#former gifted child anonymous

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XII. “exceptionally qualified, equally eager”

parts: previous / next

plot: you receive both celebratory and sobering news which leaves you reeling; back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne solidifies his entrance into society.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bad health news, cancer, chemo, grief, doctor’s office, shock

words: 2.5k

You woke up the next morning remembering the conversation with your friends, replaying in your mind. You kept thinking about how you told them you'd fucked Bruce. You wished you hadn't. It was wrong. But you were never gonna see him again, and they were never going to tell. It would be too embarrassing for them that they weren't the ones to fuck him, and would never let themselves be outdone. They'd let the world continue to believe he was a virgin before admitting you'd managed to sleep with a billionaire. Outshining them wasn't a possibility.

You swung your legs off the bed and rubbed your eyes before walking out into the hallway. It was suspiciously quiet, with the usual hum of the TV absent. You started when you turned into the kitchen to your parents holding a gift. It was a thick envelope with your name in sloping cursive, and your parents had hardly looked happier... besides when the anonymous benefactor, likely Bruce (you cringed hard at his name) has somehow managed to pay off the family's medical debt. "Here honey," your mother hurried toward you and you took the envelope. Walter ran in between your dad's legs and hopped up on the bed. You laughed and started opening it. "Even he seems excited."

Your fingers nearly cut on the thick cardstock. You pulled out a card in the shape of a graduation hat, and out fell a small slip. It twirled down and made Walter pounce, and you had a game of cat and mouse for a minute before you read the stub. Delta Airlines: SEA—GCA. You looked up but they just urged you to read the card. "Congratulations Y/N! Excited to see you walk at graduation. Love, Mom and Dad." What?? I get to walk? But how?

The next fifteen minutes indulged them explaining that they'd bought tickets last night and went to the store on the way home from their friend's barbecue. "After all the money we saved we could finally afford it. And your father picked out a beautiful hotel for us right next to the airport." The rush of positive feelings left as quickly as they came, lasting not a second longer than your parents shutting the door on their way out. A murkiness settled in your stomach. You didn't plan on ever returning to Gotham. Your parents had never been there either. You hoped you'd never have to deal with its hustle and bustle again. But you were their only child, and you were at least happy that they were happy.

Bruce sat in his wool overcoat in a small, stuffy office on a hard, narrow chair. His thighs were threatening to burst it, and the arms were cutting into his abdomen. He forced a smile to the school secretary as he waited for the university president to arrive. His eyes trailed to the cobwebs in the corner, the dusty books by the window, and eventually the stained carpeting. Our tax dollars pay for this? Alfred needs to know about this so he can get in touch with—no. He stopped himself. Those were his duties now, gone were the days of offloading all public contact to his butler while he kept to his sanctuary. Thankfully, GU's president burst through the doors at that very moment.

"Mr. Wayne! My God! Never in a million years did I think to see you in these halls." The woman was beaming, and Bruce stood up to shake her hand. Even her vigor didn't help the smile he plastered on be any less forced. "Pleasure is all mine, Ms...?"

"Janay Vry, former journalism department head." Her gray bob brushed along the tips of her shoulders. A thought sprinted across his mind. Journalism. Y/N. To bring it up or to not? "I heard you met with one of my students, Ms. Y/L/N."

She beat him to it. "Yes, I apologize. I was unreasonably busy that day. I hope she found another suitor." Y/L/N. Y/L/N. Didn’t quite fit you. It repeated in his mind like a mantra, and reminded him of combing through the commencement… She opened her mouth to speak, and his eyes snagged on an owl pin on her lapel. He'd never seen that before, and it stalled his train of thought.

"So, Mr. Wayne." Ms. Vry sat in the secretary's chair as she shuffled out, looking a bit nervous. He forced his face to remain pleasant as his mind began to investigate. Why was he drawn to that? What energy was it bringing? Did it symbolize anything? "What brings you here today?"

He sat up a bit in his chair, feeling the early stages of bruising as the wood tore at his sides. The right arm was snagging on a particularly thick scar. "Well," He never thought he would say these words, but he needed a platform. An entrance. "I know how late minute this is, so I understand if this is no possibility. I was wondering if I could be a commencement speaker for this year's ceremony." The shaky grin he mustered made him want to slam into a wall. This is so forced. Can she tell?

Ms. Vry had a visible, startled reaction to his question. "Mr. Wayne, wow," she shook her head in disbelief. "Of course, of course." Her smile could've reached her ears, and she started listing off the date, time, and gathering space for the speakers to arrive at prior to the event. "And of course we will amp up security. Yes, I'll get started on that this evening."

Bruce left the halls of GCU with a few pamphlets and a worn jaw. Smiling shouldn't hurt that much. He wondered how long he could keep this act up, and if this was all one big mistake he'd have to forever run away from. It felt like it, as his disheveled self jogged down the concrete steps to a fishbowl of citizens shouting and taking photos. Of course they found me. Christ.

He stared forward at the car, pretending no one was there. He needed this event as a more natural entrance into society. Announcing the Wayne's direct involvement in the city once again. He could imagine the headlines now and imagined how proud his parents might be of him. That was all that mattered. Continuing the Wayne legacy. Doing what my parents never could. He was doing the right thing, and he was utilizing the tools at his disposal. There were areas of society Bruce Wayne could reach that Batman could never, and vice versa. Why didn't I consider this sooner? As he sidled into the driver's seat and relaxed into the tinted windows, he remembered why. He loathed being on display.

The next few days you spent spending time with your family and journaling about losing your entire friend group. It hurt you, more than you even wanted to admit to yourself. Sure, they weren't very good friends, but it was scary staring down the barrel at your only social contacts being your parents. You scrolled around on Bumble for a few hours every day until you ended up hitting a week of being home and days of the most boring conversations you'd ever endured. Your dad had ordered another celebratory pizza, but it felt less fun to not have anyone to text about it.

You still didn't have many answers about your mother's cancer. Later that day was her second chemo appointment since you'd come back, and you offered to drive your mother and take her in yourself. Your dad declined, and said the three of you could all go as a family. It was nice he wanted to stay with her, but it also meant this was more serious. He likely wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. You tried not to think about why.

Pulling up to the clinic, you told your dad to head into the room with your mom. "I'm gonna talk to the doctor for a minute." You went to the receptionist and requested Dr. Righan. The receptionist directed you to a room just down the hall. "He'll meet you in consultation."

You waited anxiously to hear how bad it was while simultaneously indulging your last moments of ignorance. Her weight loss is unrelated. Her walker and wheelchair use is unrelated. Just aging stuff. Maybe she has a bad back like grandma. Yeah, that's it. She's just doing another round of chemo for good measure.

You blinked and it was over. As you came back into your body you saw the door swinging shut behind the doctor who had just come in and delivered the news: it was worse than you thought. Your mother was starting chemo to try and buy her some time before seeing if she got accepted into this clinical trial. "Your mother is exceptionally qualified, and equally eager," the graying man in the white coat had said. "Unfortunately, everyone else is too."

The drive home had you in a haze. Your parents were in the front seats still gushing over how they didn't have to pay at the end of the session, but you couldn't pay attention. The clinical trial roulette was a month from today; in the world's most desperate game of Bingo, random names would be drawn. Half would be assigned a control, half would be assigned the medicine. You couldn't bear the thought of her getting a placebo, but you couldn't bear the thought of her not getting in at all. The doctor had tried to taper her excitement, letting her know most people were not going to be picked. It stung, and left you in a haze for the rest of the night.

