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therealvinelle · 3 years

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What are vampires?

(Yes, I changed the title from “What is venom?” a week after publishing and after a whole set of sorry souls reblogged the post. I’m very sorry, but as I sat down to write the follow-up piece I realized that this meta is about vampires, not venom, and the title is no longer appropriate. My perfectionism got the better of me and I’m sorry.)

There’s been a lot of speculation on that in this fandom, here comes my take. It’ll split into four parts, this being part one where I look at what venom does to the human body. In part two I look at hybrids, part three I speculate on what venom is, part four I treat possible origins and raisons d’être of venom.

So, this first part is mostly me regurgitating facts. We won’t get anywhere if we’re not all agreed on what vampires are.

Also, I get very pseudo-scientific in this meta, but I have no education in biology or medicine so I could be wrong about everything. I tried to use good sources, though, so I can’t be entirely off-base.

With that out of the way, LET’S DO THIS.

To create a vampire, you infect a human with venom. This venom spreads throughout the body, altering every cell. The process is complete when the heart stops beating. If the human was injured at the time of infection, they will be healed, as long as the heart keeps beating.

Let’s go through that.

How does the venom spread?

When Bella was bitten by James, Edward was able to suck the venom out. Several minutes passed from she was bitten until Edward sucked the venom out, yet the burn was only reported to be in her hand. By contrast, anyone who’s ever had pharmaceutical administered intravenously knows that blood travels quickly. If venom travelled like any normal fluid, Bella would have said «My hand is on fire. No wait, my arm! No, wait, my torso! No, wait-» and Edward wouldn’t have been able to suck it out.

Additionally, Bella has that scar left by James. The venom had already altered the cells at the entry point.

To me, this sounds like the venom is like Pac-Man, spreading through the body by altering one cell at a time. It’s the only explanation for why it’s so slow. More on that later, though.

How does it alter the cells, and in turn the human body?

Physically, their skin is made impervious and perfectly even, their teeth are straight, razor sharp and white, their bodies impossibly strong, fast, and precise, their senses heightened to an insane degree yet they feel no pain from most physical injuries. Their digestive system is altered so they can only consume blood, preferably human blood, anything non-blood is regurgitated. They’re much more attractive than they were in life. They’re not reliant on oxygen, and their blood doesn’t circulate. They produce their own venom.

Mentally, their minds function at the capacity necessary to even utilize a body like this. They are able to process their heightened sensory input (for example, it’s the brain that interprets visual input from the eyes. For vampires to be able to see better than humans, both eye and brain have to improve), process though much faster than humans, they forget nothing, and they feel emotion and physical sensation more strongly than humans do.

Let’s go through these alterations one by one.

Skin

Frequently likened to marble, vampire skin is as hard as stone. When Bella becomes a vampire, she’s stunned Edward’s flesh now yields to her touch. Before, if she pressed her finger on him, his skin would not yield. The shapeshifters can kill vampires because their fangs are sharp enough to pierce their skin, without that advantage they couldn’t do it. No ordinary weapon could injure a vampire.

The stone skin is an armor, protecting them.

Teeth

As us humans get older, the enamel in our teeth is worn away, revealing the tooth’s underlying yellow color (the dentin). Vampires can live for thousands of years, yet their teeth remain that perfect blinding white. What changed? I see two possible explanations, one being that vampires still have enamel, and it’s too strong to ever be worn away, or they don’t have it because their teeth have been altered to the point where they don’t need a protective layer anymore, and their composition is something completely different from that of human teeth.

I think it’s the latter, as there are two other major changes reported. Their teeth have changed shape, they are now sharp enough to pierce through human or vampire skin. They’re also venomous (more on that later), able to inject anybody they bite, fellow vampires included, with venom.

There’s also the fact that vampires are changed on a molecular level, but more on that later.

Strength, speed, and precision

Meta I wrote on vampire strength disparity.

Vampires are ridiculously powerful, no upper limit (as in, «Newborn Emmett can carry 500 tonnes») is given, but whatever it is it’s high. Alice might just be the physically weakest vampire in the saga (Jane is physically smaller, but she eats properly. Alice lives on a subpar diet), but to Bella it makes no difference, Alice blows her out of the park anyway. Edward, a malnourished and not too strong vampire, is easily able to pick up entire trees by the roots, and then throw them at a small target.

As for speed, vampires move faster than the human eye can register, which according to this article means they can reach a speed of 38 146 mph! (61 390 km/h for us metric people) (Also, the traveling object used for this calculation was a ball, and the article specifies that it would be different for bigger objects. Alas I’m not going to bother my physicist friend with this, so we’re using the ball number.)

When it comes to precision, vampires exercise perfect muscle control. They’re so graceful their steps can’t be heard by humans, Edward can famously stroke a soap bubble without popping it, and they’re able to perfectly mimic the handwriting of others (a task anyone who’s ever googled forensic calligraphy will know is next to impossible). Much of this appears to be instinctual, like a downloaded .vampire package. Knowing how to attack prey, where to bite, that all happens on autopilot. So too does running, jumping, walking (funny how their default mode, even Carlisle’s, is to walk too quietly for their designated prey to detect). Snarling, hissing, and growling are also distinctly non-human manners vampire adopt.

Senses

Heightened sight, hearing, and smell is extremely useful. It makes them much more effective hunters. The smell especially is useful here, but really, all their senses are invaluable in this. It’s great for dealing with fellow vampires as well, they can see, hear, and smell their kind coming from a far distance.

There’s an added advantage, though. As I got into here, and here, if a vampire’s memories of their human life is dull and washed out compared to their brilliant new existence, dismissing humans as equally deserving of life becomes that much easier to justify. Heightened emotions serves this same purpose, though considering their longevity I think this is another form of survival, that they’re wired not to grow bored with life (but this is really for a separate meta).

There’s also the fact that their senses have to be tuned up to 11 to fit their other enhanced abilities. There’s no use in super-speed if you can’t see where you’re going.

Vampires’ heightened senses make them more efficient predators, and help them become the bloodthirsty sociopaths we know and love.

Pain receptors, or lack thereof

Vampires feel pain when they are thirsty, when their limbs are torn off, when they are bitten by other vampires (it appears to be the venom that stings), or when subjected to a gift that induces pain (Jane, Kate). They don’t feel pain like humans do, nor do they feel discomfort (they can sit indefinitely in any position, never feeling the need to shift around.

Interestingly, it looks to me like pain serves the same function for them as it does for humans. The brain registers pain to tell us something, a biological error message. Don’t walk on that leg, it’s injured. Get your hand off the hot stove and don’t put it there again. Pain is useful.

Vampires, by contrast, are not going to get injured from someone hitting them. There are no blood vessels that can burst, no soft tissue that can burst nor bones that can break. So, no need for their brains to register that as pain. Humans need to change positions every now and then for the sake of our circulation and so we don’t develop pressure ulcers (and I’m sure there are more reasons), vampires have no circulation and, as mentioned above, their skin is armor. No pressure ulcers.

What they do need pain for, is to let them know to feed. That’s the big one, and in turn the strongest one. The pain of the thirst is unbearable, as it has to be to turn a human who was infected with venom into a killer. It’s survival. Same goes for feeling pain when their limbs are torn off, or their bodies damaged by a bite. Their pain receptors let them know to avoid this next time.

As for Jane and Kate’s gifts, this may not serve a purpose for other vampires, but it serves a purpose for Jane and Kate. It protects them. So, sucks for everyone else, but that’s what gifts do, they give the gift-haver a leg up on others.

Digestive system

Carlisle had spent many years attempting to understand our immortal anatomy; it was a difficult task, based mostly on assumption and observation. Vampire cadavers were not available for study.

His best interpretation of our life systems was that our internal workings must be microscopically porous. Though we could swallow anything, only blood was accepted by our bodies. That blood was absorbed into our muscles and provided fuel. When the fuel was depleted, our thirst intensified to encourage us to replenish our supply. Nothing besides blood seemed to move through us at all. (Midnight Sun, chapter Home)

Ignoring the horrifying fact that the context for this quote is Edward wondering if Bella’s tear could stay in his system forever, this here is extremely interesting and I agree. Partly because I can’t think of anything better, partly because Carlisle is an in-universe medical genius who’s had access to far more data than I have. He can run experiments, I can’t. Even if I came up with a theory I thought was better, if blood absorption through porous tissue is Carlisle’s best theory then there must be evidence in favor of this which I don’t have access to. So, porous tissue it most likely is.

(Also, my «Carlisle totally volunteered for vivisection fun times with Aro in Volterra» theory survives that first paragraph. Vampire cadavers might not be available for study, but live ones absolutely are, you just pick them apart and put them back together after, and bring in Corin and/or Alec so the guinea pig has a good time too. There’s no way that never occurred to Aro. Even if it didn’t, it’s bound to have occurred to someone over the years, and Aro touches a lot of people. And we know he and Carlisle discussed what vampires even were, that they were best friends and all about that science.

We also know that sometimes, your weird science experiments involving dismemberment and tripping on Corin in Volterra, stay in Volterra. The tissue is porous, Edward, DON’T ASK ME HOW I KNOW.)

This has huge implications. What happened to the digestive system they used to have?

It’s still there, but non-operational.

Middle solution: it’s recognizably there, but welded shut. At some point, whatever the vampire ingests hits an untraversable boundary, and from there the blood is absorbed while any other matter remains, undigested (though possibly dissolved by venom) until regurgitated.

The vampire’s inner anatomy is unrecognizable from that of a human. Vampires have no need for livers, bowels, gall bladders, and so on, and so these organs no longer exist, or have even been replaced by other organs (assuming vampires need any, more on that later).

My vote lies with the third option, though both second and third are possible. The first one, not so much, as it means that in theory, they could force something through their system. They can’t.

More, vampires are nothing if not extremely efficient and economical organisms. They don’t need to feel pain from a physical blow, so they don’t. Why carry around these organs they’re not using?

Then there’s what they even need their digestive system to do. Humans need the nutrients in our meals not just as fuel, but as- well, everything. We need the building blocks for our cells. Our bodies are constantly renewing themselves. Vampires, by contrast, don’t appear to do this. There’s no waste of any kind, and their skin doesn’t get flaky. Edward specifically says blood is fuel, and I think that’s a literal interpretation.

Now we’re veering into speculation territory, and this isn’t the place for it just yet as we’re veering into what venom is and does, but I think whatever digestive process vampires have, serves to turn their blood to venom. I don’t think there’s any particular organ for this, I think that’s just because that’s what happens when venom comes into contact with blood. We see it happen when humans are bitten, and I think it’s fair to assume that the same thing happens when venom comes into contact with ingested blood.

This also helps explain why animal blood isn’t equal to human blood. Animals can’t be turned to vampires, it’s blood but venom and animal blood aren’t on the same FM, so to say. So, with no better option, yes venom can make do with animal blood, but it won’t perform as well as it would with human blood. The vampire is now weaker, with the frankly terrifying side effect that their eyes change color. We’re so used to this that we just go «oh, yeah, animal blood means their eyes turn yellow. It’s like a LED light letting you know which diet the vampire is on!» when in any other organism, a chance of color like that is usually the sign of something being wrong. Blue lips, yellow sclera, red urine, all color changes that point to something not being not as it should be.

Now, to go further here would mean getting more into what venom even is, which is best saved for part three. I’ll say this, venom appears to be the only fluid in the vampire body. It’s moistens their eyes (and melts their contacts), pools in their mouth, is injected through their fangs, and the application of venom to a wound makes them heal faster. Venom is the substance they rely on, more so even than blood, their elixir of life. (My speculation on how Edward was able to impregnate Bella is reserved for the hybrid/what is venom metas).

Also, on what vampires carry over from their human bodies, I do think they’re economical enough to not fix what ain’t broken. I think this because the human nervous system is absolutely brilliant, and indeed Bella regains sensation during her transformation where her spine had once been broken and unable to communicate with her brain. Question is, of course, was this because her new vampire body still uses the human nervous system, or did Bella regain sensation because her transformation had gotten to a point where this was no longer the case?

Beauty

The beauty part has gotten some very valid criticism, as beauty is very subjective and venom makes it out to be an objective, empirically measurable unit.

To caveat first, we see in canon that not all vampires are gorgeous. James was an ugly human, and so as a vampire he’s no beauty. Maggie was emaciated and not particularly attractive, so she’s bony and not hot by vampire standards. The Cullens, by contrast, were attractive humans. Human Bella is a hottie, she pulls all the guys without issue. If she were as plain as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t get male attention. Being new is only gonna get her so far. Jasper was turned because Maria thought he was a cutie, and same goes for Emmett with Rosalie.

(There’s also a certain inherent bias - I imagine attractive people have a much higher chance of getting turned than uglies.)

More, understand that vampires don’t look human. They’re flawless, desirable, perfect, yes - but they are very distinctly not human, and humans know as much instinctively:

Like any normal human, suddenly standing just a foot away from a vampire would send adrenaline racing through his veins. Fear would twist in his stomach for just a fraction of a second, and then his rational mind would take over. His brain would force him to ignore all the little discrepancies that marked me as other. His eyes would refocus and he would see nothing more than a teenage boy. I watched him come to that conclusion, that I was just a normal boy. I knew he would be wondering what his body’s strange reaction had been about. (Midnight Sun, chapter 21, page 547)

Vampires are beautiful in the way the Nefertiti bust is beautiful. It’s perfect, otherworldly, timelessly beautiful, but looking at it you know this is a bust and not a living human woman.

With that in mind, I think some of the vampire’s unnatural beauty is… not circumstantial, but happy bonuses to their other qualities. Their perfect skin, for instance, goes a long way towards making them beautiful. Perfectly smooth, a glowing white, no disruptions like blackheads, scarring, or sweat. At one point Bella describes Rosalie as looking airbrushed. Their perfect teeth, impeccable grace, these features also help.

Now, I think when venom makes a human more beautiful, I think the big thing it does is make the features perfectly symmetrical. This by itself is immediately inhuman and unnatural, more computer generated than human, just perfect enough to tick off the uncanny valley box. This would explain the flawlessness Bella keeps describing in vampires. It also explains the disparity in beauty, the features Rosalie had to work with and get symmetrical were lovelier than the ones James had, and why they can look completely different from each other yet share that same kind of uncanny impeccability. It also explains how people of wildly different face types and ethnicities can all be beautiful, the venom won’t erase the features you had but rather refine them into the best they can be.

I do think that refinement, in addition to symmetry, happens. If it didn’t, the change wouldn’t be so radical from human to vampire. More, all vampires are described as having sharp features, Esme stands out for the fact that she retained some of her human softness. So, the venom appears to make features more angular and, well, sharp.

Aro’s description is in favor of my interpretation of vampiric beauty:

I couldn't decide if his face was beautiful or not. I suppose the features were perfect. But he was as different from the vampires beside him as they were from me. His skin was translucently white, like onionskin, and it looked just as delicate (New Moon, page 234)

His features are flawless, meaning symmetrical. He should be beautiful, so it’s the skin that gives her pause.

There’s also the matter that beauty is observed in the body, not just the form. They all look strong and limber, even the tiniest of vampires. I imagine some of this is simply texture, that vampires are made hard, smooth, and perfect, but we have this from Bella looking in the mirror after waking up a vampire:

She was fluid even in stillness, and her flawless face was pale as the moon against the frame of her dark, heavy hair. Her limbs were smooth and strong, skin glistening subtly, luminous as a pearl. (Breaking Dawn, page 261)

Fluid even in stillness, her limbs smooth and strong. This woman was starving to death when she died. Combined with the fact that Edward, who was a sick 17-year-old, has muscle definition, it seems venom does body sculpting as well. Though it’s worth noting that hydration goes a long way towards muscle definition for humans, so the change in fluid composition in vampires could have something to do with it their limber appearance.

Then there’s the other vampire beauty markers.

Their voices are described quite unusually, with words like wind chimes, bells, or feathers. They’re beautiful, but, like everything else about vampires, inhuman. When Carlisle calls Billy on the phone, Billy immediately recognized the voice as somehow wrong, it’s too clear and sharp.

I mean, I think in part this is because their vocal cords aren’t made of soft human tissue anymore, but most likely stone. No matter what they’re made of, though, it’s no surprise that we’re not getting human voices out of them.

Their scent is appetizing to humans and other vampires alike, and serves a duel purpose. Humans are attracted to them (well, vampires are too), while vampires are able to use it for tracking purposes. It’s tremendously useful for keeping track of your territory, as randos can’t walk in and eat your food and sneak off again without leaving a trail. It’s also good for meeting up with friends, we see Carlisle and Siobhan use it for this purpose in Midnight Sun.

Circulation

The purpose of blood is to carry oxygen and nutrients to the cells. Apparently, this isn’t a need vampires have. All they need is venom. The theory that their tissue is porous adds to this, as it would mean blood travels through their body in a different manner. The porous tissue replaces circulation.

So, no circulation for vampires because they don’t need it.

This meta is now getting ridiculously long, so I’m putting the venom production section in the venom meta.

The transformation

The transformation is complete when the heart stops beating. The former human is now a vampire, and no longer reliant on a heartbeat, nor oxygen. In this they are different from hybrids.

As for the process itself, I think that as the venom spreads, it starts multiplying on its own. This is why it took longer for Carlisle than it did Bella, she was bitten and injected multiple times and on every part of her body while Carlisle was grazed on the arm. Bella had more venom that could work on her, Carlisle did not. These facts support my theory of the slow spread of venom.

I’ve played with the thought of the transformation happening in stages, where the first act is the spread of the venom, which then spreads throughout the body and heals the body to put it at default, the second act is the bodysculpting, and the third act the finishing touches. It doesn’t quite fit with venom transforming as it goes, though, so I’m very hm on that.

A few observations:

Activity level doesn’t appear to help spread the venom. Carlisle exerted himself, and his transformation took far more time than normal (though lying still instead of contorting in agony probably doesn’t help in that regard). Bella laid still as a corpse, and her transformation took far less time than normal. The venom spreads in its own time, regardless of what the blood circulation is up to.

Going by the accounts of the Cullens, while the pain is constant, the transformation hurts increasingly as the venom spreads.

Bella was severely injured, and needed to be healed before she could even feel all the pain. Her broken spine, for instance, meant she couldn’t feel below the waist.

Carlisle said it’s «easier if the blood is weak» (cryptic much?! Not making it easy for me, dude. Though as this was said in the context of Edward explaining that Carlisle would only turn someone already dying, I do think he’s referring to what it’s like for vampires, though, that humans are not so tempting if they’re half dead.)

Healing

Now we’re veering into the venom meta, but: the transformation fixes anything that could impede the vampire’s function. Bella would get nothing done with her post-birth broken body, and so she’s fixed up for her. Alice’s emaciation means she’s thin and less strong than others, it doesn’t physically prevent her from doing anything.

The venom, it appears, heals the human not because it’s being altruistic, nor to make the vampire more appealing to others, but to make the human into an ideal host. BUT MORE ON THAT IN THE VENOM META.

With that, my god we’re done. And this meta is words in total, an ugly number.

Lastly, I know that putting a read more at the end of a 4k long meta is the worst joke in the world (RIP to you poor souls scrolling past this. My reason for not being a read more kind of gal to be found here)

Nothing yet, I’m afraid.

#long post #had to delete immediately after posting because i hadn't actually written anything in the skin section #so i deleted rather than having people reblog before it was ready #ops #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #twilight vampires #twilight venom #twilight biology #vampire biology #also i am very proud of the way my ship snuck into the post #sorry not sorry but it's a bedbug ship #it won't stay out of my stuff #edit: can't count. wrote five parts

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vkelleyart · 4 years

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Thoughts on fandom: inclusion and engagement.

(Art credit to the kindhearted @penpanoply!)

There’s been some stuff floating around on Tumblr about strife in the CO/WS fandom, and though I haven’t been explicitly named-dropped on anything public, my DMs have been... active. lol Rather than rehash what’s been said already, I just want to impart a little wisdom and perspective in the hopes it may soothe frayed feelings and offer a way ahead for cultivating a respectful community. As someone who has been an active participant in online fandoms since the mid-’90s, which was the advent of online fandom content creation (shout out to my fellow X-Philes!), and who has also spent a chunk of her professional life managing social media for the federal government and for activist groups, I can promise you it’s all gonna be okay.

Here’s some context for why strife happens and what we can do to create a more inclusive and communicative fandom environment.

1) It sounds cliché, but fandoms go through growing pains.

In the case of the Simon Snow fandom, what was once a small and cozy space untouched by cataclysmic events (such as the release of *gasp* a sequel) has grown exponentially in a relatively short amount of time following the release of Wayward Son. Newcomers are eager to find a home in this space at the same time as folks who’ve been here a while may be consciously or unconsciously wary about widening their circle, and It’s important to remember that this is not necessarily an expression of bad behavior on either side but just human psychology doing its thing.

The byproduct, however, is that tension and stress builds over time from the lack of meaningful communication across the divide, which subsequently fuels misunderstandings. Ironically, the interfaces we use to communicate don’t help with this because any existing communication about the tension happens in tiny vacuums until a trigger goes off and bad feelings go public.

Way Ahead: These moments of destabilization are opportunities to see where we can be more self aware about how we engage with fandom and the kind of community we want to be. Can you promote, support, or befriend someone trying to gain a foothold? If yes, please do! Each person must reach their own decision about what they can do within the confines of their available energy, health, and time, but a little self awareness goes a long way as long as you’re honest with yourself and others if applicable about what you can contribute. Anyone who judges you for it isn’t worth the strife.

2) In a fandom comprised of vulnerable/marginalized people, it’s more accurate to say that cliques are “bubbles of trust.”

This one's important. Just by nature of the source material, the CO/WS fandom includes fans with a wide array of backgrounds and experiences, especially when it comes to those who identify with the characters’ queerness, mental illness, and/or trauma. I really believe––based on individual conversations/group chats––that the difficult lived experiences that so many of our fandom peers have endured has produced one of the most open, aware, and accepting fandoms I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. Our vulnerability is, in a real way, our strength.

That said, a community of survivors also has the side effect of cultivating small circles of engagement that I call “bubbles of trust.” When you’re a survivor of abuse, marginalization, mental illness, fill-in-the-blank, it’s often quite hard to risk casting a wide net and expanding your circle to include new faces––which can subsequently be internalized by equally sensitive and vulnerable newcomers as rejection, judgement, or inadequacy.

