#sometimes a post I disagree with is worded so well that I must reblog anyway

[llyfrenfys]

Bad Takes in the Welsh tag vol. II- this reblog on a post about the number of Welsh speakers. (I have cropped out the username of OP and as ever, I only focus on the sentiment, not the person. If you know OP's url kindly do not send them anon hate etc.).

So I saw this take a few days ago in a reblog on a post in the Welsh tag and wanted to address this sentiment as well, since it does the opposite of that other bad take that I saw and made a post about the other day. To be clear, I don't disagree entirely with OP, but there's an element of wishful thinking that I sometimes see when it comes to Welsh / other minoritised languages which can end up doing more harm than good.

This screenshot was also discussed in the LGBTQIA+ Welsh Discord I run and the broad consensus from those of us in there who live in Wales is that OP is painting a very inaccurate picture of the status of Welsh, particularly of Welsh in North Wales. It is frustrating when you have people who value Welsh, but don't value Welsh enough to bother with accuracy in their promotion of the language. This post is intended as a gentle reminder that we can fight for the Welsh language without misrepresenting the situation on the ground so to speak.

The post itself has a 'fuck yeah, Welsh!' attitude which I personally love. But sadly this particular post is riddled with misinformation. First of all, we have "Welsh law is that all signs must have We[l]sh text on them but there is nothing in the law that says signs must also have English on them". Now the wording is kinda vague here- but I'm going out on a limb and saying that the OP is likely referencing The Welsh Language Standards Guidelines (which have been updated several times over the years). The guidance has a number of Standards relating to signs in the Welsh language, such as Standard 32, Standards 47-52, Standard 66 and Standards 111-113. The section of Interpreting the Standards also contains relevant text, such as in Part 3- Interpreting the Standards article 15:

Plain text: "For the purposes of the standards a requirement to publish, provide or display any written material in Welsh does not mean that material should be published, provided or, displayed in Welsh only, nor does it mean that the material should be produced in Welsh first (unless that is specifically stated in the standard)"

Of the Standards listed above, Standards 47-52 are specifically designated as Standards relating to signs and notices displayed or published by a body. Which state things like "... if the same text is displayed in Welsh and in English, you must not treat the Welsh language text less favourably than the English language text" - Standard 47 and "You must ensure that the Welsh language text on signs and notices is accurate in terms of meaning and expression" - Standard 49.

Anyway, back to the point. OP is incorrect in stating that there is a loophole by which the Welsh Law forgot to specify that the signs had to have English as well as Welsh and that public bodies can get away with monolingual Welsh signs. This just isn't true. Important to note is that the law is intended for public bodies- so big companies, road signage makers etc. This guidance isn't for random farms in North Wales which have signs that say "wyau <-" pointing up the lane with no English translation.

Now, the next sentence is a little loaded, well-meant, but a little loaded nonetheless. "The Welsh nationalist dominated rural authorities in the North"- it's loadedness comes down to its vagueness I think. While it isn't wrong per se that Welsh Nationalist parties like Plaid Cymru do well in the North West, it is a little skewed to ascribe Welsh speaking status to whichever party is doing the best in a given area. It isn't that clear cut, unfortunately. To get into this issue, we have to talk maps.

So those Welsh speaker maps that have nice gradients and have the West of Wales coloured in dark, gradually getting lighter as you move East? Unfortunately, these maps can be very misleading (especially if, like in the map OP was commenting on, the source of the data was left off). But the long and short of it is- these maps tend to imply that Welsh is exclusively spoken in the NW and that everywhere East of Bangor has had it. But the data presentation is very flawed, since it tends to erase Welsh language gains in places like Cardiff, Swansea and Monmouthshire.

You've all seen maps like this right? NW in the darkest colours and SE in the lightest?

Unfortunately when it comes to these kinds of maps, they can be very misleading from a language revitalisation point of view.

Here's some maps I actually studied at undergrad for this purpose

On the face of it, your eyes zip up to Gwynedd and Môn on the first map and then over to the second and- 'oh no!' you might say, there's been a -2.1 to -4.0 percent decline in Welsh speakers in those areas. And of course, this is something that language revitalisation wants to address. But look at the first map again. Look at, Monmouthshire, Caerphilly, Cardiff and Swansea. Then look at the second map.

Welsh speaking is actually being increased in these areas, between 2001 to 2011.

The misleading nature of a language map like this one is not its borders, its colour or key, but its omission of the sociopolitcal forces at play in language revitalisation. Large population centres like Cardiff, Caerphilly, Newport and Swansea are actively gaining more Welsh speakers. While Gwynedd and Môn are losing some. But Welsh speaking (despite a few wobbles) is on the increase. So where did those Welsh speakers from the North go?

South.

It isn't a hard-and-fast rule, but many rural Welsh speakers (especially those who live in areas with high amounts of holiday homes which drive up rent/cost of staying in villages in North Wales) actually end up moving to more urban areas in the South, meaning that some of the decline of Welsh speaking in North Wales is down to Welsh speakers just, moving to a different part of Wales- which in turn makes those areas see an increase in Welsh being spoken.

Of course, we actually have to address the cause of the exodus of Welsh speakers from rural areas holiday homes raising house prices making them unaffordable for locals and drives them away but the way that our data is represented is not as dire as it looks. Still not great, mind, but not apocalyptic either.

Then there's the other inaccuracies in this post. Small businesses like farm shops, high street businesses and houses can have Welsh-only signage because they are not local authorities and much of the guidance indirectly referenced by OP mostly only applies to local authorities. This is how you have farm shops advertising produce in Welsh only, or shop names in Welsh (such as Siop y Pethe and Broc-Môr in Aberystwyth) or the name of the house my flat is in. Businesses have different regulations for signage inside the shop in different situations. But the guidance indirectly referred to by OP in the screenshot mostly applies to road signage.

Big name brands such as Tesco are definitely not going to have monolingual Welsh stores and it is disinformation to suggest that they do- especially not when they've made gaffes such as "sboncen" to mean squash (the drink). "Sboncen" means squash (the sport), while they should have put "sgwash", meaning the drink.

Or my favourite instance of these "arwyddion gwael", in which instead of offering a free ATM service, this ATM on the Tesco Express in Aberystwyth offered "codiad am ddim" (free erections):

So I dread to think what a fully monolingual poorly translated Welsh Tesco would look like.

I don't disagree with OP on the final part, that we should celebrate Welsh's "punk ass attitude" in surviving despite attempts to eradicate it from existence. But spreading false information is definitely not the way we should be doing that.

Instead, we can celebrate things like the National Eisteddfod coming to places like Wrecsam in 2025, which aren't typically selected due to there being fewer speakers. But what bringing the National Eisteddfod to areas with low-speakers does is reestablish that yes, actually, Welsh deserves to be spoken all over Wales, not just in Y Fro Gymraeg (Welsh concept equivalent of the Gaeltacht in Ireland). It's an active, real reclamation of areas previously lost for Welsh and revitalising them by bringing the language back with the biggest Welsh language event anywhere.

[xxtraord1nary]

POV

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x f!mc (Charlotte West)

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Constructive criticism is always welcome! No hate please and thank you for reading reblog and comment if you enjoyed.

Summary: A very naughty and heavily pregnant Charlotte much prefers her handsome lovers point of view.

Warnings: Strong Language, Fellatio, Sex, and a tad of dark humor. If that makes you uncomfortable please exit stage left because you’ve been warned. Overall vulgar.

Tag list: @katkart122 @missmiimiie @openheartfanfics

“Tobias, I am not playing with you get that damn camera out of my face! It's way too early for your shit.” Charlotte snapped whilst swatting at the pest she called a husband as he continued to record his very moody wife with his old camera he found a couple a months ago when Char ordered him with a broom in hand to go “clean that damn garage” or he could sleep on the couch for a month, so that being all the motivation he needed Tobias got to it with vigor.

“You're really good at this whole black mama thing Charlie.” he teases with a shit eating grin plastered on his stupidly perfect face. “Keep it up and I’ll be a single black mama if you don’t quit.” she grunted while taking down her plaited kinky tendrils that in the morning tended to have a mind of their own.

“Now why would you say that?”

“Because I’m going to kill you” she said whilst continuing to grumpily apply toothpaste to her electric toothbrush.

“Really talking like that when I’m recording, then the police will immediately know who to be held responsible in the case of my untimely demise, Charlie.” he further ribbed while shaking his head playfully behind the lens.

“Screw you and the police Carrick.” she spat.

“Babe, you know all you have to do is corporate and let me get my daily picture of you and our little Tiny Tia. So get with the program.” he chided with a small but genuine smile as he further gazed at the love of his life and their little one growing inside her very pregnant belly.

“Alright two things: that name is super cute and I’m surprised you came up with that yourself.”

“I’m good for something, see?” to which she answered with a ‘meh’ and shrug of her shoulders.

“I’m offended.” and again another answer in the form of shrugged shoulders and a hard roll of the eyes.

“Now for two, why on earth do you need a picture every day?” she whined with tired eyes.

“This is our first child out of many, I need to capture every moment. Now lift up your shirt!” he confidently proclaimed.

She didn’t want to burst his little bubble but if he thought for a second she was pushing another of his big headed babies out of her lady parts he was sorely mistaken. ‘What the hell is “out of many” anyways?’ she pondered with a perplexed expression. “Absolutely not, I look like a gross ragamuffin.”

He sighed, “Charlie lift up your shirt or I’m gonna hold out.” he asservated pleased with her shocked expression. “Oh yeah, hold out what exactly?” she challenged with raised eyebrows. He knew the denial of sex would be the thing to do it for her. Already she had an insatiable sexual appetite hence here they were here six months pregnant, but pregnancy hormones only amplified that. “You really don’t wanna play those games with me Tobias, or you’ll find yourself handcuffed to bed and taken by force.” she lightheartedly fired back. “I’m quite intrigued as long as I can return the favor.” he huskily dropped an octave and whispered to her. She shivered and scoffed “You a silly little freak.” with a laugh.

“Honestly Charlie, all this is unnecessary as all I wanted was my pictures and could have been going about my business by now but someone refused to get along with the picture. Pun heavily intended.” he sighed.

“Okay I’ll bite, but what are you even doing with these pictures?”

“Well, if you must know. I take your picture or video then I pleasure myself.” he sexily drawled “then upload it online to make a virtual scrapbook.” he happily finished. “Why am I not surprised?” she chuckled as she shoved his laughing form. “Wait, you still masturabte?” she inquisitively questioned.

“Well, yeah sometimes you're in a horrifying mood and I’d rather work with what I’ve got than you ripping my head off, do you?”

“Actually no, not since I met you at least.” she truthfully noted, as her hands just didn’t do the job since Dr. Tobias Carrick waltzed into her life with his devilishly handsome face and rocked her world.

“I’m doing my job right then.” he pressed with a smirk. “Mhm, too right if you ask me.” she quipped pointing to her very round and beautiful stomach adorned with barely visible glittery stretch marks that only magnified her beauty and strength. “What’s on your mind now?” he pried while she poked at her bump in the mirror. “Me and Sienna, Aurora, and Jackie are going out to Carson Beach and I can’t decide whether to wear a two or one piece.”

“Two pieces of course so I can enjoy the fruits of my labor.” he smiled proudly.

“Four minutes hardly constitutes at “labor” she mocked with air quotes. He smacked his teeth in annoyance, “If you loved me you’d do this for me.” he pleaded. And now it was her turn to kiss her teeth, “Fine!” she huffed. “But leave my face out of it, I look icky in the mornings.” to which he eagerly disagreed and pecked her lips but not before muttering something along the lines of “stunning”.