At about nine in the evening your dad went for a quick stop at the grocery store. He peeked his head in your room where you sat at your desk, furiously journaling, and asked if you wanted anything. Saying no, he left with an announcement he wouldn't be more than 15 minutes. Finally alone in the house with your mother practically since her initial diagnosis, you wandered to the living room where she sat in a large rocking chair, tucked into an enormous throw blanket. She smiled when you sunk into the couch beside her. "Are you excited to go to graduation?"

No. I'm not excited about anything. I want you to not be sick. "Yeah! It's really exciting, it'll be fun to be back." Your smile was fake as plastic. What if this was the last family trip? The last time on an airplane together? You wanted to go to Fiji, with the white sand and warm water for her to sink into. Paradise, not Gotham. She was genuinely excited however. "Oh I can't wait for you to walk across that stage. Your father is going to cry buckets. Buckets!"

That night you sat at your desk and scribbled more in your journal, now on your twentieth page. Why does she have to be sick. Why does it have to be so bad? Why do I have to go back to Gotham? Gotham. Bruce. I hope he doesn't find me. Maybe he will. He seems to get out more now, more likelihood to see him... ugh. Not the time. And the money thing. How do I bring that up? I don't even know if it was him. Maybe it was Alfred. I don't know. Ugh. How am I even gonna walk in my heels? I don't really want to wear sneakers. Maybe I should? Maybe I should just be myself, and stop trying to fit in? Who cares what I wear to my own graduation? Shouldn't I only care about my own opinion? My head is swirling. Graduation is so soon. You decided to stop writing, since it was getting nowhere. Just jotting down the myriad of thoughts clanking around your skull, and it was keeping you up. The next few days were job hunting, and you needed to look adequately rested... even if it was the last thing you were truly feeling.

No. No. And more no. Every business within a thirty mile radius hadn't even accepted a resume. It hadn't been this way before you left for Gotham a few years back. Your parents were all happy little birds back at home, basking in the glory of having their medical debt paid. "You don't have to worry about getting a job right now hun," your dad had said a few days prior. "Let yourself relax." But you couldn't. Having the money burden gone was a massive relief, sure, but it was a material thing, and you were grappling with potentially having to lose someone. A parent. A mother. There was hardly space for rejoicing.

The morning of graduation you'd forgotten all about it, being woken at four in the morning to head to the airport. The time difference, shit. Your mother's friend from church was dropping you all off, babbling on and on about the local gossip. "And oh my stars, you just wouldn't believe the old Scott girl. Baby number two. With TWO fathers!" You attempted to drown her out via some self-soothing humming, which only drew the attention to you. "And you missy! Why, you're not twenty-six without a ring on your finger! Meet anyone in..." she paused and visibly shuddered, spitting out the word Gotham to finish her pestering. You suppressed an eyeroll. Gotham would eat her alive.

You successfully dodged succeeding questions and found yourself at arrivals. Your parents had a fast-pass through TSA, making boarding surprisingly pleasant. You sat between your mom and dad, trying not to think about landing in a city you thought you'd left far behind.

"Good afternoon passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We are pulling into the terminal in approximately three minutes, so please prepare for landing. Weather is partly-cloudy, with a high of sixty degrees. It is 3pm local time. Thank you for flying with Delta Airlines." Your dad awoke with a strong snore, your mom rustling in her light sleep. "Oh my, already?" She yawned, rolling up her knit blanket into her carry on. "Honey, do they have the wheelchair ready?"

Wheelchair? You still weren't used to it. Wheelchairs aren't bad, you reminded. They're accessible. They help. It doesn't mean she's gonna drop dead tomorrow. Soon enough your dad was helping her into a cab while you wrestled with her chair and the luggage in the backseat of the accessible Uber. The smell stung your nostrils, the familiar taste of copper. The streets were mostly dry, as dry as they could ever get in the city. As you climbed into the passenger seat you briefly thought of the taut leather binding trimming Bruce's car's interior. Stop it. He doesn't exist.

[precious-silly-thing]

dancing this weekend

trying to capture the sediment of the experience. what remains after something has happened? only our memories.

the precipitate of every memorable moment results when image (thought) becomes speech (word).

dj’ing seems to depend on weaving surprise into tradition. how do you make someone hear a song for the first time again? change is an indisputable quality of first-time experiences.

it is impossible to detect change in the present.

change is both artifact and gift. it contains what you don’t need anymore.

it was great to be fucked up there. but also wanted some part of my experience to remain private. selfishly wanting the group to only be performing for me.

peaking, my vision was extremely decelerated. the dj sets felt like early animation from my pure eyes.

kept thinking i took too much and was going to fall down. i was wobbly, gestural, indeterminate and uncertain, like an ink drawing.

in my early twenties i was called a good dancer, and for certain moments during their set, i regained my former glory.

at times, i felt afraid, because it’s dark and i no longer possessed complete control over my body. i became anonymous.

anonymity is a fabulous process, a feigned amnesia, where one presents one self as having forgotten who one is, as in the case of pseudonyms.

dancing is fantastic when you forget yourself, moving like an animal. we admire animals for their seeming lack of self-consciousness. look, says the animal, i don’t understand or know, but that doesn’t stop me from doing.

animals sound repetitive when compared with the framework of human language and speech. there is only so much complexity we allow the Other. reduction is a visual process found in child drawings and stars seen from a distance.

according to my friend, i was dancing the whole time. i thought the world was becoming a painting.

my consciousness would be inward-facing and outward-facing at different moments.

my body: mine, not mine. in the dark we forget about propriety.

the elision of boundaries. bumping into people and its okay. this couple’s like grinding on each other and like bumping into me and i’m okay with it.

i was like a child again

like being lost in a grocery store.

everything felt new.

mirror stage.

it’s a calm lil vibe.

[lilolilyr]

For "Being Known" (Helena writer, Myka actress): 2 and 3, 6 and/or 7 (whichever you like better, or both), and 9!

Ah, thank you! My longest Bering and Wells fic to date :D

Moodboard & header for the fic, and Here's the ask meme

2. How did you come up with the idea?

It was part of a gift exchange, and my giftee had asked for a pop culture AU, with some fusion prompts for fandoms I didn't know very well - so instead of trying to find out enough about eg Buffy the Vampire Slayer to write a fic in that world, I asked whether a celebrity AU would work, and here we are!

3. Did the idea change at all by the time the fic was complete?

I expanded my initial idea a lot - adding Steve, Leena, Artie, Caturanga, Jane and Amanda, I'm pretty sure initially it was just supposed to be HG and Myka with side characters Claudia and Pete. I don't remember exactly what the plan was and what came later, apart from having the idea of Helena's conflict about wanting to remain anonymous while being passionate about something that could bring her a lot of fame early on...I'll have to see whether I still have my initial draft somewhere and I can add it at the end of the post, I tend to write in messages on telegram and copy paste them to an ao3 draft or word doc once I start editing, so the messages should still be the original first draft.

I think I was unsure whether or not I should add an AU-ified Christina related backstory and work that into part of the reason for Helena's reluctance over fame, I had several ideas about her own childhood, her knowing a child something happened to, or actually writing Christina into her backstory... I went back and forth between Christina being a child star and Helena herself being one, I think in the end I just made Helena one because it worked better for the story though I would have liked to have more Christina backstory, but oh well, kill your darlings.