Way Ahead: First of all, there may indeed be gatekeeping and exclusion going on. But before internalizing someone’s cagey behavior as gatekeeping or purposely exclusionary, ask yourself if you have all the information. Many people are private (I include myself in this assessment) because life has regrettably taught them to be this way, and so they may insulate themselves to a small group of people who have earned their trust. Some people might also triggered by certain content (case in point: smut triggers my anxiety) so they don’t engage with it. Others might have something in their pasts that define how they handle certain subjects (for example, a person of color should not be tone policed for getting angry when confronted with a racialized microagression, however accidental it was). You just don’t know what you don’t know.

The solution here is to regularly check your privilege and ask questions in a private space if you sense you’re being treated unfairly by someone. If you go public with your grievances in hopes of mobilizing the mob, you may accidentally find yourself stepping into the role of the aggressor instead of the victim.

3) Social Media is not built to help you get engagement. It’s built to help itself make money off of you.

Repeat after me: Hits/likes are not a measurable indicator of talent or worth. There are ridiculously talented folks on Tumblr and elsewhere who, for whatever reason, haven’t had their viral moment, and it’s not their fault. Loads of factors come into play where things like likes, reblogs, and comments are concerned, among them being posting frequency, subject matter, the time of day, the day of the week, the week of the month, the month of the year, the current administration, the stock exchange, the concentration of middle class users, who just won the Superbowl, a madman trying to steal an election and undermine the democratic process, a PANDEMIC, do you get where I’m going with this?? lol

At the end of the day, my humble successes have been helped along by good luck, good timing, high profile signal boosters, and an absurd amount of work. (This is why I try to signal boost new work whenever I get a chance over at @vkelleyshares.)

So while you cannot control Tumblr’s interface, trends at large, or your fellow users, here’s what you can do to ensure you give your work the best possible chance of exposure.

Have an image ready to go with your post. Tumblr is a visual platform (no matter what it says about being good for text). Not good with images? Set up a Canva.com account and get access to free graphic software with a gazillion templates to create whatever attractive image you want to attach to your post.

Keep the outward facing text brief and easy on the eyes. Too long and eyes will glaze over. Put excess text behind a “read more.”

You may think you’re being cute when you do this, but don’t put yourself down in your posts. (Don’t put yourself down in general, of course.) Doing so acts as engagement repellant. If you don’t believe in your work, no one else will.

Related: Be your best cheerleader. Confidence is a magnet, and if you don’t have it, go ahead and fake it until you start to convince yourself you are worth the buzz. So promote yourself! You have gifts that only you can impart. Use that knowledge to fuel everything you do from your art/fiction writing to your outreach with other content creators, and by golly, if someone’s done it already, acknowledge that contribution and then tell the world that this is YOUR unique take on it.

Treat your fellow fandom creators as human beings, not art/fiction/content boosting machines. I cannot count how many times I’ve had folks slide into my DMs with offers of friendship only to disappear once they realize I’m not available to draw a picture for their fic. It hurts because it’s manipulative and it makes me want to hole up and not signal boost anyone. Creators who truly support each other will not give off a transactional vibe. I want to help you reach more people, but not if that’s all I’m good for in your eyes.

The long and short of it: Lead with compassion, do your best with the opportunities at your disposal, and remember that fandom belongs to everyone in it. ❤️

What saves a fandom made of sensitive and vulnerable souls from imploding when it goes through growing pains is radical compassion from those who can offer it. Begin with the assumption that your fellow fandomers are not trying to harm you, and wade into the water knowing that your insight into the lives of your peers is limited by default and you may need to temper your words or actions accordingly. If you’re a content creator, save compassion for yourself as well, as there are indeed challenges to gaining an audience, and lack of engagement does not mean you lack talent or skill. Be your best advocate, and if you have the bandwidth to lift up a fellow creator and make a new friend, please, go ahead do it!

And finally, fandom belongs to everyone, and no one has a monopoly on characters, tropes, or themes. Create and consume what you love (with respect for your more vulnerable peers), and bask in the variety, my friends!

That’s all I’ve got in my head at the moment, although I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting. Thanks so much to @penpanoply for letting me use her art for this and to everyone else, hang in there and try not to judge each other too harshly. These are unprecedented times, and most of us are doing our best in circumstances that are pushing us to our limits.

As always, if you have questions or want to sound off on anything, shoot me a message or an ask, or ping me on Discord. It might take me a second to respond (thanks, Covid) but I’ll get to it! Love, love, and more love to all.

#fandom stuff

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mittensmorgul · 3 years

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Can’t everyone use tumblr how they want?

YES!

This site is exactly what people make of it for themselves. That was the exact point of that post. The fact that people reacted negatively to it at all proves my point. Seriously.

I have a number of other anons that are clearly from people who don't actually follow me, and are only here in a reactionary fashion having seen it on someone else's reblog, or else heard about it in passing and decided the best reaction to an ultimately harmless and rather bumbling post was to take personal offense and bring anonymous hate to a stranger on the internet. (and at least one not-anonymous "go kill yourself" type comment on the post itself)

THAT was the point of making that post.

For people who might be new to this fandom or new to tumblr in general (or even for people who have been here for years), your experience here is exactly what you make of it. I haven't seen that sort of vitriolic kneejerk reaction to anything I've written or posted in years. That post touched nerves. So it was a bit of an experiment, and I'm sorry to everyone who experienced any of that negativity second-hand. NOBODY should be made to feel like shit when engaging with something that is supposed to be fun. But I've learned over the years that that's exactly what some people consider fun.

There are new people to this fandom since the absolute free for all of the weeks after November 5th. We all reveled in those weeks before the show collapsed in on itself two weeks later. It was like 15 years worth of Hiatus Blogging followed by... well... some of the worst genuine hurt and disillusionment I've ever experienced or witnessed inflicted on a fandom by a piece of media.

There have to be at least a few people who floated into this fandom during that emotional roller coaster who want to make sense of it all, who were at least curious enough about how a show could've brought the characters to that emotional moment in 15.18 before effectively ignoring it all and burning the entire 15 year narrative to nothing just two episodes later.

Some folks stuck around to dig through the ashes of fandom in search of carrion, and that's fine. Some have zero desire to ever engage with the show or the fandom beyond mocking it for ever having existed at all, and that is also fine! But some folks? They might be wondering why anyone ever saw anything in this narrative to begin with, and they might be interested in knowing that there is this vast collection of information available to them (funny that none of my self-righteous anons even mentioned those, outside of one pointing out that my phrasing introducing that section of links was easily interpreted as condescending... which... yeah... again that was the point, and no I will not edit that language. none of us are free from sin).

Tumblr hasn't "changed." It was always this way. This site is not a monolith. Fandom is not a monolith. Even smaller groups within fandom aren't monoliths. Things that are considered "tumblr standard etiquette" do not exist across this entire website. And even within the supernatural fandom, and even within the tumblr-destiel-portion of the fandom there aren't "rules" dictating how you interact with anyone. Well, the one specific rule we should all be able to agree on is that you don't bring hate to real actual human beings, and yet...

There has ALWAYS been the option to engage with fandom here on whatever level an individual chooses. And that hasn't really changed since the finale aired. Anyone who thinks that Tumblr or the fandom has "evolved" or "changed" has likely just fallen in with a different fandom bubble then they'd existed within before. None of the bubbles have actually popped or disappeared. But which one you experience is entirely your own choice. You curate your experience here.

That was the point, illustrated by the vast array of comments I actually got on that post, structured with a little bit of everything including "tumblr mom from 2014." Everything pisses some people off, you know? Even the perception that some stranger on the internet might dare to lay down an arbitrary "rule" that zero people actually have to follow. See what I mean?

Because if any of the people who kneejerked at it actually followed me, or knew me at all, they wouldn't have kneejerked. They would've seen the point.

So your experience is what you make of it here. There are resources for people actually interested in engaging with the narrative or the fandom or the history of it. People mock "tumblr moms" or "fandom moms" all the time, but there wouldn't ~be~ a fandom without the people who actually build those resources. I.e. adults with the time, money, and personal investment in actually sustaining the fandom, instead of running around with torches trying to burn it down at every new whiff of perceived ~drama~ to latch on to.

For example, all of the scripts we've been acquiring and sharing with the entire fandom free of charge. I know that the fandom bubbles who seize on those scripts like hungry vultures to cough back up out of context "gotcha" posts postulating whatever theory of the differences between script and screen will dredge up the most drama or outrage in their fandom bubble... they haven't even considered how those scripts were acquired and made available to them. To them, they are "leaks." They are gifts that fell out of the sky and landed in their laps. There isn't even the barest curiosity about their origins or relevance beyond whatever social nourishment they derive by making up stuff and spouting it out with unearned authority. It's sad. But if that's how they enjoy the fandom, it's nice to remind them that none of the fandom they cannibalize would exist without the rest of us, too.

Yes, even the people you disagree with. Even the people who ship the things you find disgusting or repulsive. Even people who have an entirely different experience to your own. Even the people who are only here for those gotcha posts.

Fandom is not by nature a nihilistic shitshow, or no fandom would survive the amount of drama the 1% try to bring to it. Here have a fanlore article about this phenomenon. Right now, in Supernatural fandom, it feels like more than 1%, but I promise it really is only 1%. They're just really loud. There's actually other avenues to participatory fandom available to anyone who chooses to find them. Parts of this vast fandom that aren't focused on that 1% of reactionary leg-chewing at every turn. None of them are (as the linked article confirms) truly 100% free of unnecessary drama or bad behavior (including ME, I mean I MADE THAT POST!), but on tumblr you can curate your own experience. Fandom actually can be fun without burning down the thing you claim to be a fan of, or attacking other real human people for having the audacity to exist on the internet in a way you might believe is out of touch or pathetic. Seriously, nobody deserves to experience that from anyone over a fucking television show. Like seriously, take a step back and examine your life and your choices at that point.

Tumblr was exactly the same as a fandom community when I joined as it is now. Throughout my entire time here, I've curated my own personal experience to exactly what I derive the most personal satisfaction from. During that time I have had numerous friends and mutuals lament that their personal experience had become so toxic, but they were afraid to trim those blogs from their dash for fear of having no content left to engage with at all. For years there have been follow lists and blog recs and people desperate to find a more "peaceful and fun" fandom experience. People grow exhausted and embittered when their entire experience of fandom is an emotionally draining drama train. It's like pandemic doom scrolling, but for the thing that should be a respite from that sort of mindset, something that's supposed to be entertainment. The show did enough to us all, we don't have to turn around and re-inflict it on each other day in and day out on tumblr dot com.

So if even one person saw my post and thought well shit maybe I actually want to engage with a wider swath of fandom and see what's there, after seven months of post-finale drama, this whole other region of fandom is still here, still being the curators of the archives, the creators of stories and art and meta and gifs and videos and actually caring about it all that will keep this fandom going long after the current round of exhausting drama inevitably plays itself out.

The amount of in-group language in the negative replies I got was unsurprising. It's like folks are living in an alternate universe that doesn't mesh at all with what I experience on this exact same hellsite. Almost like we exist in entirely different bubbles of fandom, with entirely different purposes for existing at all. Everyone on this hellsite gets to pick which bubble (or bubbles) to take up residence in. Some people simply forget that their personal bubble isn't the universal defining experience of this site. Unfortunately, I doubt my little disruption to their bubbles will actually make any of them see that, but you anon... I think you did.

You are highly encouraged to engage with fandom EXACTLY THE WAY YOU CHOOSE. You have the ultimate power in controlling your entire experience here. Tumblr and Supernatural Fandom on tumblr is not Just One Thing that everyone who wants to participate in must conform to one specific code of ethics or behavior to be part of. And that NOBODY has the right to tell anyone else they're doing it wrong (including ME! I am 100% including myself in this!).

It's not MY job to dictate how anyone else experiences this fandom, as much as it was not the job of the people who reblogged my post (which I did not personally shove into their eyeballs with a demand for compliance... how did any of those people even *find* my post?) solely to tell me how *I* need to change how I experience the fandom, you see? Don'tcha love hypocrisy!

But the point was made for those who care, and a lot of people got to update their block lists (I still don't block anyone, as I said I curated my fandom space here and generally don't follow folks that don't personally make me happy and enrich my life by engaging with their content. However other people choose to engage with *my* content (any of it, going back nearly 50k posts over the last decade) is their business entirely. Sometimes I just feel the need to draw out people who are all too eager to expose their own whole asses in public. Mission accomplished.

#fandom problems #and again i'm sorry that anyone i know was exposed to ugliness because of this #but everyone i know also knows that i'm probably the least easily upset person in this corner of the fandom #if even one person achieved a modicum of self-awareness that their experience is not universal #that there IS no universal experience even #then i guess the point was made

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Enchanted For a Moment (revamped)

Pairings: Reds, Blues, Greens

Fandoms: The Powerpuff Girls

Rating: T (might change with chapters)

Word count: 7755

Summary: A royal au that showcases three different types of relationships. As Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup work for Princess Eliza Morbucks, they have a secret they want to keep but when a trial of suitors comes for the princess, everyone is going to discover something they never intended too.

Note: This is a rewrite of my story "Enchanted for a Moment". Its much longer and in depth and I hope you all enjoy. Huge thank you to my wonderful and stunning beta, Miss Cilla @creativecilla for helping me bring this to life. Another thank you to my other betas Aves @avesthetea and Lisa @lisathefan for coming along on the journey.

Chapter 1

---

The sun rose gently on the horizon as a new day started in Townsville. It was a simple kingdom filled with simple people who lived simple lives. The town was small yet full of life. There was the bakery that filled the air with an aroma of vanilla and sugar. The library and school house where little minds grew big. Not to mention the busy harbor that had an excellent array of fish, meats, and vegetables.

Everything and everyone within the kingdom had their place. They had a job and a status to uphold and the princess was no exception.

The daughter of King Morbucks, Princess Eliza, was the fairest lady in all the land. At least, that is what they said in order to keep her peace. In all honesty, Eliza, who demanded to be referred solely as Princess, was a menace.

She was anything but a graceful girl. Demands came from her mouth the second she was born and no one had ever told her no. She could manipulate anyone with a blink of an eye or a bribe. She wasn’t one for genuine smiles or doing charitable work, no. She cared about her crown more than anything else in the kingdom, why bother with anything else?

Yes, Townsville was a peaceful kingdom for the most part, yet hidden within the walls of the castle was a secret that few had known.

♛♛♛

“Princess. Please hold still!” Bubbles winced as she tried to measure Princess for a new gown. The blonde stepped back, avoiding the elbow coming towards her face and blew out her bangs. “Your majesty.” She groaned but Princess was in the mirror staring at herself as if she was the most beautiful creature on the planet.

“Quit your whining, maid.” She spat at Bubbles, who only tightened her lip and grabbed the basket full of fabrics and sewing needles.

“I’ll return tomorrow then.” She said defeatley as she saw the sun setting through the glass windows. Another few hours wasted and she had gotten practically nothing done.

“Whatever.” Princess said without taking her eyes off her mirror.

Bubbles finished packing, feeling her own temper rise out of anger and irritation. She shoved her hand into the basket to hide the small blue glow coming from her palm and quickly walked towards the door.

“Excuse you.” The princess snapped and gave her a scowl.

Bubbles’ shoulders tightened and she pressed her hand further into her basket. She sighed before giving a small bow towards her. “Until tomorrow.” She bit her lip. “Your majesty.”

Bubbles closed the door to the room and roamed down the private wing that belonged to the maids and servant quarters.

She made a right at one of the hallways towards her own room, the one she shared with her two sisters, Blossom and Buttercup Utonium. Ever since she was a little girl, Bubbles dreamed of the life of royalty.

Her father would read her stories of princes kissing their princess in an act of true love. They would live happily ever after in a castle just as grand as this one and all was well. How she dreamed it would be like that.

However, it was far from it. The only reason her sisters lived within the palace walls was due to something she would rather forget.

She was fifteen when it had happened. Her eldest sister, Blossom, came through the door, a soft look on her face that she had never worn before. Tears lay on her water line as she hugged Bubbles to her chest telling her of their fathers passing. Buttercup returned from the docks as the news swarmed the town and the three of them stood before their father's grave dressed in the ink black fabric as their sobs rang like the church bells.

Bubbles could remember the way Blossom stood. Her shoulders pulled tight as her fists clenched together and she tried to be strong, she hardly smiled after that. The next thing she knew, they were being set up in the castle. A private room that the three would share and all they had to do was work there.

Buttercup worked as a private guard and occasionally helped with supply income from the docks. Bubbles’ ability to make a dress out of pure scraps lead her towards the seamstress route. As for Blossom, she was appointed as Princess’s tutor and main maid. Bubbles never knew how she had managed to replace the woman with that role as Blossom would constantly bicker with the princess, yet when she asked, her question was brushed aside.

Bubbles made her way into the servants wing. It wasn't as luscious as the rest of the castle but still held some elegance to keep up with the look. She pushed the door open and placed her basket on the nearest chair in the room as she rubbed her palm making the blue glow die down.

“Blossom, she is killing me.” Bubbles complained before flopping on her bed. “I pricked my finger five times because she wouldn’t stay still!” Bubbles held her index finger that was much redder than the others.

The red head looked up from her book. She gave her little sister an innocent look, one that knew exactly how she felt as she also had to deal with the spoiled brat on the daily.

“I'm sorry. Then again, I am not surprised.” Blossom turned the next page. She was sitting on the window sill, a place Bubbles found her on the daily.

“How hard is it to stay still?! I swear, I’ve made dresses for babies that don’t squirm as much.” She blew out some air before reaching up and undoing the two pigtails wrapped in blue ribbons. Her soft blonde hair fell just past her shoulders, much shorter than her older sister. “Oh Blossom, you should have seen the way my hand glowed. Do you know how hard it was to keep a smile?” She pointed towards her cheeks. “Extremely difficult.”

“And yet, you have one of the most stunning smiles in the land.” Blossom responded as another page turned in her book.

Bubbles stared at her, slightly entranced by how peaceful she looked. Although, she didn’t miss the slight darkness under her eyes and the subtle crease in her brow. Even with the clear toll of taking care of her sisters, Bubbles thought that under the soft glow of the light, her sister was the essence of beauty.

Ever since they were little girls, Blossom had always caught the eyes of everyone around her, but never on purpose. She was the most quiet of the three, with Buttercup being brash and Bubbles’ loud personality shining through. Yet she could captivate anyone she walked past.

She had taught herself to read and then her sisters, something not many could do. Bubbles always believed she would be married first, she was the oldest afterall and there was no shortage of suitors looking for her hand.

In fact it was one of the reasons why Princess wasn’t a fan of her, among other things as well.

A sad smile came onto her lips as the blonde laid on her back and looked up at the tall ceiling. She had always loved the painted flowers displayed there. She could spend hours tracing her finger in the air among the patterns and wondering what they’d smell like if they were to bloom in the gardens, unfortunately magnolias never grew in the kingdom, but she could dream.

“Do you remember when father would read us the stories?” Bubbles said out loud. It wasn’t rare to speak of their late father, but there were times that were easier than others. Even after two years of not having him here, Bubbles missed him as if the wound were fresh.

She could hear the page turning stop and looked towards Blossom, who was now looking out the window.

“Every single one.” The red head responded, her own lips turning up into a smile that Bubbles wished she could see more.

“Would you tell me one?” Bubbles asked as she toyed with the hem of her dress.

Blossom marked her page and closed the book, setting it on the small table and walked towards her sister's bed. “You should get ready for bed and perhaps when you’re done, Buttercup will be back to join us.” She brushed a light blonde lock out of her sister's face and watched as Bubbles left to the small bathroom attached to their room.

She heard the water begin to run and returned to her seat at the window. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked up towards the sky. The moon had begun to rise as stars speckled the sky.

“Where is Buttercup?” She asked, as her younger sister was usually back by now.

♛♛ Earlier that Afternoon ♛♛

“Captain, the shipment crew spotted something along the far shoreline, hidden beyond the trees. They suspect that it’s an undocumented ship from another kingdom or worse, pirates.”

Captain Lumpkins, an older man who had seen more passing moons than most, was one of the most trusted men in the kingdom’s service. He was short and stout with a thick beard and with a loose temper like his, and his face always seemed to be a nice shade of pink.

Lumpkins faced in the direction that his crew member told him of, a squint in his eyes as he tried to look for a sign of the ship but it was blocked by the rocky formations of the cliff side. The wooden pipe that constantly hung from his lips let out a thick puff of smoke that the crew had gotten used to. He scoured his crew, looking through the few faces to pick from until he settled on the girl with the jet black hair.

He snapped his fingers before pointing towards Buttercup. “Little Lady, take the lead and go find out what all the fuss is about.” he grumbled, before turning his back, giving her no time to protest.

“Alone?” Buttercup questioned. She was more than capable of handling her own but it was better to travel in pairs, especially if the threat of pirates was around.

The Captain looked back before blowing on his pipe again. “Problem?” He grinned and showed his more than yellow teeth that were probably better to be made of wood at this point.

Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. She knew he was only doing this because the first time they had met, she had accidentally hit him with a door and sent him flying towards the ground, not to mention she almost broke his banjo.

“No sir.” She spat and felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Be careful.” Mitch said, before giving her a nod and following the captain.

Mitch was a simple guy. Dark brown eyes and messy brown hair, he was nothing special but was extremely skilled with a bow and arrow. They had lived in the same part of the village before she moved to the castle and he had been drafted into the captain guard by the time he was fifteen. She considered him to be one of her only friends, even if he was slightly annoying. However, he never once doubted her skills.

Buttercup sighed before stalking off, boots hitting the dock with a little more anger than she intended. She threw her hands in her pockets so the small spark of green they emitted went unnoticed by the people in the area. In all honesty, she didn’t care that she went by herself. If anything, she was as good with a sword as she was sassy, and hardly anyone tried to mess with her.

It took more than half an hour to reach the hidden beach. She didn’t mind the stroll since it gave her an excuse to not be around the annoying stare of her captain. It blew her mind that some old fat man was the captain. Some of the other crew mates had told her that he once owned a farm and even a cabin in the deeper parts of the woods. After an accident with flooding of the crops, he had been put into the guard service and moved his way to the top.