“Alright, I’ll give you your little video but you have to do something for me.” she suggestively proposed. To which he readily agreed as he loved her ‘just been fucked’ afterglow. He then turned off the old camcorder and attempted to put it away but she fingered the loops of his jeans ��Uh uh turn it back on.”

He was sure his eyes were completely bulging out of his skull and managed to mutter a “Charlie a-are you serious?” in his daze. She nodded and sunk down to her knees as she slowly tugged down his boxers and elicited a low groan from him.

In the lens of the camera she expertly handled his member with care and tenderly began to stroke him giggling at his floored expression. “You ready for me, Tobias?” she tantalizingly asked not ceasing her stroking. Receiving an eager nod and thumbs up from the camera she smirked at her success in making the talkative bastard speechless. Expertly she teased his large in girth and lengthy member with the tip of her tongue before guiding him into her mouth as she had done tons of times before sucking her mans dick like a woman starved.

“Oh god, slow down baby.” Tobias pitifully groaned while screwing his mind down as the love of his life expertly worked him. “You wanna be inside me, baby?” she whispered in a sultry tone against the head of his member cursing a pleasant shiver to rack his body. He didn’t answer but instead made a gesture behind the camera for me to turn around. He thanked the heavens above for the easy access and the fact that she was wearing one of his shirts and abandoned underwear long ago. She hissed as his large strong hand cam crashing down on her bare ass, and soothed the pleasant sting with a soft rub. “Perfect.” he murmured as he continued his caressing of her more than generous backside. “How’s the view?” she asked with a wink through the mirror.

And with a quick and brutal thrust he was inside leaving her panting mess on the cold surface of the bathroom countertop as she moaned slowly.

“Amazing.” he quickly answered before he began his unrelenting deep thrust. “Deeper” she moaned out in the air. Resting on her palms and easing away from the countertop she made eye contact with a chipper Tobias as he violently thrust into her and she had to brace herself. “Where are you going Char?” Tobias teased as she stood on her tiptoes desperately in an unsuccessful attempt of creating space between them.

“Damn I know I told him deeper, but now he's just showing out for the camera.” she thought while groaning as he hit a spot inside her making let out a loud guttural moan. He made the most out of his opportunity reaching to rub her clit. Moaning even louder he soon used one hand to grip her shoulder as he angled the camcorder downwards to catch sight of his pelvis meeting her dripping cunt. Closing her eyes for some reprieve she opened them to meet Tobias’s eyes in the mirror to find him damn near gnawing through his lip to hold back his loud groans.

Her release soon crep up on her and she moaned loudly, “Baby, I-” to which he cut her off as he sped up his tireless thrust, “Me too. Don’t wait for me.” and with that she came harder than ever and fell back on the counter, a panting mess and sweating bullets and winced as he pulled out of her. She mistakenly thought he was going to clean her only for him to zoom in the camera to get a close up of her used pussy with his milky cum dripping out of her.

Once he caught his breath he chuckled “That was amazing and it wasn’t even my birthday.” to which she rolled her eyes with a dazed expression and a small smile on her face since enjoying the after effects of their morning activities.

“Yeah yeah you better delete that.” she warned turning on the shower.

“Uh-Uh Charlie we just made a porno, I’m downloading this to my USB and keeping it in my safe.” he remarked while being transfixed at the camcorder in his hands causing her to snort with laughter.

“Whatever, if it gets leaked I better get paid for it.” she declared while leaving to her shower leaving Tobias in a cheerful fit of post orgasmic laughter.

Fin.

A/N: That was nasty and you read it so you’re nasty too.

[lorei-writes]

Hello, friends! 

It seems that each time I say something obvious I needed to hear, there is at least one person who wanted to be told this too. So let me get personal again, and you know. Talk about some mildly human stuff, nevertheless - fandom related.

Summary: Lorei saying “ I’m just trying to say fandom is not a chore. It is casual thing I do for fun. It doesn’t need to be perfectly mapped out and planned out, it doesn’t need to have its efficiency maximized, there is no need for any optimal growth or development. It is okay to engage with canon, transform it, put it out, that it is okay to come back to it whenever, that there are no obligations tying anybody down to anything. That’s it. At least in my eyes. “ and going in a bit of detail on what went through her head in the past few weeks.

You know... I really screwed up a couple weeks ago ^^” It also aligned with some real-life events that weren’t exactly pleasant, and oh well, there I was, completely numb to anything. But, fandom.

So, a few week ago I was considering leaving the fandom behind ^^” As you can see, though, I’m still here and to be honest, I don’t plan on going anywhere in the near future. I guess... I guess I kinda wanted to talk about the things which almost led to it? Although admittedly, I’m struggling with words right now.

So. I’m a very anxious person, to the point where sometimes it is hard to decide where anxiety starts and my actual desires and thoughts end. Although I presume it’s natural it’s a rather seamless transition, considering that it’s also a thought inside of my head - nevertheless, my point is, I sometimes slip. Sometimes I let ideas in my mind escalate too much, to the point when they’re harmful to me... But then, it is on me not to do that. It’s not about guilt or who caused what (as well, I did), only about few thoughts I had and what I decided to do about it. But it’s vague, so let’s get down to more concrete things. It’s a bit of a call out for myself too. Also, this is strictly about myself. Everybody can feel differently and it doesn’t make their outlook on it any less valid.

I want to grow this blog.

This is - in my opinion - a perfectly reasonable thing to desire. I suppose most of us want to be seen, for their work to be appreciated and such - and honestly, it’s always a blast to read comments under your own work and see that hey, somebody else really did enjoy it!

But my anxieties took it too far. They exchanged “want” to “must”, and although at the beginning it made little difference, with time it gradually became draining. It got the the point where I would queue up something I wrote, forget about it, move to writing something else, and then feel hardly anything, no matter what reactions it got. The act of writing itself remained pleasurable, sure, it wasn’t completely soulless work... But then there was this air of detachment from everyone. I felt that although I technically was on this blog, it was also as if I kinda disappeared. I felt mechanical - and I do not like anything about this.

I want to be up to date with the game.

Similarly to the above, “want” got exchanged to “must”, thus adding pressure somewhere where it doesn’t belong. 

I don’t enjoy some characters, and even despite that I wrote them initially. I stopped doing that and then thought hey, I must be good now... But then, I acted as if I had to be curious about everything, even if I was not. We live under a constant stream of content and... To feel that you must do something you enjoy slowly begins to turn it into a chore, at least for me.

I want to share this thing I like with others so much!

This ended up being twisted in a bit of a different way, straight to “I want to make others happy” and then to “I must make others happy”.

I was subjected to emotional abuse as a child. I am guilty of people pleasing. I am aware of it and thought I was doing well - because, all the things you requested, all the things I offered, I really, really do want to write them. I enjoy those ideas, and I hope it will not discourage you from dropping by to share them. It’s one of the best things, really. I made it a point to teach myself to refuse requests I do not like, as hard as it was - and I practise it. 

The only thing is. I forgot to make time for myself in it. For the stupid self-indulgent things that just sorta bounce around inside of my skull. 

Anxieties are vile. At one point, I legitimately wondered whether an idea is worth being written out, simply because “what if nobody else enjoys it”, or “what if somebody disagrees” - or “no, I should wait with event XYZ up until a milestone, it can’t be done any different way”. Stupid! Completely irrational! 

So. Where am I going with this all... Ah, yes. 

I’m not leaving, but I don’t want this to stay this way either. Honestly, you probably won’t see any dramatic changes. It’s more so in my attitude, anyways. 

I’m just trying to say fandom is not a chore. It is casual thing I do for fun. It doesn’t need to be perfectly mapped out and planned out, it doesn’t need to have its efficiency maximized, there is no need for any optimal growth or development. It is okay to engage with canon, transform it, put it out, that it is okay to come back to it whenever, that there are no obligations tying anybody down to anything. That’s it. At least in my eyes. 

I will be still accepting requests. Honestly, as I’ve said - it’s more so in my attitude. I plan to quit doing milestone events... In exchange for casual events, when the inspiration strikes. Who cares how many of you are here? If you are here, you are here, each day is good enough. I plan to stop looking at my followers count. At reblogs-to-likes ratio (although I was yet to feel wronged in any way by it). At whether I posted something and whether the reblog wave I want to do will bury it down on my page. Because honestly, what is there to care about? I plan to, perhaps... Write a couple things I was thinking about. 

Sorry for getting too in my head about, well, all the wrong things, honestly. Although perhaps - sorry to myself. I took a step back. I’m enjoying those things again.

So, perhaps, let’s chat again when an opportunity arises? I honestly hate detaching myself from the things I do, at least this way.

Keep warm, 

Lorei

[thenuanceddebater]

Personal Post: Why I Disappear

Alright. This has been a long time coming. This might be one of the most open, personal, etc. posts that I’ve made on this blog. I’m not going to hide anything (save for some identifying details), and I’m going to go through messy stuff like emotions and whatnot. So, I’m putting it under a read more. Please do not think that you need to read this if you don’t want to. 

When I first started this blog, I was in undergrad and almost failing out. I had some family issues going on with my grandfather (who is now deceased due to what I could charitably call medical malpractice to the point where it helped change a national procedural standard), and I was hurting. I didn’t have many (or really any) friends, and I needed something to vent to. I made an account to shout into the void – to post long content that wouldn’t ever really get popular or any traction whatsoever for my own benefit. I needed a place where I could yell at people and feel smart. I really didn’t think anything would ever happen, or that I’d even get like... 50 followers.  And then my content it kind of... did take off to  a degree. 

I wasn’t really prepared for that, but at the time it was really fun. I’ve got a bit of an obssessive/ addictive personality, and tumblr became an addiction. At first, that was okay. I was involved in the culture-war discourse, but not really taking it any more seriously than I took other things. I had a summer internship during summer 2016 where I would make tumblr posts when I didn’t have enough work to do, and enjoyed talking to some of the friends I made on this platform. Then it got bad. I started disagreeing with people on “my side,” the 2016 election happened and I felt isolated from the left and the right, and the alt-right started to become a real thing on this website. 

Charlottesville is what finally killed it for me. I saw so many people I had at least some respect for trotting out positions that were not only wrong, but odiously wrong. I had acquaintances, classmates, good friends who were affected there. Who were on the ground when it happened. And I know a lot more about Charlottesville than most people on this website. I got sick and tired of having to defend myself, of having people who didn’t know what they were talking about speak back on issues that they did not fully understand. At that point, tumblr became toxic for me. And it’s never really come back. It just took me a while to realize it. 

I deleted the tumblr app from my phone in fall 2017, and it’s never come back. I took what was originally intended to be a 3 month sabbatical from tumblr, and then realized that I didn’t want it back in my life. It had kind of... fulfilled its purpose, and I was on to new things. I got a job, and started studying for law school. Then I got into law school. Tumblr was the last place I made that announcement. I used the fact that I had “gotten busy” as an excuse, but that’s not fully accurate. Yes, I was and am very busy. But if I really wanted to, I could make time to post. Maybe not the pages, upon pages, upon PAGES that I used to. But something. What it really was is that I no longer wanted to. The way this website works, at least on the political side, pushed me away. 

Alright, now a MAJOR confession time. I have a lot of anxiety. As in, diagnosed “I went to therapy for a year to help deal with it” anxiety. I’m not in therapy anymore, and I cope with it pretty well (especially compared to some people I know and have a great deal of respect, love, and admiration for). I’m privileged in that regard. So many people have it worse. But, there are still certain things that trigger an immediate strong anxiety response. One of them is seeing that I have notes that aren’t just reblogs or likes. For some reason, when I see a number above that little lightning bolt (or when I saw the activity tracker go crazy on older tumblr) it just makes my heart start pounding. It’s not that I think I might be wrong. I still welcome correction and critique of my opinions. It’s not that I don’t want people to reblog my stuff, or comment on it. That’s (1) not my choice and (2) absolutely silly. 

