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maliciouslycreative · 4 years

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So I’ve mentioned a lot of times over the years that I used to be fandom famous in a small anime fandom and I spent a lot of my time running damage control to an anti however I’ve never actually recounted the whole tale for you all. Buckle up and crack open a lemonade because we’re going on a journey (more under the cut).

The year is 2004, I’m 17, and in my final year of high school. I wrote a lot of fanfic back then, mostly for anime fandoms and around the time I joined Gaia I started posting my fanfic “Several Blows to the Head” which became unexpectedly extremely popular. But before I go forward I feel I should give some back story because some of you will probably get extremely confused very fast otherwise.

For those of you who don’t know about gaia online let me give you some history. Gaia was pretty much THE SHIT back in the mid to late 2000s. It was an anime themed forum website where you had a little avatar you could dress up.You gained gold by posting, playing mini games, posting in polls, or even just browsing in general. There were hundreds of subforums and in each of them a tonne of active threads. Another feature was the guild system. Basically anyone could create a guild which was pretty much your own themed subforum that the guild admin could decide the rules and who was able to join as long as they still followed Gaia’s ToS.

The anime I was into was (Bakuten Shoot) Beyblade, which at the time was an ongoing series. For those unfamiliar with the series a bunch of teenagers use battling tops possessed with the spirits of ancient mythological creatures and even gods to fight each other. Let’s just say it wasn’t winning any awards for amazing writing but it was a lot of fun and I LOVED my small corner of the fandom. It was pretty much your average shonen series of the time which meant that it had a main cast of 5 male characters (with a female lead added in the second season) and then very few minor female characters. The only actual canon ship was only made canon in a post canon addition to the manga that was not even released outside of Japan. So I bet you all are coming to the same conclusion that yes, there was incredibly bad shipping drama. The breakdown of shipping pretty much looked like this

10% slash

70% canon male/OC

20% canon male/canon female

Now to resume our story. I joined Gaia and headed over to the anime forum and found the main Beyblade thread. I posted an introduction and in it made mention that I was a fanfic writer and I liked slash. This was when I met C. I’m not going to drag her name as all of this went down over a decade ago and I hope that she’s grown as a person since then. If any of you are REALLY resourceful I mean the threads still exist. You can go find them and see just how awful it got.

C was a year older than me and apparently the authority in these parts on all things Beyblade. She was also a writer but in her own words did not write fanfics, she wrote and posted novels. She was pretty well known in the canon/OC circles and had a pretty enthusiastic following.

So when I came in to that thread and introduced myself I opened a can of worms. I was told that we did not discuss slash ships in this thread because it was not canon and it made some people uncomfortable. And ok, I can see that. It was cool. I was there to have fun and chat with people. I mean anyone that wanted to chat slash I could add on YIM, MSN, or LJ. However, 2 things started driving the knife into the wound.

It was not ok to talk slash but it was perfectly ok for C to discuss in depth her fanfics because it was an OC and obviously did not contradict canon as the stories were post (a currently unfinished) canon

People kept recognising me because my fanfic was exploding in popularity. So people kept bringing up slash and I’d get dragged into it as my fic was usually a catalyst for discussion.

To keep things from escalating us slash fans decided to make our own thread to talk Beyblade slash. Now, there was some divide in the slash fandom and people pretty much shipped only Kai/Takao or Kai/Rei but for the sake of everyone’s sanity we put our shipping differences aside in the thread and aimed to make it a positive space for everyone. I mean, most of us were multishippers so we tended to just be excited to read anything that wasn’t one of the 9000 OC fics we had to wade through to find any slash.

Whenever people would come into the main Beyblade thread now if they happened to mention slash they would get an extremely cold message from C if one of us didn’t manage to intervene first and direct the new member to our other thread.

The other crux of the problem was Kai. Kai was probably the most popular character in the English fandom and Kai was C’s favourite character. She had an extremely specific idea of how people should interpret Kai. If anyone came into the thread and made a post like “I LOVE KAI <3 <3 <3” she would be rather unkind to them making back handed comments about how the person only liked him because he was attractive or a “bad boy” or that if they didn’t have anything to add to the thread they should leave because we didn’t like spamming in the thread. If we ever started character analysis on Kai then C had to have the last word. After all she shared some characteristics with Kai and obviously that meant that she therefore knew him the best.

You all can probably imagine how well conversations went in this thread. I did my best to kindly welcome people to the thread, redirect them when they needed to be, and tried to calm down discussions when they got too heated. And if things got too bad in the main thread we’d just move to the slash thread and be super excellent to each other. There were days where C became so unbearable that her friends that didn’t even ship slash would come into the slash thread to hang with us because we were just really nice.

She was also extremely pushy with her fics. Whenever fanfics would come up shed be the first to suggest to anyone that they should read her novels. She even tried it repeatedly on the slash fans. Being completely fed up I one day made her an offer that if she read one of my fics I’d read all of hers. I didn’t even specify which fic. So she could’ve chosen one of my under 5k fics and I would have agreed to read like 200k worth of her fics. She never agreed to this in all the years of me dealing with her.

The worst part of it all was we couldn’t even really report her for harassment or anything because she was friends with a lot of moderators. The last thing any of us wanted was to get banned over some petty grievance since we’d lose all our hard work to making our avatars look fabulous.

If the whole mess in the forums wasn’t bad enough there was 1 Beyblade guild and guess who the guild admin was. The atmosphere in said guild could best be described as… tense. Anyone that wasn’t one of C’s rabid followers ran under the constant fear that they’d be booted for saying something that didn’t agree with her narrow view of things. My best friend and I were honestly surprised that she even allowed us into the guild. But she probably couldn’t afford to outright deny us as I was a pretty prominent writer in the english slash community then and my friend was also a prominent writer and artist.