Buttercup stood on the small cliff. She could see the ship below and it took her breath away at how massive and stunning the beast was. The ship was made of dark wood that looked like squid ink against the blue sea. The masts held thick, white cloth and a smaller flag that was decorated with a skull and crossbones. It was a typical sign for pirates to have, but this one had a dark green trim.

It looked like a classic ship. She had seen many sailing on the sea when she had accompanied the navy team for a few deliveries, but what had intrigued her most was the statue on the forepeak. Most of the time, a mermaid or maiden was craved and crafted onto the front; something about the ladies of the sea or the fact that the only people on board were horny men who could barely please their wives.

Instead, this ship had something different. She slipped down from the cliff and jumped the shore. She noticed the ship was much larger than she had thought as she approached the front. She looked up at the statute. A beautiful craving of a fairy was displayed. Her face was round and looked soft with large wings curving around the ship, each wing held an intricate design.

Buttercup had never seen something so expertly crafted, and the words below it were just as fascinating.

“The Empress.” She whispered to herself. She had a keen knowledge on the many famous pirates that roamed the sea. Each of them in search for their own thing, be it treasure or the destruction of anything in their way.

A gasp left her lips as she realized that docked on this beach was one of the most viscous groups of pirates around. Legends had told that a fearless captain commanded the ship and the water around him. Wherever he went, danger and death followed. Her father once told her that if you ever became a prisoner among his deck, your life would drip out slowly and painfully and there was no mercy in his eyes. It was said that his gaze alone could strike fear even into the bravest of hearts.

She should have turned back to warn Lumpkins of what was here. She should have left with a shiver down her spine, but she had gotten closer to the ship, her fingers gliding along the wood and she felt little to no fear.

The ram to the deck was down and when she looked around, she found no crew members in sight, an odd occurrence, really. Her foot was on the ram and she had begun walking up without realizing.

If Blossom were here, she would have lost her mind. She could hear her voice now.

“Buttercup Utonium, what were you doing near a pirate ship? I don’t care that it was an order, you are only eighteen!” She said in a tone, mimicking her older sister.

The deck was spotless as she stepped onto it, still no one in sight and she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or even more suspicious. As she walked, there was nothing around her that screamed ‘pirate’. Sure there were some cannons and weapons lying around, but nothing that had shown any sort of activity for a few weeks.

She had decided to head back, hardly anything to report, and wondered if this ship had been overthrown and abandoned. As she went to leave, her eyes went towards a door that was no doubt made for a captain. She got closer, there was a plaque inscribed with a single word, or rather name on it.

“Butch.” She muttered.

One hand went onto the door knob while the other rested on her dagger, with a swift push, the door opened. She took one step inside before her eyes widened. Leaning against a large oak desk was, no doubt in her mind, the captain of the very ship she now realized she was trespassing on.

The man looked up from where he was sharpening a knife before flashing her a wicked smile that revealed slightly sharper teeth than a normal person should have and piercing green eyes that challenged her own lighter ones.

“Well, what do we have here?” He questioned, before throwing the knife towards a wall behind him.

Buttercup froze in place, unsure of what to do. She hadn’t expected anyone to be here and now she felt like she had walked into a lion’s den. She hadn’t even noticed that he walked towards her and when she snapped back to reality, one arm had snaked around her waist and the other held her wrist above her head, keeping her dagger out of reach.

“Quiet now, are we?” He smirked. They were mere inches apart with their chest flushed together, but she noticed that his grip wasn’t rough enough to hurt.

“Not quite.” She responded. “I would be careful holding a lady hostage like this.”

He laughed. “You’re the one who came onto my ship, sweetheart.” He reminded her. “I’m just making sure my property is safe. What are you doing?”

“Scouting out dirty pirates.” She sneered before glaring at him. “And I think I found one.”

“I'm rather clean, doll. But I can get dirty, if that’s what you want.” He whispered in her ear.

There was something within her that shuttered and she couldn’t quite place what was happening, but the more she stayed in his hold, the more she didn’t mind. She fell silent and studied him. He was slightly taller than her, just enough to have an edge, and a mop of black hair that looked to have a natural spike, if that was even possible. In her lifetime she had encountered many men but she was certain that he was by the far the hottest man she had faced, and she hated it.

“Dirty pirate and a disgusting pig, what’s new?” She looked away and tried to search the room, but instead she was now being dipped by the so-called dirty pirate.

“Eyes on me only, doll.” He said and her gaze hooked to his again. She felt a sudden fire in her stomach as he brought her closer to him. “Can’t have you running to your little captain and telling on me.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “How did you know that I worked for the royal crew?” She demanded.

“Lucky guess.” Her glare narrowed. “Your dagger is engraved with the symbol, dummy.” He said as he took her dagger and threw it across the room. “Oops.”

A feeling of fear sparked through her body as she watched her weapon slide against the wooden floor.

“So now what?” She asked. “Gonna kill me?”

He chuckled before pulling up from the dipped position but still holding her to him. “Nope. You have this spunk, I like it. I also have no need to kill you, too messy and honestly, kinda lame.”

“So what, you’re just gonna hold me?”

“Ehh, I was thinking we could get to know each other, doll.”

She gave an eye roll that he thought was amusing, before she lifted the heel of her foot and locked it with his, twisted his arm to send him flying towards the ground. He landed on his back with a thud before she placed her boot on his very tone chest and the sound of metal sliced through the air as her sword pointed towards his flushed face.

“You have a lot of nerve flirting with a royal guard member, ya’ know that? I should have broken your hand the moment you laid a finger on me.” She spat.

Butch chuckled and she felt the virbation from beneath her foot. “Can’t blame a man when you look like that.” He said, as he looked at her with no shame.

She felt her cheeks heat but she held her ground. “What are you doing here?” She questioned him.

“Can’t a man sail on his own?” He responded, but was met with a harder push of her heel.

She scoffed. “You’re no ordinary man.”

“And you’re not a fair lady, guess we all have our own issues, babe.”

She ignored what he said and initiated her search, foot still on his chest. She sent her sword piercing into the collar on his leather coat. “Stay still.” She sneered before stepping over him.

“Yes Ma’am.” He purred.

Behind his desk was a giant map of the main spread of kingdoms. Thick black lines connected some routes but she decided not to ask. Towards her right was a bed with fine silk sheets and a wardrobe. To the left, were cabinets filled with all sorts of stuff. Glass bottles and sea shells. Sea glass and parchment scattered around. It looked similar to Lumpkins’ private quarters, but with more skulls and less reek of tobacco and hay.

Placed on a random shelf was a photo of two other men. The ink was black and white yet she could tell that their eyes and hair were much different from each other. The taller one had a scowl and a cold gaze while the shorter one was smiling brightly and looked as innocent as a puppy. She said nothing about it and moved on, looking at the items and weapons that hung on the wall.

She turned to look at the man on the floor and he hadn’t moved an inch from where she left him. Instead, he began whistling as she looked through his desk and found more scrolls and random objects. There was nothing out of the ordinary that screamed ‘danger’ and perhaps he was telling the truth, just sailing because he can.

“Where’s your crew?” She asked.

“Back home. Like I said before, I just was sailing and stopped on by.”

“Where’s back home?”

“Not too sure, left there a long time ago. This is my home.” He said, gesturing his ship. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“I’m asking the questions here.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “This is my ship, so I’d watch the attitude and answer the question.” He poked at the sword.

She turned towards him and then back at the map. “Buttercup.”

“Seems a little soft for you.”

“Well, ‘Butch’ seems to fit you fine.”

Buttercup looked around more until she came back to him and grabbed the handle of the sword. With a swift pull, the sword released its grasp on the fabric and was put back into the holder hidden in her boot. She leaned down before placing her knee on his chest and placed her fingers along the leather collar and yanked hard causing his head to snap towards her.

“I’ll believe you for now, but if I catch you doing anything suspicious, I won’t hesitate to put my sword through you.” She threatened.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll behave, doll. Promise.” He batted his eyelashes. “You should know that offering to stab me is a real turn on, too.” He gushed, and before he could see the reaction to the statement, she was off of him and moving to grab her dagger.

He got up and dusted his coat off, not caring that there was a small tear. “I’ll cut you a deal Buttercup. If you don’t go running your mouth that a pirate ship is here, granted I’m, let's say off duty, I’ll answer any question you want. Maybe even let you take this beauty for a spin.”

“You’d let me sail your ship?” She asked with caution.

“I was talking about the bed but the ship will do.”

Her face morphed into what most would say, unamused. But she contemplated his offer. If she stayed quiet then she would gain information on other pirates and other useful things.

“Alright, you have a deal.” She held out her hand. “I’ll keep quiet for now.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Can’t wait for your return, Buttercup.”

She pushed past him and tucked the dagger into her pocket and walked out the door. Something within her wanted to go back to the castle and bury her head in her pillow and scream. Her boots hit the sand as she began to walk but before she got any further, the statute of the fairy somehow made her stop and ponder things.

The boot twisted in the sand and soon she was back at the door with her hand gripping the handle. As she opened it, Butch directed his attention to her and she noticed the bottle of amber liquid on the desk and two glasses already full as if he had expected her not to leave.

“Back so soon?” He raised a brow and offered her a filled glass.

With caution to the wind, she came towards him and sat on the desk.

“I’d like that tour now.” She said before taking the glass and downing the liquid. “Captain.”

There was a spark in his eyes as he finished his own drink and gestured to the vast room. “And here I thought you came back because you missed me.”

She laughed and accepted another pour of the drink. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than yapping and drinking to get me to miss you.” She winked, and he felt a tingle roll down his spine.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to work hard to impress you then?”

She bit her lip. “Guess so.”

They shared another drink, glasses clinking as they tilted their heads back and drank it all in one go.

“Shall we?” Butch prompted, and she responded with a firm nod and matching grin.

♛♛♛

Bubbles stepped out from the bathroom, her cotton nightgown hugging her body as she walked towards her bed and began to brush her hair. Blossom had also changed into her night time attire as the door to their room opened.

“Buttercup, there you are.” Blossom said. She looked over her sister whose uniform was slightly wrinkled and a few buttons missing. “Where have you been? You were off duty hours ago.”

The green eye girl shrugged as she made her way to the bathroom. “I was taking care of other orders, relax.” She reassured her older sister but something didn’t sit well with Blossom as the bathroom door closed.

“Well hurry up, Blossom is gonna tell a story!” Bubbles whined, as she picked up her stuffed octopus her mother had made her when she was little.

Buttercup came out of the bathroom and sat on Bubbles’ bed. “Ooh, which one?” She asked and Blossom set her books aside and came over to sit in front of the girls on a chair.

“Bubbles requested the one of the princess and-”

“You always tell that one!” Buttercup complained.

“It's cute!” Bubbles defended her beloved tale.

The middle sister pushed her shoulder lightly. “It’s boring. Choose a different one. Like the pirate king.”

“Pirates are scary!”

“Not all of them.” Buttercup whispered under her breath.

Blossom narrowed her eyes. “What was that Buttercup?”

“N-nothing, just tell the stupid princess one.” She grumbled with flushed cheeks.

Blossom only blew up her bangs and rolled her eyes. “Alright, but first I need to tell you something. Tomorrow begins the process for the Princess to meet her future husband. That means that a vast amount of suitors, from all over the land, will be here.”

A small gasp came from Bubbles. The red head shot her a glare. “Which means: no interfering. We are here to serve whether you like it or not, so don’t go poking around for some attractive man.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Buttercup groaned. “I’m so thankful I’m not a maid.”

“I’m not worried about you Buttercup. But you.” She looked at her little sister. “Be good. I know you are a beautiful maiden and kind hearted but I would rather not have your head on a platter because you made Princess jealous.” Blossom frowned.

Bubbles nodded and toyed with the hem of her dress. “I understand Blossy. But what if he falls in love with me?” She pouted out her lips and gave her big puppy dog eyes. “It wouldn’t be very nice of me to deny a lovely man his heart.”

“Be good.” Blossom restated and flicked her sister’s head. “Now, listen closely.”

Buttercup and Bubbles squished together as their sister started the story.

“Once upon a time…”

♛♛♛

The morning sun came shining through the windows. Over in the mirror, Blossom was finishing getting ready and fencing her long copper hair into a bun, finishing with her red ribbon tied. She had stopped wearing her childhood bow for many years. She was approaching her twentieth birthday this year and had thought it had been a little silly. That was until her mother passed when she was eleven, around the time she had stopped.

Blossom started in the mirror at the bow, deep with a rich red color and her mother's words played in her mind.

“Everytime I see your bow, it takes me back to the first time I held you in my arms.”

The next time she had placed the bow in her hair, her mother was being buried before her.

Blossom came back to her thoughts as Bubbles exited the bathroom dressed in her blue outfit and ready for another day.

“Good morning Blossy.” Bubbles smiled brightly. Her giggles were infectious to say the least and it was almost a miracle that she hadn’t lost that laughter after so much tragedy.

“Good morning Bubbles.” Blossom offered a small smile and she could see the hope in her sister’s eyes. “Buttercup just left, she’s on duty to welcome the suitors.”

The blonde nodded before spinning around in her dress. It was a simple blue bodice with a fluffy skirt. Even though Princess could be a royal brat, she did demand that her maids and suitors looked better and not shoved into black clothing like other castles.

“I’m so excited! This means that I can start designing dresses for the gala.” Bubbles gushed and she held her cheeks as she continued mumbling about the patterns and fabrics.

“Bubbles?” Blossom called.

“Oh, maybe she’ll want something red or purple!”

“Bubbles?”

“Or maybe gold, made of silk? No, that's tacky.”

“BUBBLES!”

The blonde's eyes snapped to her sister who was tapping her foot.

“Yes?”

Blossom pointed above her. “Your bag is floating.”

Bubbles tilted her head up and surrounded in a soft blue glow was her sewing basket with the contents floating around it. She looked towards her hands which were still emitting the light before blushing embarrassingly and making a motion with her finger. The basket came back to the ground softly.

“Oops.” Bubbles whispered.

The smallest laugh came from Blossom as she came towards her and kissed the top of her head. “I know you are excited but please, remember that your magic can not be seen. Ever.” She said cautiously.

“I know Blossy, it was an accident.”

Blossom grabbed her own small bag before opening the door and letting Bubbles walk out first. “I’ll see you for supper, and remember…”

Bubbles turned on her heels. “I know. I know. No falling in love with handsome men.” She giggled. “That goes for you too.”

The red head only shook her head before parting ways at the hallway. “Don’t prick your finger too much.”

Bubbles stuck out her tongue playfully. “Don’t make Princess mad.”

♛♛♛

Buttercup hated ushering duty more than anything else. Carriage after carriage came, each one to a different family or prince. Apparently royal status didn’t matter as long as you could pay the entrance fee, then, you were in.

“Damn, how many men are here?” Buttercup blurted. She had been standing next to Mitch for the past hour waving and guiding in the horses.

“I lost count after fifty.” He frowned. “Turns out this thing is a contest, so they should be sent home left and right.”

“Eh, that means the place is going to be filled with snotty assholes.”

Another wave of men came in, each carriage fancier than the rest.

“They all look the same at this point.” She laughed and Mitch joined in.

Just as she said that, a carriage pulled up. Unlike the other golden and bronze ones, this one was made of black steel. She caught a glimpse of the men inside. A blond man with blue eyes and another with ginger locks and eyes the shade of crimson.

They passed by just as quickly as they arrived and she couldn’t place the feeling, but they seemed vaguely familiar.

“I can’t wait for this day to be over.” Mitch groaned and she hummed before looking back at the black carriage that had just past the gate.

♛♛♛

“Boomer, pay attention.” Brick spat at his younger brother. “We aren’t here to fool around.”

Boomer, who was currently jumping on the plush bed, stopped and rolled his eyes before grinning. “Come on bro, look at this place!” He gestured to the room they were staying in while the competition took place. “I mean, I know we live in our own castle but this place is almost twice the size!”

Brick frowned and went back to unpacking their things and making sure everything was in place. “Just settle down. Keep jumping like that and you’re going to damage something.” As soon as he said that, he heard a tearing sound come from behind him.

“Boomer!” He shouted, as his little brother stood there with a ripped sleeve in his nicest dark blue jacket.

“Oops?” He shrugged and watched his older brother’s face morph into anger.

“Eighteen years old and you still act like a child. Go see if the seamstress can fix your jacket before I punch you in the face.” He pointed towards the door.

“Fine.” The blond huffed. “But seriously, lighten up. No girl is gonna wanna marry a dude with the personality of a wet sock.” He said before shutting the door.

He heard Brick shout something on the other side of the door but he couldn’t make out the words through the thick walls. With his jacket under his arm, he walked through the hallways trying to find the seamstress’ room.

“Excuse me?” He asked a passing maid. “Where is the royal seamstress room?”

She stopped in her tracks, the small cart she was pushing was filled with an array of sweets and treats. She pointed towards the direction without a word and he smiled.

“Thank you!” He looked over at her and noticed the swirl of pink in her iris. “Woah, has anyone told you that your eyes look like rose petals?”

“No.” She hummed before walking past him with her cart.

“Oh… Well, thank you anyways.” He called after her before carrying on his way.

Blossom rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

Boomer finally found the door at the end of the hallway with a picture of a sewing needle engraved on the door. “Must be the one.” He said, before giving a swift knock.

He heard a voice call for him to come in and did just that.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a bother but I ripped my jacket and needed it to be mended.”

A woman with long brown hair came over. She took the jacket and examined it, noting that the rip was quite large.

“Hmm.” She looked on the inside.

“Can you fix it?” He asked, now worried.

“I can’t but I know someone who can. Bubbles!” She shouted and he watched as a girl looked up from her station and their eyes locked.

Bubbles stood and made her way over. The moment her eyes locked to the man, she felt a blush instantly rise on her face. She was almost taken back by his charming smile and deep blue eyes. She had become lost in his eyes and almost forgotten what she was called over for.

“Bubbles?” Robin whispered and handed her the jacket.

She shook her head and returned to her senses as she looked at the rip.

“I can fix this, no worries.” She smiled and turned quickly to avoid his gaze. She suddenly felt very hot and light headed.

Boomer stood in his spot before realizing he was meant to follow her. Quickly, he caught up to her and watched in awe as she was almost done.

“So, how did you do this?” She asked.

“Oh uhh-I fell off a horse?” He lied.

“Fell off a horse?” She giggled. “Interesting.” She lifted the jacket before handing it to him.

He took the jacket and saw how the new seam was practically invisible, as if it had never ripped before. “Woah, you did that fast.”

“She's the best seamstress in the kingdom!” Robin shouted from across the room. “She also made the dress she's wearing.”

Boomer looked towards her and marveled at her dress. “It's pretty.”

“T-thank you.” She blushed.

They stood looking at each other with soft smiles before he looked at his feet then back to her. “I have to get going, but thank you so much, Miss Bubbles.”

“Oh, it was no trouble, just glad I could help.”

“I’m Boomer, by the way.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on it. “Your work is impeccable M’lady.” He said, before his cheeks turned red and he turned on his heel and hastily walked out the door.

A hush fell over the room as he left. A low whistle came from Robin’s lips as she looked at Bubbles with a smug look.

“I thought Blossom said not to fall in love?” She teased but Bubbles stood in place as if she was frozen and kept her eyes locked on the top of her hand where his lips had been moments before.

“Bubbles?” Robin asked her.

The blonde said nothing but grabbed her basket and headed towards the garden entrance. “I’ll be back.” She said quickly and left before Robin could protest.

“Oh, maybe she did fall in love.” Robin whispered to herself then shook her head. “No, that’s not it, right?” She said to the empty room.

♛♛♛

The cart filled with trays was placed out front of Princess’ private room, tucked far from the rest of the castle. Blossom took a deep breath before knocking a few times and entering with the cart.

“Princess Morebucks, your afternoon tea and treats.” Blossom said, as she started to place the many items onto the small table.

Princess sat at her mirror looking at her crown and placed it on the top of her head. The wild curls of copper puffed just at her shoulders.

“It's about time.” She complained and Blossom held in her scoff as she was used to the behavior of her, she had been here for a few years now.

Princess grabbed a tea cup and drank with as much poise as a badger, at least, that’s what Blossom thought.

“You know what’s funny, Blossom?” Princess said as she took a cookie from a silver platter.

“What?”

“Isn’t it just grand that all these men are traveling far and wide just for little old me?” She snickered.

“Oh, very grand.” Blossom said with no enthusiasm at all.

Another cookie was eaten. “It’s a shame Blossom, you really should be married by now. But instead, you flaunt around knowing how to read and write, it’s kinda annoying.”

“Well those are very useful skills to have, you should be grateful you possess them.”

“Could you fetch me those earrings?” Princess said, pointing towards her vanity.

Before Blossom could take a step, a finger snapped drawing her attention back to the princess.

“With your powers.”

Anger fested within Blossom as she held out her hand as commanded for the pink glow to rise. The ruby earrings became surrounded with the faint glow and soon floated up and over into Princess’s palms.

“There.” Blossom said with a bitter tone. She hated using her powers in general, a sad reminder of what she had lost and yet, Princess didn’t care. “Anything else, your majesty? Or may I take my leave?”

A dark chuckled came from her lips and Princess set her tea down. “Just one thing. You may not be seen during this time, nor Bubbles.”

“Excuse me?” Blossom challenged. “She’s a seamstress-”

“And there are others to take her place for now.” Princess cut her off.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you or your sisters encountering any of the men. Could you imagine the horrors if one of you lost your temper and they found out?”

Blossoms fists tightened at her side. “I can assure you that would never happen.”

“Your mother thought the same thing and yet…” Her voice trailed off as she looked innocently at her.

Blossom prided herself on keeping her temper at bay, but when it came to her family, that was much harder to control. “You know very well that bringing up my late parents isn’t very kind of you.”

A scoff came from Princess. “As if I care about being nice.”

“For the record Eliza.” Princess bristled at the use of her first name. “I am not jealous at the fact that men are paying to fight for your hand. I hope that one day you realize that love conquers the cost of affection.”

Princess didn’t bat an eye but instead yawned. “How enlightening, but that's where you lose Blossom. You’re foolish to think that in this world love can be more valuable than riches. Even with your beauty and brains, those powers are going to scare everyone off.”