It’s more that I’m anxious about how the response is going to make me feel. Some of the angriest I’ve been in recent memory is reading tumblr posts. The angriest I’ve been since the whole... grandfather who was like a father to me died due to medical malpractice thing was when I read a response to a post I made about genocide. The second angriest is when I read a response to a post about Charlottesville. The angriest I’ve been in recent memory is when I read that post that brought me back to the website where people were encouraging others to resist unlawful arrest and citing to a case that was outdated. 

I’m not an angry person. I don’t like annoying myself like that. But for some reason, I just can’t help myself sometimes. The number of times I’ve been annoyed enough to want to respond to something in recent memory is... quite high. Sure, there are times where I come back just because I want to check my messages, see something positive, or a question and then am inspired to write something. But that’s not what it usually is. Not really. It’s usually the educator/ elitist in me who wants to correct something that he sees as wrong. And when that thing is dangerously wrong or disingenuously wrong, well that creates some emotions considering that I like to believe that people operate in good-faith and this website really stretches that belief sometimes. And sometimes I can deal with that, and sometimes it really, really bothers me. 

I’ve also discovered that I really don’t get very much from tumblr. I used to use it as shouting to the void, and as an activity I could do other than just playing video games and procrastinating on my school work. Well, I do a lot of things now. I have a lot of friends now, and more school work and obligations to student organizations, law journals, my summer internships, etc. I used to use tumblr as a way to feel like I was smart. To feel like I mattered and that I could do great things. I have other ways of doing that, as well as a lot more internal self-esteem and external validation of that self-esteem. Back when I made my tumblr, I was convinced that I was a bad person. Now, I know I’m not, and am in fact a pretty good person. Back when I made my tumblr, I had no outlet for the intellectual energy other than my long-term girlfriend and school work. Now, I have so many outlets for that energy, that it’s honestly mindboggling. Oh, and I still have that same now very-long-term girlfriend (just in case anyone was curious. Our ten year anniversary is next year. I’m 25. I’ve been dating this woman for almost 40% of my life. And she’s honestly fucking amazing, brilliant, and I’m so damn lucky to have her.). It’s not like I’m starved for interaction or avenues to pursue anymore. When I made my tumblr, I was convinced that I’d fucked my life up to such a degree that I was never really going to be able to un-fuck it. Now, I’ve shown myself that I was wrong. I was really, really wrong. About a lot of things, but especially that. I’m not the same person as when I made my tumblr. Not at all. And that’s a really good thing. 

But when I go and look at some other people, some other blogs that I used to follow/ still follow (I’m not going to name names), I don’t see that kind of change. I see that they are still the same (or very similar) people. It’s been years. They’re talking about the same things, using the same words, etc. That’s... crazy to me. When I logged on to tumblr this fall and I saw that fucking Charlottesville was somehow still a debate topic, I just about lost it. There’s a post I made that accurately summarizes some of the emotions I felt, but really a lot of it was that this website is Neverland. If you stay here, you likely never grow up. All that happens is that the Wendys, Johns, and Michaels decide that they want to grow-up, and leave to go and do so. So, all that’s left are the Peter Pans and Captain Hooks engaged in constant warfare about the same things for weeks, months, years. And when a Wendy, John, or Michael decides to come back well. Neverland is still the same. Welcoming them back to the same fight that they remember from years ago – from when they were a different person. I don’t know why, but that’s just so damn sad to me. There’s a reason why my old bio said “just a human striving endlessly for the perfection that he can never hope to attain.” Because that’s what I do. And tumblr has kind of an... anathema to that and is antithetical to the concept. 

So, tumblr gives me little to nothing, pisses me off, and its never-changing or evolving nature makes me sad and goes against my very being. So, why come back at all? That’s... a damn good question. Not really sure that I can answer it. I suppose the answer has to be that there’s no good reason to come back, but that I will likely continue to do so anyway. Call me a masochist if you must, but sometimes there’s something that I want to share (or that I think the people who SOMEHOW still follow this dead-ass blog should know), or an idea that I think is useful, or I just so happen to type a “t” on my keyboard and tumblr gets pulled-up and I see something and decide to post on it, etc. and I come back. VERY temporarily. Only until I’m pulled away or driven away again. I think that’ll probably keep happening. At least to some degree. 

Will I ever come “back” like I was in undergrad or the summer before I got my job? I don’t know. Signs point to “no,” but I’ve been wrong before. I’ve been oh so very wrong before. And maybe I’m wrong about what tumblr gives me. Maybe I can have a healthy relationship with this website to the point where the reblogs don’t give me anxiety, and I’m not either sad or angry (to some degree) when I make a response. But right now, I really doubt it. And I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed anyone, but that’s just where I am right now. 

So yeah. I think that’s it. I’ll be around temporarily right now (my internship has really good hours, and I’ve got time in the evenings before I game with friends and talk to my girlfriend to take a look at some things). But come the end of August, I’ll likely be gone again. Maybe even before that. I’m not going to close this blog (because I’ll likely be back again), but content or opinions are never going to be consistent. 

If anyone wants to talk, feel free to message me, send an ask, etc. Seeing as I’ve basically dumped a lot of stuff at once (and broken some of the wall separating “TND” from me as a person) I’m down to answer pretty much anything. 

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic – chapter two

Summary: When tensions rise in Tirion, Amrod and Amras unwind with a quiet evening at home and keep company to surprise visitors.

Wordcount: ~1,100 words; Rating: Teenage and up audiences

Some keywords: family, drinking, unrest of the Noldor 

A/N: I’m posting a subtly-improved version of another drinking-themed prompt fill from a couple of days ago on AO3 as second chapter to Noldorin red so I decided to repost it here too. Banner photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash.

This takes place when the tensions among the Noldor are beginning to emerge. It’s a quiet sort of a little fic.

Telvo = Telufinwë = Amras; Pityo = Pityafinwë = Amrod; Tyelko = Tyelkormo = Celegorm; Makalaurë = Maglor

AO3 link

*

Noldorin red II – Brotherly brooding

‘Are you drunk?’

As it happens, Pityo isn’t drunk, just spending some quiet time in his room. He wouldn’t mind being drunk, he realises.

He lifts his head to ask, 'Do you want to – damn, Ambarussa, what happened to you?’

Telvo’s face is bruised and swollen. Pityo gets up and inspects it. 'I don’t think your nose is broken, but you should go and get some ice for it anyway.’

'It’ll heal soon enough. It's my own fault, anyway.’

Pityo takes one more look at him, sighs, and goes dig out the bottle of strong spirits from the deep trunk in the corner where they keep the things they’d most like to hide from their brothers. It doesn’t always succeed, of course, especially since Tyelko likes to 'borrow’ things without asking for permission, but this time the bottle is still where Pityo stashed it some weeks ago.

He hands the bottle to his twin and says, 'Hard to believe it’s your fault your nose is almost broken, unless you went running your mouth again at –’

He doesn’t need to even name the person for Telvo to know who he means.

'I might have’, Telvo says.

Pityo sighs. 'I’ll get some ice from the kitchen.’

Nodding his thanks, Telvo slumps on the floor, leaning against his bed.

Pityo rolls his eyes after he has turned his back. He’s not a paragon of patience himself, but Telvo is worse.

When he gets back to their room carrying a bowl of ice and a clean towel to wrap it in, he finds two brothers on the floor, taking turns 'enjoying’ the mouth-burning spirits.

'What’s wrong with you?’ Pityo asks Tyelko as he passes the ice in the towel to his twin. 'Your face looks like you lost a fight too, though there doesn’t seem to be a scratch on you.’

'Írissë is mad at me’, Tyelkormo says, sullen and miserable. 'I didn’t mean to insult her father. Not while she could hear, I mean. But she heard anyway and got mad. She didn’t even pet Huan.’

Huan sighs and looks forlorn as he settles over Tyelko’s feet.

Pityo sighs, too. 'You two should just stay away from civilisation.’

Tyelko kicks his ankle. 'Brat.’

Pityo sits down, squeezing himself between his brothers because he wants Huan to be his foot-warmer too.

'Well?’ Pityo says. 'Give me the damn bottle, too, then. Since we seem to have chosen drunken brooding as our activity for the night.’

Telvo shoves his shoulder, just a little in a friendly manner, and passes the bottle to Pityo.

They sit in silence for a while, apart from Huan’s quiet snores.

'You have a brood of puppies you’re soon going to start training, right’, says Telvo to Tyelko after a while, his voice muffled by the ice he’s keeping on his face. 'You should give Írissë the best of them once they know how to behave. She might forgive you.’

'She does love good hunting dogs’, Pityo agrees.

'Mm. Perhaps.’ Tyelko stretches and belches. 'You need to spar with me more, Telvo. To learn how not to be taken by surprise so often.’

The bottle slowly empties while they talk half-seriously of serious things, complaining of them to their hearts’ content.

When there is no more drink to be had, Tyelko tosses the bottle to the floor with a clatter, to a protest from neat-freak Telvo and a startled noise from Huan.

'Don’t be childish, Tyelko.’ Pityo leans back. The ceiling is spinning a little. 'There are more bottles. You don’t need to punish that one for being empty.’

'Where?’ Tyelko clambers to his feet.

'In the cellar.’ Pityo chuckles as Tyelko curses.

And sits down. He and Telvo both look at Pityo.

Grumbling, he gets up. He takes the melted ice from Telvo and takes it to the kitchen, and then heads to the cellars, grateful that his father is at the palace and mother visiting her parents. He fetches two, no, three bottles, two of wine and another of the strong spirit to hide in his and Telvo’s room.

He stops short in the doorway again.

Tyelko and Telvo have been joined by Makalaurë and his wife, of all people. A lyre and flute lie carefully placed on Telvo’s desk, but Makalaurë has taken Pityo’s place on the floor, and Tinweriel lounges carelessly in the most comfortable chair in the room, her blood-red dress crumpled around her legs that she has draped over the side of the chair.

'I see that I must not leave this room tonight or an ever-greater number of miserable brothers will manifest in it’, Pityo announces, for Makalaurë looks far from happy, too, as does Tinweriel.

Pityo hands one bottle of wine to Tinweriel and the other to Tyelko, and pulls up the second most comfortable chair.

'You two don’t look too happy either’, he remarks, nodding to Makalaurë and Tinweriel. 'Oh’, he remembers to ask a little belatedly, 'do you want a cup to drink that from?’

'I’m not that fine a lady’, Tinweriel says with a crooked smile, taking a swig right from the bottle and giving it back to Pityo.

Pityo shrugs and takes it. What Tinweriel is is a mercurial lady; on some other day she would ask for a silver goblet to be brought for her.

Not tonight. Tonight is a lazing together, drinking together, commiserating with each other kind of night.

It turns out that Makalaurë and Tinweriel have lost two choristers because they decided they couldn’t keep singing in a choir led by a son and daughter-in-law of Fëanáro when they disagree with his recent ideas.

'Good riddance’, Makalaurë declares. 'One of them couldn’t take direction well.’

'And the other wore colours that clashed with mine’, adds Tinweriel in a tone that makes it clear to anyone that knows her that she’s just making up reasons.

'You’ll find new ones’, Pityo says with a yawn. 'There are always people wanting to join, aren’t there?’

Makalaurë brightens a little, though he also asks for the wine to be passed to him.

Pityo scratches Huan behind the ears just as he likes, leans into his chair, half-listening to the talk around him, saying something encouraging now and then. He had a good day himself, training a young horse and treating another one’s sore leg.

