#they really became psuedo parents over the course of the show.......

[msnihilist]

Fairly Oddparents was fake af for always having Timmy's parents get along with Cosmo and Wanda in those specials/movies where his fairies were revealed. The whole POINT of the show is that his parents are neglectful at best and incompetent to the point of endangerment at worst, and I think Cosmo and Wanda (who love Timmy like a son) should be allowed to fucking rip them a new one.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Piper Sargasso

Piper Sargasso has 25 stories at Gossamer, but don’t miss her website where the fics each have cover collage art. If you are a fan of Mulder/Scully romance, there are a lot of MSR fics to read that are set in different seasons of the show. But like the show that never stuck to one type of story, Piper’s stories have variety, so you can also find AUs and /Other.  Big thanks to Piper for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It does, but I love that people are still into it! Writers back in the day put so much work and love into their writing, and it's nice to know that the stories are still being appreciated to this day. As for my own stories, it puts a huge smile on my face to know there are still people out there checking them out and hopefully enjoying them.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was such a positive period of my life. I made some amazing friends who became something like older sisters (and some brothers) to me, even though I was a little ridiculous when I was in my early to mid-twenties. It was also a much-needed confidence booster. I was a pretty shy person and loved writing, but never had the nerve to show anything to anyone. My first fanfic was completely horrible, but because of it I made my first XF friend and super beta, Mimic117. Between her guidance and the encouraging words from my Yahoo group I was able to do something I really loved and felt great about myself and my abilities for the first time. That will stay with me forever. That first story was truly atrocious, but it was a catalyst for great things in my life when I needed them the most.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I remember trying this cool new thing called an AOL chat room, but they were more interested in perving on each other than talking about the show. Once I knew about fanfiction I kept seeing that some of my favorite authors kept mentioning IWTBXF in their notes, a Yahoo group named I Want to Believe. I looked it up, joined, and with great trepidation made my introductory post. Everyone was so warm and welcoming, and talking to my favorite authors in the group was a little like meeting a celebrity and finding out that they're awesome in real life. After IWTBXF fell apart, an off-shoot called Beyond the Sea was created with almost all of the original group transferring over. I stuck to my little family there and didn't branch out into much else, other than the rare dip into Haven. Ephemeral and Gossamer, of course.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Mostly the overwhelming feeling of acceptance and confidence to write, something I was sorely lacking before in my life. I fell in with the best group, that's for sure! They made me feel like being a professional writer could be an achievable goal.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

The commercial advertising. The pilot spoke to my supernatural-loving, angsty 15 year-old soul. I watched it religiously every week. There was nothing like it. It was off-beat, but serious (most of the time) and fulfilled my insatiable craving for the paranormal and weird. You just couldn't get that from Melrose Place and Beavis and Butthead, you know? It definitely helped that David Duchovny was adorable and the character of Scully was the strong and intelligent icon we needed in the 90's and beyond.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

In high school I had a friend who was as obsessed with the show as I was. Maybe more, since she once had a slumber party that was exclusively to binge watch her taped episodes (the other girls who wanted to mess around with spells and the Ouija board weren't thrilled that she couldn't be swayed away from it) and she often drove me from play rehearsals in her convertible with the top down and the theme song blasting to the heavens, much to my delight and mortification. A couple years after we graduated she told me about the piece of fanfic she wrote. Insert a record screech here. What?! You mean there are thousands of stories dedicated to my favorite show? And hundreds more get added every month?! I was obsessed. If I could've stopped working and slept at my computer desk I would have.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Sadly it's nonexistent these days. I have great memories and it holds a big piece of my heart, but I haven't been active in a long time. I would love to see a huge revival, and would definitely want to be involved in that in some way, were it to happen.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I read a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction for a while, but I never could expend the kind of energy and time I did for the X-Files fandom. It came at a perfect time in my life, and so far nothing else has measured up to it.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Besides XF characters? Off the top of my head I really love Hermione Granger, Buffy Summers, Elizabeth Bennet, and Claire Fraser for their sass and strength of character, Severus Snape for his complexity, and Christina Ricci's version of Wednesday Addams for her pure awesomeness. She's pretty much my spirit animal.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do occasionally. I watched the series from season 1-7 so many times that I started to burn out, but I get on my X-Files kicks sometimes and binge it again.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