“I-” Blossom tried to fight back, red in the face and her hands sparking bright pink.

“That’s why no one would ever love a poor orphan like you. Once people find out you and your sisters’ powers, you’re history. A true abomination, just like your mother.” Princess said before opening her door. “Now you may take your leave.”

The heavy door embellished with gold and jewels was slammed behind Blossom. She brought her hands to her face and wiped the start of her tears, trying not to let what she said get to her.

She took a deep breath and felt the tension in her palms from her magic. It was almost criminal that the princess would hold her magic against her, but nonetheless, she smoothed her skirt out before straightening her shoulders and walking away.

Her fists clenched at her side, diminishing the faint pink glow and she couldn’t stop from hearing Princess shrill voice over and over again.

“That’s why no one would ever love a poor orphan like you. Once people find out you and your sisters powers, you’re history. A true abomination, just like your mother.”

“And she calls herself a princess. Nothing short of a spoiled toddler.” She sneered to herself as she continued to walk aimlessly through the vast hallways. She found herself walking towards the library, one of the few places in the castle that didn’t feel foregin or made her feel like she had to walk on eggshells.

The grand doors opened and the smell of books filled her nose, providing her a sense of comfort she desperately craved. Thankful she was one of the only people who cared enough to enter this place, it was like a secret oasis that only she knew.

The vast library held rows upon rows of books, each one a different world for her to explore and she was only a small percentage of the way through. Her fingers laid on a shelf as she let them fall along the spines and feel the various textures. She mindlessly grabbed one and went towards the plush velvet chairs that sat beneath a set of tall windows letting herself get lost within the passage of words.

♛♛♛

Brick walked through the hallway set up for the suitors. He thought, with extreme confidence, that he was by far the best of the lot. He rolled his eyes towards a group of men who probably had money but nothing on his level. He didn’t have time for the foolish and meaningless chatter. He wasn’t here to make friends, maybe business partners, but his goal was clear.

The crown.

Of course he already had a kingdom of his own, but he wanted more. If he got the princess’s hand now, Boomer could take over their land and that just meant that the Jojo name would spread further and further, just like their late father wanted.

He never truly cared about who the princess was. This was about business, that was clear. When the invitations for the suitor competition came out, the only thing he’d learned about her was that she was beautiful with dark brown eyes and ginger hair. That was more than enough for him.

He took himself away from the other men and headed aimlessly about, just trying to find a quiet place to be alone. A large set of oak doors caught his attention and the scribe on the wall showed that this was indeed the library.

He doubted anyone else would be inside so he went in and closed the doors behind him. Without thinking, he grabbed a random book before seeing that there were many chairs placed around. As he came up towards the windows that went from the ceiling to the floor, he spotted a figure already in one of the chairs.

He approached the chair and noticed that it was a girl. His eyebrows furrowed as she was reading. There were not many women who knew how to read. She wore a soft pink dress and had a red ribbon tied up into her hair. Ginger hair. His eyes widened as he realized just who was sitting before him.

With a smirk, he stood in front of her and bowed.

“My apologies for interrupting, but it's an honor to meet you, your majesty.” Brick said.

The woman looked up at him. Her lips slightly parted and she had a look of confusion. He thought he was prepared to see the brown eyes from the description but instead he was met with a sensational and breathtaking view of pink.

“Your majesty?” Blossom said with shock.

♛♛♛

This was a monster to write and I hope you all enjoyed!!! this might be the only wipe's that I finish lol

#blossick #boomubbles #butchercup #reds #blues #greens #royal au #ppg x rrb #rrb x ppg #brick x blossom #boomer x bubbles #butch x buttercup #thewritingstar

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yandereidolqueen · 4 years

Text

MY President/Boss 😌✋🍵

Hair Color Hex: 370140

Eye Color Hex:

Left: 920016

Right: 6973d3

Voice Claim:

"Kamukura Kamukura yes Queen! Gah! I'm such a big fan! Not to sound all stuckery (stalkery) but can I get a hug?!" Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa by Spike Chunsoft, voiced by Jamie Marchi.

Singing Voice Claim:

Halsey

• Personality •

She is very flirtatious, and seems very confident. Of course, if you take a good look, shes actually very introverted and has a lot of insecurities, just like anyone else. With her quirk, it helps her forget all her problems and just become the person everyone thinks she is.

《 Back Story 》

Her mom is Ayano YamaAishi, number 3 Pro Hero. Her father is Taro YamaAishi, number 8 Pro Hero(Reference- Yandere Simulator).

She grew up with Izuku and Bakugou, the three being childhood friends and always being together till Bakugou's bullying got really bad, then Izuku distanced himself, and so did Bakugou, so Yama had more time to work on other things and train. She also had gotten insomnia since she would usually talk to Izuku or Kacchan, and that put her to sleep. But now, she hangs with her butlers or Keigo Takami.

Her butlers are Elishua Yurei (head butler), Asano Yoshi, Koushi Takashi, Fuji Junko, and Akuma Tanaka. Asano's quirk is that if he hits someone in the back of the neck, they will instantly be relaxed, but he has to hit the right spot. Elishua's quirk is that he can call on any God/Demon/Spirit in History, and he can use them to his will, but if they're on a higher rank, it will drain his energy. Koushi's quirk is that he can drain or give energy to anything, as long as he eats enough sweets or things with caffine/sugar. Fuji's quirk is that if he touches your forehead, he can make you think of any memory. Akuma's quirk is that he can enhance his abilities by 50% if he has the right reason.

YamaAishi has a very strong quirk, called Grim Succubus. It's a half and half quirk, like Todoroki's. Except, she has multiple abilities on each side. On the Grim (Reaper) side, she has the ability to Manipulate any non living thing to her will, and she can use something called Yandere Vision (From Yandere Sim) from her mother, where she can see through things and spot people or things that have blood. She can also use Analysis, which lets her get info on anything if she focuses on it hard enough.

On her Succubus side, she can use Bubble Gum (From Hunter x Hunter, Hisoka Bungee gum), which allows her to make a non stick bubble to use at her will. It can basically be used for anything. Seduction and Analysis go together to make Yama be able to tell how much she's done so far (Reference- Saiki K meter). Lullaby is also on the Succubus side, which allows her to put anyone to sleep if she sings the right childhood song. Her last ability on the Succubus side is Daze, which means if she kisses you like activating that quirk, she can make you either pass out, or forget the last 10 minutes. But sometimes, it malfunctions, and she kisses you for basically nothing. But hey, free kiss.

♡ Love Interest ♡

×××××Any in BNHA, she has a harem×××××

Ethnicity - Japanese, Latina

Height - 5'3

Sexuality - Polyamorous Pansexual

Pronouns - She/ They

Gender - Female

Bust Size - H Cup (Just- bigger than Momo cause of her quirk)

Fandom - Boku No Hero Academia

Main Hairstyle:

#bnha #anime oc #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #yandere #ayano aishi #yandere simulator #reference #im such a simp

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kayteewritessteve · 4 years

Text

It’s nice to be important, but it’s important to be nice.

Alright, I think it’s time that I put this out there. I wasn’t planning on having any more to do with this shit storm, but I think this needs to be voiced now, more than ever. I’d like to point out, this is my generalized views on this shit, and it is not to attack or shade anyone in this fandom. This is how I have felt on this shit for years, between two different fandoms and finally I feel like I need to put it into words. Side with me or not, this is my set views on this issue, and I will not sit here and argue or fight online with anyone over them. This is how I see it, and nothing anyone says will change this. So don’t even waste your breath.

To start off, to all my lovely readers, I just want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I sometimes feel like I’m in my own little bubble in this fandom. Like whenever I see other writers having issues with readers not interacting, I feel bad for them, but then I look at the comments on my fics and I can’t really relate to them on that front.

I normally steer clear of the reader feedback issues, because I genuinely feel it does not pertain to me, personally. I have so many lovely readers, who leave me lovely comments and feedback, and those few of you who do, are all I truly need to keep me happy.

But, with that said, I also am someone who sees both sides of the coin. I’m someone who cherishes the readers who just like and reblog, cherishes the ones who just like and comment, and cherish every other interaction in between.

I will never personally demand comments from you all, I will never say ‘fuck your social anxieties, you will comment or else!’ Because how does that help? I deal with social anxiety myself, I know how crippling it can be. I have been that person reading other peoples fics silently and in the background. I have had moments where I’m afraid to even like a fic, because then I feel like I must reblog or I’ll be labelled a shit person. I have been there, so many damn times.

I may not appear as someone with social anxieties at first, but they are there, hiding under the overly bubbly personality I also have. I turn the volume up on my friendly side for this blog, just to hide the true anxious person that I am.

So I get it. God do I get it.

Tumblr is scary, it can be overwhelming, and loud, and nerve-wracking. And when issues like this happen, it can be an even scarier place. And I think demanding feedback, and getting super angry about this all, is not helping matters. It’s scaring more people away.

I think us as writers, need to remember that we may not feel intimidating, we may just completely forget that to others, we are bigger blogs, we are the people they look up to, the people they want to be like. And I’m not saying this as an ego trip, I look up to other bigger blogs myself. I idolize some bigger blogs and hope I can even be blessed enough to get halfway to where they are, some day. But the point I’m trying to make here, is that sometimes we forget that someone else may be nervous to reach out, to comment, to interact with us, because they themselves feel like a small blog. Like a nuisance, like they are annoying us, like we will think they are weird. And I only use those exact words, because I have had my readers reach out and tell me that’s how they normally feel in interactions with other writers. How those writers have made them feel.

So I think we need to all (writers included) be a little nicer to each other. Yelling, bitching, chastising heavily, will not fix these issues, it will probably make them worse. If I’m being honest.

And us as writers need to give back just a little more to our readers—I know, I know! Some of y’all are about to go in on me, saying how dare I say we give MORE back after all our hours of writing. But, hear me out first.

When I first started this blog, barely anyone commented on my fics. So what did I do? I started commenting and thanking the people who just reblogged. As people started to comment a little more, I made sure to leave just as in-depth replies as they did, when people started reblogging essay’s on my fics, I replied in kind. I laugh, I cry, and I stomp with my readers. I don’t just write, post it then walk away and expect everyone to sing my praises. I don’t ever demand feedback or love.

I take the few lovely people who give me that feedback and love, and I return it once again. And you know what? Because I do, I have so many lovely readers returning, to give me feedback once again! I have people reaching out to thank me for actually replying to them, I have people stepping out of their comfort zones to read AU’s they never liked before, solely because I wrote them.

And shit. That’s the highest of damn praises, man. Like I can never thank the few of you who love my stories so much. I can never thank the few of you who have been with me from the start, I can never thank those of you who stumbled upon me recently and never wanted to leave again. You all, every single one of you, are the reason I still write today. You are the reason I’m still here.

But I have BUILT these relationships. I have nurtured them, and helped them grow. I have taken the time to really see my readers, to appreciate them. To give back exactly what I get. And yes, it’s time consuming, and yes, sometimes it takes me a few days to finally reply to them, but the point is, I find the time to reply.

I can’t tell you how many times I have seen someone leave such a lovely long winded reblog comment on a fic, and they literally get ‘thanks for reading!’ in reply. Like. Damn. That hurts meeeee, and I wasn’t even the commenter. But I think I can only feel that hurt, because I have been the reader that pours my soul into my comment, and then doesn’t even get a thank you. Not even a reply at all. And that shit sucks, and it can really deter me from ever commenting like that on that persons fics again. Like why waste the time, if they aren’t even reading your comment? And yeah, maybe they are, and in this case, even just a ‘thanks’ would be better than nothing. But most of the time, a thanks doesn’t even come.

Now look, I get that we all have lives, I get that we all have things that are more important to take up our time. Trust me, I do. But I think you can’t really sit here and complain about a lack of reader interaction, when you yourself aren’t doing everything you can to encourage them to interact. To show them that they can reach out and comment, and you will love them for it. They will be your hero for it.

I think if you just come in here, thinking you’re above everyone else, and demanding praise for this, you are going to be in for a rude awakening when you don’t get what you think you are owed. What you believe you deserve, solely because you write.

I personally believe that my job is not finished just because I posted my fic. I personally believe my job is never finished on a story, so long as people are commenting and reblogging. I give them a story to read, they give me love and feedback, and then I give them that in return as my thank you for reading. And ya know what? It’s worked out well for me. I’m happy with all of my readers, I cherish them, and I feel blessed for every single one of them.

This is a hobby for me, it’s not a job, I love interacting with my readers. And I think when this hobby starts to feel like work, and I don’t want to interact anymore, then I will walk away. If I ever stop getting the joy out of it, then I’ll stop. Simple as that, and you know why? Because I was the one who decided to share my writing with others. I am the one who built a following around them. I am the one who choose to put myself in this place. So how the hell am I supposed to sit here and demand people to praise me, when I was the one who took the necessary steps to put myself in this exact spot. I was the one who opened my stories up for people to actually read.

So yeah, maybe I don’t see it the same way the rest of you do. Maybe I’m naive, or silly, or ignorant, but this is how I see it. And I’m sorry if you don’t, I’m sorry if you feel you deserve a certain level of interaction and you just aren’t getting that. Because at the end of the day, I want everyone who writes to truly enjoy it and to get the love they deserve.

But we have to lower our standards a bit, we have to realize that we may not get exactly the praise we want, but we still get praise. And in any form, that’s such a glorious thing. When we all first started out, getting 3 comments was HUGE for us. Getting even one persons feedback was like life changing! So why is that not the case anymore? Why is that not enough now? Because we have thousands of followers now, instead of a hundred? That’s utter bullshit.

Praise is praise, take it or leave it, but don’t bash it. Don’t discredit it. And don’t act like it isn’t there. Because it is, just maybe not in the full extent you are wanting. But it’s still there.

TL:DR - please be nicer to people, and understand not all of us are extroverts. Some of us suffer from social anxieties, and that needs to be realized and remembered. Show love. Spread love. Stop bashing each other and just write because YOU want to, and not because you want all the damn praise.

#kt talks #kt rambles #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #au fanfiction #to my readers #to my followers #to my friends #to my mutuals #to my fandom #marvel fandom

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 4 years

Text

Forgotten

Reader x Dad!Tony Stark

Reader x Avengers

Warnings: idk, sad?? Then fluff

Alright well this probably sucks, but here goes: it’s Y/N’s sweet 16 and almost no one remembers, that’s about it as far as the plot goes.

F/B = favorite band, F/F = favorite fandom, F/C = favorite color, Y/B/D = your birth date

Y/N was on cloud 9. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this great so early in the morning, but it was. It was her birthday, her second favorite day of the year, (Christmas came first) and she couldn’t be more excited.

She had already received several presents this morning, courtesy of Peter, who had delivered presents from several of her friends in his neighborhood while he was patrolling.

Thus far she had received the most adorable stuffed bear she had ever seen from Ned, (and of course the bear was dressed in a little Star Wars t-shirt, because, Ned) MJ had gotten her a book she’d been wanting, and texted her to remind her she was even closer to dying (MJ had a weird view on birthdays), and Peter himself had gotten her a collection of t-shirts: one from F/B, one from F/F, and—Peter has found this one rather amusing—a Spider-Man t-shirt. He made her promise to flaunt it in front of her father, too, saying maybe if she did that he’d get jealous and buy her an Iron Man t-shirt, so it was a win-win all around.

Y/N couldn’t wait to find out what her father had planned for her. Being the daughter of Tony Stark meant that birthdays would be filled with way too many presents and the biggest party of the year. Part of her—ok, most of her—wished that her birthdays could be a bit more simple, but she loved watching how happy her father was when he got to spoil her, and she loved that every year on her birthday he made sure to spend the entire day with her, no matter what.

Y/N quickly got dressed in one of her favorite outfits, jean shorts and a F/F t-shirt (her other favorite was a F/C dress, but she didn’t feel like getting too dressed up today, she wanted to be comfortable), and practically skipped over to the elevator. She knew the first event on the birthday schedule would be pancakes, compliments of her father, which was very special. Tony Stark never, ever cooked, except that one day a year when he rolled up his sleeves and made birthday breakfast pancakes. They were always oddly shaped, with weird lumps in them, but Y/N loved the tradition anyway.

Y/N was confused when she arrived in the kitchen and saw it completely vacant. Wasn’t her dad awake yet? He always got up a little earlier on her birthday to make sure they had plenty of time together, so where was he?

Barely had the thought crossed her mind when she heard her father’s voice in the living room

“...are you sure? Alright, I’ll call you back later then.”

Y/N rushed to the living room just as Tony Stark got off the phone.

“Hey babygirl,” he greeted and kissed her forehead “you’re up early. What are your plans for today.”

Y/N felt her heart drop like a stone. He...he didn’t remember?

She struggled to keep her voice steady as she replied.

“Not-not much, you?” Maybe he was just messing with her, just joking as usual. He wouldn’t forget.

“I have a meeting in Paris with some execs at Stark Industries, really boring stuff but Pep says I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow night though.”

Y/N fought hard against the tears that had begun to gather behind her eyes. He really had forgotten, and he would be gone all day.

She probably should remind him, that would fix everything, he’d drop absolutely everything and apologize a million times and the day would go back to normal. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She didn’t know why, but she felt too embarrassed to bring the subject up. She hated being the center of attention, and she hated making her father feel bad, and reminding him that he had forgotten his daughter’s sixteenth birthday would make both of those things happen. Besides, she didn’t want him to drop all of his important business just for her. It was just a stupid day.

Before she could stop it, a tear slipped down her cheek and dripped off her chin. Her father hadn’t seen it, however, because he had turned and stepped into the elevator. He had his important meeting to get to after all.

With one last smile and wave, Tony Stark disappeared.

A few more tears slid down Y/N’s face, but she quickly wiped them away when she heard approaching footsteps.

“Morning kiddo,” Bruce greeted with a grin. “Where’s your dad?”

“He—um...he went out,” she muttered. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Bruce nodded and walked into the kitchen, and Y/N felt her heart sink even further. Bruce had forgotten too.

She didn’t want to mope, not on her birthday, but she was also pretty bad at cheering herself up. She’d just need some help.

She saw her first opportunity when Steve walked sleepily into the living room. Steve was both the best cuddler and the best tickler on the team, the perfect way to cheer her up. But if she wanted to be tickled she’d have to annoy him a bit, that always got him to tickle her.

“Hey Stevie,” she greeted with a grin, stepping up onto the couch and using it as a stepping stool to jump onto his back. He grunted at the impact, and turned his head to glare at her.

“Y/N, go annoy someone else, I’m not in the mood,” he snapped, and she pushed back the hurt at learning that yet another teammate had forgotten her birthday.

“Ignore Captain Mcgrumpypants, he got back from a mission at four a.m,” Clint announced as he walked into the room. Had no one remembered her birthday?

“Stevie I’m bored,” Y/N whined, jumping off his back and poking him in the chest.

He moved away from her, scowling. “Then go find someone else to bug.”

“But you’re the most fun to bug!” She insisted, poking him again.

He shoved her hand away. “Y/N, I swear, touch me one more time and I-“

Y/N grinned, mistaking his grumpy tone for the usual joking threat. She was so close to getting tickled. She poked him yet again, hard in the center of his chest.

Steve shoved her back harshly, and it was then she realized that he hadn’t been kidding around, he really was angry with her.

“Y/N, I mean it! Grow the heck up and leave me ALONE!” He was standing in front of her now, using his height as an advantage to tower over her. She had never felt quite this small before.

“Steve I just-“

“I’ve had ENOUGH of your childish antics, you’re too old to be running around and acting like a two-year old, now stop it!”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the whimper that bubbled up in her throat as tears streamed down her face.

Upon seeing her reaction, the anger almost immediately faded from Steve’s eyes, but it was too late.

“Y/N-“ he began, but she had already disappeared up the stairs.

“Oh nice going Steve,” Clint scoffed.

...

Y/N threw herself down on her bed and began to cry into her pillow, hugging it tightly. She hadn’t meant to upset Steve, she just wanted to have a little fun.

She didn’t understand. Why didn’t anyone remember her birthday? Why had Steve gotten so mad at her? What had she done wrong to make today go so horribly?

One thing was for sure. This was the worst birthday ever.

...

“JARVIS, what time is it?” Tony Stark asked as he went over his notes for the upcoming meeting.

“It is 3:27, Saturday, Y/B/D, sir,” the AI responded.

Tony froze. Had he heard that right?

“You...you said it was Y/B/D?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony moaned. It was Y/N’s birthday! How had he not known?!

“Clint spilled coffee all over your calendar three weeks ago, that’s how,” Tony muttered to himself. He hadn’t looked at the date in forever, and he’d forgotten to set a reminder on his phone.

Tony groaned. That was such a lame excuse. He shouldn’t always need a reminder or a calendar to remember his kid’s birthday. He should’ve kept track!

“JARVIS, cancel my meeting and turn this bird around,” he demanded, doing calculations in his head. He had left at 9 a.m, meaning he should get home a little before 10. He would still be there for a little bit of his little girl’s birthday.

“JARVIS, call all of Y/N’s friends and-“

“Mr. Stark, I believe Y/N would be much happier if she was just able to spend time with you,” his AI responded.

Tony stopped. Maybe JARVIS was onto something.

...

“Hey, where’s the birthday girl?” Everyone in the living room froze when they heard Bucky’s question.

“The what?” Steve asked, but he already knew.

“Oh don’t tell me you guys forgot,” Bucky groaned. “It’s Y/N’s birthday! So where is she?”

All eyes slowly turned to Steve, and the guilt already torturing him doubled. Why has he been such a jerk to her?

“Upstairs in her room,” Steve muttered.

“Alright, I’ll go get-“

“No,” Steve interrupted. “I have to get her.”

...

Y/N had finally stopped the flood of tears when she heard a gentle knock on the door.

“Y/N?” Steve. Of course.

“Go away!” Her voice came out quiet and muffled because of the pillow still pressed against her face.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, and Y/N was surprised when the door opened. She lifted her head from the pillow.

“JARVIS!” She whined. “You were supposed to keep him out!”

“I’m sorry miss, but it seemed like it would be better if you listened to what Captain Rogers has to say.”

“Traitor,” she mumbled, dropping her head back onto her pillow.

“Hey,” Steve said gently, sitting down next to Y/N. She ignored him.

He sighed. He wasn’t that good with awkward silence.