6. How did you decide what tense and POV(s)to use? / 7. How did you decide what character(s) would narrate the fic?

Honestly, I rarely decide that kind of thing consciously - I guess if you want to write something commercially there are lots of things to consider, but I write for fun and I'll write wherever my ideas bring me. Sometimes I'll notice a scene works better from a different POV and I change it, but usually it just happens one way and then it's fine to leave it as is

In this case I think I immediately knew it would mainly be Helena's POV because it's really her story I wanted to tell.

9. Did you get stuck at any point? How did you get past that?

Claudia! Hah, I mean I didn't get stuck on her, but that I used her to get past difficult scenes, giving Helena a much needed push! Especially near the end, when it comes to Helena accepting the possibility of a relationship between her and Myka.

Thank you so much for the ask! This was fun to talk about :)

.

This is my draft for the fic, the way it was written (in a messenger chat with just myself in it, as I start most fics) in one go, before making any edits at all!

You'll notice a lot of 'xx' markers - because there aren't really any words with that, it's easy to search a text for that later on, so whenever I know I still need to fix something - add a sentence, translate a word, edit bullet points into paragraph, add entire scenes - I write XX to mark it for later.

wip bering and wells author actress AU for anandabrat

Working title The Perfect Warrior

HG (former child actor turned?) writer under pseudonym hiding from fame (bc burned out from kid fame?), slowly getting back into acting, does improv for fun

Myka either star there to help 'learning' amateur actors for xxkomparsen? Or she's a newcomer and HG is back on film?

Claudia's HG's friend, Pete Myka's

ohhh what about Helena's book being verfilmt & Myka main role, HG making sure she won't be overwhelmed..

xxx

xxflashback seven months prior

"H.G., I'm coming in!"

Helena covers her head with a pillow when she hears Claudia Donovan's shouting from the backyard before a well-aimed kick against the old garden door has it fling open.

"Breaking and entering, really?" Helena's muffled voice lets Claudia know where she is. "I would have thought that petty crime is belowxx you."

"Come oooon," Claudia pulls the pillow from her face and Helena is left squinting at the sudden light. "We're going out! A friend of mine has a gallery opening, and there's bound to be a crowd of interesting people there!"

"I can't," Helena grouches. "I have to write, I still haven't finished either of those silly sequels my agents want me to work on."

"Riiight," Claudia nods, juggling the pillow between her hands. "Because that's what you were doing right now. Writing."

"Oh, cut the sarcasm." Helena growls. She is in a bad enough mood without Claudia butting in and making it worse.

"Alright then." Instead of backing down, Claudia throws the pillow onto the bed and, hands on her hips, stares Helena down. "I'll speak xxklartext. You're wasting away here, H.G.! You hate the books you're supposed to write, you refuse to write anything else either, you haven't seen any of our friends in months and now you're getting your groceries delivered so you don't even have to leave the house? That's the final straw!"

"Who snitched on me," Helena xx Leena?sbcanonordontmention

"It'll be good for you," Claudia insists. "You can dazzle everyone with your Wikipedia brain, and maybe you'll meet a xxverleger who wants to publish one of your weirder novellas. Come on, get up. get up, if not for yourself then do it for me because there's no way I'll go schmooze with the rich and famous all on my own!"

"I still cannot believe you managed to talk me into this," Helena sighs, looking at the xx and bustle around her.

"I'm up, I'm up," Helena sighs and avoidsxxausweichen Claudia's attempt to pull her from the bed by sitting up. "Alright, what exactly is this opening we're going to?"

...

Laughing, herxxfriend Claudia bumps their elbows together. "You better believe it, there's no getting out of it now! And this will be good for you! xx I'm happy for you, H.G., this is a dream come true!" She twirls around without missing a step, taking it all in.

"The fact that it makes you xxgoodposition takes no part in it, I'm sure." Helena deflects. She doesn't want to admit that Claudia is right and she is thrilled to have her characters coming to life for the big screen - nor does she want it known that, despite all the negotiations and concessions on side of the production studio, she is still afraid that she won't recognise the world she created once the movie is done. Will they do justice to the worlds of trees and cogwheels, to the unseeing creator and the warrior with the unruly hair? Will they listen to Helena when she has suggestions, will the stick to the details from the book, will it even be possible to transfer it to the new medium?

This and more goes through Helena's mind as she lets Claudia drag her along over the big parking lot and storage area, past trucks with equipment and the xxvans for cast and crew towards the xxhall.

first time sees Myka - the perfect xxcharactername warrior.

xx looks after her xx her hair xx in the wind, a sharp edge to her big brown eyes that negates anything childish about their shape, xx stepping out of the camper

xx C hey, we're not here to flirt! Can't believe I need to say that to you, you're like, the least likely person xx xx pretty girl

xx not what - I mean yes beautiful, but not what that wasabout -

xx oh /beauuutiful

xx shut up Donovan

xx later sees Myka in makeup all *sideeye* what did you do to my xxcharactername

argument - need makeup! Looks silly on camera without, different than irl!

HG: well if so, just makeup that makes it look decent with the lights and closeups, NOT that kind of obvious eye makeup, and who had the idea that a warrior in a cyberpunk dystopia would need a bold red lip? Or shaved pits?

xx Myka uncomfortable, thinks she has done something wrong, especially when sent back out in the middle of the scene, doesn't notice the argument

co-star Pete tries to comfort her

xxMyka thinks maybe this was bad idea, should quit

xx HG will Not lose my warrior!

(xx Myka in trouble

xx HG kann wen zusammenscheißen, makes sure Myka's fine)

xx from then on Helena trying to keep an eye on Myka, asks how she's dealing with the pressure, what her plans are for if she'll be famous after this project, whether she has a good agent to protect her interests, etc... (eg where u live? city apartment...

H:security? M:none?? H:myself, nature away from most people M: wish could affort...)

Myka: know you're just doing this because you think I'm a good fit for the character and you don't want it to be ruined by me quitting, but I still really appreciate

HG: what?? No, am doing this - well, would for everyone! Know how it is, when I was a kid... nevermind. But, care about you too

Myka finds out why HG is so wary about fame

go to premiere together - "don't have to hold a speech, don't even have to tell anyone who you are, but at least go as my date?"

As usual, I had a first scene instantly in my head, then started thinking quicker than I could write and had to note down bullet points so I wouldn't forget anything xD

Again, thanks for the ask :)

[bugmomwrites]

How NOT To Adult: Itsuka Kendou

I swear I didn't forget about this series, I've started college back up again and I think it's about time I update. Give some sense of normalcy as life gets more chaotic again.

Check out the rest of this mini series here

Two words: wine mom

She was a hard working responsible class rep, and now she’s a hard working responsible hero. She deserves a break.

When she takes a “mental health day off” she stays at home to relax and make fun of shitty soap operas while daydrinking alone

Texts the (still active) former class B group chat to let them know what’s up

“It’s wine o clock!”

“Mom it’s nine thirty am on a Tuesday”

A few seconds later a selfie appears of her lounging back on some decorative pillows with a fluffy blanket

She’s holding up a glass of fancy wine filled to the brim smiling like that Leonardo DiCaprio meme. You know the one

If there’s a party or event somewhere and they’re serving booze she usually gets to all the fancy/expensive shit before anyone else

Will 100% share with Kodai though if she’s around

Steals bottles from every PTA meeting to gift Shishida whenever he has to bail early

Drinks coffee black, but still has a flask of vodka somewhere on her person “just in case”. Girl in case of what? Prohibition?!