Eventually we got tired of walking on eggshells constantly so some of the other slash fans and myself pooled our resources together and I created a second Beyblade guild. Our message was simple, we were just there to be a safe haven for ALL fans of the series. We were expecting pretty much the people from the slash thread and then maybe a handful of other people to join.

The entire fandom on Gaia over the course of a couple days abandoned C’s guild and joined ours. Whereas before we created ours hers was on a steady traffic decline our guild was BOOMING with posts.

Unfortunately the oldest mail I have is from 2007 on Gaia so I don’t have any screenshots of this but C was understandably upset that we’d sniped her entire user base. We did try to smooth it over with her saying that that was never our intention but it ended with her sending me a message that literally said “ok, you win” and this is something I still think about over a decade later. It forever shifted how I perceive antis.

My whole time in fandom I’d just been here trying to have a good time. I didn’t intend to become fandom famous. I didn’t intend to be in charge of one of the most active Beyblade forums at the time. I wasn’t trying to change C’s mind or fight her. And this whole time she’d thought I’d been fighting against her because we had different views on the series.

The last episode of Beyblade G Revolution aired in September 2005, her guild officially closed in 2006 and the fandom eventually started drifting into other things. I stayed active in it until probably 2008 when personal stuff drew me out of fandom and then officially took a leave from fandom in 2009 when my best friend passed away. I don’t know what happened to C but I know she was still writing her novels at that point. Whenever I see fandom drama brewing I always think back to her and how frustrated she used to make me and then I think of the “ok, you win” and I’m just left feeling sad for her and people like her. I just don’t understand how people can let their hearts be so consumed by hatred and self righteousness that it poisons their entire fandom experience. I guess that’s a conversation for another time.

One final comment that I would like to make here since I didn’t know where to fit it in above is that my one friend was completely DONE with C one day and we were talking to each other and she was like “she acts like her fics save lives in Africa!” and honestly this is the most perfect description of C’s attitude. Like good for her for believing in her writing but there is sometimes a point where you need to chill out with self promotion.

#fandom drama #long post #man i kind of wish i had screenshots of stuff that went down #because it was absolutely wild #and this is why i don't get involved in fandom drama any more #like this shit made me eternally tired #also y'all are welcome to rebagel this and tell your own tales #malicious musings

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gruumpy-cat · 6 years

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The Art of Being Nonchalant (Or Not) / Chapter One

It was the night of my seventeenth birthday party. I was trying to fall asleep in the Potters' guest room, which is conveniently nicknamed Quinn's room since I was the one who mostly spent the nights there as opposed to any other guest, but I was too buzzed from drinking and dancing and thinking, so sleep eluded me.

One of the drawbacks of drinking, I guess. Though I don't remember ever hearing other people complain about sleepless nights after a night out. I'll have to ask around.

Deciding that sleep is just not in the cards tonight, I rolled out of bed, threw on my shorts and a loose T-shirt since I didn't want to walk around in my underwear, and gently opened the door of the bedroom.

Looking out into the hallway I could see that everyone's rooms were closed and I guessed they were probably asleep like normal people. Ignoring the obvious problem with going into another person's room at night uninvited, I tiptoed into the hallway and did my best stealthy Faceless Man impression until I got to the door of the room next to mine. I was honestly surprised I managed to do this without making a sound due to my buzzed state, but I guess luck was on my side tonight.

Carefully opening the door, I snuck in and was engulfed in almost complete darkness, the moon the only thing illuminating the room since the Potters' home was pretty isolated from the rest of Godric's Hollow.

"James?" I whispered. "You awake?"

I could hear faint grumbling from the direction of his bed. I stepped around the clothes on the floor, probably unceremoniously dumped before he crashed, and came over to where I could see him sprawled across the bed in a position any sane person would classify as impossible.

But James Sirius Potter always did do things the impossible way.

I sat down on the bed and poked him. My poke was awarded nothing more than an almost imperceptible grumble. It was time for drastic measures. I scooted over next to him and sat on his torso. That woke him up.

"Merlin's beard, Quinn, why are you bothering me in the middle of the night?" James looked at me through half closed eyes as he said this. He obviously forgot that we do something like this every year. Or he was still a bit drunk, which was probably closer to the truth. I was in no position to judge him. But I could blame grandad and Ethan for buying the booze for the party.

"Bothering you?" I looked at him as his eyes cleared and he realised that it was well after midnight and what that meant. He quickly sat up and engulfed me in a tight hug. I could smell the familiar minty smell of his shampoo on his still damp hair and the Firewhisky on his breath even though he brushed his teeth. The smell of alcohol is not something cured by toothpaste.

He drew back and smiled at me. We were so close that I could see the specks in his hazel eyes even in the low light. I returned his smile.

"Happy birthday, Quinn," he said in a low voice as he turned towards his end table and took out what I presumed to be my real birthday present. We usually got something jokey for each other to give out with the rest of our friends and family, but the real presents came after.

James gave me a fairly thin, neatly wrapped present and excitedly looked at me while I tore at the black wrapping paper.

The wrapping paper revealed a cardboard box. You could count on James to wrap his presents the right way, no messy cuts or badly taped Spellotape and definitely no presents outside of a box if they didn't come in their own. I, on the other hand, was a lost cause.

