vigorli

Exception To The Rule
By Imogen
Disclaimer: I don’t know these actors I haven’t met them and have no idea of their sexual preferences. I do own the children (except Milo). No profit is being made from this
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: ummm PG-13 I think.
Summary: Having award- winning actors for parents isn’t all it’s cracked up to be…
Notes: The story is told from the perspective of Viggo & Orlando’s daughter. Milo refers to Liv Tyler’s son, Milo. Poppy refers to Viggo, and Daddy is Orlando. Although this is technically a stand alone story I'm planning to do two more instalments, from both Viggo and Orlando's PoVs.
Note 2: There is a second version of this at my LJ, the same story but in a handwritten font to make it appear more personal.

My family isn’t like others, although that’s pretty much a given considering my parents’ ‘lifestyle choices’ and professions.

Having award- winning actors for parents isn’t all it’s cracked up to be…

I know I have a lot to be grateful for. Yes, we live in a nice house and we don’t have to worry about the bills, but life isn’t easy when you’ve got two dads bringing you up. Especially if you’re a girl. Especially if you’re still the ‘baby’ daughter of Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen.

Not that I’m ungrateful or anything, don’t get me wrong. I’d really hate to come off as one of these spoilt actor’s kids brats, believe me I’ve met quite a few via my parents. I know I’m luckier than most. Half the kids in school have split families of some sort, with various half- and step- siblings, and most of them don’t have the world’s most attentive dads (and sometime mums, it has to be said). I know for a fact my friend Rosie is lucky if she sees her dad once a month. He’s usually too busy with meetings or dating the prettiest 22- year old he can find. It really upsets her. I mean I know we’re all growing up but sometimes it’s nice to actually have your parents pay attention to you – the good sort that is.

I know I’m lucky with my parents. They always take time out to spend time with me or hug me. They always make sure to call if they’re on set. I can honestly say I don’t ever feel I’ve missed out not having a mum or being raised by actors or two men. I know I’m loved and wanted by my parents, which is something I’ll never take for granted.

I never had the experience of the ‘real American family’, you know the one they show in prime time TV, or if you’re cynical, the one from American Beauty. I never had the white picket fence, the cute blond siblings or beautiful mum baking cookies when I got in from school. The closest I’ve had to a mum is Exene or Sam, and neither are the biscuit-making sorts. Which is fine, because I’ve never wanted a TV mum. They smile too much and look creepy. I don’t know a single real mum who looks like them.

Having said that I did get the dog part of the All-American family equation, although Sidi and Essa are pretty old now so they spend most of the time sleeping, but I love them. I don’t really consider myself ‘proper’ American, more a mix of English and Danish since I spent more of my childhood in bonny ol’ England (guys really dig the ‘Brit accent’) since they didn’t want me raised in Hollywood, and most of America didn’t recognise their marriage.

What I got instead was trips to England (London specifically), where it never stops raining, and some remote part of Denmark so Poppy could keep in touch with his ‘roots’. A half brother who frequently dyes his hair bright blue and swears like a sailor, a punk rocker (who just happens to be Poppy’s ex-wife) as a mother figure, who wears fishnets and swears worse then Hen.

I also get to enjoy the cautious frowns and polite smiles of the teachers, and other parents who try very hard to figure out who to exactly refer to my parents, since they’re gay and, well, famous.

Do they hyphenate their names, like Mortensen-Bloom, or vice versa since they are actually married, or should they be referred to by their single names as they’re known in public? Oh the agonies of being Politically Correct!

Then there’s the added embarrassment of some teacher usually having a crush on Dad or Pop. Can you imagine the embarrassment of knowing they could’ve seen one of my parents completely butt naked. On Screen, of course. Having Ms Filbert tell me how much she enjoyed Poppy in Indian Runner is not something I want to be reminded of. I suppose I should be glad my parents don’t do nude scenes anymore. I don’t think Dad likes the idea of Poppy flashing ‘his bits for all and sunder’ anymore. He claims Poppy is too old, and that they need to be ‘good role models’ for their children, which always makes Poppy grin as he reminds Daddy of the oh-so-famous ‘mooning’ scene in the movie that finally got poor old Dad an Oscar. Thank God I was too young at the time to actually realise what all the fuss was about.

Pop says Dad should be proud of himself since few actors have ‘Oscar winning arses’ which makes Dad pout and simply endears Pop to Dad even more. That leads to much gratuitous snogging and other stuff...they really are hopeless. Most parents don’t snog anymore when they have older children, but my parents always have to be an exception to the rule. Apparently some people think they still look really hot together. Probably old ladies who write romance novels. All I see is two middle aged (and Dad would kill me for saying that) guys getting randy. Gotta love Dad’s Brit talk.

I guess after all this rambling it would help to introduce myself here. I’m Freya. Well Freya Rebekah Emily Mortensen-Bloom if you want to be technical, which I know makes me sound like some stuffy member of the British royal family or some God awful character from some 13- year old’s fantasy note book. But my parents never took the easy route. Leave it to them to name me after a Norse goddess. Poppy says I’ll grow into the name. Pffft! I’m sure he loved being 14 and introducing himself as Viggo, when all the other kids were named John or Paul.

Then of course Dad has that awful name of his. God knows where Blanchard came from. I have Poppy to thank that I wasn’t named that. Apparently it’s a ‘tradition’ to have Blanchard and/or Copeland snuck somewhere into Bloom names and Dad though Blanche would be a good substitute. Lovely

Having said that, it kind of seems appropriate to be named after a goddess of love when it took so much effort and love to have me conceived.