He doesn’t leave the room again, though, telling the others it’s their turn. When they get hungry Tyelko goes to raid the larder, and Pityo builds a fire in the grate, and they while the night away together with quiet talk and quietly improving moods.

*

A/N: I would like to note, in case it needs to be said, that though the Fëanorians sometimes use alcohol to help cope with their problems, I do not recommend it. It's not healthy.

Thank you for reading! I would greatly appreciate any reblogs, or comments that you might have the time to write <3

[doktoreth]

Rebuttal against dragon-ball-meta

So my stupid ass has no idea how tumblr works, even to this day. After meta responded, I wasn’t able to reblog his stuff, message him, or even follow him. I’m quite certain he blocked me, which is . . . unexpected to say the least. And sad. A real eye-opener, that is. Here’s my rebuttal to his response. Someone let me know if he replies again or something, maybe copy+paste his shit for me, I dunno. Let’s begin:

Hey, thanks for responding, man. Appreciate it.

It’s Toriyama’s words against yours, pal. Regardless of how it was ignored or overwritten, none of this actually precludes its canonical connection with the main story. This isn’t actually an argument against filler’s canonicity, it just reaffirms the admittedly nonsensical connection Toriyama himself decided to establish. Let’s examine the entirety of the last scan(remember, fourth post):

“12: From time to time, il would happen that people whom I didn't even know were approaching me about the anime. Things were often said like: "Oh jeeze, between the manga and the anime, you must never take any time to let yourself breathe!". In reality, I had hardly worked at all on the anime, I had put confidence in my collaborators. I had enough to do just with the manga. I didn't want to work myself to death, you know...

Toriyama: I want to live until I'm 100 years old!

13: For example, drawing an image of a movement in a manga is relatively simple, but to animate this image, you had to decompose the movement and draw all the intermediary movements. That demands a colossal amount of work. (Ok, the example of Kame-sennin might not be the most appropriate...)”

Nothing much here. He’s essentially elaborating on how much his work is cut out for him. Now all that’s left is the final quotes:

“14: Of course, those who have read Dragon Ball have noticed that certain stories which are found in the anime didn't existe in the manga.

Oolong: What's this? I never saw that in the manga....”

Toriyama and Oolong mention the original stories found in the anime, the filler stories. Obviously.

“END: As one adventure in the manga corresponds to about 10 minutes of animation, and since one episode comprises on average 30 minutes, the entire series of Dragon Ball would have passed by very quickly. The team of animators therefore had to insert some original stories. I admire what they have done, that's a hell of a job!”

Toriyama’s reasoning for inserting original stories is padding, as you know. He’s not talking about how it’s fine if people like both or how the padding didn’t upset him. Anywho, we know that when he speaks of “original stories”, he’s speaking in a narrative context.

“Toriyama: Dragon Ball, it's the anime and the manga!”

Whereas the previous quote denotes his reasoning, this final quote confirms his overall treatment of the anime, being that it along with the manga comprise one wholesome narrative. Everyone knows it’s for the sake of padding. That’s been obvious from the very beginning. Still doesn’t negate Toriyama’s clear and explicit connection between the two mediums. Remember, Toriyama > You/Me.

I’m not sure what your point is in saying I think those types of alterations are “akin” to the driving episode. My view on the filler’s canonicity is akin to Toriyama’s. I also think it was a stupid decision on his part to establish such a connection for reasons I’m sure you’d agree with, such as character breaking moments and inconsistent power levels. I see filler as supplementary evidence for Plague, honestly. He doesn’t need ‘em to defend Tien.

See, the issue there is that all that fandom backlash and meme shit is frankly an insignificant indicator as to where his popularity is concerned. Weekly Jump 1993 has Krillin living the good life just behind Piccolo, Weekly Jump 1995 has Krillin taking more of a backseat and yet he’s still popular enough to remain in the top 10, and Dragon Ball Forever has Krillin just catching up back to Piccolo. He’s evidently the most popular human character, so I’m not at all out of line in connecting the dots (or votes, in this case) to his relevancy in the series. No conceit or irrational dislike here, meta, when I’ve mostly no problems with Krillin’s treatment in the series, only how others like Tien are being left in the dust.

Christ, this again? I can tell this conversation is heading to, “Oh, Krillin’s progress makes sense for his status as the strongest human” instead of addressing Plague’s overall gripe. Frankly, the exact point of plateau is too vague and arbitrary to pinpoint for any of these guys. Meta, please listen, just listen: I believe you. Krillin’s progression making him surpass Tien WITHOUT artificial power boosts is realistic. Would it have happened eventually or inevitably? Neither of us know, but that was never the point, which is that Tien’s importance as a fighter is no less than that of Krillin, and yes, even Yamcha. Plague’s premise was never reliant on Tien being the strongest, he touched on that for literally only a few seconds near the end, so let’s drop this tangent on who would’ve surpassed whom, yeah?

Well, first off, I would respectfully ask you to quell your bias for Krillin, as Plague’s video on Tien touches on him quite infrequently anyway. You spend too much time on this subject, and while I’m happy to engage you on it, it’s quite the digression. His videos being internet comedy videos (scroll down and you’ll find his comment), he makes sure to stay on point without rambling off-topic. The comedic value of his content would be severely diminished if he was all like, “Tien is fading into irrelevancy in comparison to other fan favorites”, instead of saying, “This is a Toriyama handjob.” You can call this intellectual dishonesty from a dishonest hack, I call it what it is: comedy. If you can discern no difference between the two in relation to his actual points, then I can’t help you there. I can only hope I’ve made everyone here more open-minded and vice versa.

I’m beginning to think you haven’t watched his video, meta. He doesn’t think Toriyama hates Tien. He called Tien’s stand against Cell his “greatest accomplishment” in the end of the video, albeit begrudgingly. Any examples in Z are mere digressions, anyway, as he specifically criticizes Tien’s treatment in SUPER. Anyone can look at Tien’s entry into the ToP and take that to mean he was kept important; Tien’s performance was a joke comparatively even in terms of strategy, forget power. His only notable achievements are Tri-Beaming an already incapacitated Za Priccio, courtesy of Roshi, earning Tien a knockout and his FIRST EVER ATTACK landed on an enemy that isn’t a Frieza soldier, and the most humiliating ringout ever in the form of using clones to tackle Harmira off the ring AFTER Tien’s original body was thrown off when he just as well could’ve used one measly clone as bait beforehand. Yes, power isn’t the sole indicator, but it’s the most important one in Dragon Ball. So when the ToP is played up to be needing more strategy, Tien is still treated as a joke of an afterthought.

That’s great, meta. Neither do I and neither does Plague.

I wildly disagree. His thoughts are spot on precisely because he acknowledges Tien’s motivations as a character. I don’t find them argued from emotion any more than I find yours regarding Krillin, tbh. It’s okay for you to be wrong sometimes too, meta.

P.S. You’ve said this already. I agree. I think the same can be argued for Tien given the extremely vague context as to what certain side guys have been doing off-screen. I’m literally watching the Tien video for the third time (you don’t stop talking about this, so I need to make sure), and I get the impression that Plague’s mad about Tien’s piss-poor performance comparatively rather than him being the strongest human (again, this was NOT the crux of his argument).

P.P.S You’ve . . . made this point already. Nobody said this. Plague didn’t say this. Jesus. He never even spoke of Krillin’s popularity to begin with. I know why Krillin’s popular. Hell, I loved his character from the very beginning. Krillin, Krillin, Krillin, Krillin, Krillin. We get it, meta.

[vierafication]

So I’m a small blog that doesn’t post much and doesn’t have many followers, so I doubt many people will see this, but I feel like I have to write something. I’m tired of this.

Yesterday I reblogged an Aegir post where he had responded to a particularly nasty anon, and I added on a little extra, saying more or less that honestly it would be much better if people were kind, thought things through, and spoke politely and eloquently when initiating or receiving critiques. I got a couple messages on Discord later thanking me for standing up for Aegir, that they’d wanted to say something as he’s been put under fire. But the thing is, I didn’t stand up for Aegir. I stood up for being a decent person. There is no reason he should have to deal with this. It’s ridiculous. But in a situation like this, people are understandably afraid of saying things: because if you step up, there’s a chance you’ll be pulled into the pit with the convicted one and assaulted as well. And, honestly? I’m tired of all this. It just happens again and again.

So. Here’s my thing. On addressing criticism and how it’s handled in this community. I’ll lay out the storyboard: there’s drama, people are on edge, eyes are watching, and someone is targeted. This someone, or someones, is targeted for a justifiable reason. There was a crime, so to speak, and they must be held accountable. And as everyone is now focused on them, they attract criticism.

But you don’t seem to know what criticism is. A professional, proper critique is determined by addressing the subject and pointing out it’s flaws, with an intent to fix. See? The motivation is positive. Problems can be remedied, people can make amends, messes can be cleaned up, brokenness can be repaired. A professional critique may hold a biased viewpoint, but they address as unbiased. They’re polite, calm, and to the point, like mature human beings. “What you did was wrong, and this is why or how you may begin to try and change that to be better in the future.” Sometimes they don’t begin with the initial criticism, instead asking questions and analyzing what they get in response. But the characterizing theme here is that the motivation is positive.

Now, there’s a second type of criticism, too- the one we encountered on the playground as children. Here, I will state the difference- this is not criticism, it is condemnation. The flaws, issues, and problems are pointed out, but there is no intent to see it fixed. There is only intent to bring attention to the flaws. “What you did was wrong, and you should feel bad about it.”

There is far too much condemnation occurring within this community. These are the posts that tackle a sensitive subject that a lot of people are watching, and simply degrade it. They find the flaws and focus on them, picking at them with a scalpel, and making sure it’s known that there is no room for improvement. The tone of these posts’ words oozes with disgust. “How could a person be this awful? Look at how awful they are.” It is incredibly condescending, and is used by people to feel better about themselves- if they target and point out everything wrong with someone else, they’re that much better by comparison! They have put themselves on a pedestal from which they think they can cast judgment down. They think they have the right to police others, and that behaving in a hostile manner is fine as long as it’s directed towards someone worse.

See, a lot of times this does come from a false sense of positive motivation. It’s justified, they think, to target this person. This person deserves it. They did a bad thing and now they have to suffer for it. That is the drive there. It’s not to fix or help at all. It’s simply to condemn. If there is any motivation besides, it’s to cause a reaction- this use of inflammatory words and venomous tone may cause the target, already on the defensive, to react angrily. This only furthers the condemner’s point that the target is, indeed, reprehensible. It’s a form of manipulation, trying to entrap the target in their own pit.

This condemnation? It’s repulsive. It’s disgusting. I’m condemning it right now, and that’s fine, because it is an action, not a person.  A criticism will find the problems and address them as problems, whereas a condemnation will find the problems- and paint the entire person as a living, breathing problem. And that’s not okay. People aren’t defined by one mistake they’ve made- they’re multifaceted, complex, and capable of change.

So be kind. Be gentle. Be the better person. It’s simple. It’s easy. Don’t drag others down so that you can feel stronger. Instead, help them to stand back on their feet again. People should be held accountable. They should be forced to see their mistakes, acknowledge them, do something about them. But they do not have to suffer forever if we are collectively capable of kindness and forgiveness for those actively trying to make amends.

But you might still be confused. Sure, condemnation’s bad, but it’s not that bad, right? It’s not a big issue- the people they’re condemning are the ones with the BIG problems. And that’s where you’re wrong. The FFXIV roleplay community is not all that large. Whenever a storm like this hits, people will remember. All this drama causes ripples of distrust throughout. It’s a swell of negativity.