Slowly, he began to sing happy birthday.

“Stop it,” she interrupted, her voice thick. He sighed

“Y/N I’m sorry.”

“Who told you it was my birthday?”

“Bucky. I’m sorry I forgot.”

Y/N sniffled. “It’s fine. You’re not the only one.”

Steve froze, realizing he hadn’t seen Tony all day. “Your dad too?”

“Yeah,” Steve could tell she had started to cry again. He pulled her gently away from her pillow and into his lap, and she cried softly against his chest.

“I’m sorry I annoyed you,” she whispered.

“Don’t apologize. I should never have yelled at you.”

“It’s ok.”

“Captain Rogers, you’re wanted downstairs,” JARVIS announced.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve promised, kissing her forehead.

Steve was surprised when he reached the bottom of the stairs and was greeted by none other than Tony Stark.

“How is she?” Tony asked.

“Sad. But she’ll get over it, especially if you get up there,” Steve assured.

“Great,” Tony started up the stairs, but Steve stopped him.

“Please, no huge parties. I don’t think she would want that right now.”

Tony merely grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all worked out. Go to the living room and you’ll see,” and with that Tony disappeared up the stairs.

...

“JARVIS, please don’t let anyone else in,” Y/N muttered. She didn’t feel much like being happy anymore. The only thing that could make her feel better was-

“Babygirl open the door.”

Y/N froze. No way. He was back?!

“JARVIS let him in!”

“But miss you-“

“JARVIS!”

Instead of a response, the door clicked and Tony entered.

“Hey kiddo,” he said quietly.

“Dad,” she didn’t even care anymore that he forgot her birthday, she was just glad to see him.

“Commere babygirl,” Tony hugged her tightly, and she smiled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. Everyone else forgot too.”

“But I shouldn’t have. C’mon, let’s go downstairs,” Tony stood, pulling Y/N along.

“Dad, there’s not a big party down there is there?”

Tony laughed softly. “Just come down.”

...

Y/N grinned when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You like it?” Tony asked.

“Are you kidding? This is great!” Y/N ran over to the huge table in the back of the living room, filled with about a dozen different kinds of ice cream and way too much candy. She turned and saw a pile of presents in the corner, and next to it a stack of dvds.

“Tonight we’re gonna open presents, eat ice cream, and binge watch every Star Wars movie,” Tony promised with a grin.

“Every one?” Steve whispered, and Nat elbowed him.

Y/N hugged Tony. “Thank you!”

He grinned. “You’re welcome baby girl.”

“But there’s one thing we have to do first,” she announced, wandering over to the couch.

“And what’s that?” Bucky questioned.

Y/N grinned and snatched up a pillow, swinging it hard at Bucky’s face, “pillow fight!”

Best. Birthday. Ever.

The End

#tony stark #peter parker #the avengers #marvel #birthday #avengers x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers #dad tony stark

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liliesoftherain · 5 years

Text

My Hero Academia Main 3 Boys x Reader

Ch. 10 The Tournament has Begun!

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9

A/N: Finally some 1v1 action! I don’t think I’m too well in these types of scenes so forgive me if they aren’t the best! Plus I hope I tagged everyone, let me know if I forgot or if you would like to be added! I hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: @rizamendoza808 !(: @iris-suoh !(: @quicksilverfangirl !(: @shortperson202 !(: @noodlenerd101 !(: @matchamidoriya !(: @thorsbtch-captainnoobmaster69me !(: @pastel-prynce !(: @sunkissedneptune @monetfatalia !(: @legit-fandom-trash !(:

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You found yourself sluggishly making it to the lunch hall after listening into the depressing talk between Izuku and Todoroki. The talk left you feeling even less energized than you were already feeling, and all you wanted to do was sit down and forget about the whole thing entirely. Not only did you feel guilty, it caused some of your own past memories to bubble up, and you certainly didn’t need those thoughts swirling in your thoughts.

You weren’t sure if you would be able to look at Todoroki the same way again, not without him knowing that you knew everything. Sure, you were possibly overreacting, but it was still nerve wracking to have all of this information on your shoulders. Even worse, all this private information you weren’t supposed to know.

You grabbed a bottle of water and a few snack items to satisfy your hunger before hearing your name being called, causing you to turn and see Ochaco waving from a table.

You gave a light wave back, still feeling upset but you hoped the presence of friends would help lighten your mood. SO you walked towards the table she was at, sitting along with her, Iida, Tsuyu, and Mina. You sat besides the pinkette and was instantly glomped.

“Woah!” You yelped, throwing your arms forward to hold onto the table top in hopes of not falling, which worked.

He big crocodile tears ran down her face as she ranted her problems.

“I know I placed but I don’t remember a thing! That purple hair guy asked me something and the next I know I’m winning!? I was on a team with two other members from 1-B and they both agreed they didn’t realize what was happening! It doesn’t make sense!”

You rubbed her back soothingly, glancing up at the other table mates who just shook their heard, just as confused as you were.

“It’s alright, that just means you have to prove yourself even more in the next challenge right?”

“Yeah I guess.” She sighed

“You did a good job (y/n),” Tsu changed the subject, “Although I was surprised when I saw what happened on the big screen, you and Bakugou sure looked really cozy. Are you two dating?”

Your cheeks puffed out at her words.

“Why does everyone think that.. It was an accident.”

“WHAT!? Did something happen between you two and I missed it? Oh tell me!”

“Nothing happened I said-”

“DID YOU TWO KISS!?” Mina shouted.

You slapped a hand over her mouth and looked away with a blush.

“Shut up, we did no such thing.”

Ochaco laughed at you guys and you turned towards the sound of her voice.

“Anyways, how did the rest of you guys do? I know most of you placed but I didn’t get the chance to check on you all.”

“Oh really great!” Ochaco pumped her fist in the air, “we really held onto the points for almost the entire game!” She then pouted and pointed at Iida who was sitting next to her. “Then this guy had to ruin it by using some secret sneaky move, I swear he was as fast as you were! Oh I’m still mad at you Iida!”

“My apologies but I needed a triumph card of my own you know.”

“But you never said anything! Even before the games!”

"Well then it wouldn't have been a triumph card now would it?"

You laughed as they started to bicker

“At least you’re moving on to the last rounds.” Tsuyu sighed.

“That’s true, I’m sorry Tsu.” Ochaco pat her back.

“I too share Uraraka’s sympathies, yet I am also grateful that I have the chance to advance, seeing as my brother is watching! I don’t have time to lose.” Iida smiled proudly.

“Who is your brother Iida?” Mina questioned.

“The Turbo Hero, Ingenium!” Iida responded.

“Isn’t it so cool!” Ocahco gushed loudly, she must have already knew.

“That’s amazing Iida, he’s a really great and popular Hero!”

“Well that means a lot coming from you Hakamata.” Iida blushed, and you felt your jaw drop at the sight.

“Ohhh Iida! Do you like (y/n) as well? AHH DOES BAKUGOU HAVE A LOVE RIVAL? YOU’RE SO POPULAR.” Mina was shaking your shoulders and yelling in your ear.

“Mina stop I don’t think that’s what he meant!”

“Yes Ashido it would be wise to not jump to conclusions,” He scolded, ”I was simply expressing my gratitude for being praised by Hakamata while she has her own impressive family background.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you knew Iida.” You wondered, not realizing everyone knew.

Although if anyone did, of course Todoroki and Iida would be the ones to know.

“Of course, after you told us about your father briefly, I made it a point to look him up, forgive me if that comes off overbearing but I was curious. I assume Todoroki knows as well, if his earlier rant was any indication.” “It’s okay, you’re right he knows, and so does Bakugou and Midoriya. There’s no point in keeping a secret anymore.”

“A secret?” Ochaco looked confused. “My dad is the number 4 Pro Hero, Best Jeanist.” You shrugged, “ I guess that was a bad word to use. It’s not really a secret, I just wasn’t trying to make it known.” “Whaaat?” Your table yelled out, and a sheepish smile coming to your face. “No way you’re dad is the Number 4 Pro Hero!?” Ochaco shouted. “BESTIE YOU’RE SO COOL WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!” Mina gushed. “I never thought I would have to, to be honest.” You sighed and looked down. “(y/n), are you ashamed of your dad?” Tsu questioned. Your head shot up immediately.

“No way! Total opposite! My dad is the best hero ever, even if he isn’t number one.” You felt your heart swell, your father was the best dad you could have ever hoped to have.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized, cocking her head to the side with a finger on her chin, “ I just don’t understand then why you didn’t want everyone to know.”

“Well,” you started, “ I suppose I just wanted to prove myself without my father’s help. I assumed that if people knew I was the daughter of one of the top pro heroes they would only see me as just that, his daughter, and look past me. That they’d judge me and my abilities based off of him, and I don’t want that, I want to be my own person. I still think my dad is the strongest person I’ve ever known, and I’m lucky for every life lesson he’s stitched into my being, and I can never thank him enough. For everything he’s done in my life. He’s given me the means, the passion, the ability to one day save the lives of everyone I care about. He’s always been my number one fan, so for that there’s no way I’m ashamed of him. I plan on being one of the greatest heroes on day, and it will all be thanks to him.” You ended your rant with a smile, a small blush on cheeks as well. Everyone around you was smiling and throwing in words of encouragement until they were cut off by a loud voice.

“Girls, give me your measurements!”

“Measurements?” You glanced at Mina beside you before turning your upper body to look at Momo and Jirou behind you, who was looking positively flustered.

“Yes! We all have to wear cheer outfits for the next competition so let’s hurry up and change!” She left no room for argument so the girls bid their goodbyes to Iida before following Momo to the locker rooms. She was pumped while making the uniforms, and you were blushing at the sight of them. They were so bright, and so short.

“Do we really have to wear these?” You hesitated to change, holding the outfit in your hands at an arms length.

“Of course! We’ll all look super duper cute in them!” Hagakure laughed, twirling in the uniform, She put it on the second hers was made and hasn’t stopped dancing since.

“Yea it’ll be fun!” Ochaco smiled at you, ushering your to quickly change so you could shake pom poms with her.

“Well I agree with Hakamata,” Jirou announced nervously, tugging at her skirt, “Can’t we just change back into our normal clothes and forget this ever happened?”

“Absolutely not! We were told we had to wear these for the next challenge coming up,” Momo looked at you as soon as you finsihed getting dressed, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about the event sooner Hakamata, since you are the class officer after all.”

“Uh well,” Your thoughts drifted back to the secret conversation and spying mission you had done, “I was a little busy as soon as we let up for lunch. I guess I didn’t get the memo.”

“Can’t be helped now! Let’s go kill some competition with our fierce skills!” Mina shouted as Hagakure agreed.

You sighed along with Jirou, both looking anxious. The only other person that didn’t seem to be bouncing around was Tsu, but she didn’t seem to care either way. You gave one last fleeting glance of good luck to the punky girl next to you before you were dragged off by Mina and Ochaco.

You all hurried to make your way out to the arena, being a bit behind the other students as getting ready took longer than you all had anticipated. Howveer as soon as the group of you girls made your way through the entrance and onto the field, you froze. No one else, besides the professional American cheerleaders, were wearing the uniforms.

“Looks like class 1-A is coming out with some interesting outfits choices!”

You brought your pom poms to your pink cheeks, embarrassment clawing it’s way up your body.

“You tricked us?! You jerk! You’ll regret it!” Momo was yelling, so you peaked out to see who she was upset at. Lo and behold it was none other than Kaminari and Mineta of all people, and you felt yourself hold in a disgruntled sigh. She was so smart, so why would she believe MINETA of all people?

“Ugh I hate those guys!’ Jirou threw her own poms down, her body covered in red as she was shaking, from being flustered or angry you weren’t sure. Most likely both.

“Well guys, we still have a bit of time before the finals start, and I kinda like these uniforms soooo, how about we keep them on!” Hagakure cheered, jumping in the air and dancing.

“Are you crazy?” Jirou screamed back.

“Yeah c’mon guys, it might be fun! After announcements let’s roll with the punches!” Ochaco started to cheer with Hagakure and you shake your head.

“No way, I’m going to go change right after. There’s so many people staring at us.” You whined out, looking at all the eyes pointed on your group.

One set of eyes caught your gaze and the blush that had barley started to fade had come back promptly. He had a heavy flush of his own painted on his cheeks, and you felt self conscious as you saw his emerald eyes wander.

Izuku couldn’t help it as he looked at you, he knew he was red but he couldn’t tare his eyes away! You looked way to cute how could he not? You had adorable pom-poms, and high socks, and-oh boy that skirt was pretty short. One twirl and...

“S-Stop staring Deku!”

Your shout broke him out of his trance and he looked away a jittery mess, looking anywhere but your general direction, and ignore the teasing whispers he heard around him. Oh man, how could he just stare at you like that!?

You crossed your arms with a huff, making your way to stand with your team mates. Your humiliation only grew as you heard some snickers coming from two of your members, so you glared at the the best you could.

However you knew you didn’t look as intimidating as you wanted since both both flushed and laughed even more, damn it Momo.

“Shut up, I hate you all.” You groaned.

“Awh c’mon, it’s not all that bad Hakamata.” Sero shrugged, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I mean at least you’re not the only one wearing it. No one cares.” Kirishima pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, holding back a grin.

Both boys were internally gushing, and laughing, at how you looked like an angry puppy trying to scare someone. It wasn’t working.

“Everyone here cares dumbass, they’re all staring.” Bakugou grunted out, keeping his gaze off of you.

You crossed you arms over your chest, trying to block out the feeling of eyes on you. Bakugou was right, there were plenty of people still looking at you girls, but that little creep was being the worst of all.

“I’m going to kill Mineta.” You growled.

“I’m pretty sure he’d love that, or any contact with you.” Kirishima frowned, indicating with his head to turn around.

You did so to see the boy in question sneaking his way over to try to peep under your skirt. You reeled back your fist but before you could do much else a leg pushed him back by his face, causing him to fall over a bit of a ways away on his back. Crying about a sore nose.

“Little pest.”

You followed the voice Bakugou with a glare on his face, he turned to look you in the eyes with anger in his eyes once he felt your stare on him.

“What the hell are you looking at.”

“Awh you’re so nice, thanks Bakugou.”

“Shut the hell up! He’s just fucking annoying and I don’t the worm anywhere near me, be lucky you’re standing next to me.” He seethed, quickly whipping his head away from your smile of gratitude.

Bakugou would never admit it out loud, hell he was even angry at himself for thinking it, but he was pissed at the fact you were wearing something like because of that little twerp. Were your stupid? Weren’t you supposed to be the daughter of a pro hero or some shit? Why the hell were you letting dumb-asses trick you into things, it made no sense. Now everyone was looking at you and that had him steaming. Everyone was supposed to be watching him, not at you in some dumb skirt hat was way too short. Seriously, was that thing even allowed?

“Anyways, we have some super fun side games everyone can participate in, even if you didn’t make it to the finals! We brought in some cheerleaders from America to get your blood pumping, but maybe our own hometown girls can help too! HAVE FUN EVERYONE! After they’re over each student from the top 4 teams will be fighting it out in a tournament style fighting competition! You’re not going to want to miss these awesome kids!”

“Awh yea, we finally get the chance to show what we’re made of! I watch these finals every year and now i'm actually in them ” Eijiro excitedly spoke up. “So wait is it always a tournament?” Mina asked after just getting there, choosing not to stand with her team since they were all apart of other classes.

Finals are always some type of one-vs-one competition but they switch it up all the time, last year it was a sword foam fighting match.” Sero answered. “Come closer and draw lots to see who you’re up against. Then enjoy the recreational games, you 16 winners can choose to participate or sit out to prepare for the finals. I’m sure you all want to conserve your stamina! I'll start with the first place team!” Mindnight shouted. You all went up and chosen lots, you saw you had drawn the number 5, and wondered who you would be paired with. The board above flashed once the last person had picked their number and presented the battles. “Take a look at the bracket my dears! These are your opponents!” You heard Kirishima shout out in frustration as he had to go up against that Tetsutestsu guy who was on Mina’s team previously. You searched for your name and your eyes went wide.

“Well this is going to be interesting, don’t you think Mina?” You looked at her, and she stared back at you with shock on her face. “Wow we gotta fight? That really blows, but sorry bestie, I’m going to melt your butt off!” “I guess we’ll have to see about that, we are the fifth battle so we have some time before our turn is up.” “Uraraka? Who the hell is that?” Bakugou questioned. You and Mina looked at Ochaco who gasped. “It’s okay Ochaco, I’m sure he’s messing with you!” Mina gave her a reassuring shoulder pat. “I doubt that, Bakugou isn’t that good with names, I’m sure he doesn’t even know mine.” You laughed out.

“Don’t talk about me when I’m standing right here! I just don’t care about knowing extras names.” He scoffed. “I’ll prove to you I’m not some extra!” Ochaco said, putting on a brave face. “HMPH, let’s go cheer girls!” She started to drag you both off.

You were forced to cheer for a while and admittedly it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be, but you still snuck off at the first chance you got.You went inside the locker room to get changed and felt your anxiety grow, while you knew you were going to give it your all, friend or not you both knew out there you weren’t, it still had you worried. Mina was skilled in her own ways and you couldn’t deny the slight fear of who you would have to face afterwards if you won. You saw Tokoyami and Momo were battling each other in the same bracket, and that was nerve wracking.

You changed back into your uniform and sighed, sitting on the bench to collect your thoughts and calm down. Maybe you would have been able to come up with a plan or two to help give you some idea on what to do when the time came.

Once the recreational games were over you made your way up to the stands you heard Present Mic talk about over the intercom. Walking out of the lockers and down the corridors you saw a flash of green and you stopped to take another look, glad that you did.

“Deku!” You called, and he jumped at the sound of your voice, eyes wide in panic.

“O-oh hey (y/n)! Um, what are you doing here?” He stuttered.

“I was making my way to the bleachers, but I’m glad I caught you. I almost forgot you were first.”

“Oh yea... First.” He laughed uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Izuku,” You put your hands on hi shoulders, smiling at his warm face, “You’ll be fine, I know it! Don’t let them get to you.”

“I know, I’m just a bit nervous, I mean since I don’t have the best handle on my quirk you know.” He looked down between your bodies, staring at his clenched hand.

“I may not understand how that feels,” You started off softly, “But I know you have an amazing intellect and even if you can’t control your quirk all the way, you don’t need it to be brave. You’ll win this no matter what, got it?”

Izuku looked straight into your eyes and felt like he was going to cry. You had so much faith in him, you even said he didn’t need a quirk to win. Where were you his entire life? He felt so lucky being able to come to U.A and meet you, and everyone else that has helped him. Just like he promised Todoroki, he’ll make a promise to you.

“I promise I won’t let you down, that I’ll win this!” He said determinedly. “Great, I’m counting on you Deku.” With that you walked away with a wave, letting the boy have a few moments alone before his big fight.

While walking away you ran into AllMight, and smiled. “Oh young Hakamata! You did very well during the previous activities! Your father is very proud!” He grinned. “Oh thank you sir, you talked to my dad?” You wondered. “As a matter-of-fact I did not too long ago, he told me himself he’s amazed at your strength and courage. So am I! Keep it up!” He gave you a thumbs up. “Thank you AllMight.” You smiled as he ruffled your hair before making his way down the hall. You were filled with happiness at the thought of your dad. If he was rooting for you, there isn’t anything you can’t accomplish.

Walking into the stands, you were pulled to sit with Ochaco and sandwiching her between yourself and Iida. You were growing excited as the flames on the four corners of the rink lit up, and Mic began to talk.

“Are you ready!? After all the action you’ve previously witnessed, it’s time for the real battles to begin! First up we have Izuku Midoriya from the hero course, versus Hitoshi Shinso from general studies! The rules are simple! Immobilize your opponent or force them out of the ring! Or you can also win by having the other cry uncle and forfeit! Easy stuff! Plus we have Recovery Girl waiting on standby, so go at it! READY!? BEGIN!” You waited for someone to make a move, but all they were doing was talking- well, at least it looked like one of them was. Cupping your hands, you shouted out. “Let’s go Deku! End this already!” Both parties down in the rink looked up at your voice. Izuku knew he had to get going, so he started to walk closer to Shinso, remembering the advice Mina briefly gave him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he had it in the bag.

“Ah so it’s her, what’s her name again? (y/n) Hakamata right.” Shinso was still looking up at you. Izuku stopped and glared at the boy in front of him, eyes questioning why he was bringing you up. “She had a bite to her when I was talking to you 1A chumps. Saying I had to bring my A-game to have a chance against you guys, and really, I’m going to make it to a round where I get to play with her for a bit.” Shinso smirked.

Izuku wasn’t sure if Shinsou was saying this just to try to make him talk, or if he was actually a little bit interested in you. Either way, Izuku could feel a little anger rise in him, play with you? What was that supposed to mean? He remembered that this was the guy who had called you some dumb nick name and kept staring at you when all of the other students were surrounding the class and trying to call them out.

I told him not to say anything!” Mina yelled in frustration. You, along with Ochaco and Iida stood up and gasped as he went completely still. “Is this what happened to you?” Ochaco asked, looking at Mina. “Yeah,” She nodded, “All I did was say two words back to the guy and his quirk activated. I don’t remember anything, it’s like I was asleep the entire game. There’s no way Midoriya is making it out of this.”

“We didn’t see anything during the first two rounds, but it could be that Shinso is actually crazy powerful! Who could have imagined this turn of events! This is the festival for ya!" You kept standing, but stayed by your seat unlike the other two who walked to the wall, unable to take your eyes off of the scene. He was literally frozen in place, until he slowly turned around and made his way to the edge of the rink. “What!? Midoriya is obeying the command to walk out of the ring!” You sucked in a breath and ran to the concrete edge. “IZUKU WHAT ARE YOU DOING! OVERCOME THIS!”

Izuku heard your voice through his internal struggle, it taking over his senses. While his eyes were wide open, it was like he couldn’t see, till your words knocked a little self awareness back and he saw eight figures staring back at him. It was strange, a little scary, but they didn’t look evil. If anything, one in particular looked familiar, and he swore it was AllMight standing there, helping him get some power back into him.

He stopped right before he reached out of bounds and managed to send a powerful blast through his fingertips, not only breaking them in the process but breaking the hold of the mind control quirk.