It’s usually in a garter with pockets and she’s not above keeping it close by even when patrolling

The garter also holds a small pocket knife, lighter, and a pack of smokes

Says “vaping is for pussies” like acoustic lung cancer is any better than electric

Unironically has decor somewhere that says Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss 

Offers to babysit your kids, takes them for motorcycle rides around town

If they’re slightly older (like at least twelve or so) she offers to teach them how to drive it

Not technically legal, but she’s responsible enough that nothing bad has happened yet, knock on wood

Might have left your child in a locked car by accident oops

Puts up a sign that says “the AC is on, he’s listening to Kidz Bop and has his favorite snack”

Your kid could be eating cigarette butts off the ground and she’ll just shrug it off like “he needs the protein”

Child leashes have saved her ass so many times it’s actually alarming- but “if it’s stupid and it works, it’s not stupid”

Shit talks her boss on her break, but looks out for newer rookies that feel like they’re walking on eggshells

“Yeah no you’ll be fine, but if she vents about her divorce, just smile and nod- yes Kevin I know it’s uncomfortable, but you’ve only been here 3 weeks you can’t afford to make enemies”

The former 1B girls get together every year for a girls trip, and when it was her turn to organize, they all went to Vegas

Orchestrated a Vegas wedding between Setsuna and a male stripper

After arriving home and unpacking, found an inflatable doll in her luggage. Has no idea how it got there, has never even seen it before

Regifted it anonymously in a white elephant exchange at work just to finally be rid of it

The coworker never took it home, they just dressed it up and had it sit in the cubicle, directly across from Kendo's desk

It gets redecorated throughout the year depending on the season, haunting everyone at their computers with it's cold dead eyes like the ghost of girls' trip past

The most memorable was during June one year, when someone had taken the liberty of decking it out in booty shorts, a cheesy tourist shirt, sunglasses, and a disposable camera

Her friends think it's hilarious when they visit her at work, but they can't say anything to her coworkers bc they all took a vow to secrecy. "What happens in Vegas" and all that jazz

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list!

@thatgirlgames

[brightstvrlights]

𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓 : 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘;

❝ Never be so kind you forget to be clever ... ... Never be so clever you forget to be kind. ❞

❥ welcome to marina, celeste beaumont ( cisfemale, she/her ) ! they are a one hundred & thirty year old banshee who resides in hyland park, They work as a forensic scientist and are said to look a lot like madelaine petsch. People around the island find them to be +intelligent and +empathetic, but also -critical and -stubborn. what do you think?

Full Name: Celeste Belle Beaumont

Age: 130 (visually 27)

Date Of Birth: 14 February 1894

Zodiac: Aquarius

Species: Faerie (banshee)

Parents: Pierre (deceased) & Genevieve Beaumont

Siblings: One older brother

Orientation: Heterosexual

Occupation: Forensic Scientist

Languages: English, French & Italian

Positive: Intelligent, loyal, empathetic, generous

Negative: Over-analytical, critical, stubborn, methodical

CONNECTIONS | PINTEREST

BACKSTORY (TW Death)

Celeste was the second and last child to be born into the family of Pierre and Genevieve Beaumont; a famous French pair comprised of a self made entrepreneur success story and a former model.

A small detail not many knew about them however, was that they came from a historical line of fair folk who had long ago chosen to assimilate with humans - sometimes to their detriment. This was not something they hid from their children but rather something they celebrated - and Genevieve was adamant about teaching them the importance of kindness to humans but also the means to protect themselves against predators.

It so happened that Celeste's parents were almost too good at assimilating with the human world and each sported a successful career that saw them away often. As an adolescent, she became accustomed to the many faces she met on a daily basis who helped her with her everyday duties; one lady to help her dress, another to take her out to the park, and another to help her bathe and put her to bed.

Occasionally, she would see her parents at dinner if they had a night off, and that was classed as a special family event.

In the absence of her high profile and high demand parents, the only face that brought a sense of warmness and comfort to her was that of her older brother Jason, whom she endeavoured to spend all of her free time with. As children, the pair were inseparable. Only a year and a half apart, they did almost everything together, and for a long time, they were each other’s best and only company.

When Celeste was a child, the family home was attacked by unruly hunters who had been tipped off anonymously and The Beaumonts were forced to flee, moving to Marina Island in search of supernatural sanctuary. They were able to find it, and for a long time they blended peacefully with humans and supernaturals alike on the island. Pierre's business endeavours flourished, as did Genevieve's career with her seemingly never-fading beauty.

Things started to change when Celeste was a young adult. Her peaceful sleeps were interrupted with death; just feelings at first but eventually blurry images that gained clarity as time went on. Every night she would watch someone die in her sleep, as clearly as if she was watching it happen in real time. She tried to explain it away but there was nothing to explain what was happening to her.

Eventually she confided in her mother who told the redhead what she was: a banshee. This came as a surprise to the whole family; there hadn't been a banshee in their lineage for several hundred years. Now equipped with the knowledge of her unique powers, Celeste set her mind to strengthening her gift in the hopes she might be able to save people.

While some of her predictions were sudden and overwhelming, nothing could have prepared her for what would happen when she felt the foreshadowing of her own father's death. It had shaken Celeste awake and she emitted a wail so loud it smashed all the windows in her townhouse. Before she could send a warning to him or anyone, he was already gone. She had seen it happen, and felt every agonising inch of it.

The police had deemed it a random killing and as there were no possessions found on the body, put it down to an unfortunate brutal mugging. But anyone who knew anything about the supernatural knew it was targeted. The pure iron blade that had been found in Pierre Beaumont's back was proof enough.

Celeste tried for years to find who was responsible, but everywhere she turned, she found nothing but dust and sand. Time forced her into acceptance and she moved on, but there's still a part of her that craves justice and given the chance, she would take it.

HEADCANONS

TBC

[scotianostra]

On April 10th  1512, King James V was born at Linlithgow Palace.

James was son of King James IV of Scotland and his queen Margaret Tudor, a daughter of Henry VII of England, and was the only legitimate child of James IV to survive infancy, he was baptised the day after his birth, receiving the titles Duke of Rothesay and Prince and Grand Steward of Scotland. He became king at just seventeen months old when his father was killed at the Battle of Flodden Field on 9th September 1513.

James was crowned in the Chapel Royal at Stirling Castle on 21st September 1513. During his childhood, the country was ruled by regents, first by his mother, until she remarried the following year, and then by John Stewart, 2nd Duke of Albany, who was next in line to the throne after James and his younger brother, the posthumously-born Alexander Stewart, Duke of Ross. Other regents included Robert Maxwell, 5th Lord Maxwell, a member of the Council of Regency who was also bestowed as Regent of Arran, the largest island in the Firth of Clyde.

Queen Margaret´s tempestuous private life complicated her son´s childhood, and after she divorced her second husband, Archibald Douglas 6th Earl of Angus, the Earl kidnapped young James.

For two years he held him captive, showering him with gifts and introducing him to a round of unsuitable pleasures. James loathed his former stepfather, and finally managed to escape in 1528, to rule by himself.   In the autumn of 1524 James dismissed his Regents and was proclaimed an adult ruler by his mother. James´ personal rule began by savagely pursuing his opponents and he hounded the Earl of Angus out of Scotland. James combined suspicion of nobles with a popular touch, travelling anonymously among Scottish people as the ´Gudeman o´Ballengeich´.   John Knox described him thus: ´he was called of some, a good poor man´s king; of others he was termed a murderer of the nobility, and one that had decreed their whole destruction´.