And it’s enthralling- it beckons more and more people in, to participate. If you are a condemner, you are an enabler. You are the ones who are letting people feel comfortable sending these aforementioned nasty anons. Hatefulness shows other people that it is okay for them to be hateful, especially if this hatefulness is coming from a more popular or well-known blog or rper. You show that this target deserves anything and everything they have coming, and that includes anonymous messages that don’t even address the problems anymore- they just go right out with the insults like some sort of twelve-year-old Youtube commenter. This is harassment. You are a harasser. And you do not take responsibility for what you cause. But you should. Because you played a key role.

Yet, on the other hand, say you don’t post anything at all. You just watch. You see people send these criticisms and condemnations down upon this convicted individual. What do you do? How do you react? The narrative of the story points to the target as the one susceptible to criticism, and them alone- but if you see someone behaving like this, all condescending attitude and loaded word choice, point it out. Critique them. Critiquing them does not mean you disagree with them. You can point out the flaws in a person’s statement while still being on the same side of an argument. Take responsibility for your own friends, too. Don’t support this kind of behavior. Just because the person being targeted has done worse things does not excuse others’ harassment.

And just for a second, let’s go to that person that’s being targeted. Think about how they feel. Forget about what they did for a second. Just think about what it’d be like to have all these people telling you that you fucked up. You know you did, now, and you know why- but this just makes it worse. Think about that person’s mental health, their emotional state- constantly hounded by people telling them how shitty they are, it’s probably not in the best place. Think about, crimes or no, the amount of time they spent playing FFXIV and enjoying every bit of it. Think of how now that taste will be forever just a little bit sour. Think about receiving messages telling you that you fucked up, so now you’re irrelevant- that mistake is the entirety of you now, you should just leave, we don’t want you here, nobody wants you here, nobody likes you. Think about how that person feels. You don’t need to exhibit sympathy, but just think. Think before you bring your hands down to type on that keyboard. Think about their friends, too. Think about how as soon as someone tries to defend the witch at the stake, even if only in an attempt to calm and diffuse the escalated aggression, they are also labeled as “bad.” Think about their inbox and the messages that start to filter in, think about their reputation now tainted in association. Think about how their friends are afraid to stand up for, help, or even be associated with them because they’re scared this parade of hate you spearheaded will swallow them up too.

Think. Think about them, yourself, what will happen when you push that “post” button. Withhold your judgement on them for a moment. Before you go forth to judge them, first judge yourself. Are you really trying to make the community better? Or are you only trying to add fuel to the fire, to make yourself feel better? Just be kind. If you do not have anything kind to say, don’t say anything at all. You don’t need to post a single line. Let it be. Ignore it. It isn’t your responsibility to police others anyway. If you cannot behave like a decent human being, what’s to separate you from them? Just, please, try to be kind.

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

Crossed Wires, Wonka x OFC (1/3)

(A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first multi-chapter venture on this blog, and I’m so excited to kick this thing off today! Eliza received amazing reception after I made that first post about her! She’s very special to me, and I am forever grateful to all of my followers who supported me and gave me a platform to share her!

I title this as a Wonka x OFC piece, but it’s really only shippy in the third part if you squint. It’s pre-relationship because I’m a slow burn gal, as long as you ignore the fact that I have already uploaded smut between them *cough cough*.

And that’s all I’m giving you lol. Please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoy so that I KNOW you enjoy, and I’ll see y’all in Part 2! Thank you!)

-Kate

____________________________

Eliza is yanked from a dead sleep by a long, harsh buzz.

Slate blue eyes wrenching themselves open, she finds that she is not curled up in her bed - rather, she is slumped over her desk. Her cheek is pressed against a set of blueprints for a giant electric mixer, and an empty teacup rests by her left hand.

Mind ever working faster than her body, she is stationary as she analyzes, piecing together her predicament. I…fell asleep while working. Next time…coffee instead of tea. Also…I was awakened. What is the source?

A voice, affectedly jovial despite being garbled by static, pours in through a speaker on the wall, suddenly filling the room. “Hey, sleepyhead! Rise and shine!”

Source located. A voice…my boss’ voice. It’s Mr. Wonka. Does that mean…?

With Herculean effort, Eliza lifts her head. Light does not filter through the cracks in the shades, quelling her initial fear that she has slept through her alarm and is late for work. The only light is the dim glow of her desk lamp, a small model of the moon with a bulb inside, which she made herself years ago.

Alphabet soup sloshes languidly around in her head, only one question swimming to the forefront. “What time is it?” she grumbles quietly. Briefly pawing at a vague glasses-shaped blob on the desk, she picks up what are indeed her glasses. Putting them on and blinking, the shapes and colors around her morph into her bedroom.

“Hello?” Getting no response, Wonka’s disembodied voice tries again, more deliberately. “Eliza? Wakey wakey!”

Eliza stands groggily. Padding across the carpet, she consults the LED clock on her nightstand and squints in confusion.

Five fifty-seven AM.

If memory serves, she made herself a cup of chamomile tea at approximately two thirty AM in a desperate bid to calm her nerves. Factor in time to drink it, plus an estimate of how long I stayed awake subsequently…

Less than three hours of sleep again.

The plans to begin construction on a new electric mixer are expected to move forward sometime this week. The blueprints must be flawless - anything less is unacceptable.

Eliza has apparently spent the entire night prior ascertaining that they are, in fact, flawless, but she still is unable to silence that nagging voice in her head. The voice that insists it is only a matter of time before she messes up. Before she gets something wrong. Before the precarious tower upon which she built Wonka’s trust and respect topples.

Her boss turns his head and addresses someone in the room with him. “Can she hear me?” he asks them impatiently, albeit muffled. “She should be able to hear me. Maybe if I speak louder -”

“I can hear you, Mr. Wonka,” she practically snaps, cursing herself immediately after. It is so unlike her to allow something as trivial as sleep deprivation to evoke an emotional response.

The chocolatier does not pick up on her aggravation - or, more than likely, he picks up on it and ignores it. “Oh, there you are!” Without missing a beat, he is forcing congeniality again. “I tried calling your BlackBerry, but you didn’t answer. It’s a good thing the PA system we had installed in your apartment is working properly, huh?”

Grabbing said BlackBerry off the nightstand, she attempts to turn it on, before setting it back down in frustration. Dead. She’s not surprised she didn’t notice. Certainly intelligent life will be discovered in another galaxy before she receives a phone call outside of work.

Eliza is not in the mood for formalities at six in the morning. Knowing Wonka, she suspects he isn’t either. Not with all the coffee in the world. “Did you need something?” At this ungodly hour…

“I’m glad you asked! I need you to come in early today,” he instructs, barely allowing her time to finish her question. “We’re dealing with a teeny-tiny emergency over here, and I have an important mission for you.”

“An emergency?” She tilts her head, despite Wonka being unable to see her. “At six in the morning?” Factory operations for the day have only just begun. What could have possibly gone so wrong that backup is necessary already?

“Yes. I’m told there’s just been an avalanche on Fudge Mountain.”

Eliza’s eyes widen marginally. That is definitely a first, and a horrific one at that.

Wonka is quick to reassure her. “Now, not to worry, everyone’s all right!” He continues, “Unfortunately, a few Oompa-Loompas are stranded at the top with all the Oompa-Loompa-sized climbing gear,” he explains grimly. “I need you to take my harness and get them down right away! They’re accustomed to tropical climates, you see, they’re not equipped to be up there for very long.”

The sleep-induced haze in Eliza’s mind clears more and more with each word. Assessing all possible solutions, she can’t help but wonder if calling her is the best way to remedy the situation. The factory is across town, and while she has scaled Fudge Mountain in the past, Wonka is a much stronger climber than she is. “Mr. Wonka, wouldn’t you be better suited for -”

“I thought you might say something like that,” he interrupts. “And you’re right! Normally, I would rush over there myself, but I’m handling something even more urgent.”

More urgent…than an avalanche? Still listening, Eliza hastily crosses over to her dresser and begins rummaging around for a change of clothes. Best to avoid a skirt if she’s climbing - leggings and her Oxford hoodie will have to do today. Luckily, no one at the factory is fussy about attire anyway (particularly not Wonka, the king of impractical fashion choices).

“The sugar sand on Dessert Island started shifting overnight - some sugar that wasn’t infused with the anti-solvent must have gotten mixed in somehow, and it’s causing parts of the beach to dissolve,” he rationalizes aloud.

Eliza does some internal rationalizing of her own as she changes out of her pajamas. We will need to take samples of the existing sand and create a formula to determine how much anti-solvent to reintroduce to the beach. What do I need to bring with me today? My blueprints…the materials for Charlie’s lessons…breakfast? No. No time. Coffee will suffice.

“Anyway, the sudden movement puts the molten lava cake volcano at high risk for erupting! So I’m heading over there to start evacuating Oompa-Loompas and draining that boiling hot chocolate right away!” Wonka rambles, oblivious to Eliza’s scrambling on the other end, both outward and inward. “Two natural disasters at the same time! Isn’t that wild?” His question is punctuated with a short, controlled guffaw.

“When it rains, it pours,” Eliza agrees. Now fully dressed, she crosses over to her vanity mirror and debates whether to bother brushing her hair, eventually satisfied simply to pull it up into a ponytail. “I will be on my way at once.”

“No need! I sent the great glass elevator to pick you up a while ago. It should be there in…” He trails off briefly. “I’d say about five minutes.”

Her blood runs cold. “…Five minutes?”

“Well, you would’ve had more advance notice if you had answered your phone,” he quips, a minuscule crack appearing in his cheerful facade.

Eliza is well aware of the dreadful temper lurking behind Wonka’s feigned smile. He is subject to the same tempestuous mood swings as so many creative geniuses of his caliber are. She is thankful to have never been on the receiving end of such a temper.

Yet, just as he can often be disagreeable, he has also proven that he can be exceptionally kind. Especially toward his young heir.

Wonka and Charlie Bucket seem to have an understanding which transcends any ordinary “tradesman and apprentice” relationship. The factory is a corporeal manifestation of that shared vibrancy and imaginative brilliance. Two areas where Eliza, as a woman of unyielding logic and only the most calculated of risks, is painfully conscious of her shortcomings.

After a moment of careful consideration, she simply murmurs to her reflection, “Of course. Excuse my lapse in professionalism.”

“…It doesn’t matter now,” he responds, an odd tinge in his voice. She would call it guilt, if she didn’t know better. “I’m just glad I was able to reach you in time.”

“Indeed. Five minutes,” she repeats, ruling out the possibility of making coffee before she leaves. “I will be ready.”

Wonka offers some curt manner of farewell that Eliza does not quite register, but responds to regardless. The PA clicks, indicating that she is now alone with her thoughts.

The face in the mirror peers back at her, eyes as infuriatingly placid and steely as ever. If eyes are the window to the soul, as she so often hears, her windows surely must be bolted shut. No one is coming in, and no one is getting out. That is the way it has always been, and presumably, the way it always will be.

[andtheselkiesfour]

The Final Adventure

A Carry On Leavers Ball Fanfic 

words: 7,808

a/n: Big thanks to my irl friend Josie, who beta’d my fic, helped me when I got stuck, and didn’t get mad at me for dragging her into another fandom (okay, she got a little mad, but softened when I agreed to let her read some of my favorite fics). This is a normal 8th year fic, but I’ve obviously changed a bit from canon. i’ve also made the decision to post all the chapters at once.

Please like or reblog this so I’ll know if I should post more, and inbox ways I could improve (be nice tho pls I’m fragile).

ONE

x simon x

Going through the eighth year at Watford is optional. Attending the Leavers Ball at the end of term is also optional, but if you told this to certain people, they’d go to extreme lengths in order to convince you otherwise.

