#tabitha spencer

[midnightunderground-npcs]

Interview: Tabitha Spencer

Dossier:

Name: Tabitha Spencer

Age: 24

Species: Werewolf

Circle: Night

Known Relationships: Sebastian Harker ( Half-Brother ), Damian Harker ( Pseudo Uncle ), Connor Talbot II ( Crush ), Karlha Whitlock ( Pack Leader ), Thaddeus James ( Pseudo Family Friend by proxy of Karlha and Bash )

Interview:

What's your name?

It’s such a simple question but it feels so difficult to answer. She feels smaller than she ever has, sitting in a room that feels much too warm in its decorations. The juxtaposition of it all was disorienting and maybe that was purposeful; the room was more miniature suite than anything else, a safety she’d lose so soon as they pulled her from it. She decides then that Faeries were truly cruel in their trickery, but turning to Connor she tries to find her voice, “Tibby— sorry, no, Tabitha. Tabitha Spencer.”

How do you know Tabitha Spencer?

Very much not applicable and can’t even be a joke question, the girl is strugglin’.

How do you know Jose Alves Cruz?

Tabitha tenses then, remembering the events of that night; she should’ve fucking stayed home and watched another episode of New Girl. “He’s um...he’s the Mayor...we were at the same table.” And that was all she’d say on the matter. It was all she would be able to say.

How do you know Hollis Fiala?

“They’re um...they’re a Candidate...leader of the Wild Circle? A Faerie.” Like the stuff in Faerie Tales though that had no been soured; if the heir thought she’d gone and shot them, and it could be proven then there was nothing she could do to convince them otherwise. 

Did you see the shot/what happened that night from your perspective?

Yes, no? It all happened so fast and suddenly that gun was in her hand and she couldn’t breathe and it was making her sick in her stomach so she tossed it away as far as she could. “I don’t— I can’t tell you, I’m sorry,” she says, eyes on her hands as they sat folded on her lap. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but if I tell you then— I can’t. Just— just ask me the next question please, so we can be done.”

When did you get the invitation for the party/know you were going to work it?

“I decided when I got it...few months ago. Needed to find a dress, matching gloves, shoes...” This was notably the most normal part of the conversation, one moment where she and her crush were talking about the fun New Years gala she went to, but as she leans back, bringing her knees to her chest and her shin brushes against the velvet fabric of the loveseat, she nearly loses it. “That’s it.”

Did you go with someone?

As soon as the question leaves his lips she’s shaking her head frantically. No, she hadn’t gone with anyone and she was so thankful to Artemis for that; had she and Sebastian done so, he might’ve been incriminated in this and that was the last thing she wanted. “No. My family was there, but they weren’t with me like— like as accompaniment or anything, I swear, they didn’t know or do anything. They’re innocent, I’m—” she can’t even finish the sentence. A million things were holding her back in that moment. 

Do you own a gun/have you ever owned a gun?

“I— no, not really, like I don’t like guns or anything like that and Karlha’s always telling me to be safe around silver and hunters and I just, I don’t know what you want me to say right now, I’m here because I’m accused of shooting someone so what difference does it make?” Her voice is raising in volume, uncontrollable as the tears spill further; she’s tired and she wants to go home but it feels like she’s going to die here. Like her spirit will detach itself from her body and abandon her so that she’s left alone, without even the warmth of her soul and so far from having the warmth her pelt provides. 

[gordanavendome]

titleless lady!gordxlady!tad

"Are you only with me because you think no one else will love you?"

And at first, Tabitha takes it as a challenge, a threat, an insult, a moment of possession.  Because before Gordana, that was the love she received.  With caveats.  Fine lines to read between.  A chain around her neck to drag her back.

So she doesn't answer immediately, feels the hurt wallow around her throat, into the grooves so used to the anxious bubbling of indigestion and heartburn.

"Because," And here, Gordana's eyes fall to her knees.  They're dryer than her debutante lifestyle would lead an outsider to suspect, and Tabitha resists the urge to brush her fingers over them, to feel her imperfections, to remind herself of her girlfriend's very humanity.  "Because...because you're wrong." Her eyes don't raise.  Her voice remains steady.  Her index finger trails over the small ring on her middle finger, a trinket purchased with much less flash and circumstance than Gordana deserved, a piece of metal that Tabitha still thought wasn't enough, could never possibly be enough, despite continued tearful assurances that Gordana adored it.