As I opened the box, a cloud obscured the moon and suddenly, we were in complete darkness. I could feel the familiar shape of a vinyl record sleeve but on top of it was something else I couldn't recognise by touch.

The cloud passed and moonlight streamed in, allowing me to actually see the presents. As soon as I saw the vinyl I nearly squealed but managed to stop myself before I woke anyone up.

"You found it! I can't believe you managed to get me the first LP Sons of Tyr ever recorded," I exclaimed, "they're incredibly rare."

James just grinned at me "It helps when your dad knows Mundungus Fletcher."

I looked at him with a horrified expression, "Tell me this didn't fall off the back of a broom!"

"Nah, he just conveniently knows a lot of people selling a lot of rare stuff, including records. He managed to get me a discount on account of you being easy on the eyes," he laughed at what I was sure was a disgusted look on my face.

Taking the other present in my hand and seeing it for what it was - a black picture frame decorated with little silver Beater's bats and Bludgers and the two of us, aged eleven, flying together in my parents' backyard during Christmas holidays. I could remember grandad taking the photograph right before my brother Ethan threw a snowball at his head. I was pretty sure this was the first photograph of the two of us together. James probably had to collude with my grandfather for this present.

"Do you like it?" James asked after I didn't say anything for a while, just looking at the moving photograph. I looked up at him and grinned.

"It's perfect, James. Thank you!"

He smirked, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and said, "You know, I did like the other presents you got earlier."

I got up and put the vinyl and the photograph on his desk before lying down next to him.

"Oh really? Which one did you like the most?" I asked, turning on my side so I could look at him while we talked.

"My favourite was the one Ash got you," he blushed while he said this which was unusual since James almost never blushed unless his mum said something really embarrassing, like how he used to have a toy rabbit he slept with at home until he was twelve. He named the rabbit Fluffy and his dad found that hilarious for some reason.

"You mean the red slutty dress I would probably wear once a year?" I mused. My usual choice of attire was black jeans and a black T-shirt. I like the colour black. I would make a great woman of the Night's Watch if they accepted women and I lived in the A Song of Ice and Fire universe. Ashley Thompson, one of my dorm mates at Hogwarts, liked to give me presents that I would probably never buy for myself. I'm pretty sure all the dresses I own came from her one way or another.

He nodded, "Yeah, that's the one."

I lightly punched him, "You're just teasing me."

"Maybe. But I bet Al loved it. I think his jaw actually dropped," he said this in a lower voice.

At the mention of Al's name, I remembered what I was thinking about that possibly had a hand in making this night sleepless. I turned again so I was on my back staring at James' ceiling which was charmed to show the night sky.

"I broke up with Al tonight," I said with a sigh. Albus was my boyfriend for a total of two months which was certainly a record for me.

James snickered at that and asked, "Did you break my little brother's heart? I did tell him you probably will."

I thought about his question and felt the tiniest stab of guilt. Maybe I let it go on for too long before I broke it off.

"Of course I didn't! Al knows me and he was fine with, you know...me...," I trailed off.

"Merlin, did he break yours? I'll kill him if he did!" James' face was one of bewilderment and confusion as he looked at me with wide eyes.

"You know he couldn't," I replied with an eye roll. I was surprised he'd even think that.

"Why not?" He propped himself up on his elbows so he was looking down at me as he asked the question.

"Because I don't have a heart, James," I stuck out my tongue at him.

"Nice comeback, Quinn. So...why did you leave him? When did this even happen because I don't remember you missing any part of your party?"

I made a face. "What's with the third degree? It's not like you don't already know."

He plopped down on the bed again. I could see he was having a hard time between being my friend and being worried about his brother, however hard he tried to hide it. Al might be cool as the Giant Squid but James loved his siblings and he didn't like it when something was wrong with them.

I squeezed his hand in the hopes it would make him feel better. He squeezed back.

"We snuck out for a little while when you were doing your Gandalf impression," I said and winked at him, "but, unfortunately for Al, he and I had quite different things in mind when we snuck out."

"It wouldn't have been fair to stay with him. It was fun but he decided he wanted to talk about us and his feelings for me so I cut him off. This thing with him was just ... me passing time. Feelings didn't really have anything to do with it and you know it."

As I said this, James turned on his side, gave me an intense look and hugged me to him. We lay like that for a while in silence. I could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beating and it was soothing. The tiny pangs of guilt I felt about Al disappeared.

After what seemed like an eternity I could hear him as he whispered in my hair, "I know everything about you."

"Yeah. You do."

I woke up in James' bed the next day. The sunlight was streaming in through the window and I had to blink a few times to get adjusted to the light. James was still asleep with his arm around me. Waking up in his bed was not unfamiliar but remembering that just the night before I broke up with his brother made me realise it wouldn't look good if one of his family members happened upon us right now no matter how many times we had sleepovers before.

So I did what any sensible girl would do. I forcefully woke up James by alternatively poking him, whisper-yelling at him and tickling him until something of the three yielded results.

He had a grin on his face when he woke up.

"Happy birthday, Quinn."

"Yeah, yeah, you said that already. Now get up and Apparate me home!" I'll have to take the Apparition test soon now that I turned seventeen. James passed his a few weeks ago.

"Bloody woman, why are you so bossy?"

I frowned at him.

"I like things being done a certain way. Stop talking and turning around in a confused state so we can get going. I'd prefer it if you could bring me to my room but I guess the vicinity of my house would be good enough," I got up as I said this with a small smile and took both the vinyl and the photograph.

He made a pouty face and put a hand over his heart, "Are you suggesting I wouldn't be able to Apparate accurately? You deserve to be splinched!"