Like with the show, I'll get nostalgic and need to consume all the fanfics my greedy little eyes can behold until I move on to something else. It can feel a little lonely though, if you'll excuse the drama. We're not in the heyday anymore, so it feels a little like walking through a ghost town. Many of the stories out there are suspended in time because the show ended, or people stopped writing.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I know I have dozens, but I'm drawing a blank. My ultimate favorite is any well-written MSR casefile with UST finally resulting in RST. Those are my unicorns!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I have a silly one called Baby, It's Cold Outside that I sometimes read around Christmastime. It was a fluffy song-fic, but I can see the scene so clearly in my mind when I read it and it's just pure fun. I also like my Donnie Pfaster series. I can see the potential in my writing with those, which makes me feel I could really write something special someday. Plus, he's such an interesting little slimeball to write and read about. Bless his heart.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I still think about the two WIPs I haven't finished. I wrote myself into a corner with This Mortal Coil, and honestly I think it needs a total overhaul. I think Dana Scully's Diary would be a fun one to finish. I hate that I never finished them.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I think about writing fanfic now and then and I've had a couple original novels sketched out, but there are so many other demands on my time that I haven't gotten very far. I still plan to see the novels through, even if no one but interested friends and family read them.  

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I used to watch an episode and really study the actors' expressions and actions, always trying to find new angles to the stories we all know. A lot of times things would just come to me and I'd get so excited I couldn't sleep until I wrote a good chunk of it down.

What's the story behind your pen name?

The friend who introduced me to fanfic told me the best way to choose a pen name was to make sure it derives from the show. For a couple days I looked at the titles and summaries of episodes and agonized over just the right name. Finally Piper Maru and the summary from Triangle, which mentions the Sargasso sea, stood out and just clicked.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My now husband always knew, and he thought it was cool that I had a hobby that made me so happy, but he was never a reader. My parents found out when I was about 24 and my step-dad would tell EVERYONE about it, much to my horror. Most reactions were of the bland, "Oh yeah? That's nice." variety but I definitely got some weird looks from others. The worst was when I found out how much of my racier MSR stories my parents read. My step-dad thought it was hilarious and teased me a little. My usually open-minded mom was uncomfortable, but tried to be supportive. It's all fun and games until your daughter starts writing psuedo-erotica for anyone to see!

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Circe Invidiosa very generously hosts a page for me at http://pipers.invidiosa.com.

(Posted by Lilydale on January 26, 2021)

[ladybuvelle]

Bravura; Part Two

Likewise, the king and queen both had raised eyebrows. This of course wasn’t uncommon behavior for Lestara. She’d politely ask a dragon for its own teeth if she was in the right mood, and somehow or another would manage to come home with new trinkets to display in her museum of a house. Perhaps a fresh bruise barely hidden by makeup. A lady had to present herself accordingly, after all.

But the way she’d said it suggested it was Sona who was being so bold. And the king could barely hide the amusement in his voice after that.

“Such a bold young lady! You already take after your mother” he chuckles, but turns curious before lifting his cup to drink again. “Yet not bold enough to ask for yourself...?”

“Unfortunately, your majesty, she cannot” Lestara’s tone was somewhat more serious. “Sona is mute. So I would ask for her, if that’s agreeable.”

“So you’ve asked twice now...” Catherine quipped quietly, bristled somewhat by the whole situation. She didn’t ‘agree’ with this notion at all, but her husband seemed far more open and amused by the idea of some kind of psuedo foreign relations. A ridiculous thought, really. Demacia had little interest in expanding its territories, but that didn’t mean foreigners couldn’t join and come to admire and aid their way of life if they sought refuge from the unforgiving world outside the kingdom’s walls. The spearman guarding his back ever vigilantly was testament to that. Just perhaps in a different way than the young lady before him.

“I see” Jarvan III nodded once again, this time more solemnly in turn with Lestara’s own seriousness. He looked to Sona and gave an apologetic bow of his head for his ignorance. “That’s just fine. One doesn’t need to speak to dance, after all! Though you’ll have to first find my, ah, wall flower of a son I’m afraid. He disappeared from our side as soon as the music swelled and the floor cleared. It’s practically a custom with him.”