Tabitha shrugs.  Her hands hang heavy and impotent.  Her legs stick together in a practiced show of modesty and grace, even in the bedroom that was, by all accounts, Gordana's, but really had become theirs.  "ours".  They'd transitioned into we and us pronouns and Tabitha waited for the day Gordana wished to separate their nouns back into their independent slots.

"You're not unlovable.  You're not...you're not hard to love.  There are so many people who could...who would love you.  As you are, no modifications, no questions, no demands.  You are precious and desirable and beautiful and so fucking smart and clever and it hurts to see you lower your standards, compromise all that you could have, just because you don't think you can get anything else in this life." Her breath hitches, light reflecting from her lipstick.

"I don't lower my standards."

"Yes.  Yes, you do.  You always have." Her eyes finally raise, and it's almost surprising that they're dry, considering how much her voice wobbles.  "I love you.  I love you so, so much.  And maybe it'll sound laughable, when we're older and more mature, when you've moved on to bigger and better things, and I'm still trying to figure out how best to honor my family name--and god, just your very existence already brings so much more to your name than has ever been there before.  You are so incredible--but right now, I love you completely."

"I lo-"

"No.  Please, you don't have to.  I don't...I'm not telling you so you return the favor.  I just want you to know that you're worth loving.  And you don't need to take the first offer you get, you know?  You don't need to-"

"Oh my god, Gordana.  Seriously?" Tabitha almost doesn't laugh.  She tries so hard to hold it in.  But she snorts all the same, crossing the threshold until they're close enough that the hairs on the back of Tabitha's arms prickle from proximity to a warm body.  She rests her hands on Gordana's shoulders, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together.  "Who gave you the right to be so melodramatic?"

"I'm being serious, though!  You're-"

"You realize you're lovable too, right?  You're so busy trying to reassure me that I think you've forgotten to look to yourself." Their lips touch until she feels Gordana smile against her.  "I love you too, you dink.  Not because you're the only one I can have, but because you're the only one I want.  Honestly, you silly girl, I don't know what's gotten into you." 

[gordanavendome]

aquadinks?

Who’s the messiest one:

Gordana, definitely.  It's more of a clutter thing than actual mess, though.  

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA:

Tabitha, hands down.  She thinks people are staring, or that they're going to anger some homophone, or any handful of things.  She's also just generally not used to physical affection anyway, so it still is a lot for her to handle, but in a good way.  It's a sort of "I'm not used to this" thing that's very very pleasant.  But public displays still make her a little uncertain.

Who’s the funniest drunk:

Tabitha's tolerance is so high that she basically can't get drunk, so Gordana wins on default.  Of course, Gordana's the sort that you could pull the whole "near beer" prank thing on and she'd "get drunk" without having alcohol in her system, so.

Who texts the most:

Gordana.  Social butterfly.  Tabitha spends a lot of time trying to figure out how to best convey her tone in print, while Gordana just blurts out any madness that comes into her head without worrying so much about how it'll be interpreted.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music:

Gordana, because she has no shame.  She listens to guilty pleasure songs and feels no guilt about saying "I like this and that's just fine."

That being said, Tabitha might be a bit more into Lady Gaga than she should be, a fact which might be more embarrassing than all of Donna's 90s nostalgia jams put together.

Who reads the most:

Tabitha reads the most in terms of time, but she tends to read the same books over and over and over again, and go back to familiar series and the like.  Gordana's more likely to try new books, even if she doesn't read as often.  Gordana also reads a lot of magazines.

Who’s better with kids:

They're both good with kids.  Tabitha probably likes kids more (Gordana likes babies more, so).

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house:

Neither has to, but if they did, Tabitha actually has the capabilities to.

Who’s got the weirdest hobby:

Hm.  I don't know.  Gordana has an obsession over horror movies that is a bit odd, but not really weird.  Her fashion thing isn't really weird so much as expected, honestly.  Tabitha is pretty obsessive about medical research and surgical procedures.  Her interest in vinyl records isn't really weird, but a bit odd, I suppose.  So probably Tabitha, I guess.