"You wouldn't splinch me! You like me too much," I smirked at him.

"Naah, I think I should after that insult. Maybe just a small splinch to teach you a lesson...how about your pinkie? Or your ear? Hm...," he touched my ear like he was seriously considering this and then he started tickling me. I was seriously ticklish and I just prayed to Merlin he'd stop soon or I'd start shrieking and probably cause the whole house to wake up.

Finally, he stopped but he had me pinned on the floor. He looked at me intensely like he was trying to figure out a particularly hard Arithmancy assignment but he soon changed his expression to a teasing one.

"Say I'm the best at Apparition!"

I rolled my eyes and sighed. He knew I was defeated.

"You're the best at Apparition, James. Can we get on with it now?"

As I said that everything went black and I felt the pressure all around me. Soon it was over and we were on my bed in the same position as before, with me pinned down under James.

I wiggled under him, "Get off, you hippogriff, I'm trying to breathe here!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," he smirked, again.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. But seriously, I need to -," I was cut off by a huge ball of grey fluff jumping on top of James causing him to literally stop my breathing with his body as he collapsed on top of me from shock.

"Argh," was the only sound I could make.

James rolled off me and fell on the floor with the ball of grey fluff, namely, my cat Ziggy, staring at him viciously and hissing. I guess Ethan and grandad forgot to feed him. And by feed him I mean refill his bowl when it was half full (Ziggy would probably call it half empty because he's a pessimist like that).

Looking at Ziggy with a slightly horrified expression, James turned to me and said, "Quinn, I said this already and I'll say it again, but your cat is psychotic!"

I tentatively extended my hand towards Ziggy so I could try and pet him but he jumped off my bed in a huff and threw me a scornful look as he stood next to his half-full bowl.

Such theatrics.

"He's not psychotic, he just doesn't like anyone. Or anything. Well, he sometimes likes me but I'm sure that's just because he sees me as a constant food source. And he liked you that one time when he allowed you to pet him!" I felt the need to defend Ziggy even though he was a little bit, well, evil. Sometimes. I adopted him from a Muggle shelter nearby three years ago when he was just a tiny kitten. Even as a kitten he wasn't particularly friendly and his first adopted family brought him back to the shelter because of it.

James got up and gave him a few cat treats I had on my desk. Ziggy purred at that. I could swear he smiled. But cats don't smile. They do love bribes, apparently, because Ziggy allowed James to pet him for a second before prancing over to my window and jumping on the sill to look at the birds flying around a nearby oak tree.

"You're coming over later, right?" I asked, "Everyone is going to be there for lunch, even mum and dad, but they're leaving tonight because they both have practice tomorrow morning. We could do a movie marathon."

James sat down next to me on the bed and bumped my shoulder, "Of course I'm coming over. What kind of a birthday evening would it be without me?"

I smiled gratefully at him and hugged him, "Great!"

He stood up and said, "See you soon, Quinn," before Disapparating with a quiet pop.

Looking around my room, I realised I seriously needed to tidy up because the only remotely neat things in here were my Quidditch kit and my record collection. My school trunk was still sitting relatively unpacked even though I was going back to Hogwarts in two weeks and my clothes were in two different piles, the clean one near my closet and the dirty one on the floor next to my bed. I wasn't usually this messy, and grandad surely wouldn't tolerate it under normal circumstances, but I've been spending almost all my time at the Potters' house during the last few days so he turned a blind eye. He had a soft spot for me. Feeling lucky I could finally use magic outside of school I decided to try my hand at some of those household spells I've seen grandad using after I've had breakfast.

After changing into something I dug out of the clean clothes pile and filling Ziggy's bowl, I tied my dark hair into a messy bun and went downstairs. I could hear my grandad in the kitchen, hopefully making breakfast, and talking with somebody.

"Good morning," I said as I entered the kitchen. Immediately I could see my dad's face in the kitchen fireplace. Grandad turned around and they both exclaimed, in weirdly similar voices, "Quinn, love!"

Grandad came over and engulfed me in one of his bear hugs, "Happy birthday, my favourite granddaughter!"

"I'm your only granddaughter!"

I could hear dad alternating between yelling birthday wishes and singing the birthday song in a horribly off-tune voice. He could be really silly sometimes. Or all the time. He liked to say he got hit one too many times in the head with a Bludger but that wasn't even close to the truth.

"Dad, please stop, I just woke up," I said with a yawn.

He just snickered, "Don't lie, dad told me James just brought you home so you've been awake for at least half an hour."

I threw my grandad a look and muttered, "How in the seven hells did you even hear us, James' Apparating is freakishly quiet?"

Grinning, he just said, "Magic." He turned around and continued frying the omelette he was making when I interrupted.

"Quinn, I've got to go because practice starts soon and the Captain can't be late. I love you and I'll see you at lunch," dad said with a sad expression, which in turn made my grin disappear. I was hoping to at least exchange more than two sentences with him. I couldn't blame him really. Being a Captain of the Ballycastle Bats and also a Chaser on the English National Quidditch Team meant he had very little time for family. But he was living the life I hoped I would someday so I was quick to forgive and forget.

"Love you, dad," I said as I gave him my best smile and waved at him. His head disappeared from the fireplace. My grandad was muttering something to himself, but since I didn't have his unnatural hearing, I couldn't decipher what he was saying. He looked a bit angry.

I sat on the barstool at our kitchen island while I waited for him to finish breakfast.

"Did mum Floo while I was in my room?"