Penny is one of those people.

I was planning on going to the Leavers Ball anyways, but if I hadn’t been, Penny would’ve scared me into it. She keeps saying stuff like “it’ll be our final adventure at Watford!” and honestly, it makes me sad. She makes it sound like our promise to get a flat together is something she’s still thinking about, something that isn’t final. Of course, I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to live with her boyfriend, Micah, in America instead, but I’m still trying to cling onto what sliver of hope I have.

Penny and Agatha are in the library, looking at pictures of dresses on Google Images, and I’m sitting in a chair beside them, reading. Penny’s usually not one to get dressed up, but she’s practically obsessing over finding the perfect dress. Agatha, on the other hand, seems like she’s got it figured out. Which means I’ve got it figured out, because finding a tie that matches the color of her dress does not seem like a difficult task.

“What about this one, Penny?” Agatha points a manicured finger at the screen, and Penny scrunches her nose.

“It’s too long! I’ll trip.”

“Not if you wear heels,” Penny shakes her head and scrunches her nose again, and Agatha frowns, dropping her hand. They continue pointing out dresses to each other and disagreeing for well over half an hour, and I’m so lost in what I’m reading that I don’t hear what they’re talking about. When I finally look up, they’re both already looking at me.

I clear my throat, “hey, do you guys think vampires are actually allergic to garlic?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you go ask one?” Agatha scowls, and I blink. “Have you even been listening to me?”

“Uh… no,” I’m nothing if not honest. Agatha throws her hands in the air and looks over at Penny. Penny just raises her eyebrows and leans back in her chair.

“I asked you if chartreuse is okay for my dress.”

“That’s… that’s red, right?”

“It’s yellow-green, Simon. Honestly. Do you even want to go to the Leavers Ball?”

“Yes! Yes of course, Agatha. Yellow is fine.”

She softens, “okay.  I’ll show it to you when it comes in the mail.”

“Looking forward to it,” I smile.

Penny rolls her eyes, “you guys are gross. I’m going back to my room,” she stands and slings her bag over one shoulder.

“We’re gross? Trixie and her girlfriend are probably going to be in the room once you get there.”

“Yeah, but they’re gross for different reasons,” Penny pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stares at us. I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what she means and I’m too scared to ask, at least while Agatha is here.

After it’s silent for a few seconds, she sighs and turns around. We watch her walk out the door, then Agatha stands up and pulls her messenger bag over her head. “Walk me to my building?”

“Yeah,” I agree, putting my book away and reaching for her hand.

  x baz x

I’m on way back to the dorms after school when Dev spots me across the courtyard. I know he’s looking at me, and he knows I know he’s looking at me, but that doesn’t stop me from quickening my pace away from him. “Basil! Basil!”

I sigh and slow down considerably, and he hastens to catch up with me. He quickly falls into step beside me, his voice kind of breathy. I’m such a great friend.

“Mary Smith,” he raises his eyebrows at me and smirks, like that name is supposed to mean something to me.

“What about her?” I stop before going up the Mummers House steps and move out of Gareth’s way before he runs into me.  

“I asked her to the Leavers Ball,” Dev smiles, and I realize this must mean she said yes.

“That’s great; I’m happy for you,” and I am. I give him two pats on the shoulder, but pull back when he starts speaking again, far too excited for my taste.

“You know she has a twin, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to ask Kaitlyn to the dance?”

I laugh, and shake my head, unable to contain myself, “why would I want to have the same date as you?”

He scoffs, “they’re different people, Basil. Alright then, who are you asking?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody!” He throws his hands up in the air, apparently extremely offended, “you might as well just not go at all!”

“A date is not required.”

“Like hell it isn’t. There are loads of girls without dates yet. Why haven’t you asked someone out by now?”

“We still have two weeks. And besides,” I pause, making sure he’s looking me in the eyes, “a date. is not. required.” I start up the stairs, clearly done with this conversation, leaving Dev baffled and still quite a bit offended.

I hear him mumble “wait until I tell Niall,” but I honestly couldn’t care less. I know there are a lot of girls without dates, and I know most of them would say yes if I asked, but there aren’t any girls at this school that I would want to ask. There aren’t even any boys I would want to ask. Or could ask. There’s not a single soul that I’d like to hold hands with, or slow dance with, or scoop gross fruit punch into a plastic cup for. There isn’t a single person at this school that I’d like to go to the dance with.

Except Simon Snow.

TWO

x baz x

Even if Snow was girlfriendless and gay, there’d still be a larger chance of getting struck by lightning than me going to the ball with him. He kind of hates me. And I hate him too; I hate his stupid curls and his stupid golden skin, and the obnoxious way he smells like cinnamon and smoke. I hate how he makes my heart jump out of my chest sometimes, or how he can take away my breath just by looking at me a certain way, with so much annoyance and hatred.

Just as I’m thinking this, he walks into the room we share and falls into his bed. He lays there staring at the ceiling for only a moment before exhaling forcefully and throwing his elbow over his eyes. His shirt lifts up when he does this, revealing a golden strip of skin below his wrinkled white button-up and above his belt. I allow myself a glance at it, before returning my attention back to the notes sprawled out on my bed.

We try to ignore each other when we’re in the room, which usually works out for us. Though, it’s hard to ignore him when he keeps sighing at random intervals. After a few minutes of this, I put my pen down and look over at him.

“Will you stop that, Snow?” I squint at him, and he lifts his arm slightly, one eye peeking out from behind his arm. He drops it down again, and there’s a pause.

“Sorry…” he says quietly.

I spend a few more minutes annotating my notes before looking over at Snow. He had been so quiet I was almost convinced he left the room. But now, I see why he was so quiet. His cheeks are red and damp, and a tear is slowly rolling down his cheek.

I can’t think of a single reason why Snow would be crying. I should be crying, what with all this bloody homework I have to have done before tomorrow.

Knowing that he is crying merely a few feet away from me is making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. At least I know I’m not the reason he’s upset, although I have made him cry a few times in the pfast. After fifth year, I tried to be more conscious of my words, making sure that teasing him never crosses the line into hurting him.

“Snow, are you…” I start, trying to make my voice as non-patronizing as I can.

“No,” he replies before I can get the rest of my sentence out, his voice raspy.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going to ask if I’m okay. The answer is no. And I know you’re asking because you pity me, not because you care. So I’m not going to bother answering your next question, which is going to be ‘what’s wrong?’.”

“...That’s not what I was going to ask at all.”

“It’s… not?”

“I was going to ask if you needed the shower,” I sneer, standing up and making my way to my wardrobe across the room. This is a terrible save, because usually he showers in the mornings, but he must buy it because he just utters a small ‘oh’ from under his arm.

I just need to get away from his crying before I try to do something about it. Like hug him. If I tried to touch him, that would surely be the end of me, anathema ignored. Even if he didn’t kill me, I’d die just as easily of embarrassment.

There’s also the possibility of me making it worse, whatever is going on with him. I told myself to be more conscious of my words, but he makes it so damn easy to insult him when he’s pushing me. Sometimes I think he actually enjoys fighting with me. Then I remember he must, because for some twisted reason, I like it too.

I grab my stuff and shut the door to the bathroom. I marvel at the absence of Snow’s dirty towels on the floor, but notice he’s left the cap off his toothpaste again. I shake my head and smile before I recap the toothpaste, then turn on the shower head.

Once I’m in the shower it’s easier to think. My thoughts flow from Snow to the Leavers Ball like lava in a lamp. Sometimes the thoughts come together and I have to tell myself ‘no, bad Baz. That is not happening, and you know it.’

I end up spending way longer in there than I should, and the water goes cold.

x simon x

Once Baz is in the shower it’s easier to think. I stopped crying after talking to him, which is odd, but I’m relieved. Maybe I was just cried out and all dried up. I don’t enjoy crying, so I’m thankful I’ve stopped, but I still feel like something’s wrong. Something’s missing.

This is all wrong. So wrong. The way Agatha held my hand on the way to her building, like my hand was too big for her. Like we didn’t fit. The way Penelope seems to be spending more time talking about the ball than reading these days. The way nobody seems to be feeling scared about their future except me.

It feels like everyone has got it all figured out. Penelope and Agatha know exactly what university they want to go to and what they want to do with their lives. I don’t know anything, and I’m scared. I’m scared of being left behind.

It’s stupid. I know they’re not going to abandon me, but at the same time, why would they want me to stay in their lives? I’m a terrible mage. Eight years at Watford; by now I thought maybe I would’ve learned how to actually do magic correctly. It’s not the school’s fault, it’s mine. I’m a grenade, just waiting to go off. And Crowley, I wish I would go off already and get it over with.

x baz x

By the time I get out of the shower, Snow’s passed out. He’s not wearing the school pajamas he always wears to sleep. Instead, he’s still in his school uniform, lying almost the exact same way he was before I left the room. I wonder what he was doing the whole time and what he was thinking about.

I stare down at him, his freckles wet and his nose red, his hair mussed and falling into his eyes. His blanket has fallen on the floor sometime while I was gone. I hesitate, staring down at him, before grabbing the blanket off the floor and pulling it up to his chin.  He doesn’t stir, which is good because again, I’d die of embarrassment.

I clear the notes off my bed, feeling only slightly annoyed at Snow for distracting me from my homework. In all honesty, he’s always a distraction for me, even when he’s not there. And I can’t be mad at someone for being upset, because I highly doubt he’d make himself cry just to spite me.

Once I’m under my blankets, it doesn’t take long for sleep to pull me under too.

THREE

x simon x

“How do I look?” Penny twirls around once and then plops down onto Baz’s bed in front of me. She’s wearing a mint dress that goes just past her knees, and a matching silk shawl is wrapped loosely around her elbows. Her feet are bare; she’s left her shoes in the bathroom.

“Majestic,” I comment, as I loosen my green-and-black tie.

She snorts, “I’m not a horse, Simon.”

“You’re not? That explains a lot, actually.” This earns me a whack in the face with a pillow, one of Baz’s pillows, thrown at me in a low arch. I immediately retaliate with one from my bed, throwing it so it just barely hits her cheek, causing her glasses to become askew. She squeaks, then laughs, grabbing Baz’s other pillow and jumping up from his bed, towering above me. She starts pummelling me in the shoulder with it repeatedly, and I try to kick her away from me.

“Mercy, Penny, Mercy!” I gasp, trying to catch a breath in between fits of laughter.

“Don’t call me a horse!” she giggles, every word accented by another hit in the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt.

I hear our door creak open and we freeze, eyes wide, Penny hovering over me, her pillowed hand pulled back, ready to strike again, my foot pressed to her stomach, my hand reaching for the pillow. He clears his throat, and we turn our heads toward the door.

Baz has never seen Penny in our room. For eight years, we’ve been careful to have her out of the room before he gets back, but I’ve been so distracted lately that things like that have been regularly slipping my mind. The three of us continue to stare at each other, as if time is actually frozen. Penny is the first to break the silence.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Simon.” She lowers her head and walks briskly out of the room, accidentally hitting Baz on the way. He squints when she goes past, then lifts his chin a little higher and locks eyes with me. I lift my chin in response, matching his expression as best as I can, although I’m not exactly sure what his expression is. My eyes dart to the right, making sure my wand is still resting on my bed, should I need it. I hear Baz snort.

“Do you really think I’d waste my time hurting you over that,” he says as he crosses the room. I have the striking suspicion that the ‘that’ he was referring to is Penny.

“I thought you were at football practice,” I said dumbly, trying to come up with an excuse as to why Penny would be in our room, even though I know that’s a bad one. I decide to ignore what he said and grab my wand anyway.