A highly strung, intelligent man who alternated between black depression and bouts of feverish energy, he had already fathered at least nine illegitimate children by a series of mistresses.   By 1536 he accepted it was time to marry and he chose as his wife Princess Madeleine of France, for he was eager to strengthen ´the Auld Alliance´ against England. The Princess was tubercular, and she died in his arms on 7th July 1537, seven weeks after her arrival in Edinburgh.   James increased his income by tightening control over royal estates and from the profits of justice, customs and feudal rights. He also gave his illegitimate sons lucrative benefices, diverting substantial church wealth into his coffers. James spent a large amount of his wealth on building work at Stirling Castle, Falkland Palace, Linlithgow Palace and Holyrood and built up a collection of tapestries from those inherited from his father. A favourite of mine that he had built is the gatehouse at Linlithgow Palace, as seen in poic two, showing The four European orders of chivalry to which James belonged.   In 1538 he married another French lady, the widowed Mary of Guise, tall, well-built and already the mother of two sons. She had two more sons by James but they both died in infancy within hours of each other in 1541.   The death of his mother in 1541 removed any incentive for peace with England, and war broke out. Initially the Scots won a victory at the Battle of Haddon Rig in August 1542. The Imperial ambassador in London, Eustace Chapuys, wrote on 2nd October that the Scottish ambassadors ruled out a conciliatory meeting between James and Henry VIII in England until the pregnant Mary of Guise delivered her child. Henry would not accept this condition and mobilised his army against Scotland.   James was with his army at Lauder on 31st October 1542. Although he hoped to invade England, his nobles were reluctant. He returned to Edinburgh on the way writing a letter in French to his wife from Falahill mentioning he had three days of illness.

Next month his army suffered a serious defeat at the Battle of Solway Moss. He took ill again shortly after this, on 6th December; by some accounts this was a nervous collapse caused by the defeat, although some historians consider that it may just have been an ordinary fever. Whatever the cause of his illness, he was on his deathbed at Falkland Palace when his only surviving legitimate child, a girl, was born.

Sir George Douglas of Pittendreich brought the news of the king´s death to Berwick. He said James died at midnight on Thursday 15th December; the king was talking but delirious and spoke no "wise words.", however according to legend, he said to to have uttered “it came wi a lass, it’ll gang wi a lass” (meaning “It began with a girl and it will end with a girl”). He died soon afterwards.   He was buried at Holyrood Abbey alongside his first wife Madeleine and his two sons. The tomb was probably destroyed during the Rough Wooing in 1544, but was later identified in 1683.

[free-for-all-fics]

Detective Tim Rockford and The Thief Crossover AU Prompt! I don’t have any idea how to describe this. It’s sort of inspired by Nancy Drew and The Silent Spy, Dante’s Inferno, and Final Destination. It gets weird. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! 🕵️‍♂️💎⚰️

Your past was shrouded deep in mystery. You later met and started dating Detective Tim Rockford but even he couldn’t find much on you. Your records were very minimal and bare bones, only listing the most basic of background information. He’d question you during the course of your relationship but you’d only tell him small details here and there about your family, your childhood, schooling, etc. Maybe you didn’t have any living family or you just didn’t know that much about your own history. In his line of work he’d met many people in similar situations, so he didn’t think that much about it. He trusted you, so he never dug that deep.

He was fascinated with a particular string of jewel thefts and spent many years trying to pin down this elusive and unidentified thief. When you became engaged, he showed you his research and told you his theories. Unbeknownst to him, you were one of the thieves he was so desperate to unmask. He’d never suspect anything whenever you’d randomly get out of bed to disappear into the night or were gone for days at a time. His career also required him to be on-call and leave on short notice, and he’d often stay for overnight shifts to get paperwork done and wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning. More often than not, Tim was away from home which allowed you to slip away easily. He figured your job just had similar demands, and he wasn’t entirely wrong on that. On the rare occasion Tim was home when you had to leave for a heist, you’d just tell him it was “for work” and that you’d be home as soon as you could. You’d kiss him goodbye, he’d tell you to be safe and have a good day, and that was that.

When you married Tim, you sent The Thief an invitation using a sophisticated encryption device so that his location couldn’t be traced and compromised. Although he received your invite, The Thief didn’t attend your wedding. He was still in love with you, even if you ended your romantic relationship with him years ago or his feelings for you were unrequited. He couldn’t bear to watch you marry another man. He instead left you an anonymous wedding gift.

Years went by and you had a child with Tim. When you got pregnant, you decided to finally retire. You’d settled in and grown accustomed to ordinary civilian life as Tim’s wife. You had a regular day job you enjoyed and moved on as best as you could, devoting yourself to raising your child with your loving and doting husband. You were a clever woman who loved your family very much, so you spent your free time making and hiding puzzles around the house for your husband to find and solve. When your child was old enough, you’d hoped to make puzzles for them too. You knew Tim’s job could get dangerous and he was often home late, but you were used to it. Married life wasn’t that different from when you were dating and living together. You still saved dinner for him in the fridge and patched him up in the bathroom or kitchen. You never regretted your decision to call it quits with the heists, though you missed The Thief. You still kept in contact, but stopped meeting him in person ever since you learned you were pregnant. As long as you were happy, he’d try to stay away and let you get on with your new life. Key word: Try.

Despite your retirement, your former heist partner (and possibly ex-lover) periodically called you on untraceable phone lines and tried to get you back in the game. For 10 years he was persistent but his efforts were to no avail. Whenever he called you about a new target he found, you had a feeling deep in your gut he was trying to entice you into joining him because he missed you too and was still in love with you. Maybe he thought that if he tempted you with adventure and roused your curiosity enough, you’d come back to him. He knew you’d never divorce Tim or leave your child, but he hid his sadness and disappointment well whenever you rejected his offers of teaming up for a heist again. To an untrained ear, the desperation and longing for you in his voice would’ve gone undetected. But you’ve known him for many years and can read his mannerisms, tone of voice, etc. You understand him better than anyone.

But one day, The Thief finally convinces you to join him on a high risks, high rewards heist. To do this, he lies to you about having round-the-clock protection. You’re firm with him in that this is your last heist. No room for negotiation. You spend many days staking out the place, plotting over maps, testing out listening devices and other tech, etc. It’s the most stressful heist you’ve ever been on, but you’re able to complete it and leave the premises with the valuables in hand. However, despite your success, you’re targeted in a counterattack to apprehend The Thief. You and he are caught in a trap; you get shot or seriously injured in a rigged car accident, and The Thief is barely able to pull you both out and get you to safety. He uses his skills and quick thinking to lose the people tailing you during a high speed car chase and drives you to one of your secret hideouts. You’re safe here and can lay low for a while. But despite your escape, you’re in bad shape - Very bad shape.

A hospital isn’t an option, so The Thief uses any clean cloths he has to try to put pressure on your wounds and/or to operate on you and remove the bullet himself. His expensive clothing may get stained by your blood and ruined forever, but fuck it. He doesn’t give a damn if he has to throw away these priceless suit jackets he’s worked so hard to steal. He can steal again and replace them. He can’t replace you. You’re bleeding badly and he does everything he can to save you, but you know it’s futile. You’re dying. Even though you’re married and he knows he shouldn’t, he still loves you more than anyone in the world. So he calls Tim for you and does something he’s never ever done - he tells your husband, a specialized law enforcement professional, his location. He tells Tim to get here as soon as possible and that he’ll keep you stable until his arrival.