He turned around and put a plate full of food in front of me, "No, but you know she's as busy as Dylan is."

I rolled my eyes at that, "Oh yeah, she's so fucking busy she can't even Floo to wish me a happy birthday."

Grandad frowned and said, "That's the life of a professional Quidditch player. Your parents love you and they try their best...," he trailed off, "But I have no bloody idea what would've become of you and Ethan if I wasn't here."

"Right. We would've probably dropped dead."

"I was thinking more in the line of both of you becoming completely wild and untameable. It's not like you're much better even with me here."

I made a face. Grandad was one of those people that can't help being blunt. As I munched on my food, I realised Ethan wasn't here.

"Where's Ethan, anyway?" I asked.

Grandad shrugged his shoulders, "I expect he's at his flat."

"But he's never at his flat...unless he has a girl there!" I was grinning at this. I loved to tease Ethan's girls because he usually had a type. I don't know how, but he always managed to end up with one who didn't believe in one night stands (even though she just had a one night stand with him) and quickly became more and more crazy as the morning after dragged on. Though I wondered who the hell would go off with my brother out of the Weasley girls (I knew it wasn't Lily Potter since she was way too young). I couldn't remember seeing him with anyone in particular last night, but then again, some parts of the party were a little hazy.

"I know what you're thinking, Quinn, and I have no idea who the girl is. I always mix up all those Weasleys anyway," grandad said this with a huge smirk on his face. Even though he never looked at another woman after my grandma died, he fully supported Ethan in his conquests. He also supported me in mine. I guess he was pretty supportive.

"So, what's the plan for today?" I knew it would be pointless to ask for my presents right now because it was tradition to do a family birthday lunch and then get presents. The fact that birthdays are one of the rare days we're all in the same place at the same time makes them extra special.

"Your dad is going to cook and your mum is baking the cake and I'll finally have some well-deserved respite from all the cooking around here," he said this as he sipped his black coffee. Grandad woke up crazy early every day and by the time I got up he'd already spent half a day doing his thing. But he liked to keep me company while I ate. I think he was pretty lonely while I was at Hogwarts and that's why he didn't mind the fact that my twenty-four-year-old brother spent most of his time here instead of at his own flat.

Grandad looked at me teasingly, "So, what did your boyfriend get you? I don't want to know if it's anything that has to do with shagging."

I almost choked on the last piece of my omelette.

"You're fine talking to me about shagging but don't want to know the details. Got it, thanks grandad, that wasn't embarrassing at all."

He just laughed at me. Wonderful.

"Sometimes I think I'd be better off if you or Ethan were even a little embarrassed about your escapades but then I remember I'm the cool grandad and the thought quickly disappears. So, what did Al get you?"

"You're our only grandad!" I exclaimed.

I never met my mother's parents. They were Muggles and she talked about them a lot. Said they were free spirits which I understood to be a bit weird and unconventional and made me feel sorry I never met them. They died a pretty conventional death, though. They were going to a Black Sabbath concert on their bikes and a driver who fell asleep at the wheel crashed into them. Sad story.

"Al got me concert tickets to see Sons of Tyr in February and he's not my boyfriend anymore," I said, not meeting his eyes. He liked Al. Grandad, Ethan and Al had that Slytherin brotherhood going for them.

I'm not sure why I didn't meet his eyes because grandad is always on my side. He just shrugged his shoulders, "Another one bites the dust, eh? Ethan owes me 20 Galleons!"

"You bet on my relationship?" I was more amused than surprised.

"Can you even call it a relationship if it lasts for just a few weeks?"

"Few weeks! It lasted for two months. Give or take."

He laughed at me again. I love it when people laugh at me. Not. Maybe being a stand-up comedian should be my backup if I fail at professional Quidditch. But I'm honestly not that funny.

"It lasted exactly six weeks, I should know since I bet on it."

I stood up and washed my plate for the first time using magic. I could get used to this. We never had house elves or nannies or anything like that because grandad was a firm believer in doing things on your own so you don't become spoiled and incompetent. I'm not convinced he succeeded in not spoiling me but eh, at least I could wash my own plate.

Spending my birthday cleaning my room wasn't ideal but I really couldn't stand the mess any longer. I put the Sons of Tyr LP James got me on my turntable and started. By the time I was finished, I managed to find two T-shirts I thought lost forever and one of Ziggy's favourite toys. After taking a shower I heard two distinct pops. I ran out of my room and down the stairs until I finally saw my parents after I don't know how many weeks of only communicating by owl or through the fireplace.

"Quinn! Happy birthday, honey!" My mum hugged me and I forgot about my annoyance with her from this morning. I missed her. I missed my dad.

"Hey mum, dad," I mumbled because I couldn't talk like a normal person since my dad decided that a group hug was in order so I was pretty much getting crushed between the two of them. Dad towered above both me and my mum and she was pretty strong for her slight Seeker build.

They finally released me and I grinned at them.

"Nice of you two to show up," I said with a wink. They started talking over one another trying to explain their busy lives and I had to stop them before they started arguing because that's how these things usually end.

"Stop, stop! I was just kidding, Merlin's pants!" As I said this grandad came into the living room.

"Son, Ivy, good to see you."

Mum turned towards him and hugged him. I don't know why but she likes to give out hugs.

"Ian! How are you? Did everything go alright yesterday? Is...," and off she went with the questions about everything. I tuned out. Dad was already in the kitchen starting with the meal and mum soon joined him. I kept them company. We chattered about my party and Ethan and even Al, though apparently, they thought I was kidding back when I told them in a letter we were together. I have no idea why.