“What’s this!? Midoriya stopped just in time!” “That’s the way to do it!” Iida cheered. “Woah I was about to freak out!” Uraraka sighed in relief. “Go Izuku! Let’s win this thing!” You shouted. “He broke his fingers!? No fair, I couldn’t even think-how was he able to do that?” Mina wondered, but was still happy he broke out of the spell he was under. You all clapped and cheered as Izuku ran up and pushed him out of the rink by tossing Shinso out of bounds over his shoulder. “Shinso is out! Midoriya advances to the next match!” Midnight announced. “Turning the tables at the last moment, classic Midoriya maneuver.” “Hey he’s pulled that shoulder throw on you before, eh Bakugou?” Kaminari teased.

Glancing back, you saw Bakugou’s face pulled tight, answering without looking at the other blond. “Shut your damn face sparky.” You looked back down and saw Shinso and Izuku standing in front of each other. “Yeah! That was a pretty boring first match kids, but you both fought bravely! Let's show them some love everyone." “I feel kinda bad for the other guy.” You mumble out, not expecting anyone to hear you. “What do you mean Hakamata?” Iida questioned. “I mean look at his quirk, I’m sure no one pegged him for the hero type you know?” You frowned. “I agree.. It’s not too flashy.” Kirishima said. “But, he did amazing, I mean, even though he’s not apart of our class, I think we can cheer for him!” Hagakure jumped up and started shouting in praise.

The audience was buzzing with praises as Shinso was walking off and you could see even from where you were he was shocked. Along with Hagakure and a few other of your classmates, you shouted down at him too. “Good game Shinso!”

The next match was being prepped, people in the stands ready for the next round. You saw Todoroki get up to head out, and you couldn’t stop your feet as they moved to follow him. Sero had already been waiting downstairs so you were unable to wish him luck, but you could at least wish Todoroki one instead.

“Todoroki wait!” You yelled once you got into the hallway.

He turned to face you, his face void of any emotion but his eyes were slightly confused. He didn’t say anything so you took that as a sign to continue. Swallowing, you tried to ease the dryness of your throat as his previous words for Deku echoed in your head.

“I just uh, wnated to wish you luck. I know you don’t care much for me, so I’m sorry if I’m overstepping but,” You took a deep breath, letting it out with a wavering voice, “but you aren’t your father. You can win this without him, even if..”

You didn’t want to mention him using his fire, knowing that would be a dead giveaway to your lurking.

“Even if you think you’re trapped by him in some way you’re not! You’re your own person and if you feel pressured by him-or others! You don’t have to listen. You’re not stuck in his shadow, you’ll be great all o your own. Evenifyoucanbealittlemean, I believe in you!” You bowed your head, tryin gto hide the pink on your cheekbones.

Did you just call him mean? Who does that!?

Todoroki felt a little overwhelmed, not realizing you still cared so much about the topic. He assumed you both got what you needed to say out of the way and that was that. But he had to admit, his chest did feel a bit lighter after your speech. Like a few of his burdens were lifted momentarily, even if you did call him mean. He wasn’t sure what you meant by that exactly, but he could imagine why you would say so. He hasn’t been the nicest he could be, and he just hoped he wasn’t too mean. He didn’t want anymore problems with you.

“..Thank you.” He said, full of earnest and unable to say more. He took his leave after your nod, opening up to the idea of maybe using his left side. Maybe. He still wanted to prove to his father he wasn’t like him. “Shouto.” Speak of the devil. “What do you want.” Todoroki said harshly. “You’re acting disgracefully. If you would just use your left side, you would have had an overwhelming victory in the first rounds. You have to stop this stupid childish tantrum and realize you have a duty to pass AllMight. You're my greatest masterpiece.” Endeavor grunted. “Is that all you have to say to me you bastard?” Todoroki seethed, his back facing his father as he walked away. “I’ll win this match and advance using mom’s quirk and her quirk alone. I won't give you the pleasure of seeing me use yours.”

“Even if that works for you in this tournament, you’ll soon find the limits of that power.” Endeavor spoke, watching his son walk away. Todoroki felt his anger spike and he tried to calm himself down, even thinking about your words, but it was no use. His anger only rising. When you reached back towards the top, you saw your place in the front row had been moved around due to Midoriya coming back, so you too the last spot of the row next to Kirisihima and in front of Bakugou. “Hey where were you?” Kirishima asked as you sat down. “Oh nowhere special, I just had to take care of something,” You smiled at him before looking over the two boys who sat between you to talk to the third, “Deku you did a great job!” You grinned over the two boys who sat between you both. “O-oh thanks! It was nothing really.” He smiled. You looked forward, looking down as the pillars of fire sprang up around the two boys, meaning the battle was ready to begin.

“Let’s welcome to the ring our next players! He’s got skills, but at the expense of some really creepy looking elbows, from the hero course, its Hanta Sero!” “Wow that was a little uncalled for right?” You bumped Kirishima’s arm, so he knew you were talking to him without having to look away from the arena. “I mean a bit, but he’s right, Sero’s got some crazy elbows for sure.” Kirishima shrugged as you laughed. “Versus an early front-runner in the competition who’s way to strong for his own good! Someone who rightfully got into the hero course based on recommendations, it’s Shouto Todoroki! And now for the second match! REAAAADY? BEGIN!” Sero had quickly used his tape and trapped Todoroki by bindng him with it, then using his own strength to swing him to the edge, trying to make this a quick match. It was amazing to see how fast he acted, but it was disconcerting that Todoroki wasn’t fighting back. He had to have been up to something, there’s no way that would have taken him out alone. “That attack for sure will throw him out of bounds! A brilliant move made by the underdog! Way to start off strong Sero!” If you blinked you would have missed it, because in less than a second ice covered almost the entire stadium and there was even some right at the tip of your nose. The cold hit you a moment later, as if it was trying to catch up the ice itself that was moving faster than it should. You were unable to see the battle, but could hear Midnight as she spoke for the whole area to hear. “Tell the truth Sero, can you move at all?” “ARE YOU KIDDING? OBVIOUSLY NOT! MY BODY IS FREEZING.” Sero's shouts echoed around the ice as the stadium was silent is shock and awe. “Sero has been immobilized! Todoroki advances to the second round!” The crowd was chanting ‘Nice Try!’ over and over in favor of Sero. You just wanted this hunk of ice out of your face so you activated your quirk and started to melt it, enough to where you could at least move out of your seat if you wanted to and finally see the arena. You helped the others next to you, melting just enough for them to not have to worry about getting impaled, your thoughts drifted to earlier when you talked to him. Did you upset him? Were your words really all that unhelpful? You sat back down, mind racing as you tried to forget it and focus on the next match. Yet as you looked down at Todoroki unfreezing Sero from the ice prison he created, even though he had just won, he still looked so unhappy.

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Red and Gold (Ch1)

(Absolutely incredible cover art by _xstylyricax_ on instagram!! I’ll put a link to her profile in a reblog!!)

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Memories of a strange music box in Ada's occult shop intertwine with a present where she meets the equally mysterious pirate Vincent Nightray...

Notes: Originally written for phsecretsanta2018 for tumblr user @endoreon!!

I'll put chapter 2 in a reblog, and links to both chapters in a reblog too!

Chapter 1: Whispers

Ada placed an old compass on the shelf, between an antique sextant and a dull crystal.

She turned to face the rest of the shop, smiling and putting her hands on her hips, proud of her work; she had just finished tidying up the place, putting everything in order, and could finally have a moment to relax, and admire the way everything gleamed.

Outside the sun always shone bright, reflecting off the white sand, sending green shadows onto the ground as it sifted through the palm leaves. Inside, the low light that filled the shop, emanating from candles, lanterns, as well as a few crystals hanging from nets, (and the occasional mysterious object), bouncing off the wooden walls, creating an atmosphere of dormant animation in the darkened place. Almost like the shop itself was lying in wait for something to happen, like if you broke a single object, all the spirits would come spilling out, and the place would live.

“Mew!”

Ada knelt down to scratch her cats’ ears.

She had had this shop for a few years now; for a long time, she had tried to learn about the occult, in attempts to bring her brother back from the Abyss, and in the midst of her research, had become a bit of an enthusiast, and had collected too many occult artifacts for the spare Vessalius house to hold. She didn’t use all of them, so she decided to start selling them to interested parties. From there she started collecting things just to sell. When she was at school, or otherwise couldn’t man the shop, she had servants watch over the place, (she warned them not to tell her uncle, or anyone who might not approve, or start spreading rumors). She had also hired someone to find more artifacts—(at sea, buried beneath the sand, anything)—both for her own fascination, as well as the shop.

Those who knew of her knew that she wasn’t just some collector, she was very knowledgeable in the ways of the occult, and novice practitioners, or fanatics, would come to her for advice on spells, or the authenticity of the objects they had found on their own. Some of them genuinely shared her interests—(she could talk to them for hours if she didn’t curb her excitement)—but sometimes people came in who were more…creepy than anything. Of course, by the nature of her hobby, often she herself couldn’t tell the difference.

“Now, now, you’ll have to wait outside. You’re not old enough to take part in the ceremony yet.”

Ada gasped, spinning around wildly. “Who’s there?!”

“Mew!” Snowdrop responded.

She petted her cat once more, looking around.

No one. Wooden walls and a breeze.

She breathed out. It wasn’t exactly unheard of that objects such as these could give off strange visions, or spill voices into one’s ears, and she was no stranger to the dark and the dangerous. It was surely just a particularly powerful object, which was simply doing its job, and someone would buy it soon enough.

Despite her mind’s attempts to reassure her, she probably should have been listening more carefully.

For the next few weeks, intermittently when she was in her shop, whispers would tread the air around her. Simple words, cries, accusations, voices that—dare she admit it?—she recognized.

Her brother’s, her uncle’s, her father’s, and—somehow worst of all—her own.

Her own voice, sounding so pitiful, so lost, and tiny.

Did she still sound like that?

After a while, it wasn’t hard to recognize what they were: memories. Memories of a past calling back to her. A sad and empty past that she had tried to forget. A past in which the Baskervilles threw her brother into the Abyss, and that place kept him from her for ten years.

Was this just her mind playing tricks on her? Was it all in her head? Nothing real?

But, of course, these memories were real. She just didn’t think of them too often, because she didn’t quite like that fact.

What kind of an object could do this? Why would someone create such an object in the first place? What should she even be looking for?

She tried to block them, to find something else that would drown them out, to cover her ears, but the whispers seeped in through the boards she nailed over her mind’s doors, and the cracks between her fingers.

The murmurs followed her. They pooled in her brain when she left the shop, and didn’t drain away. They grew louder. There came a point when she tore apart her neatly polished shop in search of the offender, and found…nothing.

But as she turned to leave one day, she saw her reflection in the door window, and behind herself, the curtain to the back…She turned, and did something dangerous:

She started thinking.

Hidden away, back there, like a caged beast, was in an old chest, and within it, something she had been warned about, but whose purpose had never quite been explained to her.

Her hand shaking ever so slightly, she fingered the necklace she was wearing, pulling it from beneath her shirt, holding the end up before her eyes, twinkling in the low light; a tiny, old silver key.

*****

Ada walked out into the darkened school grounds. There was something about the cool night air that made everything seem less inviting, less pure. The person waiting for her, during the day, would—(if a little odd)—have been an ordinary student, but in the dark he was a figure, a mystery, harbinger of more mystic nights to come.

They weren’t supposed to be out after dark—and she was one of those adamant rule-followers—but there had been something about the plea to his voice earlier…

“Good evening, Leo-kun.” Her small, but strong, voice broke the silence.

Leo turned to her, half moonlight reflecting off his glasses, and bowed.

“Yes, Good evening, Miss Vessalius.” He smiled, though there was a twitch in the corner of his mouth that betrayed its reality.

“If I may, can I ask how you found out about my shop?”

He scratched his chin, looking around as if the courtyard had suddenly become more interesting. “I simply heard about it from some of our fellow students. You know how they can be prone to gossiping.”

Who knew about her? And why they wouldn’t say anything about it to her? How did they find out? How many people knew by now? Or, what if he was lying? If so, why didn’t he want her to know how he knew?

“Ah, I see.” She didn’t press the issue, but wasn’t completely satisfied with the explanation either.

She was surprised that Leo would even come to her in the first place; he only ever spoke to her through Elliot—and was always with Elliot in general—so she didn’t want to scare him off with extra, unnecessary questions. This was already the longest conversation they ever had. Though the question of who knew about her shop, and how, troubled her, what was important was this object he was giving to her. It was the reason for their meeting, after all. If she badgered him too much, he might decide not give it to her at all. Nevertheless, the simple fact that he had arranged this late-night meeting, alone with her—without Elliot—in the first place, meant that whatever he was trying to give to her was affecting him deeply.

Or maybe it was affecting Elliot.

“So…you have something for me?”

“Right.” He seemed relieved she wasn’t going to ask any more questions. He set his bag on the ground, and knelt down to fish something from it.

But once he retrieved it, the cloth-covered object gave her few more answers than questions.

She cocked her head to the side, leaning forward, puzzled, but intrigued, trying to keep her excitement from bubbling over.

Leo breathed out the answer to her unasked question. “It’s a music box.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of enchanted music boxes before!” her obsession started to peak through, “What’s this one called?”

She reached out her hand towards it, but he jerked it away from her.

He seemed to realize the suddenness of the action, and relaxed a little. “I…Sorry, I just…” the veiled agitation bled out from behind the curtain.

What was it that made him so jumpy? Usually he was quiet, but confident. Was it this object? Or could it be her? He didn’t seem very comfortable around most people who weren’t Elliot, so maybe her sudden movement just startled him a little? Although…if it was the object itself… should she be scared too?

She decided not to let it bother her. Once again, this wasn’t exactly the first time someone had acted strangely when trying to get an occult object off their hands.

“So…might I ask what its purpose is?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m…afraid I’d rather not say.”

“Eh? It’s going to be rather hard for me to sell if I don’t know what it does, you know.”

“Sell it?” fear came to the surface. “No, no, no, no, you can’t sell this! You can’t even open it!”

She blinked.

“So…you’re giving me something; you wouldn’t like to tell me what it does, and you…don’t want me to sell or use it? Forgive my rudeness, but why don’t you simply hide it yourself? Or destroy it?”

“I’ve,” he cleared his throat, “tried both.” He looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck, and she often wished she could see the look in his eyes behind those glasses.

“And?”

He stayed silent, but it was obvious both had failed.

“But you’re used to dealing with these sorts of things, right?” he spoke up again, “So I thought you might have methods of keeping it from…activating. Or be better be able to,” he mumbled the next few words, “tune it out.”

“I’m sure I can handle it!” She smiled, though she was losing confidence the more they spoke.

The same phenomenon seemed to be happening to him.

“Please listen to me, Miss Vessalius;” he placed a hand on her shoulder—and how afraid, how insistent, would the look in his eyes have been, if she could have seen it?—“I can’t force you to accept this, or teach you how to stop it. All I can do is give you a warning; do not open this. For whatever reason, if you start to hear things, cover your ears, if you see anything, cover your eyes.”

“Huh? But why?”

What exactly did all that mean? What sorts of things would she hear or see? Just how powerful was this thing?

He rubbed his temple as if that would keep his aggravation from spilling out.

“This is…dangerous. Maybe the most dangerous thing you’ve ever handled.”

“Well, I have handled—”

His expression shut her up.

“So…” She cleared her throat, trying to keep from getting annoyed herself. “Why do you have it in the first place?”

He shook his head, looking at the veiled box. “Just a mistake.”

He proceeded to pull on a chain around his neck, which ended in a small silver key. He pulled it over his head, pooling it in his hand, holding it out to her his head bowed (out of respect, or a desire not to look at it, she didn’t know)—though he did so as if it were a gun—“Please keep this with you at all times.”

This was more than she bargained for, or guessed the care of this object would entail. Usually if she got a call, even if it was something dangerous, they wouldn’t be so cryptic, and they often just wanted to get rid of it, they didn’t bother with warnings and precautions.

Still, nothing she couldn’t handle.

She nodded, taking it and slipping it around her neck.

He bit his lip, his grip tight around the box, his hands shaking a little.

“Please hide this in the most secure location you can find.”

He thrust the box towards her, though his death grip made it clear he didn’t really want entrust it to her. She wrapped her fingers around it, looking curiously at him as she felt his resistance, before tugging it away from him.

“I promise to take care of it.” she tried to reassure him.

“Promise me you won’t open it.” His voice was the most serious she’d ever heard of it.

She smiled, giving a curt nod.

“Promise.”

But what do people do when presented with a mystery, a curious object, and an unshakable warning about it’s volatility?

They do the very thing they’re commanded not to do.

*****

It was a few days later still, when she gave in.

She knelt on the floorboards in her back room, a battered chest before her, its hinges rusty, its wood splintering. The rug was folded back, and the trap door the chest had been heaved out of propped open.

Did Leo know, then, about the whispers? About how they nagged and poked and prodded at one’s mind? How they staked themselves there, laying claim to her heart? Did he know how powerful it would be? How much it would affect her life?

She told herself he didn’t.

When she knew full well he did; otherwise he wouldn’t have been so adamant, so tense.

The chest’s maw, creaking as she lifted the lid, revealed the veiled oddity sitting at the bottom. Waiting, like a black bride, for her groom.

Surely it wasn’t this object, so small and unassuming, that was capable of invading her thoughts so entirely?

It wasn’t such a big deal. Just one peak. Listen to a few notes. Keep the whispers at bay.

“Come on, Ada!”

She drew in a breath, and lowered her hands into the depths, as if into murky waters, and gently took the dark bride’s hand, pulling her from the waves.

It was light, as if she was holding the whispers themselves. Yet the longer the bride held her hand, the tighter her grip, the heavier the weight of their vows.

“Say, what’s Abyss?”

The voice was louder this time.

Just breathe.

It’ll all be over soon.

She pulled the cloth, unveiling the wretched face she was destined to kiss.

“Well it’s a sort of prison…”

The box was black, ornate silver designs, curls and borders on the sides and top. Other than that it was relatively plain. But holding it made her breath catch, and the room darker.

She told herself it was just her own fear.

Letting it sit in her hands for a moment, she weighed it, along with Leo’s words. Part of her brain begged her to listen to him, screamed at her to return it to its place in the ground.

But it was too alive to bury.

“for bad guys…”

A lump grew in her throat as she tugged on the chord to the key around her neck.

As curiosity often bids us, she did the very thing he demanded she never do. For the simplest reason as a few whispers, and a rickety past.

“Please, let me in! My brother’s in trouble!!”

She gasped, reaching her fingers gently to her lips, as if not quite sure if she had said it herself. The shout had sounded so real, less ephemeral, less there, more here…

Shaking, her hands sweating, glancing around as if someone would see her breaking into something that belonged to her, she fit the key into the lock.

Though the weather was perfectly calm outside, she could hear rain beginning to pound.

“Oz Vessalius, your sin is…”

The pronunciation felt like it was coming down on her own head, like the past-born rain.

She was that little girl again, soaked through with water and fear, begging to be let in. The rain breathed; it was talking to her with the fluttery voices of those she loved, and those she had grown to hate. Some words broke through the crowd—brushing shoulders and pushing others down, louder, stronger—but the memories were so many by now that the whispers seemed like a mob.

Hands shivering, shutting her eyes tight, she turned the key,

—It clicked—

Placed her fingers on the wood of the lid—

The rain was so loud….

“Your very—“

And lifted it.

The action was like a conductor bringing down his baton; those whispers, the breath of the wind and rain, were all simultaneously silenced.

She glanced around, as if she would be able to see their smoke dissipating in the air.

The silence was almost worse…Almost.

Because silence is empty, and can be filled.

When she tipped it open, no tiny dancer twirled around. No frilly art or pretty words decorated the inside. She could see the cogs beneath, like if a ship’s deck were glass, and you could see the rudders, all the working parts and windswept waves that kept it going.

Though the look of it was plain, and rather unexciting, the inside of the lid held a peculiar inscription:

To he who dares play this song

You may yet still know it wrong

If it’s for redemption that you’ve asked

And the answer, you believe, in long awaited past

Without map, without wind, in the end, no sign of treasure

Too late, the hands of time will show you your own measure.

Upon seeing the words, questions boiled in her thoughts. What could this mean? What was she looking for in opening it? If she wasn’t looking for redemption, did that mean it was safe to listen? What about the past? Why would she want to hear whispers of, look into, the past? But if she didn’t…what was she doing here? Could this be more than simple attempts to shut the whispers up? Was there real temptation behind her current actions?

Then, without warning, or winding, the music began to play.

Though the notes were slow and few, they plucked at her heart. They tugged on her veins and sent vibrations through her, like she was their true instrument.

She slammed both the lid and her eyes shut, breath heavy.

She peeked open an eye.

Just a music box. Nothing strange. Nothing to tell her it was capable of great and terrible things. Just an ordinary music box. No notes fell out unannounced.

Taking up the key to lock it again, she felt another presence in the room.

She turned to see—

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jemelle · 4 years

Text

these are ties that bind (1/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: g

(chapter) word count: 1,976

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

masterlist

one.

Emily Prentiss stood in front of the hotel door, hand raised, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life. All her self-preservation instincts, built up from a lifetime of looking over her shoulder, told her it would be better for all parties if she just walked away. But a small voice in the back of her head disagreed. There is someone who needs you, it said. Someone who you are not too late to save. That voice had gotten her into this situation, and it was determined to see it through.

She knocked once, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. When Hotch opened the door, he looked as if he rather expected to see someone else. It was late, but Reid and Morgan were still off flirting with women at a club somewhere. Or, probably more likely, Morgan was flirting while Reid sat alone at the bar. Emily found she could never begrudge either of them the comfort of a post-case routine, no matter how strange.

Hotch was wearing his pajamas, which consisted of plain grey sweatpants and a well-worn GW Law shirt. His outfit had the unsettling effect of reminding Emily that she and him were, in fact, almost the same age. He often seemed much more world-weary than his thirty-some years suggested, although she supposed it was her who had actually seen more of the world. He was holding a book in one hand and seemed poised to lecture Reid for forgetting his keycard again. Upon seeing Emily, the expression on his face slid from irritation into confusion.