Tim speaks to you, his beloved wife, for the last time on your deathbed. In your final moments, you introduce him to The Thief and reveal that you and he were the thieves Tim had sought after for over 20 years. You ask for his forgiveness for keeping it from him; you would’ve told him but just couldn’t. It was too risky and there was too much at stake. When you breathe your last, your best friends and men you love the most are by your side. They hold you in their arms together as they mourn and cry over your body. Tim has spent so much of his career trying to catch these infamous thieves, but now he can’t do it. He can’t betray you in that way by exposing you or turning in your partner and best friend. After watching the way The Thief behaved towards you in your final hours together, Tim knows that the other man loved you just as much as he did.

But Tim is frozen in shock when The Thief unexpectedly pulls out an ornate knife or uses a sleight of hand trick to steal his gun. The Thief tells Tim that you and he made a pact in case either of you ever got caught or something like this were to happen. In the event that one of you ever got captured or died during a heist, you made a contingency plan. There’s enough food, water, and other resources in this secret hideout to last Tim for months. The Thief tells your husband that he should probably call someone to watch over his and your child for the foreseeable future - This could take a while and he’s not sure how long he’ll be. He orders Tim to watch over his and your bodies until he gets back. Everything happens so quickly; Tim isn’t able to process what he’s said or react fast enough before The Thief either shoots himself or slits his throat.

In life, he was the greatest thief who ever lived. But, as tends to happen, now he’s the greatest thief who ever died. But he did this for a purpose: He’s set his sights on stealing from Death itself - The Ultimate Heist. Once he pulls this off, maybe he’ll finally retire. No theft can ever come close to topping this! He’s going to get you back - Not for himself or his own selfish desires, but for your family’s sake. Tim and your child is the only family you’ve ever known. You’ve worked hard for your happiness and were so proud of the family you built. Your child is but 10 years old, too young to grow up without their mother. And your husband needs you just as much as The Thief does. He’ll do anything to bring you back to the land of the living. He’ll defy and challenge Death, and even sell his soul for yours if he has to.

Tell the story of The Thief’s journey as he traverses the unknown and fights to bring you back to your family. Is he in Purgatory? The Underworld? Heaven? Hell? What and/or who does he see and encounter on his way to finding you? From here, It’s all up to you.

[newstodayread]

The "Yes And" Rule | Nerd Fitness

A few years ago, I attended my friend Nick's 40th birthday blowout. As part of the celebration, he took an improv comic, and we all must participate in the study of improv comedy. (I just felt the collective shudder of all the introverts reading this newsletter). We started coming up with fun scenarios and scenes to act out, and we learned about the most important rule of Improv: "Yes and." Two simple words, and the foundation for all improv comedy: Whenever a scene, sentence, or situation comes to mind, the ONLY acceptable response is: "yes and" Yes: Acceptance! I accept and acknowledge that any situation, no matter how crazy, is real. And: build! Just like a tennis match, after your improv partner hits the ball to you, it's your job to return it! Building the situation or scene. For example, if your improv partner says, "I'm a space pirate" your response might be: "Yes, and I'm the space police, you're under arrest!" “Yes, and I'm the first mate looking for a new crew, it's perfect!” "Yes, and my name is Captain Hook, welcome to Pirates Anonymous." The "yes and" rule is so important, because there's nothing worse than a bad improv partner! Like Liam Neeson Thethis short sketchThe with Ricky Gervais, (every time I laugh):

The Yes And Rules for Life

As a former overachieving "gifted child" with a somewhat negative inner critic, I've worked hard to incorporate "yes and" into my life. The "yes" part is built around acceptance, which is something I've spent the last two years working to embrace. See my previous essays on TheAcceptanceThe and TheWabi SaysThe for more. It's the “and” part that I've been focusing on lately. As Dr. Kristen Neff points out in her book TheSelf pityThelife is complicated and so are people: "Judgment defines people as bad versus good and tries to capture their essential nature through simple labels. Discriminating wisdom recognizes complexity and ambiguity." Nothing is as simple as it seems. Things are never as good or as bad as our brain thinks. So despite the voice in our heads that wants to judge everything in black-or-white, yes-or-no, good-or-bad terms... We must remember that life is a beautiful and complex mess. Author F. Scott Fitzgerald once said: The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two conflicting ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One must, for example, see that things are hopeless and still be determined to do them otherwise. This is my task for you today. Is there an area of ​​your life that seems black-or-white, and could use a little complexity instead? Nothing is as simple as it seems. Life is hard, and change is hard. AND you are a good person who works hard. It means there is hope. And Thehope is the warrior emotionThe. Also, please watch it TheLiam Neeson skitThe. Up to you. -Steve PS: Need guidance and accountability to reach your fitness goals? Nerd Fitness has helped 10,000+ people over the past 8 years with 1-on-1 online fitness coaching. TheClick here for more detailsThe. Read the full article

[petrichorca]

Almost 6 months later I'm back updating my 2024 fic list! I still don't know how to use Tumblr well, so apologies if I'm doing this poorly. D: Reverse chronological, from current back to April:

Darling, you send me (explicit, gentlebeard, 5.2k) is my first attempt at a Kinktober fill, based on 2 beautiful sexy pieces by Mahnaah included in the fic. Body worship, a little overwhelm, lots of love.

#OldManCrush (T rated, gentlebeard, 13k) with @veeagainsttheday is one of my favorite pieces of late. We were inspired by a Guardian article and yes-anded each other into this sweetness. It starts in the middle of a close friendship between newspaper owners Ed and Stede, when Stede goes viral for posting an article about his anonymous mid-life crush. Boyy did an incredible podfic for this and Lis made us a beautiful newspaper graphic for ch3.

Men on Fire (mature, gentlebeard, 9.9k) was written for AU-gust prompts of vlogger and porn star, in which vlogger Stede interviews porn star Ed, and they have a very cute fast burn. Illustrated (3 adorable pieces!) by Mahnaah and podficced by baby_kraken.

Sixteen (T rated, GarlicSoup etc, 870 words) is a modern AU sleepy cuddle pile of Archie, Olu, Zheng, and Jim. Written for Garlic Soup Week!

I don't turn off what turns me on (explicit, Ed/Stede/Zheng, 5.5k) with @veeagainsttheday is fab and does exactly what it says on the tin aka the tags

It's gonna be all right (T rated, Olu/Zheng, 767 words) is a Zheng POV missing scene from 2x8 where Olu cares for her. This just got a lovely podfic from Tipsy Kitty! Written as a gift for CC

No Returns, No Exchanges (explicit, gentlebeard, 12.6k) is a raunchy modern AU collaboration with @ghostalservice @clairegregoryau @trans-top-stede and @swashbuckling-sweethearts with interesting dicks, sex mishaps, and a podfic by LoopyDangerFrog!

Row Your Boat (T rated, gentlebeard, 3300 words) with @ferventrabbit is a missing scene following the end of 2x4, where Stede and Ed row back to the Revenge in separate dinghies. I love this one!!

the sweetest dream will never do (explicit, gentlebeard, 2600 words) with @ghostalservice is another Animorphs AU fic based on a NSFW comic from @theogem - dreamy monsterloving with alien boyfriends.

Cursed (mature, stizzy sort of, 1500 words) is therapeutic spanking + cursed red suit. Mind the tags!