Sometime while they were cooking, we heard a loud crack and Ethan entered the kitchen. Mum immediately attacked him with questions about his job, his (lack of a) girlfriend (at this I sniggered) and so on. I gave him a sympathetic look.

After the lunch was over it was time for my presents at last. Dad gave me a small silver box.

"This is from your mother and me," he said. I opened it and found a watch inside. It was black instead of gold, with silver Roman numerals and stars instead of dials. It would've been quite traditional (except for the material) had it not been for the engraving on the back - Fuck Fear, which was something of a Jones family motto, and yet, only dad and I were Gryffindors, and grandma Olivia, too, but she was killed by a dragon so I'm not sure fearlessness was to her benefit.

Dad was just about to say something else when mum cut him off, "You better like it, Quinn. I swear we bickered for the past month until we settled on the design we thought you'd like. So even if you don't like it, pretend that you do and wear it for our benefit, and I don't care how ridiculous that sounds," she drew a breath and continued, "You like it, right?" she said this with a slightly psycho-looking smile.

Ethan was trying not to laugh, grandad was smoking his pipe and pretending not to listen to her, or maybe he wasn't pretending, he liked to tune her out sometimes, and dad looked exasperated.

"Yeah, I like it, thanks!" I nodded my head up and down as I tried to be as enthusiastic as possible because mum was still psycho-smiling. I did like it but she was a crazy perfectionist who couldn't stand the thought of something being, well, not perfect. If it wasn't then she'd go off on a tangent and yeah...We learned to live with it.

Ethan took out a pair of blood red Quidditch gloves from his bag and shoved them at me.

"Here you go, little demon. They're dragon hide gloves, Vipertooth model, tailored for Beaters so they'll give you a little extra kick when you swing the bat -"

He was interrupted by a wolf Patronus that appeared in our dining room. It spoke in a voice I haven't heard before but it was obviously familiar to Ethan.

"Jones, we need you at HQ right now, bring your heavy-duty kit," as soon as the wolf said this, it disappeared.

Ethan got up from the table and gave me a small smile, "Duty calls, little demon, but I hope you'll make good use of my present. I'll see you all later." He turned on the spot and Disapparated with a crack.

Mum looked slightly worried but she quickly masked her expression. She was too proud to admit she worried constantly about all of us, especially Ethan since he worked as a Hit Wizard, but we all knew it. That's why grandad kept most of my Quidditch injuries a secret from her. She'd go mad with worry and she'd feel guilty for not being there. Dad was slightly more reasonable, or he was just very good at keeping up the appearance of being cool all the time.

"He's going to be alright, Ivy," dad said this as he covered mum's hand with his own and she nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, I know...Merlin, is that the time? I have to be back in Appleby for the afternoon practice," she rolled her eyes at that. "Bloody Orlov is convinced I'm giving out team secrets to Dylan. I fucking hate that guy, why the fuck did they make him Captain instead of me? I'm the fucking better strategist, that's fucking obvious..."

Luckily, grandad decided to interrupt her before she could go on another rant about Ivan Orlov, one of the best Keepers in the League and my mum's Captain.

"I'll clear the table," he said as he waved his wand around and all the dirty dishes followed him out of the dining room.

Dad was suddenly very interested in the gloves Ethan got me and I pretended I was interested in my new watch.

"Okay, I'll stop talking about Orlov, I get the message. You lot aren't exactly subtle," she glared at us as she said this. "I still do need to go. Quinn, I love you and I'll see you before you go back to school," she narrowed her eyes as she turned to dad, "and you, I'll see you tonight." I couldn't decipher if that was a booty call or if she was angry at him about something. It was probably both.

"Ahem, hm, yeah, right, okay," dad was red in the face. For a star Quidditch player who dealt with journalists all the time, he was painfully unable to hide his feelings. It made his interviews funny to read because he'd often get angry and start hexing the journalist who did the interview. More often than not, the journalist in question was Rita Skeeter. She held a huge grudge against him after he turned her into a toad one time.

"I'm going, too, sorry Quinn but you know, I've got that fundraiser later. We'll see each other soon, yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Grandad came back from the kitchen and looked around, "They're gone, then?"

I nodded. He frowned.

"You still haven't seen the present I got you, come on, it's in my study," he put an arm around my shoulders and guided me to his study room. It was bright with diffuse light that came in through the big glass double door facing the north side of my parents' property and overlooking the Quidditch pitch grandad put up shortly after five-year-old me zoomed past him on a toy broom while he was gardening. We lived in a small wooded area near Bath and grandad put a lot of Muggle repelling charms around the property so they wouldn't stumble upon us, especially with the Quidditch pitch being obviously out of place.

He opened his closet, took out a broom and gave it to me. I nearly jumped from joy when I saw it but I managed to keep my cool and just hugged him tightly.

"The Stormwind! It's not even in the stores yet!" The broom was black, made from world-class ebony with numerous protective and aerodynamic spells woven into it. It was going to be the fastest broom on the market, faster by five seconds than the newest model Thunderbolt. But it wasn't the speed that was its prime characteristic, it was the incredible balance it provided. The Stormwind was the only broom in the world that adapted to its rider and the spell that made it so was the best-kept secret in the Quidditch world. Rumour had it that Selene Zhang, the Stormwind designer, didn't even reveal the secret to her board of directors.

"Selene is a close friend," grandad said it like it was no big deal.

"I didn't even know you knew her. How do you know her?" I asked.

"How did you not know that her mother was one of my best players in the Tornados?" He was genuinely surprised.