“Prentiss?” he asked. The “what do you want?” went unsaid.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you about something.” Hotch opened the door wider and motioned her inside. He sat down on one of the beds while Emily leaned uncomfortably on the desk and surveyed the room. What she assumed was Hotch’s side of the room was nothing short of meticulous, although Spencer, to his credit, had managed to keep his chaos contained to a two by four area at the foot of his bed.

Acutely aware of the importance of her next few sentences, she began. “Carrie Ortiz, the girl from the case, has an aunt and uncle in Phoenix, but they’re not able to care for her. She doesn’t have anyone else and especially after seeing what the foster system can do to kids, I don’t know if…” No, this wasn’t the way to do it. She was dancing around her point and both she and Hotch knew it. Time to regroup.

“Carrie came to me and asked if I would be willing to take her in for the time being.” Emily’s knee-jerk reaction had been no, but remembering what JJ told her earlier had given her pause. She had never been one of those children who dream of becoming a parent, not until it was no longer a dream. In the ensuing fallout, she became even more convinced that parenting was not for her. But Carrie wasn’t a helpless child. She was a young woman who had experienced a traumatic event and was voluntarily asking Emily to become her guardian. And so Emily found herself unable to say no.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that I would have to think about it but that I didn’t have the power to make that decision myself.” It was the truth. Emily knew that Hotch didn’t tolerate lying, especially not to victims. To give false hope to someone whose family had just been ripped away would be unspeakably cruel.

“Prentiss, with all due respect, I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation. I know you don’t need to be reminded of the dangers of our job, but I firmly believe that you will make the right decision.” Truthfully, it had taken Emily several hours to fully process Carrie’s request and several more before she could think rationally enough to decide. But she had made up her mind. If only that made it a reality.

Emily took a deep breath. For all the courage it had taken to get this far, the hardest part had yet to come. “I talked to Carrie’s social worker and she said that in the absence of family, they usually try to place in-area, but that given Carrie’s explicit request, she might be able to make an exception. However…” She trailed off. Maybe this was a mistake. It wasn’t too late to back out.

“However?” Hotch prompted. His tone was steady, and Emily forced herself to make eye contact. His face had smoothed itself into a neutral expression, which Emily took as a positive sign as she gathered her resolve.

“They don’t place children with single parents. No exceptions.” And definitely not gay couples, she mentally amended.

“I see,” he said. His face wrinkled in a way that told Emily he hadn’t quite figured out where she was going. “That’s a pity. Although, that still doesn’t solve the mystery of why you’re in my hotel room. I may be your boss, but even I don’t have sway over the foster care system of Denver.”

“Well… I sort of told Carrie’s caseworker that I would have to consult my husband.” She had run out of the room immediately after, wondering what on earth had just possessed her. She was a lesbian, for God's sake! There was no husband in her future. What scared her even more was realizing that she didn’t regret it. She wanted this for Carrie (and for herself, if she was being honest) and she was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant hatching a hare-brained scheme like the one she currently found herself ensnared in.

Hotch raised his eyebrows at her. She suspected the pieces were starting to come together for him. “And you’re here to ask me to marry you?”

He was chuckling now, almost in disbelief. Although she half-expected to become defensive, Emily instead found herself wanting to crack a grin at the pure absurdity of the situation.

“Well, given my lack of a personal life, it was one of our coworkers or a random man on the street.” The last time she had been on a date was months ago. Liv had been nice, but Emily could tell she wanted more than a casual relationship. So that particular alley was a bust, notwithstanding the fact that her gender preference would disqualify any actual partner.

“Why me?” Hotch asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. His tone turned serious again. “I don’t exactly have the best track record with parenthood.”

His gaze was fixed at a blank spot on the wall above her head, and Emily imagined he was mentally scrolling through his worst hits as a constantly-working husband and father.

“Hotch, you’re the only man on this team with any parenting expertise.” Upon giving the decision some thought, Emily had realized that not only was Hotch the best choice, he was the only choice. She voiced her thought process to reassure him. “Morgan is the perpetual bachelor, Reid would eat cereal for every meal if we let him, and Rossi is old enough to be my father.”

“While I’m certainly flattered to have been picked by process of elimination, that doesn’t make this a good idea.” He was right. In fact, it was a bad idea for more reasons than Emily could count, chiefly that she and Hotch had only recently reached any sort of lasting truce; any person who wasn’t convinced of the validity of their relationship could turn them in and ruin the whole scheme.

“Sir, I recognize the ridiculousness of the situation, and if you say no I will never mention this conversation again, but I really believe that we have the chance to make someone’s life better. Our job is about always making wrong things right, giving people peace, but never more than that. Never making a good thing on its own.” Hotch looked as surprised as Emily felt at her impassioned speech. At some point, she had begun gesticulating, movements becoming more frantic as the volume of her voice rose.

“We’ve seen how the foster system changes kids,” she continued, suddenly feeling bold. “I don’t need Reid to quote statistics to know it’s usually not for the better. Carrie has so much potential and I don’t want to think her hopes were dashed because of a choice I made.” I see myself in her, Emily didn’t say. Young and hopeful and ready to take on the world.

They sat in silence as Hotch mulled her words over. Emily felt confident that no matter his decision, she had given it her all. It felt unnerving to have to place a decision this important in the hands of a man she had betrayed, but Emily knew he would put aside any feelings, positive or negative, that he might have for her. It was one of the things she admired most about Hotch; if he respected you, he valued your contributions, whether you were certified genius Spencer Reid or a local law enforcement officer assisting the team. With that conviction in mind, Emily did her best to steel herself for his decision as Hotch began to speak.

“Let’s pretend I said yes. What are we going to tell the team, not to mention Jack and my… Haley?” Emily pretended to ignore the way he choked on Haley’s name. It was the least she owed him. Still, she felt hope bubbling in her chest at the realization that he was actually considering it.

“I think we should tell the team as little as possible. I don’t doubt that they’ll figure out something is different, but we both know Reid and Garcia can’t lie to save their lives. It’ll be better to keep them in the dark for as long as possible.” Hotch nodded and Emily felt some of the tension leave her body. “As for Jack and Haley, you know them best, so I’ll defer to you.”

“We’ll have to convince them we’re really in a relationship,” he responded without pause. “Haley and I currently have equal custody, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Deal.” She briefly fought the ridiculous urge to offer him a handshake. “Although I am warning you that I’m not sure how long this arrangement will have to last.”

“Well, as you pointed out, I’m not exactly a youthful bachelor.” True to his words, Emily’s brain faltered when asked to conjure up an image of Hotch as a twenty-something playboy. He was, she thought, possibly the most monogamous man she had ever met. If he was as serious in his acquiescence to her plan as he was in every other endeavor, they would be an excellent team.

“You’re really sure?” She had hoped for this, of course, but now it hardly seemed real.

Hotch’s voice was warm. “Emily, speaking as a parent, every child deserves someone who is as passionate about them as you clearly are about Carrie. If I have the chance to make someone's life better and it doesn’t harm me or my family or the team in any way, then I don’t see how I could say no.”

“Thank you, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Emily rarely cried, preferring to keep her rare bouts of melancholia and euphoria within the confines of her apartment, but she could feel herself tearing up, though she tried her best to conceal it. “We should be able to sign the necessary paperwork in the morning.”

“Of course,” he said. Emily stood and turned to leave the room, pausing in the door frame as she heard his voice again, colored by the return of his smile. “And Prentiss, if we’re going to pull this off, you probably shouldn’t call me sir.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #queerminal minds #*mine #*fic #these are ties that bind

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thechildoflightning · 5 years

Text

The Kübler-Ross Model Ch3- Bargaining

Title: The Kübler-Ross Model [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: background LAMP

~~~

Chapter Title: Bargaining- Chapter Three

Summary:

Stage Three: Bargaining- Characterized by making internal and external deals in order to cope with or even attempt to fix a loss.

In which Remy is talking, but not nearly enough.

Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Suicide & Rape & Hate Crimes (all mentioned), Transphobia & Racism & Fatphobia & Ableism (all mentioned)

[ao3 link]

Bargaining- Chapter Three

“Selected: Voicemail. One item. Tab one of one,” Remy’s phone claims, direct and to the point. Remy knows it’s from his dad, he’s the only one leaving Remy voicemails. He puts his finger to the screen, sliding it around as he searches for the desired section.

“Voicemail.”

One finger down.

“Daniel Zurko. M-”

Double tap.

“Look Remy, I get that you’re not happy. I know how much going to university meant to you. I get that, okay? But it just isn’t realistic and you need to accept that. I- look why don’t you come home? The college in town is great, maybe you can take a few courses there. I think it’s too late to sign up for this semester but maybe you can start in the spring. I know they don’t have some of the sculpture classes you were interested in but they have some creative writing courses and that’s pretty much the same thing, right? Just… Please call me. We can work something out together.”

A little while later, Remy and Patton settle in the living room. Patton sits on the couch and Remy’s a few feet away on the floor, hugging his dog as he slowly stops sniffling. Cha-Cha helps him out, covering his face in kisses to get rid of the tears. Remy laughs little and pushes her away after a moment.

The small chuckles ring out as the only noise in the room.

Patton still doesn’t speak.

Remy quickly falls silent.

“I came out as trans when I was fourteen,” Patton eventually says, “But- I- I mean I don’t- there wasn’t one moment for me. I- gosh I debated it for forever.”

Patton stops and Remy considers. Remy’s kind of surprised in all honesty. Patton has always seemed so sure of himself that it surprises Remy that Patton ever had any sort of doubt.

“Why- why’d it take so long?” Remy asks carefully.

Patton hums.

“I guess- I was scared. That was definitely a big piece. There was this huge fear of what it would mean for my life if I was trans. Everything would change.”

Remy swallows hard.

“I was- I didn’t know what my family would think. I mean- I knew they were supportive but it’s different when it’s your kid, y’know? And there’s all the statistics of suicide attempts, rape numbers, hate crimes, it was a lot.

“And I- I was also scared I was wrong? Because- because there’s this idea of what a black girl’s supposed to be like, y’know? And I had never been that. But I thought- I thought maybe it was just that? Maybe I wasn’t trans, maybe I was just pissed at the racist standards that follow black girls? And I hated my body but like- how much of that was trans versus being disabled? Versus being fat? So there were all these reasons that screamed at me that I was faking, that I wasn’t valid, that I could never be trans. It was scary because what if I was wrong, what if I was faking?”

Remy’s so scared of being wrong.

“If you were so scared of being wrong- how did you figure out that you were right?”

“I kept coming back to it,” Patton answered honestly, “And I thought- gosh if I keep having these excuses of why I’m not trans but I still end up here again and again and again, questioning my gender and so unhappy, then it’s gotta be true, right?”

Remy thinks she understands.

“And that was it at first, it still is,” Patton continues, “A big part of it now is trusting myself. I’m happy as a guy. It feels right. It is right. I’ve always been a guy. But there’s still doubts, and I guess I deal with those with just accepting them? Because maybe I am faking. Like- maybe. I mean I know I’m trans, but I think I’m always going to have that doubt. And if I’m always going to have that doubt, I’m going to live the way that makes me happy in the meantime. Does that make any sense?

“Yes,” Remy says, and she means it. “Yes. Yes. It does.”

Patton offers a small hum.

“Patton,” Remy says, and she's desperate now, oh so desperate. “Patton,” she insists. “Patton, I’m a girl.”

“Okay.”

Remy cries for the second time that night.

Patton offers a hug, and Remy shakily gets to her feet to collapse into his side. Patton wraps her up firm and tight and he listens to her. He listens and he hugs and he soothes.

It’s so nice.

Her mom never did this for her. She got so sick so fast that it had always been Remy comforting her than the other way around.

Her dad had, or he tried at least. He had wrapped Remy up, wrapped her up in layers and layers of bubble wrap, leading to suffocation instead of protection. Remy’s dad hugged her but it had always felt wrong. It always felt like it was about her dad, never actually about herself. His hugs were given as proof that Remy needed him, needed his suffocation, versus providing any actual care or comfort.

Remy hated that she almost missed them.

She curled into Patton a bit more. Patton lifted one hand to gently stroke her hair, soft ‘it's okay, it’s all going to be okay’ on repeat.

It takes her longer to stop crying this time.

“So,” Patton says, “Where do you want to go with this?”

“I’m a girl,” Remy says again. This time it's a bit stronger. “I’m a trans woman.”

“Okay. Absolutely,” Patton says, “That’s amazing and I’m so happy for you.”

There’s a pause.

“Can I ask about names and pronouns?” Patton prods gently.

“I… Uh,” Remy falters, because she hasn’t really thought this far yet.

“You can take all the time you need,” Patton adds, gentle and sweet, “And while I want you to feel like you can share this with me, you don’t have to either.”

“No- I- She. She/her. I- Feminine language too? Is that the word for that? I-” Remy pauses here. She tenses up, prepares for a fight. She doesn’t think Patton’s going to like what she has to say next, but she has to say it because it feels right. It feels so right, and she’s willing to defend it. “I’m keeping Remy. My name is still Remy.”

“Okay.”

Remy’s body relaxes, then tenses again. “Okay?”

“Of course Remy, whatever you’re feeling is valid. One hundred percent. I’m here to support you.”

“I- I just kept my name?”

“Well you can always change it later-” Patton admits. Remy winces. “Or you can keep it. It’s your name. All that matters is that you’re happy with it.”

“But-” Remy flounders. And it’s so stupid, Patton said it’s fine, why is Remy looking for a fight, “But?”

“Did you know my name is legally Patton Agnes Wilson?” Patton says abruptly.

Remy did not. She shakes her head slightly.

“Yeah I-” Patton continues, before stopping suddenly, “And I just pulled out my ID to show you. Putting that away now.”

Remy lets out a light laugh, and truly relaxes.

“Yeah. When my moms adopted me they gave me the first name Agnes, but I always went by my middle name- my deadname. My deadname hurt. A lot. So I chose Patton. But Agnes, Agnes meant something to me? And I didn’t want to lose that. So I made it my middle name, got rid of my deadname and made Patton my first,” Patton explains. He pauses once more, “Did I say that right?”

He seems to be questioning himself more than Remy. He starts to mutter the sentence under his breath again, revising it.

“Yeah you said that right,” Remy confirms.

Patton laughs, and it sounds like bells.

“Okay. Good. But my point is- your name is your name, not anyone else's.”

“My mom named me Remy,” she admits, “I- my middle name is Alan. After my great-grandfather. That can go,” she insists, making a face.

“I can understand that,” Patton says wryly.

“Yeah.”

“Have you come out to anyone else yet?”

“No,” Remy sais, “No. No I don't think I was even out to myself. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Remy and Patton haven’t talked a lot. She knows that this conversation has to be painfully uncomfortable for Patton. After all, Remy did just show up at his house, live with him for a few months, leave for college, and then demand he share about being trans. Patton doesn’t even know her.

“I’m glad you did. I’m really glad I could help you with this.”

Patton’s such a good person. Remy’s so appreciative of that.

The door opens and seconds later there's excited skittering paws on the floor as Trixie races over to say hi to Cha-Cha. Cha-Cha perks up at the attention and they quickly begin to play with one another. Remy smiles at their energy and let’s them be.

“Remy?” Virgil asks, “Are you okay?”

She wants to say she’s fine, but maybe, well maybe she isn’t. She isn’t fine at all. She doesn’t know what to say.

(She thinks maybe she should tell Virgil she’s a girl. She did just figure it out, but it’s important. Virgil would understand. He would. But there’s something that tells Remy that she can’t. Not yet).

“I- I dunno? I’m upset,” she admits.

“About?”

“Kind of everything?”

“Do you want to talk?”

“I- me and Pat were talking a bit?”

Virgil pauses then stands.

“Okay. I’ll let you be then. But if you need to talk- I’m here okay? You have people supporting you.”

Remy nods, because she doesn’t think she can force words around the choked feeling in her chest.

Virgil leaves.

“I don’t want to tell Virgil yet,” Remy says immediately after he leaves, “Or Logan. Or Roman. Or anyone. I told you, just don’t tell anyone else yet, please.”

“That you’re trans?”

Remy’s trans. She’s trans. It feels so freeing even as it terrifies her.

“Yeah,” Remy confirms, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. It’s yours to share.”

A pause sits between them.

“Can I write this down?” Patton asks for a moment, “I write down important stuff to remember in my phone so when I forget I have it all. I wanted to ask because while my boyfriends would never read my notes unless I told them it was okay, it’s obviously still going to be out there in some way. But I want to write it down because there’s a very high chance I will forget.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Remy agrees.

“Thank you,” Patton says. He presumably pulls out his phone to do exactly that. “It’s getting late and I have a class at nine tomorrow. Did you want to talk more or…?”

“No, no, you can go to bed,” Remy insists, “I’m good, yeah. I'm just going to go middle name searching now. Uh how the hell do I even go about that choosing a new name?”

“Baby websites. They were created for expecting parents, trans people, and authors.”

Remy rolls her eyes at the comment.

She then groans. Like yeah, she wants to find a better middle name than Alan. But she does not want to be searching through millions of names to find the right one. How do parents do this?

“That’s gonna be so many names. Have any suggestions?”

Patton hesitates.

“Yeah?” Remy asks

“I- well. If you want… Eileen was my deadname. But if you want you can use that?”

Patton’s words are casual but Remy can feel the weight behind them, the power. Remy is absolutely floored by the offer.

“I… really?” she asks.

“I mean if you want. It’s an idea. There’s a lot of names out there.”

“But you would be okay with that?” Remy confirms, because she is honored but she doesn’t want to take something that will make Patton uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he says, “I mean it’s not like I’m using it.”

“Remy Eileen Zurko,” she says, “Remy Eileen Zurko.” She smiles and knows she must look like an idiot.

“Yeah?” Patton asks.

“Yeah,” Remy chokes out, “Yeah I love it.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Okay, I’m headed to bed.” Patton says, “Uh, the bedroom you stayed in is still empty. Extra towels are under the sink… I think. If you want to shower or anything.”

Remy gives a nod and Patton gets up to leave. Before he can fully exit, Remy calls out once more.

“Patton?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Remy’s not quite sure what she’s thanking Patton for in particular. Maybe the name. Maybe for the advice. Maybe for listening. Maybe for the entire conversation in general. Maybe just for being here.

But Remy is. Thankful that is. She’s so thankful.

“Of course. Really.”

Patton means it. Remy knows he does. It makes everything inside of her hurt.

When Patton really is gone, Remy gets up from the couch as well and makes it to the empty bedroom. She closes the door softly behind her and pulls out her phone, opening Kai’s contact. She has some apologizing to do.

“We’re going for a walk,” Logan announces, as he enters the doorway to the room Remy’s staying with. He blocks a fair amount of light, and Remy’s eyes struggle to adjust.

“Uh… I was actually about to leave. Maybe another time,” Remy bargains, because she was about to leave. Plus she thinks she might know where this conversation is going and she really doesn’t want to have it.

“Okay,” Logan says, and Remy thinks she’s won. “Then I’ll walk with you back to your dorm.” Nope, Remy’s trapped.

Remy doesn’t have any actual reason to refuse. So she accepts with a sigh and nods. She grabs her bag and heads for the door. At the door, she gets Cha-Cha in her harness and quickly steps outside, Logan trailing behind her.

The minute she steps outside she’s hit with blinding light and takes a step backward into Logan as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Remy?” Logan asks.

She ignores him for a minute, fumbling through her bag for her familiar sunglasses. Which she of course doesn’t have. Because she came here when it was dark out last night with a rushed back of minimal school supplies. Of course.

“Logan, do you have any sunglasses I can borrow?” she asks.

“Yes,” he answers, “One moment.”

He’s gone the next seconds and Remy keeps her eyes shut and sits down on ground, lying her head in her arms as she hopes for it to stop pounding.

“Hey,” Logan says, rejoining her. He sits down next to her. “Here.”

Remy holds out her hand and Logan hands her a pair of sunglasses. She takes a minute, letting the shooting pain in her head relax a bit. After that, she lifts her head and slips the sunglasses on, slowly opening her eyes.

“You okay?” Logan asks.

There’s still bright spots in her vision and her head hurts, but both are fading. Her eyes also struggle to adjust to the change in light, but that’s nothing new.

“Yeah,” Remy says. She waits another minute for the panging in her head to die to a dull ache.

She then stands. “Dorm?”

“Okay,” Logan says, “Do you want me to guide or Cha-Cha?”

Remy answers by grabbing his upper arm right above his elbow. They start walking, Logan guiding.

Logan makes a clicking noise as they make their way to Remy’s dorm. Remy just zones out and starts to think about how she’s going to apologize to Kai and Elliot in person. She texted them both last night, but Remy still knows they both deserve in-person apologies. She shouldn't have snapped at them.

Eventually Logan stops the clicking noise and reaches up to pat at his chest instead. He hesitates for a brief moment and then begins to talk.

“I’m worried about you,” he begins.

Remy just waits. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. But maybe if she listens- or pretends to at least- maybe Logan will voice his concerns and let her go.

“You are of course welcome to stay with us whenever you want. That isn’t what this is about and I want to make that clear. You always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay,” Remy says.

“Virgil doesn’t want to talk to you about this,” Logan confesses, “He thinks we should give you space.”

That means Logan disagrees. Remy wishes he’d just follow in Virgil’s example. It’s easier that way.

“I’m also not going to ask about last night. I don’t know exactly what happened, but Patton expressed that it wasn’t- that it was different.”

“Different than what?” Remy can’t help but ask. She regrets it at once.

“Different than what I’m worried about. Or maybe part of it? Playing a role? But not the main idea.”

Remy stays quiet this time.

“You don’t seem happy,” Logan admits after a moment, “I thought things would maybe get better when you were away from your dad for a little bit. And in a sense I think you are doing better. But you aren’t doing… You still seem off. Not only unhappy, but… You seem detached? I’m not sure if that’s the right word, but it concerns me.”

“I’m fine.”

She isn’t. She knows she isn’t now, but for some reason she’s still unwilling to share that with Logan.

“You keep saying that but I don’t believe you.”

“You’re saying I’m lying?” Remy can’t help but challenge. It’s not fair of her, but she doesn't want to be having this conversation.

“No,” Logan says, “I’m not sure why you keep saying you’re fine. Maybe you think it yourself. Maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe you are lying. I don’t know. Regardless, I’m concerned about you.”

“Okay,” Remy says. She knows that’s not the answer that Logan’s looking for, and maybe that’s a bit mean, answering in a way she knows Logan doesn’t want, but this is also Remy’s business so Logan can budge off.

Logan sits with that answer for a minute.

“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me,” Logan says eventually.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I doubt that.”

“I talked to Patton.”

“Apparently not about the things I’m concerned about.”

Remy shrugs.

“I’m frustrated,” Logan says, “I don’t feel acknowledged in this conversation.”

“I’m sorry,” Remy replies, “That wasn’t my point. I get that you’re concerned about me. I hear that. I don’t agree with the concern, but I hear that you are.”

“Okay. Thank you. I want you to talk to me, but I don’t think you’re going to do that.”

“Yeah, I’m not,” Remy says.

Logan and her used to be so close. Why was that all crumbling apart?

“Okay,” Logan said, “That’s one of the many things that’s concerning me.”

Remy doesn’t reply.

“Remy, will you talk to someone?”

“I-”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be me. It doesn’t have to be about the things I’m concerned about. I’m worried that you don’t have anyone you’re talking emotionally with in any scheme. Considering you’ve been through some deep emotional shocks lately, it concerns me that you seem to have no healthy outlets for talking about those things.”

“Uh huh.”

“Remy, I hope you talk to someone.”

For most of this conversation, Remy’s been numb. But there, for just a moment, she feels something.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Remy’s not going to, but she knows that saying she might will make Logan happy. It’s a tradeoff, lying to get Logan off her back. She hates that she doesn’t.

“Alright,” Logan says, and stops, “We’re at the front entrance to your dorm. About thirty feet to the front door, straight ahead. I’m headed to class. Call, text, or visit anytime.”

“Okay.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

“No thanks.”

Remy doesn’t really feel up for it, and she knows Logan won’t be offended. She offers a handshake instead which is weird and doesn’t feel right for this conversation or their relationship, but Remy wants to provide something here. Logan accepts it. It’s awkward.

“Alright. Bye,” Logan says when their hands drop.

“Bye.”

Logan leaves, and Remy goes back to her dorm.

