became the epicenter of our conversation (while still sitting on the side of the road).

Allow me to preface this next bit with two statements. One, I have tried being a vegan and a vegetarian. Two, I don’t actually believe that anyone needs to justify his or her diet choices. Regardless, I opened the door for him to engage in conversation with me about my obsession with being a meat-eating member of society.

Because, I’ve tried everything, dude. Because I’ve been dealing with gut problems for seven years. Because I’ve seen over ten doctors. Because I am more educated on this topic than 97.4% of Americans. Because you call yourself a vegetarian and eat pretzels with fake cheese; meanwhile, I call myself an omnivore and only consume organic meats, fruits, and vegetables.

So, there we were. For an hour. Literally. And all I could think about was how thankful I was that his BMW X3 had a functional passenger-side seat heater.

In hindsight, what I learned about myself through this experience is my ability to detach from commentary that is merely someone’s opinion and recognize that it is in no way a personal attack on my character, an area where I truly struggled just a couple years ago.

Me: “Look, I would love to have a more detailed discussion with you about the pros and cons of vegetarianism, but I don’t feel educated enough on the topic to continue to disagree with you. I don’t even disagree with you. Because if it works for you, then great. If it doesn’t work for me, then great. But, as a whole, I don’t have any plausible data in my back pocket to support that eating meat is neither better nor worse for a human body.”

And, if I’m being honest, I didn’t care. I still don’t care.

In that moment, all I cared about was him driving me home. Because, good gawd, we’re two dates in and he’s already not listening. Disagree with me on something? Totally fine. Try to convince me that my opinion is completely false, or even stupid, without even really knowing me? Totally not fine.

But I stayed calm and talked myself into persevering (it is dating, after all, which is borderline rocket science). I reasoned that he was coming from a good place. I could feel the sense of urgency in his voice. He was imparting a knowledge on me that he believed could help me. At the core of my being, I could not fault the man for speaking his truth. The difference was that the conversation was not directed towards vegetarianism as a whole. The conversation was directed towards me and what I should do and how I should be leery of a program that suggested eating meat as a means of balancing myself. He just didn’t have enough knowledge about me as a person to so passionately preach to, what he seemed to believe, was my ignorance.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It was only our second date, after all.

We walked into the pizza place – me maintaining an aggressively safe distance between the two of us. Sports were on TV. I looked to the Nuggets for a little respite from the previous conversation.

Me: “Do you like the NBA?”

Vegetarian: “I don’t really like sports. I don’t really get them.”

Well, shit. Strike two, buddy. Strike two in two hours (if I’m still being generous). Seriously, sports, you don’t get them? So, we return to the food conversation. Again. Because he has to know what I would eat off the menu of this dive pizza place in Breckenridge, Colorado.

Nothing, dude. The answer is nothing. Mostly because I’ll get sick (hello, glu-tard over here). Mostly because I don’t know from where they’re sourcing their ingredients. Mostly because I would order a Tito’s and soda from the bar but not a salad in this kind of establishment.

Sure, I’m a damn food snob. And, sure, I’ve passed over caring what other people think of my food choices. Because I’ve been too damn sick for too damn long to sacrifice feeling good so that someone else can feel comfortable eating next to me.

At this point, I’m managing every verbal volley without any defensiveness or predisposition towards a specific response. But, inside. Inside I am screaming. I just want to cheer for the Nuggets and drink my Tito’s and soda and laugh until my cheeks feel like they’re going to explode. Is that too much to ask?

Seriously, where is Chicago and the sold-out concert and the alma mater shorts?

Somewhere. The answer is somewhere. But, most certainly not on this night with this guy at this local pizza joint. It took everything inside of me to not tell him to just let me jump out of his moving vehicle while he rolled past my RV park on the way home. Because, yes, I did in fact make it home. Alive.

But don’t worry, it gets better. Post-drop off, he proceeds to immediately text me and ask me to define the relationship. And I gather that this sense of urgency is spurred by the fact that he needs a place to live and my Airstream seems like a plausible solution (his words, not my assumptions).

Is this real life? Was he on our second date? Or did I just wake up from a really bad dream?

Nope. Date happened. He was there. This is actual real life. And, in the spirit of extreme bluntness, I euphemistically explain that hell will freeze over before we see each other again.

And, just like that, back to that desire to gauge out my eyeballs with a rusty spoon than experience anything resembling a date in the near future.

But I know better. Vegetarian is just another story. And I don’t mean that in some sluttish laundry list of dating have-dones. As a metaphor, I simply mean that I took him for a test drive and I didn’t like the car (at all), so I left it on the lot. To date is to simply be open to making the purchase.

As a non-metaphor, I liken it more to the softening of one’s heart. Dating is creating spaces of vulnerability for someone to show up. And I’m pretty convinced that you can find out in no more than three dates whether or not a person is going to show up in a capacity that makes you want to be enveloped in their presence over and over and over again. The challenge is that it requires brutal honesty, both with yourself and with the other person. And I’ve come to the conclusion that this fear of honesty is what propels most people into settling. Because we do not want to do the work to know ourselves. And beyond that, when we do challenge ourselves to do the work – when we sit inside ourselves long enough to understand how we receive love – we are then scared to articulate boldly to another human what is that we need based on that knowledge.

Because, what if we are too needy?

My answer. We all have needs; therefore, we are all needy. The right person will never put this label across your chest and ask you to carry it as if who you are is altogether too much. The right person will hear you, really hear you, and he most certainly will not keep you parked on the side of Main Street for an hour to defend your eating habits.

So, here’s to more swipe rights, and random chairlift conversations, and Instagram messages, and phone number exchanges, and actual dates to all different types of food establishments (organic or not). Because I just have to keep playing the odds. Yes, there are a hell of a lot of toads in this world, but Prince Charming, he is out there (and he’d better know how to snowboard).

from Blog https://ondenver.com/a-game-of-numbers/