Wherever You Roam (T rated, gentlebeard, 1100 words) is a sweet little Teach-Bonnet-Allamby family reunion at the inn. Baby_Kraken made a lovely podfic and cover art for this! made for you (explicit, gentlebeard, 4k) with @ghostalservice is a very smutty Animorphs AU add-on where Stedeth's morphing back to Andalite and his human mouth is the last to go. Based on NSFW art @swashbuckling-sweethearts gifted us and we couldn't not write something for it. Art included!! Go look at it!! Gay on Past Morning (explicit, gentlebeard, 11.5k) with @veeagainsttheday is a modern AU written for 2024 AU-pril, Bar prompt, where former child star Stede Bonnet and musician Ed Teach have a fast burn hook up.

Next up: Right now I am mostly working on collaboration projects of varying sorts, including a kinktober coming mid-October! Hope you're all doing well. <3

Hello, I am slowly figuring out how to use tumblr effectively. I thought I'd give an update on fics I've written in 2024, but keep forgetting to talk about here in a meaningful way.

As We Go Hand in Hand (explicit, gentlebeard, 7100 words) follows Ed as he processes the past few months while living on the island with Stede, massively in love but struggling with himself. I wrote it while feeling a lot of delayed grief around the (confirmed) s2 cancellation, and while it's sad at points it's also quite romantic I think. I really love this story.

Behind Closed Eyes All I See is You (explicit, gentlebeard, 5300 words) is a smutty PWP my dear friend @chaoticturtleturtle invited me to write with her. Stede lets Ed take the lead in a scene with some sensory deprivation, pwp, and aftercare.

like sugar to my heart (mature, gentlebeard, 4200 words) is a silly fic I wrote for my Animorphs OFMD AU co-writer as a birthday gift. Our blue four-legged four-eyed mouthless alien Stedeth gets foiled by a vending machine (based on the tumblr art of the giraffe centaur), and Ed consoles him.

like a bird (teen, gentlebeard, 3700 words) with @ghostalservice gives some backstory about Stedeth's life prior to the events of our 177k fic and features some very cute art of Mary and Stede's children (as Andalites, of course) by @theogem

Stede’s Cursed Red Suit as a Metaphor for Grief and Moving On (teen, stede + izzy, 1717 words) explores the squishy time of season 2, episode 5, and the dynamic between Stede and Izzy in season 2 overall. I am also obsessed with how Stede acts in the cursed suit. I find their s2 relationship really interesting so this is me looking a bit at that via a missing scene starting with Stede yelling OH FUCK OFF.

Calypso’s Dawn (explicit, gentlebeard, 1800 words) centers around how Ed made his boyfriend blush the morning after Calypso's birthday and how Ed feels about it. I love this fic. I've been trying to challenge myself to write more self-contained, shorter stories and this one turned out really well imo.

Life as a Series of Forward Rolls (teen, gentlebeard, 9900 words) features Stede running into his teenhood crush, the gold medalist in men's gymnastics from the 1996 Olympics. This fic also centers around a Barbie doll in Ed Teach's likeness, which @swashbuckling-sweethearts made an INCREDIBLE art of (embedded at the end of the story), inspired by my own 1996 Olympics Barbie. Silly and light modern AU!

Did you mean to do that? (teen, gentlebeard, 700 words) explores Stede's grief around Ed dying, even when he knows Ed is alive. I had no idea I would be so interested in writing missing scenes, but long conversations with friends have really ignited me in exploring these. (The length - I was trying to channel @brigdh, whose ability to write devastatingly brilliant drabbles inspires me, and I'm pleased with this one!)

Perfectly Ordinary Tuesday (mature, gentlebeard, 4900 words) with @ferventrabbit follows Stede and Ed deciding to get married on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday, and drag their inn guest Dave along for the ride. We split up writing the vows, and I balled my eyes out writing mine and then reading em's. This story is fluffy and fun, and it was a great way to start 2024. :)

What's next: I'm working on or noodling a lot of projects, solo and with different collaborators. Imminently, I've got a fic with @veeagainsttheday coming for AUpril on April 1st. Hoping to get something else out in April for @ofmdjanuaury's AUpril 2024 event, which I highly encourage folks to check out - it's for all sorts of creators!

@ghostalservice and I continue to think about our blue alien Stede and his human boyfriend Ed. Wanna Fly Away was such an important project to me while we were writing, and it's become even more special as folks find it. WFA now has art embedded in most of the 15 chapters, so if you haven't seen those check it out. More to come in that space.

Where was I going with this? Well, I suppose I want to say I'm still here. OFMD changed my life, and the OFMD fandom community is deeply important to me. I still hold out hope for a third season, or a follow-up that brings us more closure, but no matter what I'm still thinking about our pirates and will for a long time. If you read this far, thanks for being part of my community. <3

[radiqueer]

one fairly common experience of gifted children is wishing for pain. wishing you had some great big horrible thing in your past so that you can justify the pain you’re in, and so that you’ll deserve help. it’s exhausting and it fucks you up and to anyone out there who feels like they haven’t suffered enough to get help: you’re allowed to want help. you’re in enough pain. you deserve to feel better

[anonymouslylovesyou]

If you are a wlw, ex or current gifted child, eldest daughter, or you had good grades and suffered for it you now kin Teruhashi

[star-anise]

There has never actually been any evidence that being the smartest kid in your class, having an absurdly high IQ, or being designated as a “Gifted” child means you’re actually very statistically likely to become an amazingly pre-eminent adult, a leader in your field, an internationally renowned scholar or artist. 

I mean sure, there’s a chance, but it’s not like Every Other Gifted Child Ever is just going to go take the world by storm and you’re completely failing to fulfill your destiny by being... an ordinary adult who has friends, does work, stays alive, and contributes to your community in an ordinary way. 

Lewis Terman invented the Stanford-Binet IQ test in 1916, and is the father of Gifted education in America. He wanted to disprove the common theory then that child prodigies were “early ripe, early rot”, destined to miserable adulthoods. Beginning in 1921, he identified over a thousand exceptional children in California, did his best to get them advantages over other students, and followed them into adulthood.

I’ve spent some time looking over Volume V, his 35-year followup report, “The Gifted Group at Mid Life”. I’ll focus on the men, since this is a generation born in 1910 and the numbers for the women are depressing.

He doesn’t actually calculate the number of men in his studies who are “eminent” in their fields. I’ll be very generous and count them as though they’re all separate people, even though the numbers probably overlap. Of the 784 men who had kept up with his study by 1955, he describes: 70 listed in American Men of Science, 3 elected to the National Academy of Sciences, 10 non-scientists in the Directory of American Scholars, and 31 in Who's Who in America. He says that "8 or 10" have achieved international recognition for their achievements.

Put all together at the highest possible estimate, I count that as 122/784, or 15% who are remarkable adults.

He then reports "80 or 90 men whose vocational achievements fall considerably short of the standard set by the group as a whole"; this is about 10% of them. Footnotes imply these are often for reasons of trauma, alcoholism, or illness.  

He also notes that although his study has 40 artists and musicians and 34 writers, none of the artists or musicians had achieved eminence, and only a few writers achieved moderate critical success.

This is the seminal study of Gifted education, you guys.

Funnily enough, Gifted ed doesn’t tend to do a whole lot of longitudinal studies! Sure, some find similar things to Terman, but others find things like “13 years after a program for disadvantaged Gifted youth, 68% of them had graduated high school.”

These days the focus has shifted: Since it’s known that high-IQ children are disappointingly unlikely to win Nobel prizes (aren’t we all though), many people are asking: Which traits SHOULD we focus on to find children who will become eminent adults?