"Jessica? I don't know, I don't keep tabs on players after they retire. But anyway, thanks grandad, you know it's like, the best present ever, right up there with James'."

"Yeah, well, don't just count on your fancy new broom to win the Quidditch cup," he said gruffly, "you still need to practice your Backbeat!"

I grinned at him and teasingly said, "My Backbeat is going to be better than yours!"

"I expect nothing less."

I was alone at home when James came over in the evening. Grandad went out with his friends down to the pub and Ethan was still MIA. We were now lounging in the living room contemplating which movie marathon we were going to have. Both James and I were big fans of Muggle movies.

James was sitting on the fluffy white carpet and playing with my hair that fell down the sofa since I was lying down. Ziggy was sleeping on the armchair.

"So, Lord of the Rings or The Godfather?" he asked.

"Don't make me choose, you know I'm indecisive as hell."

"The Godfather, then. We haven't watched that in a while. Pancakes or popcorn?"

"James, you're trying to make me choose something again!"

"Both?" he chuckled.

"James Potter, you are brilliant!" I beamed at him and got up from the sofa. He followed me to the kitchen. James was terrible at cooking so I waved my wand and the ingredients for the pancake batter started to stir in a bowl. I sat up on the kitchen island he was leaning against.

"How was lunch with your family?" he asked me. I showed him the presents my family got me as soon as he Apparated. He was just as excited as I was by the fact that I now had the Stormwind. He even said he'll ask his parents to buy him one when it hit the market even though they just recently bought him the new Firebolt. Lily can have the Firebolt, apparently.

"Eh, okay, but I think my mum made a booty call to my dad in front of me."

James raised his brows, "Lucky Dylan!"

"Ew, what? That's my mum!" I made a disgusted face at him but he just wiggled his eyebrows.

"Says the girl who shagged my little brother for the past two months."

That shut me up. I took out the pancake pan and turned on the stove. When the pan heated up, I started frying the pancakes in silence. James came over from behind me and hugged me around the waist.

"I was just kidding, Quinn, don't be angry at me," he said in a low voice. I turned my head so I could look him in the eyes and smiled at him. That seemed to reassure him.

"I'm not angry, I'm just plotting my revenge!" He grinned at that and kissed my cheek.

"Okay."

In the middle of the third movie, Ethan Apparated in the living room which made me scream since I wasn't expecting it and, more importantly, because he was covered in blood. I rushed over to him, James following with a troubled look. Ethan just waved us away.

"Not my blood," his breath smelled of Firewhisky and his words sounded slightly slurred, "let me just get another Firewhisky before I crash."

James threw me a look and I just shrugged my shoulders. He went over to the fridge and brought the bottle of Firewhisky with three glasses. James and I settled on the sofa and Ethan on the armchair with Ziggy who promptly woke up, hissed at Ethan, jumped off and left to another corner of the room.

We drank in silence, neither I nor James knowing what to say. Ethan wasn't volunteering any information and there was no point in trying to pry it from him. If he didn't want to talk, he wouldn't talk.

After another three glasses, Ethan got up and went to his old room.

James put his hand around me and I leaned my head against his shoulder. I think I fell asleep in that position because I woke up in my bed in the middle of the night and James was lying next to me with his arm laid protectively around me.

It felt reassuring to have him here.

#harry potter fanfiction #hp #james sirius potter #harry potter #the art of being nonchalant

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minpsone · 4 years

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Where are the curators in Myanmar’s art scene?

[featured in Frontier Myanmar ]

By Min Pyae Sone , Photos by Thuya Zaw - February 9, 2020

The development of contemporary art in Myanmar has been hampered by a paucity of curators, with most galleries asking artists to arrange, fund and promote their own exhibitions.

Arts reporters in Yangon have plenty of artists and gallery owners to interview, but one art world actor seems to always be missing.

Myanmar has been short on curators since the arts scene began a revival of sorts about 20 years ago. The word “curator” lacks a direct Burmese translation, and the role itself is little understood in Myanmar. Though attitudes are changing, the government and much of the public tends to view contemporary art as a novelty, with little precedent in Myanmar culture, and as an amateur passion where professional curatorship isn’t required.

Those wishing to become curators – or to work with galleries exercising a degree of curatorship – have few options. The national universities of art and culture in Yangon and Mandalay offer a degree in “Painting” that asks students to memorise only a few select details of global art history while focusing on painting techniques.

Ko Aung Khant Kyaw, 23, who graduated from NUAC Yangon three years ago with a bachelor’s degree in Painting and teaches Visual Arts at SKT (formerly Horizon) International School, participated in a group discussion at a workshop on curating hosted by the Japan Foundation last November in Yangon, which I attended. “I’ve been in many group exhibitions, but I have yet to participate in something I’m proud of,” he said, attracting agreement from the assembled artists and gallery managers..

After the event, Aung Khant told me about the exhibitions held at NUAC for graduating students. “There were no curators there, just students, parents, and other relatives,” he said. “Exhibitions in Myanmar are just for socialising; people come to drink, talk and enjoy themselves. Nobody even looks at the art anymore.”

Government patronage of the arts, such that it exists, has done little to raise standards or increase public appreciation of contemporary art. In the 2018-2019 fiscal year, the government allocated more than K35 billion (US$24 million) to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and Culture.

Though most of this was spent on religious monuments and ceremonies throughout the country, the ministry is also responsible for funding the national universities of arts and culture and the National Museum in Yangon. However, the museum asks artists to donate works to its staid permanent display of contemporary art and curates just a handful of events each year, mostly about history and traditional culture.