“He fled to the western balcony” spoke the spearman standing behind the king, taking a step forward to make himself better known to the group. “I watched him escape that way once the music started, your majesty.”

“Ahh, good man, Xin Zhao!” the king turned and nodded to the seneschal, chuckling again. The honeyfruit wine was starting to loosen him up. Sona could tell by the warmer tone in his voice. “I’ll have to have a word with him later on his stealth capabilities.” Even the spearman smiled slightly, though in such a way as he’d simply wanted to throw the prince under a carriage named Lestara Buvelle. He thought she was very amusing - so long as he kept on her good side.

“Good man indeed” Lestara agreed with a smug smile of her own, looking toward the direction the seneschal had pointed. The prince’s chosen perch was well-hidden otherwise from this angle, but he wouldn’t stay hidden for long. Turning to Sona for a moment she patted the girl’s small hand before letting go. “I’ll be back momentarily, my darling~”

Ah. Wonderful. More punishment. Sona couldn’t even attempt to stop her mother from leaving her alone with the king and queen. It felt as if she’d been left to die... Socially, that is. Quickly turning to acknowledge the couple again, Sona politely folded her hands in front of herself at her midsection as she was taught. Lady Catherine was still eyeing her in a way that Sona wasn’t sure what she was thinking, while the king simply smiled in a sort of reassuring way.

“Are you nervous, my lady?” he asked, allowing himself to sound more amused than before. “It’s not often women are the ones to approach men to dance, but your mother has never been one for such convention.”

“It was likely her idea entirely to ask our son to dance, wasn’t it?” Catherine added, holding her wine glass out for an attendant to carefully refill.

Sona felt like her head might fall right off her pretty shoulders. Never would she have expected a royal couple to speak so... casually. Though then again, she never would have expected to be standing before a royal couple. Her legs felt like jelly under her long dress, wobbling and musing thoughts of running away and hiding as thought they had their own mind about things. Otherwise she seemed fine, thankfully. A mute was never expected to speak, so there would be no trembling voice or awkward stumbling of words.

“Just be gentle with him” King Jarvan barked a laugh. “He’s my only son.” Catherine shot a glare as sharp as Demacian steel, yet the king remained immune. The more sour his wife was the merrier he became, somehow. Wine was such a curious thing. Sona wondered if she should have had a cup herself... She could have used the courage.

“We return!” Lestara announced herself again, briskly dragging along a very confused looking man with dark hair behind her. Lestara was nearly as tall as he was but nowhere near as bulky, yet that didn’t stop her from carting him like the strongest ox to bare Galio to war.

“Father...” he spoke flatly despite his joke, “I think I’m being abducted.”

“It’s for a good cause” the king assured him, gesturing toward Sona with his cup. “You’re to be this young lady’s prisoner for a dance or two.”

Catherine would have remarked at how Lestara all but mangled her son’s arm, but on the other hand if he couldn’t stand up to her on his own, how could he lead Demacia in the long run? He’d have to get used to people like Lestara Buvelle one way or the other if he ever wanted to be anything.

Sona and Jarvan IV, meanwhile, shot each other awkward glances. Though she tried to offer him a polite (apologetic) smile, the prince seemed confused by her silence. She’d made no effort to introduce herself, and she was also curiously... different. Her hair was blue, for one (striking) thing. Yet her eyes were also blue, and that was far more familiar and common to him. This was no Demacian woman, no matter what she was wearing or how she presented herself.

“Good evening...” he decided to start just as awkwardly as anything else that had been going on. “I am... ah... are you a foreigner?” he asked, clearly very off his game. “Does she understand-?”

“This is my adoptive daughter” Lestara interjected, gesturing grandly to Sona once again. “Lady Sona Buvelle. And yes, she is from Ionia. And she is also mute, you see. But she does understand quite a bit of Common now, don’t you my darling?”

Sona’s head could not possibly have nodded more mechanically than it did in that moment. The prince... didn’t seem convinced.

“And this, Sona” Lestara turned her gestures toward him with an announcer’s cadence, “is Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV of Demacia. However, his role as prince now comes secondary to being your dance partner! Isn’t that just wonderful?”

“Madame, I never agreed to-” Jarvan tried to interject, to no avail.