Who cooks and who cleans up:

Tabitha can't cook.  Gordana won't clean.  So, there you have it.

[gordanavendome]

you should totally make a list of tad and tabitha headcanons for future reference of anyone interested. not that you have to, but, like, it would be so cool.

//I've made this post and this post, but I'm always fucking down to share more headcanons.  Unfortunately, I'm not even sure where to begin.  Let's see...

(these are general and apply to both Tabitha and Tad)

Likes birds and reptiles over mammalian pets.  Particularly birds (envious of their ability to fly away), but feels more of an affinity towards snakes.  Doesn't have any pets, though, and all former pets owned have died swiftly or ran away.

Decent to exceptional piano player--or would be, except Mr. Spencer ended up cutting off the lessons.

Prefers hot beverages over cold

Prefers tea over coffee

But secretly prefers hot cocoa over tea

Really really fond of lava lamps

And bonsai trees

And corded phones

Never ever ever has bare feet

Not even when alone

Hates Christmas and other "away from school to spend time with the family" holidays, but will generally feign otherwise (mostly for Gord/Gordana's "Christmas is the best thing ever!!!!" tendencies)

Eats an abundance of marshmallows

Burns a lot of incense

Walls covered in maps of all the places that could conceivably be run away to

Anyway, ask me any specific questions you'd like me to go on about and I'd be more than happy to go on and on.  I love talking about Spencer, particularly of the Tabby variety, so.  Please ask me more, maybe?  Yes?

I can't believe anyone would want to hear more from me, but hey, just in case.

[gordanavendome]

short, stupid aquadinks fic

The night before graduation, Tabitha lingered at the edge of Gordana's bed, pulling her shirt back over her head, as her girlfriend swooped her hair back into place with swift, confident motions of her fingertips.

"Spoiler alert: Ted and Mandy'll be broken up by the end of the night," Gordana mused into the back of Tabitha's neck, kissing at the top of her vertebrae until she earned a giggle.

"Spoiler alert," Tabitha corrected, "They'll be broken up before the final diploma is handed out."

"Ooh.  Scandalous.  Spoiler alert: somebody is going to wear the same dress as Barbie and she's going to demand her head on a platter."

"Spoiler alert: I'm going to wear the same dress as Barbie."

"You're not!"

"No.  I'm not." She turned around, catching the tip of Gordana's nose with her lips.  "I'd wear it so much better though."

"Oh, truly.  Though the Rough and Rich line doesn't quite suit you."

"Was that a pun?"

"Hm?"

"Suit you."

"Wha--Oh.  Because suit, as in clothing, and we're talking about-"

"Mhm."

"If you think it's funny, then yes, it was a pun, darling!  If not, then of course it was completely and totally unintentional."

"Spoiler alert: You're adorable."

"Plot twist: You're looking in a mirror, and you're the actual adorable one."

Tabitha pushed Gordana back onto the bed, hip to hip, chest to chest, fingertips winding like ivy.  They'd always had a way of growing inwards.  "Is it a spoiler that I love you?"

"Well, they advertise that right in the trailer, dear, so there's no harm in saying it without warning." 

[gordanavendome]

The Storm Before The Calm (bad title, fem!Tad-centric)

Abuse and misgendering in this, so be warned.  Tabitha=transgirl Tad.  I don't think I need to say that anymore, but just in case.  I just needed to write something, and I think this is absolute trash, but.  Well, have it anyway.

There was a subtlety to the way Tabitha stiffened before the blows hit.  If she made it too obvious she was bracing herself, preparation would only prove futile to the rage he'd inflict upon her.  But if she didn't prepare at all, he'd grow furious that she fell too soon.

Whatever the case, it was the moments before his fists connected that she hated the most. 

She hated how heavy the front door felt.  She was certain it was just an illusion.  After all, she was certain Harrington House's entrances were just as ornate and made of the same material, but they didn't push against her as she tried to enter.  The handle didn't feel nearly as cold in her grip, either.

She wouldn't put it past him to do something to enhance the effect, of course, save for the fact that it would involve him getting off his ass to make sure it was done.  And the only thing he seemed motivated to do as of late was order around the help for more alcohol, perfect his sober voice over the phone to bark orders at his underlings, and sharpen his aggression on the faces of his wife and child.