~~~

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heresince93 · 6 years

Text

Full transcript of Gillian’s Telegraph interview

Gillian Anderson is hard to pin down. Is she American or English? (Her accent slips between the two, depending on who she is talking to.) Guarded or warm? (She can be either, based on her mood.) Tough or vulnerable? (Or both?)

When we meet Anderson is English and warm, talking about the birthday parties she has to organise (she has three children, Piper, 24, Oscar, 12, and Felix, 10); and although she is very petite, wearing white patent stiletto boots and slender black trousers, she exudes the commanding charisma that makes her perfect for her imminent roles.

Rumour has it that she will be playing Margaret Thatcher in an upcoming series of The Crown, the Netflix series created and co-written by her partner, Peter Morgan. No one is confirming this, but no one is denying it either.

Meanwhile, this month she stars in a new Netflix series, Sex Education, in which she plays a sex therapist who lives with her teenage son (Asa Butterfield). And in February Anderson has another plum role: Margo Channing in Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove’s much-anticipated adaptation of All About Eve, also starring Lily James as Eve, with music by PJ Harvey.

The play – a modern reinterpretation of the 1950 film, which starred Bette Davis as Channing, a blazing Broadway star who is gradually supplanted by a younger rival – is about ambition and betrayal, femininity and anger, stardom and personal sacrifice.

Anderson’s is a bravura role, one that requires not just the cool intensity that we have come to expect from her, but also humour. Channing is deliciously droll, delivering endlessly quotable lines with comic precision (‘I’ll admit I may have seen better days, but I’m still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut’).

‘A couple of years ago my boyfriend Pete said to me, “You know what would be a great role for you? Margo Channing,”’ Anderson says. ‘So I rewatched the film and I thought, “Oh my God, how much fun would that be!”’

Anderson, not one to wait for opportunity, discovered that theatre producer Sonia Friedman had the rights to the script and was working on it with van Hove – Cate Blanchett was set to be Channing. ‘So I thought, “Ah OK, I’ll just slink into the background.” Then my agents got a call to say that she [Blanchett] had backed out due to scheduling conflicts, and there was interest, and was I interested? So I was like, “Yes! When’s the meeting? Now?”’

Van Hove, on the phone from New York, is equally excited to be working with Anderson. ‘Margo needs someone who understands what the theatre is all about, someone who can carry a play, who can occupy the whole stage, and Gillian can do that; she is a fabulous theatre actress. Although, of course, she became iconic for me in the 1990s when she was in The X-Files.’

There is something a little surprising about Ivo van Hove, an avant-garde director celebrated for his reinterpretations of plays and operas such as Hedda Gabler, Antigone and Lulu, professing fandom for a mid-’90s sci-fi series; but that is to forget the huge cultural impact of The X-Files, its quality and its ingenuity.

The series was about two FBI agents, played by Anderson and David Duchovny, who attempt to unravel various natural and supernatural mysteries. No one expected it to become such a success, least of all Anderson, who was 24 when she was cast in the show. It was her first major role and it made her a star.

She won multiple awards for her portrayal of the sceptical Dr Dana Scully, including an Emmy and a Golden Globe. But such stardom often involves sacrifice and Anderson was suffering.

The production schedule for The X-Files was brutal, involving 16-hour days for nine months of the year. Furthermore, in 1994, aged 25, Anderson married Clyde Klotz, assistant art director on the series, and nine months later she gave birth to their daughter, Piper. After three years she and Klotz divorced. It was while she was pregnant that Anderson started having severe panic attacks.

‘I was having them daily,’ she explains, experiencing palpitations, numbness, ‘hallucinations, all of it’. Things didn’t get better once Piper was born. ‘I was a young mother, and shortly after that we were separating, and I was working these crazy hours. I remember periods of time when I was just crying, my make-up was being done over and over again and I was not able to stop crying.’

Anderson sought solace in meditation. ‘I went to somebody and there was a meditation we did together. We went to some quite dark places and I got to see that I could still survive those dark places, I was stronger than they were, and after that the panic attacks stopped.’

Anderson had been having panic attacks, on and off, ‘since high school’. As a teenager she was a daydreamer and a troublemaker who felt different from her peers in Michigan because of her childhood in Harringay, having left the ‘incy-bincy flat with a bathroom outside’ that she and her parents lived in when she was 11 years old, when her family moved back to the US.

‘I started falling in with groups and trying to fit in, until it got to the point when it was like, “I don’t f—ing want to fit in. I want to look completely different to all of you, and stop staring at me because I have a mohawk.” I’d shave the sides of my head with a razor blade and dye my hair different colours.’

Anderson’s parents, Rosemary and Ed, were living in Chicago and were both just 26 when she was born. Soon afterwards the family moved to London so Ed could attend film school, while Rosemary worked as a computer programmer.

‘My parents were working very hard and would often work late. I have lots of memories of playing by myself in the back garden and searching for friends in the neighbourhood because I didn’t have siblings.’

After moving back to America, Rosemary and Ed had two more children, a son and a daughter. Anderson admits that her adolescent waywardness might have been related to the arrival of two new babies in the house. ‘I made trouble and I got attention that way.’

Acting is another way to get attention, something Anderson learnt early on. ‘I remember being in a play when I was in primary school. I was meant to be a Chelsea fan. I started chewing gum on stage and blowing bubbles and got all the attention. I thought, “This is all right, everybody is watching me!”’

But when she reached 16 and started doing more professional productions in America, performing became fundamentally important to her. ‘I enjoyed the connection between performer and audience, the control. And I remember thinking, “I can do this. They are showing me I can do this.”

'It changed everything in my life, knowing I could do something. Prior to that there hadn’t been that moment yet when I found purpose and direction.’

Anderson decided that she wanted to pursue acting as a career and was accepted at The Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. ‘From the very start of school I didn’t go into the dorms, instead I found an apartment with a roommate in a funky neighbourhood. I was the only one who was living out of school. That is my pattern, carving my own thing.

'All through [theatre] school I dressed like I was a member of The Cure. That was how I was in the world, grungy, not considered, not mature. I was forthright and gutsy – I drove myself to Chicago in my dad’s VW van – but slightly falling apart.’

She always knew she would return to England. ‘My childhood here, the smell of north London, it has such a massive tug on me. I really felt, when we moved to the States, that I would eventually have a life back here.’

She and Piper moved to the city after The X-Files ended its original run, and she went on to have two more children, Oscar and Felix, with her now ex-boyfriend, businessman Mark Griffiths (there was also a marriage to British documentary maker Julian Ozanne, which lasted for two years, with the couple separating in 2006).

Anderson, as DSI Stella Gibson, was imperious in her white silk shirts and high heels, unwavering in her pursuit of the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan. The screenwriter Allan Cubitt created the role of Gibson with Anderson in mind. ‘I wanted Gibson to be an enigmatic figure. Gillian is a riveting actress, but there is an aloofness to her as well. Also I was attempting to reclaim the idea of the powerful femme fatale, without the fatale; someone who is aware that her beauty can be used to help her ends. That she is unafraid of that was radical.’

Anderson was deeply involved in the creation of Gibson’s look, altering the way she thought about herself in the process. ‘What fascinated me about her, and I feel that we were able to find that in the costume design, was that the way she dressed never felt like it was for anyone else but her. I don’t think I have necessarily changed the way I dress since her, but I feel like I am certainly more conscious of what I wear and what it says.’

As a younger woman her style was ‘messy, like a discarded urchin’. She would wear oversized suits and ‘floppy dresses that I had probably stolen from the thrift store’. Whereas now her look is sleek, and she favours brands like Jil Sander, Prada and Dries Van Noten.

The Fall was about gender, power and desire; and it was while filming it in Belfast that Anderson began thinking more about the struggles that women face in the 21st century. ‘I was reading all these statistics about young girls being suicidal and having such low self-esteem and I thought, “Surely, given everything that we know, and the fact we are all having these feelings, can we not start a conversation about whether we want this and how to deal with it?”’

This morphed into her writing a book, We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, with her friend, the writer and activist Jennifer Nadel, in 2017. Alternating between pieces by Anderson and Nadel, it details their own personal struggles, and includes practical sections on how to deal with issues such as anxiety and low self-esteem using practices such as meditation, affirmations and gratitude lists.

‘We both know how it feels to be in emotional pain,’ says Nadel. ‘Both of us have felt lost, and found a spiritual way out. Both of us have experienced radical transformation as a result of the things that we wrote about in that book.’

Cubitt and Nadel each say that among the most impressive things about Anderson, as a collaborator, are her focus and drive.

‘I have never met anyone with Gillian’s ability to focus. And she has a certainty about things, she is not mired in indecision,’ says Nadel. What this means is not just an incredibly long CV, but numerous satellite projects. Anderson has a line of smart, grown-up clothes that she has developed with the brand Winser London (‘I didn’t realise I was so opinionated about buttons!’).

She also works for numerous charities, focusing especially on women’s rights and environmental issues. ‘Because of my work ethic and also having had such high expectations, both of myself and other people’s of me, at such a young age, I think it became near to impossible for me to relax at all, to do anything that wasn’t work-related, so a lot of my later adult life has been trying to force myself to do that, and I struggle so hard, and sometimes I lose sight of it. So there is a part of me that wonders if I am slightly addicted [to work], I learnt it so young.’

The scant spare time that Anderson allows herself is spent ‘going to the cinema, to the theatre, watching documentaries’.

Piper, who has just completed a degree in production and costume design, is now living in her mother’s basement, and the two of them recently went on a trip to Amsterdam to see van Hove’s four-hour stage adaptation of the Hanya Yanagihara novel A Little Life. That might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, but Anderson loved it.

And despite all the seriousness and the self-examination (or perhaps because of it), she is good company, thoughtful and witty. She has, she says, got happier as she has got older, less self-critical, more self-accepting.

‘I am constantly reminded of the fact that I am not normal. But fortunately I have enough abnormal people around me to help me feel that it is actually OK.’

All About Eve is running at the Noël Coward Theatre from 2 February to 11 May 2019

#gillian anderson

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flexiblefish · 6 years

Photo

Source:[X]

by Gavanndra Hodge 12 JANUARY 2019

'‘Because my parents were American and we lived here in the UK, there was always a sense of not quite fitting in. Because of that I’ve always felt a bit of an outsider. I have perpetuated that because that is what feels familiar to me, it is what feels comfortable,’ she explains. When we meet Anderson is English and warm, talking about the birthday parties she has to organise (she has three children, Piper, 24, Oscar, 12, and Felix, 10); and although she is very petite, wearing white patent stiletto boots and slender black trousers, she exudes the commanding charisma that makes her perfect for her imminent roles. Rumour has it that she will be playing Margaret Thatcher in an upcoming series of The Crown, the Netflix series created and co-written by her partner, Peter Morgan. No one is confirming this, but no one is denying it either. Meanwhile, this month she stars in a new Netflix series, Sex Education, in which she plays a sex therapist who lives with her teenage son (Asa Butterfield). And in February Anderson has another plum role: Margo Channing in Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove’s much-anticipated adaptation of All About Eve, also starring Lily James as Eve, with music by PJ Harvey. The play – a modern reinterpretation of the 1950 film, which starred Bette Davis as Channing, a blazing Broadway star who is gradually supplanted by a younger rival – is about ambition and betrayal, femininity and anger, stardom and personal sacrifice. Anderson’s is a bravura role, one that requires not just the cool intensity that we have come to expect from her, but also humour. Channing is deliciously droll, delivering endlessly quotable lines with comic precision (‘I’ll admit I may have seen better days, but I’m still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut’). ‘A couple of years ago my boyfriend Pete said to me, “You know what would be a great role for you? Margo Channing,”’ Anderson says. ‘So I rewatched the film and I thought, “Oh my God, how much fun would that be!”’ Anderson, not one to wait for opportunity, discovered that theatre producer Sonia Friedman had the rights to the script and was working on it with van Hove – Cate Blanchett was set to be Channing. ‘So I thought, “Ah OK, I’ll just slink into the background.” Then my agents got a call to say that she [Blanchett] had backed out due to scheduling conflicts, and there was interest, and was I interested? So I was like, “Yes! When’s the meeting? Now?”’ Van Hove, on the phone from New York, is equally excited to be working with Anderson. ‘Margo needs someone who understands what the theatre is all about, someone who can carry a play, who can occupy the whole stage, and Gillian can do that; she is a fabulous theatre actress. Although, of course, she became iconic for me in the 1990s when she was in The X-Files.’ There is something a little surprising about Ivo van Hove, an avant-garde director celebrated for his reinterpretations of plays and operas such as Hedda Gabler, Antigone and Lulu, professing fandom for a mid-’90s sci-fi series; but that is to forget the huge cultural impact of The X-Files, its quality and its ingenuity. The series was about two FBI agents, played by Anderson and David Duchovny, who attempt to unravel various natural and supernatural mysteries. No one expected it to become such a success, least of all Anderson, who was 24 when she was cast in the show. It was her first major role and it made her a star. She won multiple awards for her portrayal of the sceptical Dr Dana Scully, including an Emmy and a Golden Globe. But such stardom often involves sacrifice and Anderson was suffering. The production schedule for The X-Files was brutal, involving 16-hour days for nine months of the year. Furthermore, in 1994, aged 25, Anderson married Clyde Klotz, assistant art director on the series, and nine months later she gave birth to their daughter, Piper. After three years she and Klotz divorced. It was while she was pregnant that Anderson started having severe panic attacks. ‘I was having them daily,’ she explains, experiencing palpitations, numbness, ‘hallucinations, all of it’. Things didn’t get better once Piper was born. ‘I was a young mother, and shortly after that we were separating, and I was working these crazy hours. I remember periods of time when I was just crying, my make-up was being done over and over again and I was not able to stop crying.’ Anderson sought solace in meditation. ‘I went to somebody and there was a meditation we did together. We went to some quite dark places and I got to see that I could still survive those dark places, I was stronger than they were, and after that the panic attacks stopped.’ Anderson had been having panic attacks, on and off, ‘since high school’. As a teenager she was a daydreamer and a troublemaker who felt different from her peers in Michigan because of her childhood in Harringay, having left the ‘incy-bincy flat with a bathroom outside’ that she and her parents lived in when she was 11 years old, when her family moved back to the US. ‘I started falling in with groups and trying to fit in, until it got to the point when it was like, “I don’t f—ing want to fit in. I want to look completely different to all of you, and stop staring at me because I have a mohawk.” I’d shave the sides of my head with a razor blade and dye my hair different colours.’ Anderson’s parents, Rosemary and Ed, were living in Chicago and were both just 26 when she was born. Soon afterwards the family moved to London so Ed could attend film school, while Rosemary worked as a computer programmer. ‘My parents were working very hard and would often work late. I have lots of memories of playing by myself in the back garden and searching for friends in the neighbourhood because I didn’t have siblings.’ After moving back to America, Rosemary and Ed had two more children, a son and a daughter. Anderson admits that her adolescent waywardness might have been related to the arrival of two new babies in the house. ‘I made trouble and I got attention that way.’ Acting is another way to get attention, something Anderson learnt early on. ‘I remember being in a play when I was in primary school. I was meant to be a Chelsea fan. I started chewing gum on stage and blowing bubbles and got all the attention. I thought, “This is all right, everybody is watching me!”’ But when she reached 16 and started doing more professional productions in America, performing became fundamentally important to her. ‘I enjoyed the connection between performer and audience, the control. And I remember thinking, “I can do this. They are showing me I can do this.” 'It changed everything in my life, knowing I could do something. Prior to that there hadn’t been that moment yet when I found purpose and direction.’ Anderson decided that she wanted to pursue acting as a career and was accepted at The Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. ‘From the very start of school I didn’t go into the dorms, instead I found an apartment with a roommate in a funky neighbourhood. I was the only one who was living out of school. That is my pattern, carving my own thing. 'All through [theatre] school I dressed like I was a member of The Cure. That was how I was in the world, grungy, not considered, not mature. I was forthright and gutsy – I drove myself to Chicago in my dad’s VW van – but slightly falling apart.’ She always knew she would return to England. ‘My childhood here, the smell of north London, it has such a massive tug on me. I really felt, when we moved to the States, that I would eventually have a life back here.’ She and Piper moved to the city after The X-Files ended its original run, and she went on to have two more children, Oscar and Felix, with her now ex-boyfriend, businessman Mark Griffiths (there was also a marriage to British documentary maker Julian Ozanne, which lasted for two years, with the couple separating in 2006).

In the UK Anderson’s career developed in a way that might not have been expected for the golden girl of ’90s sci-fi. She took juicy roles in big-budget period dramas – Lady Dedlock in Bleak House, Miss Havisham in Great Expectations – and appeared on stage, at the Royal Court and the Donmar Warehouse. But it was her performance in the BBC detective drama The Fall, starting in 2013, that solidified her reputation as the go-to actor for female characters who are charismatic and powerful. Anderson, as DSI Stella Gibson, was imperious in her white silk shirts and high heels, unwavering in her pursuit of the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan. The screenwriter Allan Cubitt created the role of Gibson with Anderson in mind. ‘I wanted Gibson to be an enigmatic figure. Gillian is a riveting actress, but there is an aloofness to her as well. Also I was attempting to reclaim the idea of the powerful femme fatale, without the fatale; someone who is aware that her beauty can be used to help her ends. That she is unafraid of that was radical.’ Anderson was deeply involved in the creation of Gibson’s look, altering the way she thought about herself in the process. ‘What fascinated me about her, and I feel that we were able to find that in the costume design, was that the way she dressed never felt like it was for anyone else but her. I don’t think I have necessarily changed the way I dress since her, but I feel like I am certainly more conscious of what I wear and what it says.’ As a younger woman her style was ‘messy, like a discarded urchin’. She would wear oversized suits and ‘floppy dresses that I had probably stolen from the thrift store’. Whereas now her look is sleek, and she favours brands like Jil Sander, Prada and Dries Van Noten. The Fall was about gender, power and desire; and it was while filming it in Belfast that Anderson began thinking more about the struggles that women face in the 21st century. ‘I was reading all these statistics about young girls being suicidal and having such low self-esteem and I thought, “Surely, given everything that we know, and the fact we are all having these feelings, can we not start a conversation about whether we want this and how to deal with it?”’ This morphed into her writing a book, We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, with her friend, the writer and activist Jennifer Nadel, in 2017. Alternating between pieces by Anderson and Nadel, it details their own personal struggles, and includes practical sections on how to deal with issues such as anxiety and low self-esteem using practices such as meditation, affirmations and gratitude lists. ‘We both know how it feels to be in emotional pain,’ says Nadel. ‘Both of us have felt lost, and found a spiritual way out. Both of us have experienced radical transformation as a result of the things that we wrote about in that book.’ Cubitt and Nadel each say that among the most impressive things about Anderson, as a collaborator, are her focus and drive. ‘I have never met anyone with Gillian’s ability to focus. And she has a certainty about things, she is not mired in indecision,’ says Nadel. What this means is not just an incredibly long CV, but numerous satellite projects. Anderson has a line of smart, grown-up clothes that she has developed with the brand Winser London (‘I didn’t realise I was so opinionated about buttons!’). She also works for numerous charities, focusing especially on women’s rights and environmental issues. ‘Because of my work ethic and also having had such high expectations, both of myself and other people’s of me, at such a young age, I think it became near to impossible for me to relax at all, to do anything that wasn’t work-related, so a lot of my later adult life has been trying to force myself to do that, and I struggle so hard, and sometimes I lose sight of it. So there is a part of me that wonders if I am slightly addicted [to work], I learnt it so young.’ The scant spare time that Anderson allows herself is spent ‘going to the cinema, to the theatre, watching documentaries’. Piper, who has just completed a degree in production and costume design, is now living in her mother’s basement, and the two of them recently went on a trip to Amsterdam to see van Hove’s four-hour stage adaptation of the Hanya Yanagihara novel A Little Life. That might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, but Anderson loved it. And despite all the seriousness and the self-examination (or perhaps because of it), she is good company, thoughtful and witty. She has, she says, got happier as she has got older, less self-critical, more self-accepting. ‘I am constantly reminded of the fact that I am not normal. But fortunately I have enough abnormal people around me to help me feel that it is actually OK.’

#gillian anderson #all about eve #nice article #a little more depth than usual

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