“And with all this running about and chattering the first dance has already finished!” Lestara waved her arms around dramatically and spoke over the prince. “If you don’t hurry you’ll wind up missing the whole set!”

Jarvan tried to look to Sona for some sort of help, but her expression was long-since resigned to this fate her mother had set. Even meeting his father’s eyes yielded no pity. Only mirth and a cheeky lift of his cup toward his boy. The two heirs were both being punished for their unsociable acts.

With a sigh, the prince decided it would be easier to get it all over with. It wasn’t a terrible thing to be pleasant and entertain a young lady, he just didn’t like that it all felt so forced upon him. As with everything else. But at the very least, he comforted himself, this woman was certainly interesting.

“Very well then” his voice steeled itself to a tone that better suited him, banishing any uncertainty and dedicating himself to this decision (even if it wasn’t his decision). If this was the king’s - his father’s - expectation, then he would meet it. He stepped toward Sona and extended his hand in offering, being sure to show everyone concerned that he was in full compliance. Sona, however, hesitated. He was tall, and broad and somehow very unlike how she thought a prince might look yet also exactly how she thought one might look, despite moments ago thinking how un-like a king and queen his parents were. Was it the wine? Perhaps it was the wine. Her expectations were at war with one another now.

“Eh-hm...!” Lestara coughed to snap Sona back to reality, and the young woman flinched and finally offered her hand in turn. She almost wanted to cry; she was certain her palms were clammy. Fortunately he had gloves on like his father. Small blessings. The remaining parents watched them go, most of them content with their little “punishment”.

Except Catherine, of course, who had to have an attendant gently remind her she was already on her third cup of wine.

[quantumrpg]

NAME: Ryder Dawson AGE: 30 / 1362 SPECIES: Blood Cursed OCCUPATION: Owner of Hidden City Cafe. YEAR OF ARRIVAL: 1902. RESIDENT FOR… fifty-two years. FACECLAIM: Sebastian Stan

t i m e  i s  a n  i l l u s i o n,  b u t  n o t  o u r  s t o r i e s…

Ryder’s life started with a wagon. 

His parents had mules, three to be exact, and as such they were the rulers of their small village because they could leave if they so chose. He learned to control the mules when they were attached to a wagon at seven years old, his father beside him, as they rode down the dirt path to the village market. His whole life revolved around moving that wagon but he found his happiness in picking out the foods; smelling the tomatoes, picking the ripest apple. He was not supposed to be in the kitchens but he would often sneak in beside his mother to watch her as she created flavorful soups from flames and a dark pot. 

By the time he was sixteen, he was well versed in the ways of their village. They lived beneath a mountain, so they were blessed with the luxury of rain and less snow than those who lived up hill. It was a simple life. One that he knew well. Even when his father died, Ryder did not feel a sense of gravity. He knew what he had to do and he did it; but now he could also work in the kitchen. Becoming the boss meant no one could question his decisions, or else risk his wrath. 

The town prospered under his control. For ten full years he reigned as a psuedo-king, and he enjoyed his work. He was a natural leader. Although quiet and reserved, he listened well and understood. He could see the way the town needed to move, or if the rains were too much how they could harvest crops a little further up the mountain. The plague was out of his control but it ravaged the town, leaving the people fearful for the fate of the town. When he caught the  plague, Ryder panicked. He had never felt such an intense fear grip his bones and turn his stomach inside out. He thought he was going to die tucked into his bed, comforted by one of his wives, when he heard the voices.

They sounded like angels but later he would considered them demons. Although they did what they thought was best, Ryder would never understand the first year of his newly cursed life. He rose, panting, huffing, thirsting. His bones ached for something that he could not quite put his finger on. There were others, too. Three, to be exact. But he was too focused on the thirst to do anything about helping those people, or even recognizing them. His eyes, burning from the pain of the unquenchable thirst, searched for the thing that might save him from this damnation. 

He found it in the throat of a woman, the first one he killed. Sometimes, Ryder still mourns her. He remembers her face, because as he feasted for the first time, not knowing what he had become or why he had become this way, he realized what he was doing was wrong. For ten years, he became acquainted with his fellow cursed and they burned the town to the ground. Even his own precious gem, was lost to their thirst. 