I suppose it could’ve been worse, they could’ve called me Halfrek or Genevieve - that was almost on the list apparently. Like most kids I hated my name when I was younger, no one could pronounce it, most of the teachers gave up and called me ‘Rebecca’ (which they never spelt properly) and a lot of the kids thought it was something else to tease me about.

I ended up with the nickname ‘Frebbie’, not that I cared, I had an entire herd of relations ready to wreck a bloody vengeance should any of them tried to upset me, which is kind of cool.

As if having two actor dads and an ancient Norse goddess’s name wasn’t enough, I also have the distinct disadvantage of being the youngest child of the Mortensen-Bloom ‘clan’ (and believe me ‘clan’ sums it up.) This means I inevitably have to put up with the over-protectiveness of two fathers, an older brother, an ex-wife of Poppy and a vast array of both real and pseudo uncles and aunts all hell bent on protecting and sheltering me.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate their efforts and I love them all dearly but there are some things they can’t always protect me from, no matter how hard they try.

Like when Luke, my first boyfriend broke up with me in front of the whole class because he preferred ‘thin blondes who weren’t frigid’ God that made me cry. I felt so humiliated when loads of the guys laughed at me. I spent the afternoon in the toilets crying.

When Hen found out, he wanted to beat the crap out of him. I didn’t let him because I still loved the jerk at the time but the promised offer of a beating still stood. Which was kind of sweet in a macho, very Neanderthal way.

Uncle Beanie also offered to have a ‘quiet word’ with Luke, of course Uncle Beanie’s ‘words’ lead to Very Nervous People. I was very tempted to take him up on it, but because I’m a great humanitarian I declined. Of course that didn’t mean I wasn’t above informing his new girlfriend he still wet the bed. She broke up with him pretty quickly. Poppy always said things can be solved without violence.

As far as Hen goes I really am lucky. He might look like a troll with his blue hair, but he really is the best brother anyone could have, and he’s good to go to when Dad and Pop get a bit much, or when someone says something about my parents. Apparently Henry doted on me when I was little and I used to follow him everywhere, which I know would drive loads of boys up the wall to have a baby sis clinging to them, but he’s different. Hen’s been through it all and knows what to say to me. He doesn’t do the lecturing thing just because he’s older but is just there for me. Plus there is absolutely nothing that can shock him.

Then there was the time the tabloids print out lies about my Daddy, saying he was having an affair with his stupid co-star who was this beautiful brunette; saying dad was tired of Poppy. Every time they were seen together the tabloids exploded. That went on for ages and really hurt, because I know how much Dad and Pop love each other. Some of Dad’s ‘fans’ were really hurtful about that. I wanted to wring their necks for hurting him like that.

Over the years I’ve managed to tune it out, but you can always guarantee some bigot with a chip on their Holier-Than-Thou shoulder will crawl out from the woodwork and start claiming how my family is going to Hell, how my family is wicked and how I’m damned and a child of Satan. I don’t understand why it upsets people so much.

It’s not their business, but I remember the first time I heard some nut job rant about gay marriage and then started turning on daddy and poppy. I didn’t really understand everything he was saying, just that he hated my parents and me because I wasn’t normal. That’s what he said. I was unnatural.

I was so upset about it, I spent the entire evening crying in my room. I couldn’t understand why people were so cruel about my parents and me. That evening Daddy and Poppy spent just about all night hugging me. I could barely speak at first I was crying so hard. When Daddy found out what was wrong, he told me it wasn’t true, because I was their angel, and they didn’t let angels go to hell. He just hugged me for hours and I felt so safe in his arms. I remember how upset Poppy looked when he heard me crying.

Of course, the worst hurt was when Daddy and Poppy almost lost each other. They went through this period when I was about seven. They were constantly fighting. They never fought in front of me but I still heard them. They thought I couldn’t hear them because they argued in whispers in the kitchen but I heard everything. I never actually found out what they were fighting so badly over, and I’m not sure I want to know.

I didn’t realise how serious it was until I came downstairs and heard Dad and Pop rowing. Dad was crying and Pop just looked…. furious. He just got up without a word and slammed the door behind him and took off somewhere in his car. Dad just stared after him looking as if he’d just lost his entire world. I ran back upstairs. Daddy and Poppy had gone away to shot movies which took months, but I knew this time was different.

Pop didn’t come back that night, or the next, and I was terrified I was going to loose them both. If Poppy left Daddy and me, then my world would fall apart, because Daddy didn’t want to be with us.

Several kids at school had divorced parents and I knew they had to see their parents separately. I didn’t want that, but my friend Michael told me that once your father moved out it was divorce and most of my friends agreed. Dad moves out, divorce follows.

As usual my parents proved an exception to the rule, when after two weeks Poppy finally came back. He picked me up and hugged me tight, promising he’d never leave Daddy or me again and neither of us would ever, ever stop loving me. I’ll hold him to both those promises. I remember that night, seeing Daddy and Poppy hug each other and me, I never felt so safe or lucky in my life.

That whole thing took me a while to get over. I still got scared Poppy would change his mind and leave. To think that your Daddy is getting divorced from Poppy, that is a terrifying thought. It’s not until recently that I found out how close they really came to splitting up. I think dad was pretty much ready to divorce Poppy…that frightens me, the idea of loosing either of them. They centre my world so much. I don’t know what I’d do without either of them.

Looking at them now you’d never guess from the soppy looks they give each other, almost as bad as the ones Milo gives me which I try not to notice, not that I mind, because he’s really sweet, but right now after Luke, I just want a friend and Milo’s good at that.

As for my parents being an embarrassment when they go all ‘kissy-face’ after what almost happened, believe me I almost whoop for joy each time they kiss, because I know my family is safe. that that…thing (and I use the term loosely) didn’t manage to come between them, that I’ve got my Daddy and Poppy back, that my family is back.

End