“I was. Obviously,” I look down at his uniform and feel embarrassed. He turns towards his wardrobe, and I relax a little. “How did Bunce get past the gender barrier?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully, twisting my wand in my lap.

“You don’t know?” He chortles, then turns around with his pajamas in hand, “I hope you realize I have ways of finding out.”

“Well, if you figure it out, please tell me.” Baz shakes his head, most likely still not believing that I don’t know how Penelope gets in the room, then goes into the bathroom.

Not even a second later, I hear him shout my name. “Snow!”

“What?” I push myself off the bed and open the bathroom door. I look up at him, then my eyes follow where he’s pointing. There’s a pile of Penny’s clothes on the floor; her button-up, her tie, her socks, her skirt.

“Those aren’t mine.”

“I guessed,” he stares at me. “Well?”

“Oh, right.” I start picking them up, and I see him fold his arms out of the corner of my eye.

“Could we speed up this process, maybe?” He taps his foot impatiently, like he has somewhere to be. Stupid, annoying prat.

I stop what I’m doing so I can stand up straight and stare hard at him, then I drop the clothes back onto the floor. He scoffs, reaching the other end of the tiny bathroom in one long stride, arriving just a couple inches in front of me, still scowling. Now that I’m this close to him, I can see that a few strands of hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat from practice, and there’s a vein on his forehead pulsating.

“Anathema!” I remind him, before he tries anything. I can tell he’s annoyed, which was my intention, but he’s already tried to kill me a couple times and I’d rather not  make this the third.

“I could get Bunce in so much trouble,” he starts, ignoring me. “Don’t press me, Snow. If you press me, I’ll press right back,” he presses his hand to my chest as he says this, then pushes me out of the room and closes the door in my face before I can react.

“Are you just going to keep Penny’s clothes, then?” I call through it, a strange image of Baz in Penny’s clothes appearing in my head. I hear Baz let out an annoyed groan, and the next thing I know, the door flings open. Penny’s clothes come flying out at me and one of her shoes bounces off of the top of my head.

“Anathema,” I mutter, rubbing my head, but I know that he didn’t mean to actually hit me- at least, I don’t think that he did- and therefore the Anathema won’t affect him.

FOUR

x baz x

I wouldn’t actually rat out Bunce; I couldn’t care less about how it would affect her, but I know tattling would make Snow too upset. Besides, it’s more trouble than it’s worth, talking to the Mage, and I don’t think she’ll be coming back anymore anyways.

He’s been spending a lot of time with her lately, I’ve noticed. Snow always follows around Bunce like a puppy on a short leash, but usually Wellbelove is hovering somewhere close by. I haven’t seen her with them for the past few days.

Not that I spend all of my free-time stalking Snow; it’s just hard to ignore his bouncing head of curls in the hall or his boisterous voice on the lawn, and I notice things.

I look over at Snow sitting just a couple seats next to me. We’re in our Ancient Runes class, the only class I share with him. It’s a pretty pointless subject, considering nobody actually uses this magic anymore. But it’s a required one, and thankfully, a pretty easy one. I spend most of the class staring out the window and wishing I was almost anywhere else, with the monotone voice of the professor as background noise to my thoughts.

Snow is scribbling notes lazily with his fountain pen, occasionally looking up to see if our professor has broken his lecture to write anything important on the board (spoiler alert: he hasn’t). Sometimes he’ll furrow his eyebrows and stare down at his paper before scratching something out then writing furiously over it. How Snow can remain animated in a class as boring as this one is beyond me, but I’m glad he does.

I feel vulnerable staring at him in class, but he’s the most interesting thing happening at the moment. He’s always the most interesting thing happening, but now that my choices are limited to watching him or watching dust settle on the windowsill, this is even more true.

I look past him and see that Wellbelove is staring at me. Well, that’s odd. She notices that I’m looking at her and flushes. She dips her head down to look at her notes, and I do the same.

Oh Merlin. There’s ink on my hand and my notes are smudged; tiny little hearts are scattered in the margins. Is… is that why Wellbelove was staring at me? She couldn’t have seen what I was doing (I didn’t even see what I was doing)- she’s sitting too far away.  

After class is over and I’m almost out the door, I see Wellbelove rush from her seat towards me. “Wait- Basilton!”

There’s no chance for me to pretend I didn’t hear her- we’re the only people left in the classroom. I sigh and turn to her, “yes, Wellbelove?”

“I…” she takes her place in front of me and we end up standing beside the classroom door. “Y-you were staring at Simon. You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

I laugh harshly, pleased with Wellbelove’s assumption. “If I was going to hurt him, wouldn’t that be only my business and his?” I start walking, hoping she won’t follow. Not much luck there.

I make long strides, and Agatha’s feminine legs struggle to keep up with mine. I can still hear her chasing after me once I’ve made it outside. Can’t she take a hint?

“Stand Your Ground!” I hear her cast, and I groan. Apparently taking a hint is not one of Wellbelove’s many talents. She circles around me, throwing her long blonde hair over one shoulder.

“What are you planning?” She demands, pointing her wand at my chest. I don’t say anything, not at all intimidated by her. She gets frustrated quickly. “Look, Simon is my b- my friend, and as his friend, it’s my duty to protect him.”

“Duty? He’s not a damsel in distress, you know- wait, did you say ‘friend’?” I smirk, not missing the way her voice faltered, like it pained her to say it. Did Snow and Wellbelove break up? Well, that would explain why he wasn’t as chipper as usual this morning before class. Usually he makes every noise possible while getting ready, but today, I actually slept an extra half-hour.

“I… That’s not your business,” Wellbelove mumbles sheepishly, shrinking back from me.

“Oh, so now we’re supposed to respect what is and isn’t someone’s business?”

She sighs. “You know, if you weren’t so… you… maybe more people would actually want to spend time with you.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Like me.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it, anyway. “You? So that’s what this is really about? A social call? What, next are you going to ask me to the ball?”

Wellbelove doesn’t respond, just lowers her wand from my chest and stares at the grass.

“Merlin, you were! I can’t believe this! Well, I’m sorry to decline your offer, Wellbelove, but I actually planned on going alone. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all finding someone else at this school who would love to go to the ball with someone such as yourself.”

“Why do you always have to be so mean, Basilton? I’m sorry I asked, okay? Is that what you want? This was a… a mistake. I’ll just... leave.” Her voice is shaky, and if she starts crying, I’m going to feel like the worst person on the planet.

“Wait, Agatha… I didn’t mean to make you upset. I really do mean that there are plenty of other people who would love to go with you, if what you’re implying about Simon and yourself are true.” She nodded. “I guess you’re right….”

“Good. Now, undo the spell, please, and if this ends up affecting my ability to play football… then you’re really going to see how mean I can be.”

FIVE

x simon x

The thunder crackles around me, lightning illuminating our room through the window in rapid intervals like a polaroid camera. It’s the kind of storm that rattles windowpanes and makes you think there’s a war waging upon your doorstep with every boom of thunder.

I had dozed off with my face pressed against an open library book, and the thunder wakes me with a start, almost knocking me from my desk chair. My cheek feels sticky from what I assume is the result of my face being stuck to a page, but looking down at my book I realize it’s from the small puddle of drool I’ve created while asleep. It distorts some of the words on the already-yellow page. Gross.

After I stop gagging at my uncultured sleeping habits, I notice the windowpane is, in fact, rattling. Shit. I fully intended to close it once I saw the gray cumulonimbus clouds passing over the courtyard, but I was only really expecting a little bit of rain, not an all out flood.

No matter the circumstances, I pull the window close and assess the damage. The floor in front of it is soaked, and though it’s on my side of the room, I know Baz is going to be pissed when he finds out. I throw a towel over it, accomplishing almost nothing, then I decide that it looks suspicious and I dump a pile of dirty clothes on top of it. I can already hear Baz’s ‘I told you so’ tone about always leaving the window open, even though when it’s closed the room gets sticky and hot. The hotness may not bother him, with his constant chill, but I can’t stand it.

Mentioning of Baz, where is he? Surely he can’t still be in the catacombs when it’s pouring like this? I try to get a glimpse out the window when the lightning flashes, but even with the light, the rain is so heavy that it’s impossible to see anything.

I check the clock on my laptop and see that it’s close to midnight, which means I’ve been asleep for a good few hours, which means Baz has been gone for more than a good few hours. Where is he?

x baz x

There’s a lot to be said about someone who asks their dead mother’s grave for advice about a ball they hardly want to go to. I know she probably can’t hear me, but she’s the only person I’d want to talk to about all this. The only person I trust.

“Maybe you could take Fiona,” I say outloud to myself. “She’s young-looking enough to pass as a student. But what fresh ways of embarrassing me could she come up with?”

Because of this, I’ve been down here for far longer than usual. I usually leave once I feel full, but tonight I just feel like being alone. It’s quiet here, and nobody ever bothers me (except for Snow, but he hasn’t followed me here in ages). It’s almost peaceful enough that I could just lean my head against a wall and doze off….

I’m not completely asleep when I hear the first crack of thunder. I stand up swiftly, swaying with the quickness of it, and start walking back to the Mummers house.

I can see rather well in the dark, but the sheets of rain and the wind slow me down a little. My clothes must be ruined; I can tell I’m soaked to the bone because this is the coldest I’ve felt in a while. I fling open the door, not caring if I wake Snow up, focused on getting into something dry and warm.

x simon x

The door flings open and a flash of lightning backdrops a shadow that I don’t recognize as Baz at first, with his hair hanging like curtains in front of his eyes giving him the appearance of something from a horror movie. He stomps into the room leaving a trail of water behind him, and suddenly I don’t feel so bad about leaving the window open. His white shirt is clinging to him, and I can see through it to his pale torso. He looks like shit; I’ve never seen him so messy and uncomposed like this before.

I watch wordlessly as he shuffles through his wardrobe, grumbles something, then walks into the bathroom.

He’s back not even a minute later, and announces “Powers out.”

“I’m not surprised.” Only the plumbing runs on electricity at Watford; we use candles for lighting inside the dorms and the school buildings. The candles are magic and they don’t melt or need to be relit. I watch from the edge of my bed as he walks in front of me and opens a drawer to my wardrobe.

“What the hell are you doing?” I pop up and push the drawer closed, and he pulls his hands back in surprise, most likely because I was only a hair off from squashing his fingers.

He brings a hand up to his forehead and runs it through his hair, trying to slick it back. Most of it just falls back into his eyes again. I try not to laugh.

“I need a towel,” when he pushes his hair back the second time, I can see the whites of his eyes are slightly red, and I almost feel sorry for him.

“Oh,” I blatantly glance over at the spot by the window and then back up at him. “Er, I don’t have any more.”

He ignores me and tries to open my drawer again. “Hey! Did you even hear me? Stop trying to open my drawer.”

“Why, is that where you keep your skirts?” He smirks.

“No, because I don’t like you touching my stuff,” I say, frowning, my sympathy and patience for him leaving as quickly as it came. “And that was Penny’s!”

“Well, I don’t like you being in the same room as me, but you learn to deal with these things,” he retorts. I keep my hand pressed firmly against the drawer as he tries to open it again.

With a groan of frustration, he removes his hands and turns to me. Suddenly, his hand is on top of mine, and the cold wetness of his skin and the fact that he’s touching me leaves me too shocked to move. When he laces his fingers with mine, I yank my hand away and blink up at him.

Satisfied, he pushes past my socks and boxers, like I have a secret hoard of towels tucked away at the bottom of the drawer. My cheeks feel hot. With a soft “hm” he closes the drawer.

“I… I wasn’t lying,” I stutter. My cheeks feel really hot. I wish I could open the window without letting in the still raging storm, but I doubt that would help the storm raging in my stomach.