She hated the way her heartrate beat against the fall of her footsteps as she stepped towards his study.  It was best to announce she was home, rather than rush off to her room immediately.  If he failed to see her enter, he'd bellow about her intruding.  If she failed to show up at all , he'd leave the marks on her mother's neck.

Or worse, as he was so fond of threatening.  Her childhood had consisted of draping herself over her mother, to try to keep him from hurting her.  It had only occurred to Tabitha in the most abstract of senses now that at five, she was the one who had needed protecting.

("You're strong enough, baby," She'd whispered as Tabitha had cried in her arms.  She'd pet her hair and kissed her and called her by her pet names over and over again in place of the apologies she meant for being unable to take her youngest to the hospital.  "You're so strong, sweetie, you're so strong.  You'll be okay.")

She counted sixteen footsteps, the same as the amount of years she'd had to undergo his parental inadequacies.  Sixteen birthdays which had been spent wishing she could be anywhere but at the table with the man who might one moment praise her as the son he'd always loved, then the next fling her across the table because of the lack of respect in the way she folded her hands.  Sixteen years spent loathing the mockery of her genome, the ticking time bomb of her DNA which may either render her a pitiful victim like her mother or a monster like him.

But Tabitha had little time to dwell on futures which may not be afforded her.  She stood in front of her father, and hated herself for eating that day, because she could tell by the way he sized her up that he'd go for her gut first, and if she couldn't keep her lunch down, he'd certainly find some new form of torture to make her regret it all the further.

She hated how immaculate his study looked.  And that any observer would find this to be a perfect home, to find her life nothing short of beauteous.  And for just a moment, her anger showed.  Just long enough to eclipse his.

He slipped out of his chair, almost gracefully.  An outsider might not even know he was drunk.  His eyes weren't bloodshot.  His words weren't slurred.  He didn't stumble.

He reached out, cupped her face, and the anger left.  She'd tried over the years to learn bravery, to discover what it meant not to be afraid for every second of every day.

It was just another task which had rendered her a failure.

And god, did she hate how he spoke her given name, how the three letters betrayed everything she knew herself to be, the three letters which robbed her of any sort of identity or truth, the three letters which painted her as his little boy to discard whenever he chose.

"Tad," He spoke it roughly, like it stung his lips, like it was profane, something to be censored.  

He'd lay out his sentence soon enough.  The ash had already billowed from the volcano the moment she'd entered the house.

At least once it erupted, she could finally begin the process of moving on until the next storm.

[gordanavendome]

I can't do titles.  I also can't do the whole writing thing anymore.  So have a scene of lady!Gord and lady!Tad because that's sort of my thing here, I guess.

The walls flicker with the lights of a thousand scented candles. Lavender and vanilla waft around them as the bed sinks under Tabitha's weight. She laughs, running fingers through her hair, as Gordana steadies her hands against her upper thighs.

"Are you alright?"

And of course she is, and of course she isn't at the same time. Tabitha's used to living in the spaces between black and white, though, and just nods. A hair clip loosens, falling to the mattress. Gordana bats it away the same way she bats her eyelashes. Candlelight twinkles from her fingernail polish. Her face is muted without the usual assortment of pigments, and Tabitha can't help but run her fingertips over her, to feel the skin that's usually buried and miraged.

"We don't have to--"

"Don't be a dink. I want to."

And she doesn't pounce on her, even though for a moment, Tabitha's not girl, not woman, not human, but jungle cat, all coiled muscle and anticipation. She can almost feel her tongue vibrate with purring. For just a moment, she could leap right into Gordana's skin, consume her breath as effortlessly as a lion devours a gazelle.

And then she meets her eyes, and she's the one left powerless again, but it's a comfortable sort of powerless. She lets her hands slide off her shirt, places her own beneath Gordana's skirt. Her skin doesn't vibrate, doesn't chemically heat. She's warm, pliant, comfortable, the sort of body she could fall into after a long day, the sort of body her bruises ache to be nurtured by.