This leaves former Gifted children in the dust. 75% of the boys Terman studied were just... ordinary. They were businessmen, academics, skilled tradesmen, secretaries, salesmen, and cashiers. They were sons, brothers, friends, mentors, husbands, and fathers. They didn’t become international sensations, but they lived relatively stable, prosperous lives.

Dare I suggest that the education of weird and exceptional children focus not on the race to the top, but on getting them to adulthood in one piece? That children who learn at a different rate from their peers get attention and education that fulfills their needs not because one day they’re gonna be rich and buy everybody Porsches, but because they’re... children who deserve an education that doesn’t do them a fundamental disservice?

Oh, and if you’re a former gifted kid feeling bad about not “living up to your potential”?

Fuck that, you’re fine as you are. We’re the majority.

[distilled-prose]

Dear @cherokeeghostwriter

I have for years struggled with the same feeling of being taken for granted on Father's Day, and actually "taken for granted" may be too kind of a description. I think it's more like not being considered at all, not being worth the time to send a card in the mail, or even an email, a text. It has routinely made me quite despondent. I remind my children about Mother's Day, birthdays, Valentine's Day, etc., (when the boys were little I would take them shopping with me to get Mother's Day presents), but the children never extrapolated any of it to Father's Day. My wife never seemed to think to remind them of Father's Day (or if she did they ignored it). Not only did it leave me feeling un/under appreciated, it made me feel pretty much unloved. It's kind of embarrassing to admit, that a father would need that. Maybe it's us (current or former) poet fathers, but I think not. And heaven knows I don't need presents, don't need "things". A card with a few thoughtful words would mean the world to me. Because I was home this year, I did get a couple of shirts and a book of poems. The book I asked for. The shirts were a surprise. Cards were included. It was the most demonstrative Father's Day in probably ten years. But because the past many years were devoid of any expressions, it made me wonder whether the gifts and cards were heart felt or were they a result of a sense of obligation, a duty since I'd be seen in the week or two leading up to, or would be seen after, Father's Day. The only card-like note I have gotten in the past few years is from someone who didn't come by in person, @aliaspen , of these pages, who I don't even know at all. It was a shock the first year. It was equally shocking this year because I don't even routinely interact with that person. I don't know their name, their age, their gender, where they live, nothing. It's typical Tumblr anonymity. Our paths seldom cross, except on Father's Day when I get a message. I has always makes me smile. Anyway, for the past few years, I have had the presence of mind to pre-empt my disappointment regarding my own family. I send a Father's Day note to each of my children thanking them for making me a father. I tell them how proud of them I am, how proud I am to be their father. That typically takes most of the edge off for me, and allows me to appreciate the overall sense behind the recognition of the day. Last summer, when I was at the mine, even after sending them all a note, only my daughter sent me a "Happy Father's Day" email. So, I guess a man has to protect his psyche any way he can. I think we each have good children. But I think modern culture diminishes the concept that we as fathers need any affirmation. And here's another thought I've been playing with: Several years ago I read a book about an autistic child (although they never label her as such in the book). In the story, the grandmother has the habit of giving gifts to other people when it is her (the grandmother's) birthday. Since Father's Day seems to be particularly easy to dismiss, perhaps if I was to give each of my children a small gift, it would highlight the intention of the celebration. I'm sure your daughters would love a piece of your turquoise jewelry. They could wear it and tell people "My father gave this to me on Father's Day." It's the kind of juxtapositioning that might inspire other children to remember their fathers. I guess Fathers aren't expected to need much in the way of any kind of demonstrative love. Damn, if people only knew! But I know how much your daughters and your grand children mean to you. And though it's belated, you should know that you're a great father, and your family is lucky to have you. You're a good man, GGW. Keep the faith.

i haven’t a thing to say. haven’t had a thing to say, i should have said. not sure it’s helpful to share this, but i’m tired of looking at the empty space that once occupied this …space. i’ve plenty of nothing to share. oodles of it. like so much shipping popcorn/peanuts or whatever it’s called that spills out onto the floor whenever i open the occasional package, that occasionally comes in the mail. is mail an occasion?  i suppose it is at this point, considering that i am making/writing an entire post about absolutely nothing, and have taken you down a path with me, that leads to now -here. nowhere. if you’ve come this far you may as well know that i’m feeling a bit sad this morning. fathers day came and went without a call or text. sad is probably too strong a word, mildly disappointed. i’m mildly disappointed about a made up day that didn’t fulfill my desperate need to be loved by my own children. they’re grown and have lives, and children of their own. it’s a busy world out there.  well, the sun came out while i was doing -whatever this is. -call your father. he’s bored to death.

[kawuli]

While we're on the whole Gifted Child Anonymous kick...

My school system had one class from 2nd-6th grade that was for Gifted students, like I had the same classmates except a few people who moved away or joined later. Most of those same kids were in my honors classes through high school. (this made for ......weird social dynamics)

One of the weird parts for me was that most of the other kids had wealthy, involved parents who like... enforced homework time and helped with organizing projects and memorizing times tables and stuff?

Whereas my folks were lower middle class and grew up going to rural schools where that level of parent involvement was just... not a thing. "Do you have homework?" "Nothing due tomorrow" "OK" was about as far as that went. With bonus "why haven't you been working on this already?" when I was panicking about finishing some big assignment the night before the deadline...

So here I was with my undiagnosed ADHD disaster brain not quite realizing that ALSO, the Good Kids had project managers helping them out and I was freelancing.

[tenderwiki]

Because gifted children are able to consider the possibilities of how things might be, they tend to be idealists. However, they are simultaneously able to see that the world is falling short of how it might be. Because they are intense, gifted children feel keenly the disappointment and frustration which occurs when ideals are not reached. Similarly, these youngsters quickly spot the inconsistencies, arbitrariness and absurdities in society and in the behaviors of those around them. Traditions are questioned or challenged. For example, why do we put such tight sex-role or age-role restrictions on people? Why do people engage in hypocritical behaviors in which they say one thing and then do another? Why do people say things they really do not mean at all? Why are so many people so unthinking and uncaring in their dealings with others? How much difference in the world can one person's life make?

When gifted children try to share these concerns with others, they are usually met with reactions ranging from puzzlement to hostility. They discover that others, particularly of their age, clearly do not share these concerns, but instead are focused on more concrete issues and on fitting in with others' expectations. Often by even first grade, these youngsters, particularly the more highly gifted ones, feel isolated from their peers and perhaps from their families as they find that others are not prepared to discuss such weighty concerns.

When their intensity is combined with multi-potentiality, these youngsters become particularly frustrated with the existential limitations of space and time. There simply aren't enough hours in the day to develop all of the talents that many of these children have. Making choices among the possibilities is indeed arbitrary; there is no "ultimately right" choice. Even choosing a vocation can be difficult if one is trying to make a career decision between essentially equal passion, talents and potential in violin, neurology, theoretical mathematics and international relations.

The reaction of gifted youngsters (again with intensity) to these frustrations is often one of anger. But they quickly discover that their anger is futile, for it is really directed at "fate" or at other matters which they are not able to control. Anger that is powerless evolves quickly into depression.

[lemonsharks]

TUE said Laurent's father, Alexander Simons, had "repeated his explicit wish that his son should obtain his bachelor degree at the age of 9, which means that Laurent must successfully complete his bachelor within ten months for a study that normally lasts three years."

NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS OK.

WHY SO THESE PEOPLE STILL HAVE CUSTODY OF THIS NINE YEAR OLD CHILD

WHY WOULD ANY UNIVERSITY ACCEPT A FUCKIN NINE YEAR OLD AS A FULL TIME STUDENT.