Then came the imprisonment. Of course, during his time there Ryder assumed the emotions of hatred; resentment. He was not kept alive on hope but by anger. First they changed him, then they imprisoned him as if he were their slave, and then they expected him to learn. To change. To grow. Ryder did not want to learn or change. He wanted to destroy. He wanted to tear down the world and throw it as far away from him as possible. In those years, for so somany years, he found himself thirsty for revenge. The other three looked to him, for some reason, and he allowed himself to become leader. Maybe his anger was what they latched on to, but, either way, they followed him and his ideals.

They were freed by a traveler and Ryder was thankful, so he changed him. On their hunt for the ones that had imprisoned them, Ryder changed many other humans. Before he realized what he as doing, he had built himself an arm army, one that he was in command of. They hunted for years, about twenty men and women, looking for revenge on the ones that Ryder claimed could change them all back. Save them. Give them new life. He never found them and after years of searching, of scouring Europe, Ryder gave up. They were not really what he was upset about anyways. No; he realized that much too late.

It wasn’t until about the 1800s that Ryder recognized he could not be angry any more. There was too much in the world for him to discover; to explore. Being angry would not change his situation, and although they were not thinking about changing more people, it happened. One was uncontrollable in the beginning, and suddenly there were ten new vampires as they began to be called. 

The years passed and finally Ryder decided to move to America. The New World had just been formed, and although wars ravaged the country, he thought that it would be rather nice for all of them to have a new start. Ryder bought a restaurant in New York and began cooking again, but this time with a wide arrange of foods that he would never have been able to fathom back on the British Isles, all those years ago. He loved his restaurant, too, and finally found pleasure in something that he had not had in a long time.

Then came the disaster. The Civil War tore his family apart. His home. While the war raged on in the battlefield, his life was ripped out from under them and they were all drafted; split apart and torn up. So many of his vampires died from those hell-bent on witches and wizards and magic that the small town they lived in in New York felt more like a prison. While there was a literal Civil War in the country, there was also one in the streets as people began claiming truths about Ryder and his family. He could not protect him because he was drafted too quickly to do so. 

When he returned, his restaurant had been burned and most of his vampires had also been burned along with the sun. He’d torn the village apart and then fled, running as fast as he could West, to be on his own. He lived in California for years before that fateful day, on a train back East, when he heard about a new spot for a restaurant in Connecticut. 

The liminal space was new, bright, and shining, but the early 1900s were not working wonders for him anyways. He’s been in the space for fifty-two years now, creating a new family, building a home that he knows would satisfy him. He does not really know what will happen, but he rules the vampires in the area, owns his own cafe that brings smiles to the faces of his customers, and that is enough for him. For now. His blood lust has died, but that does not mean that he does not remember the past. He has forgiven.

But Ryder will never forget what has passed, and since he is immortal, he has a long time to think about it. 

t e l l  m e,  a r e  w e  a  p r o d u c t  o f  w h o  w e  u s e d  t o  b e?

positive Imaginative: Even before he was turned, Ryder spent his life trying to explore the world. He was one of the few people in his small town who wanted to weave together words into those crazy things called stories. He figured out how to use strawberries to stain bread a deep red. He now shows his imagination in food, sweets, really, but he’s always trying to discover; to develop new ideas. 

Honest: He found himself often knowing just what to say and how to say it but Ryder has also learned never to lie. He’s truthful to himself and truthful to others and he stands by that motto. Ryder does not think he can be a good leader without honesty and so, no matter the hardship, he will speak the truth. 

Sensitive: Although many believe sensitivity is a horrible trait, it has served Ryder well over the years. He knows pain. He can spot even the smallest bit of grief now, even if it is woven gracefully into a smile. 

negative Regretful: Ryder’s past is not behind him. He finds constant agony in remembering the things that he has done; constant doubt at how he has supported others in his life. He hates it but he regrets what he had become, even if it was only for a little while.

Reserved: Breaking down the shell of a broken down man is a difficult thing to do. Ryder clings to his walls because they are the last things still standing. Unless spoken to or unless he has to, he does not open up much.

Cynical: Ryder does not see the world in a positive light. He knows what it has done to him and he knows what it will do to others. He’s not necessarily a debbie downer, but people do see him being grumpy.