Baz crosses over me and produces pajama bottoms and a plain white polo from his wardrobe. My eyes follow him the entire way; he’s still dripping onto the carpet. “Snow, close your mouth. It makes you look ridiculous. Not that you don’t anyways.”

I feel sick, and I don’t know why. Maybe he hypnotized me or did some weird vampire magic that doesn’t require him to speak. Either way, I want it to stop. “I… I need some fresh air.” I sway, taking a step forward towards the door.

“It’s still raining. Or did you manage to forget? If anyone could, it’d be you.” Baz unceremoniously reaches behind himself and pulls his shirt over his head. He never gets dressed in the room, at least not when I’m around to see.

His torso is what you’d expect from someone who regularly plays football. He’s got muscle, but he’s still fairly lean, and he’s paler there than anywhere else. He doesn’t look bad, which isn’t really surprising considering how much pride he seems to take in his appearance.

All of this is so unlike him; the getting-dressed-in-front-of-me, the touching, his deep blue-water gray eyes looking red and glazed over to make a pale silver. Of course! The weird vampire magic wasn’t done to me, it was done to him! As much as I loathe Baz, I’d rather have him as a roommate than this imposter whose intentions I have no way of knowing.

My eyes widen as this creature throws the shirt onto his- no, not his- Baz’s bed, and I’m reaching for my wand faster than you can say Out, out, brief candle! Which I do, shrouding the room in darkness.

SIX

x baz x

“Merlin, Snow, what did you do that for?” I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness within a few seconds. I know Snow can’t see me, because he’s pointing his wand at least half a foot away from where I’m actually standing. He’s also holding it with both hands, his arms as outstretched as they’ll go without turning himself into elastigirl.

“What have you done with him? ...or to him, whatever,” his voice is resolute and final, like it’s definite that I know who ‘him’ is. I slowly pull on my shirt, careful not to make any noise in the process.

“Him who? What are you--”

“You know who! “ He shouts, his wand bobbing up and down with each syllable.

“Voldemort?” I smirk. “That’s not even the right fando-”

“See! Baz would never so blatantly break the fourth wall like that!”

“Baz-?” I start, but he cuts me off before I can even finish my sentence.

“Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

“I’m… I’m right here?”

“RRRGGHH!!” Snow growls, pitching forward with a level of intensity and determination that I have never seen from him before-- and that’s saying something. He rams his foot into the edge of my bed and lets out a wail, dropping his wand and falling to floor.

I hastily pull my wand out of my trouser pocket and murmur If Only One Remembers to Turn on The Light, because for some reason, the only thing I can continue to think about while Snow is acting crazy is Harry Potter. The candles flicker again. He looks up at me like a wounded puppy, then hardens his expression and quickly reaches for his wand. He points it at me again, and stands, the toes on his left foot curled. “Don’t come any closer!”

I hold up both hands in surrender. “I haven’t moved a muscle since you ran at me.”

“Drop your wand!,” he says, and although it’s not a spell, I obey like it is, letting my wand fall unto the bed. “Where is he?” he demands again.

“Are you sure you haven’t got me confused with another Basilton Grimm-Pitch you know?”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Snow pushes on, ignoring me. “and I’ll hurt you if you don’t tell me what you did.” He steps forward, and now his face is so close to mine that I can see each and every individual freckle on his nose.

“I didn’t… I mean, I am Baz-” he cuts me off by lightly pressing the tip of his wand into my neck.

“Don’t make me do this.”

“Simon,” I whisper, slowly moving my hand to push his wand down. His hand drops, and his eyes widen. I expect him to jump back, but he stays staring up at me. He’s breathing hard; I can feel his breath on my neck. Its warmness pools somewhere below my bellybutton.  

“So then… you are Baz?”

“Of course I am. And I’m very touched that you’d be willing to hurt someone for me, but you and I both know that you couldn’t do much damage with your wand.” I wait for him to protest, to spit at me and tell me to go fuck myself, but he doesn’t move.  “Who else would I be?”

“I just thought… I thought…,” he swallows, his eyes still wide.

“You thought…?” I try not to stare at his slightly-parted lips as I wait for his answer. He’s so close to me and I don’t really trust myself not to do anything about it, so I grab his elbow and push him back a little. Just a step; I don’t want him too far from me. He doesn’t flinch when I touch him, so I don’t move my hand.

He doesn’t respond. “Well, whatever it is, you thought wrong.”

Now he’s blinking, his eyes pinned to my chest, staring right through me. It’s like someone’s cast a Stay, Stay, Good Boy! on him. “Snow? Are you okay?” A-and I’m asking because I’m concerned, not because I- how did you put it?- ‘pity you’.”

He looks up at me as if he’s just come out of a trance. “I’m fine,” he squares his shoulders and I drop my arm before he realizes it’s there.

“I don’t think you are. Your face is really red, do I need to get someone-”

“No, don’t. I’m fine. I don’t want you running after me; if I needed something, I’d get it myself. I don’t need  you.”

“I never said you did…,.” I mumble, but he’s already walking away from me. I feel like our conversation is over, and now we’re going to go back to ignoring each other for the rest of the night. Now that we started talking, I certainly don’t want to stop. I never want to stop talking to Snow, but something feels… different tonight. I’m worried about him, if I’m being honest.

I emerge from the bathroom, changed into my jeans, feeling dryer and warmer. My hair is clumping together and falling in my eyes, but I guess I’ll just have to deal.

“Me and Agatha broke up.”

“I-- what?”

“The other day.”

“Okay?”

“She said it was because of you.”

I sit down on the edge of my bed, parallel to him. He’s sitting on the edge of his, too, his elbows digging into his thighs and his hands in his hair. I wait for him to look up at me, but he never does. I wonder if that would hurt more.

“I don’t know why she would say that,” I admit, thoroughly confused. Wellbelove didn’t speak to me until after the two of them had broken up.

“That’s all she told me.”

“Oh. Well… she did try to ask me to the ball…,” I offer, not wanting to keep any secrets from him.

“What?!” His head snaps up, and there’s more heat in his eyes than in all the lit candles in the room combined. I hold up my hands in surrender.

“I didn’t do anything, Simon. I don’t like her in the slightest, and even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything about it. It’s not honorable to pine after someone who's in a relationship, though, sometimes you can’t exactly choose who you fall for….”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” He’s right. I shrug.

He sighs, then falls back onto his mattress with a soft thud, thoroughly breaking our brief moment of eye contact. “Man. This sucks. I’m going to the ball alone, and my ex-girlfriend is going to it with my roommate.”

I laugh. “Simon, I told her no.”

Simon sits up again, leaning forward towards me from his bed. He’s a little too close for my liking. “You did? But why?”

Despite this, I do nothing to widen the distance between us. “I told you. I don’t like her.”

And neither does he. But what he does do, is smile. I can’t help it; I smile too. “Well, this sucks considerably less, but it still sucks. I still have no one to go with.”

“What about Bunce?”

“She didn’t want to say she’s going with me then feel bad later when she inevitably spends most of the night talking to Agatha.”

I nod. After a moment of silence, I speak again, “I could go with you.”

“Um,” is all he says. Then he blinks and leans back away from me.

“I…,” I start, then stop again. I don’t know how to dig myself out of that hole. Thankfully, I don’t have to.

“You know what? Sure. My week has already been awful; what harm is this going to bring? And anyway, we won’t have to ever see each other again afterward.”

I nod, unable to speak, my stomach twisting for more reasons than one.

SEVEN

x simon x

“Sorry,” I say as I look down to tie my bowtie.

“Why?” Baz asks, already completely ready, waiting for me at the door.

“First off, for taking so long, second off, for us not matching. Agatha’s dress was… what did she call it? Chartreuse? Anyway, I thought it was an ugly color, but I didn’t tell her that.”

“It’s alright. Your tie is still crooked, though.” The usual snarky comments from Baz have returned, but this time, it’s not said with any snark at all. It feels weird. It’s like eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich without the peanut butter. Though, I suppose that’d just be toast.

“Rrrrgh!,” I growl in frustration, not sure exactly how to tie a bowtie. Or any tie, for that matter. “Can you just tie it for me?”

“Um…” Baz looks me up and down, then furrows his eyebrows. “I-- I guess, yeah.”

He helps me, his hands shaking slightly for some reason, then we’re ready to leave.

Though we’re not linking arms or doing anything to really draw attention to ourselves, some of the people look surprised to see Baz and I walk through the door together, including Penny, and especially Agatha. I hover awkwardly in the doorway for a bit while Baz goes over to the table filled with finger foods. Penny leaves Agatha for a moment to come talk to me.

“Hey, Simon...,” she begins, slowly. Then, all at once, “can I just ask--”

“It’s not a big deal.” I shrug. And it isn’t. And it shouldn’t be. We just walked through the door together; nobody should be reading too much into it. “I know I’m not going to be spending most of the night with you guys, so--”

“Hey, no, don’t even say that. I’m still here for you, no matter what. You were my friend first, okay? I’m not taking sides.”

I frown. “How can you even say that, Penny? How can you say that, when you ditched me for her.”

“Simon, we were getting ready!”

“All weekend?”

“It’s what girls do, Simon.” She rolls her eyes, and I hate that she decided to wear her purple glasses with her mint-green dress, and I hate how beautiful I still think she looks in her dress even though I’m angry at her. I hate that our friendship is falling apart at this very moment, and it’s all my fault somehow. Most of all, I hate that I’m not actually angry at her. I’m sad, and I just don’t know how to handle that.

So instead, I don’t. I walk away from her, pressing the ball of my palm into my left eye. This was supposed to be our final adventure at Watford. I was supposed to be making small talk with Penny and Agatha about our outfits and plans for the future, but instead, I’m walking away from whatever friendship I had with them and trying not to cry.

I bump into someone, and for the first time in forever, I’m glad to see that it’s Baz. “Simon? Are you okay?”

I nod, even though it’s a lie that I know Baz will see right through. “I’m fine, I just… Penny was.…”

He looks disappointed in me and I feel ashamed. “You didn’t try to talk to her, did you?”

I nod again.

He sighs and offers me the sour cherry scone I didn’t realize he was holding. “Here. I know they’re your favorite.”

“You do?”

“Mm-hm,” Baz says, offering no other explanation. Nevertheless, I take it and thank him, eating it in only three bites.

The loud, upbeat music stops, and for a few seconds, spare for the quiet chatter here and there, it’s quiet. Then it’s replaced by a slower song, which I wouldn’t know until later was “Anathema” by Twenty One Pilots (I always wouldn’t realize how fitting it was until much later, too).

“Come on, Baz. Let’s go dance,” I say grabbing his hand. He flinches, then slips his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together until we get toward the middle of the dance floor, where he then moves his both hands to my shoulders.

“Why? Why are you slow dancing with me? You hate me.” He practically spits the word out, but his voice is sad. I shake my head.

“I don’t hate you, Baz.”

“Since when?”

I shrug from under his hands. “I don’t know. Do I have to figure that out now? I just want to live in this moment.”

He nods. “Okay, Simon.”

“Okay, now it’s my turn to ask: since when?”

“What?”

“Since when have I become Simon to you?”

“You’ve always been Simon to me. You’ve always been a lot to me, actually, but I didn’t really realize what exactly I thought of you until fifth year.”

“I don’t really understand what you mean,” I admit.

“Simon.” He slides one of his hands up from my shoulder to my cheek. It’s cold, and I’m pretty sure he can feel my heart thudding heavily in my cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

I swallow. I don’t think I realize what I’m agreeing to once I say yes, but Baz certainly does. And as he kisses me, I don’t feel like the Leavers Ball was my final adventure at Watford.  

It’s only the beginning of a new one with Baz.