With little help from the government, the contemporary arts milieu relies almost entirely on commercial galleries. Many of the owners of these galleries, who struggle to even pay the rent, see a curator as a luxury they cannot afford. Instead, they hand their spaces over to artists, or artist groups, to supply and display the artwork as they see fit, charging them rent and taking a cut of sales, and often leaving artists to do most of the promotion.

“We let the artists do what they want and do not interfere in any way; they are the ones who pay for our space,” said one downtown Yangon gallery owner, who asked me to leave when asked if I could interview him and record his name. “No hard feelings, but you really should be asking bigger galleries, not me,” he said as I reached the door.

However, a small number of talented curators in Myanmar have been behind a number of high-concept exhibitions in Yangon in recent years, which have taken place in large public venues like the Secretariat building rather than conventional art galleries. This rise in curatorial practice has been encouraged, directly and indirectly, by grants and funding from foreign cultural organisations in Myanmar.

Sai Htin Linn Htet, 28, is a Yangon-based curator, multimedia artist and human rights activist whose work addresses the themes of empathy, pollution, gender equality, identity and discrimination. He is also programme manager of the biennial My Yangon My Home: Yangon Art & Heritage Festival and co-curated the July 2019 edition, called “Building Bridges Yangon”, with Indian curator Ms Ushmita Sahu at the newly renovated, colonial era Tourist Burma Building opposite the Sule Pagoda.

Helped by a team of volunteers, Htin Linn Htet was responsible for curating many of the Myanmar artworks featured in the international exhibition. In an email interview, he described the challenge of developing an exhibition design “that is suitable to the venue” while also providing room for “the voice of the artists”.

Htin Linn Htet, who has now worked with several foreign curators, sees it as his role to advise them on the tastes, values and sensitivities of the Myanmar public, making space for stimulating foreign subjects and styles while making sure local culture is represented.

However, despite frequently conservative and dismissive attitudes from the public towards contemporary art, he insists that “things are rapidly changing here”.

“We are going no way but up,” he said. “I’ll continue to promote emerging artists, stepping between their artworks and the public, as a mediator, curator, and a friend, as long as there is a need for one to materialise their unrealised projects.”

Yet, Htin Linn Htet says the dividing line between professionalism and amateurism in Myanmar art remains thin. Artists, who have to depend largely on self-promotion, have little recourse to feedback or guidance from galleries and other institutions. However, River Gallery, which opened in downtown Yangon in 2006, bucks this norm.

“Rather than telling the artists what to do, we focus on helping the artists articulate the 'story' behind the artwork if they need assistance on that,” said River Gallery owner Ms Gill Pattison, a New Zealander who has been living in Yangon since 2002. “The language of art does not always readily translate into regular language, and sometimes we can help the artists find a way of conveying more of their thoughts and feelings about their works.”

Pattison and River Gallery work with some of the most internationally recognised Myanmar artists – most of whom have experience working with overseas curators and sometimes curate their own shows. Pattison said that when she was planning to open River Gallery in 2005 as a professionally curated gallery in the international mould, “I really didn't have much idea of whether it would be successful, whether anyone would visit, or whether anyone would buy.”

However, it helped that she knew many talented artists. In 2004, Pattison had organised the now defunct Myanmar Contemporary Art Awards in cooperation with Myanmar Times. “The artists entrusted me with their works at the outset, and then I think we repaid this trust through professional, transparent business practices and we did our best to promote their careers,” Pattison said.

An artist often featured at River Gallery is U Htein Lin, 53, a star in Myanmar’s contemporary scene, who has a satirical and sometimes controversial approach to social and political issues. His “Skirting the Issue” exhibition at River Gallery last year tackled misogynist taboos by featuring canvases made from htamein (a women’s longyi), which are traditionally seen as polluting for men and are handled only by women.

When I interviewed Htein Lin at a Yangon teashop late one evening in early January, he began on the subject of curatorship by talking about his six-and-a-half years as a political prisoner.

“In prison, I painted and even organised a solo show there for the prisoners. I suppose you can call it my first time curating,” he said. It was a risky venture because organising such an event in prison was prohibited.

“Dealing with the guards and prisoners for space and logistics was very hard,” he said. “First of all, it isn’t an art gallery, it’s a prison. Second, there’s the problem with the timeframe and finding the opportunity. Third, how we would invite people to my show.”

Htein Lin hand-drew the invitations on used snack packets and distributed them around the prison, a task made easier by the fact that inmates in each block of 15 cells had to change cells every day. “We asked a single-cell inmate to let us use his cell when everyone was getting ready to switch cells. The cell was nine feet by nine feet,” he said.

Htein Lin and some fellow inmates had to negotiate with the guards and arrange times when occupants of the 15 cells could view the works, which were displayed on torn plastic bags attached to the walls with toothpaste. When the day finally came, inmates showered, dressed up and visited the cell to view Htein Lin’s works.

Soon after Htein Lin’s release in 2005, one of his close friends, fellow artist Daw Chaw Ei Thein, curated and displayed a selection of the hundreds of works he created in prison. The exhibition at her house in northern Yangon, near the airport, ran for only one day because it attracted the attention of plainclothes intelligence officers.

When he returned to Yangon in 2013 after living in Britain for seven years, he started to curate exhibitions using ideas and curatorial principles gleaned from galleries in London, Paris and elsewhere. “A proper exhibition should make you feel and think differently about the things you saw after you leave,” he said. “That’s the curator doing their job.”

#art #artists #education #art scene #yangon #culture #curation

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