When she kisses her, she tastes antacid and strawberry gum, but her usual lipstick taste has been wiped clean. Her lips take a moment to recognize her as the same girl she'd kissed eight hours earlier, when they'd worn all their clothing and held hands at their lockers. When she exhales, she feels Gordana's chest swell with Tabitha's breath.

As she smiles, Gordana's lips meld to hers, match her movements. It's surreal in the same way waking up in a hotel is surreal, except Tabitha hopes she's not under any obligations to check out by 10 am.

[gordanavendome]

Windsor Knots (fem!Tad/fem!Gord)

They're adults in this, though young adults.  Scenario where Tabitha needs to go back home to see her parents, maybe introducing Gordana (not really introducing, since they know who she is from being her friend, but introducing her as her girlfriend rather than her best friend).  So, um, I'm not entirely sure how to tag this/warn for this, but in this, Tabitha is closeted from her parents about her gender identity, and yeah.  Anyway.  Here it is.

Tabitha's exhaled, body shaking as the air left her lungs only to be replaced.  It felt just as stale, lingering within her body almost painfully.  She forced it out as well, starting to process over.  She couldn't quite catch her breath, much like she couldn't quite bring herself to catch the reflection before her.

For a moment, she mistook the silk for a noose.  Gordana popped her collar, letting the silver fabric hang parallel down her shirt, before she began to knot it.  She'd learned the windsor knot when she'd been a child, but had pulled up a diagram to be certain.

She'd never had an opportunity before to fasten a tie before.

Tabitha looked down, watched the flick of manicured fingers work over her tie.  And though it was loose, she felt as though a great force was squeezing her neck.  Her next breath stuttered, rebounding around her throat like a pinball.  She tilted her head upward, swallowing more than breathing.

"It's only for a few hours," Gordana said.  The next kiss was too hot, and Tabitha almost recoiled away.  She knew she must have repulsed her.  That everything about this scene probably only reinforced how wrong all of this was, how wrong they were, how wrong this damn life was.  She waited for her to compliment the suit, to call her handsome, to say this was an improvement.  She waited for Gordana to fit the expectations everyone else may have, but instead she stopped tying, reaching down and grabbing one of Tabitha's hands. 

This wasn't too hot.  It was the sort of warm that Goldilocks may even call just right, but all it made Tabitha want to do was bury her face in Gordana's neck and cry away the farce that she'd become.  She remained stiff, upright, let her eyes move up just long enough to catch the black suit, the masculine part to her hair, the way her body seemed to have been built to fill this outfit out, the way her muscles seemed proud, almost regal.  How foolish she must have looked, she thought, in her normal dresses.  How often had Gordana lied, when she called her beautiful?

Who the hell had she been kidding?

"You don't have to come," Tabitha said, tearing her eyes away from the mirror.  

Gordana's hands went back to the tie.  "Of course I do."

"You really don't.  My parents...my father..."

"Hey, it's important for them to know their daughter is dating a high society woman, right?" 

"Son." Tabitha mumbled.  It was quiet enough that she hoped Gordana hadn't caught the way her voice broke.

"Daughter," She insisted.

She almost argued, though it was exactly what she wanted, what she needed to hear.  She wanted to beg Gordana to keep her home.  

She wanted to push her hands away, though it was she who'd insisted on the suit, who'd asked for Gordana's help (and Gordana who'd been opposed, yet compliant).  

But she rolled her shoulders back, and straightened her posture, and nodded.  "Right." Her voice came out deeper, as she tried to slip back into the mold she'd had in high school, the last time she'd seen her parents.  When Gordana had only been a friend, not a lover.

When she'd gone by Tad.

"Do you think I look okay?" She finally asked, even though she dreaded the answer.

Gordana was silent, looking her over.  "You always look good," She finally answered.

"That's a cop out."

"I mean, I think women look dashing in suits.  But you're so much cuter in your normal clothing." Gordana hugged her from behind again, nestled against Tabitha's back as though trying to instill her with her own confidence.

It didn't work, but it steadied Tabitha's lung enough to accept the next breath.  And the one after.  Until the noose became a tie once more, and the room stopped confining around them.  She could last a few hours for dinner and drunken insults before escaping home, tossing aside suit jackets and ties and becoming herself piece by piece once more.