#first dyke road and now this

[red-might-be-dead]

????/??:??/???2337/:,,::..//./..

[cannibalistickitty]

hiii i was wondering if i could make a fic rec for hazel where hazel and reader go to a party and reader gets hit on by a jock that won’t leave her alone and hazel gets jealous and protective of reader

JEALOUS GIRL

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plot: some jock won't leave you alone and hazel has to intervene

warnings: men, harassment, also not proof read

word count: 0.6k

notes: this is my first request I literally did 4 backflips when I got the notification, I hope you like it anon!!🫶🏼

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you had no idea why you were here, you hate parties, they're loud and smell like sweaty teens who are apparently allergic to deodorant. hazel had dragged you here so you could have some fun, the "fun" you were having was sitting on an uncomfortable couch waiting for your girlfriend to be done talking with some old classmate.

you felt the left side of the couch sink, 'oh good hazel's back' you thought, you turned your head and saw some guy on the football team, are you fucking kidding me. he introduced himself and you gave him a nod and a dry hello, he kept and kept talking, 'hey sorry I gotta go now' you gave him a small smile before getting up from the couch just to feel two hands grab your waist and pull you back down. you immediately pushed yourself off of him and backed up.

hazel had been keeping an eye on you from afar making sure nothing like that would happen, when she saw him do that she mumbled a curse under her breath and quickly said goodbye. finally out of the corner of your eye you saw hazel say goodbye and walk back over to you, as she was walking back he was still trying to "talk you up", he put his hand on your thigh and that was hazel's last straw. she ran up to you guys and pulled you up from the couch.

'hey what the fuck dude' the generic looking jock shouted, hazel scoffed and rolled her eyes, 'you know not every girl is at your dispose' she shouted back, she slid her hand around your waist and stared to walk away holding you tight, 'have fun dykes!' he yelled back at her, hazel quickly turned around and walked back up him, punching him square in the nose, you covered your mouth in shock let out a chuckle, hazel hissed in pain and saw her knuckles turn red. when he got back up hazel saw the anger in his face grabbed your hand and sprinted away.

you ran out of the party and quickly unlocked hazel's car and jumped in the front seat, she turned on the car and started driving away, her hair still messed up and still laughing, you looked in the review mirror and saw him behind your car with a bloody nose, you turned to hazel and she still had that rush of adrenaline, 'hazel you punched him!' you tried to hold your laugh. when her laugher died down she put her hand on your thigh, 'hey I hope you know I'll always defend you, even against buff assholes like him' she said keeping her eyes on the road.

when you eventually got to your house she parked in your drive way, you unbuckled your seatbelt and she opened the door to you bowing, you giggled and got out of the car gently closing the door to not wake your parents, at your front door she pulled you into a tight hug. 'I'm gonna miss you soo much' she mumbled into your neck, you chuckled and let her go from your embrace, 'hazel your gonna see me tomorrow at school' she put her hand around your hips and with the other one gently cupped your face with her hands. she kissed you with passion, still holding you tight, your lips stay connected for a couple more seconds before pulling away. you looked into her eyes and just giggled.

'what's so funny?' she questioned with a grin on her face, 'nothing I just love you so much' her gaze softened and stoked your soft cheek with her thumb, 'i love you too'.

[librarycards]

hello! i apologize in advance this is probably something that you get asked a lot. but do you have any recs on literary magazines to submit to? im a trans poet, ive been writing for over a decade but never shared anything and ive been wanting to try to send my stuff to get it published somewhere. obv ive been google searching but theres so many big and small publications and i was wondering if you have ones you like especially and/or tips on how to choose a magazine/journal to submit to. thanks a lot! <3

no worries, thank you for reaching out!! i've been publishing for like 8 years + an editor for almost 4, so i always appreciate the opportunity to help people new to the world find ethical publications that will treat their work with the care it deserves.

first and foremost: there are going to be pubs out there that are awesome and i don't know about. you may be the one to discover them for yourself! one aid in finding the best mag for your work is the wonderful, writer-created chillsubs. it's a fantastic platform that keeps a huge list of mags and presses and their relevant stats, and lets you create an account and bookmark those you're interested in. everyone i know uses them, and it's very worth it given the sheer volume of mags out there.

i also have some recs of my own, ofc. i'm going to list them below. if they pay (which i prioritize) I'll mark them with a $. some are trans/queer focused and some aren't, but all are pubs i've either edited and/or published with and can confirm their ethics + respect for writers.

manywor(l)ds - my mag! i'm co-founder and eic. break genre _ shapeshift with us. ($)

Sinister Wisdom - old, well-regarded lesbian+ lit mag, now open to everyone who is/loves a dyke. I'm guest-editing an issue on Madness with them, now open for submissions!

fifth wheel press - run by a beloved friend and comrade of mine. i've published here. excellent transparency, care, great for first-timers. ($).

kith books - headed by trans literary icon kat blair. a mag/press/community centered around bodymind non-conformity and noncompliance.

Honey Literary - QTPOC-centered, unabashedly pop-culture + social justice oriented. the vibes are simply immaculate.

Whale Road Review - not queer/trans focused, more oriented toward....'grown up' poetry/prose/pedagogy papers. Katie Manning (eic) is a fucking gem.

Graphic Violence Lit - just had my first experience publishing with them, and their care + consideration for the whole writer is amazing. they publish boundary-pushing work.

beestung - one of the brainchildren of Sarah Clark. nb/gq/2s SFF. I just edited a few guest issues w them and have published with them. amazing work. ($)

A Velvet Giant - genrequeer work. the editors are experienced, enthusiastic, and amazing at promoting writers long after publication. it's a family! ($)

Ethel Zine + Press - handmade with love by Sara Lefsyk (as you can see, trans/nonbinary/2s sarahs dominate indie publishing, as well we should :3). Sara is a sensitive and care-full editor and bookmaker whose every publication is a work of art.

Protean - pro- as in proletariat. awesome left mag with a mix of politics and culture and everything in between. they take reprints! ($)

Mudroom - publish your work along with a picture of your mudroom/shoe rack. very responsive editors who will hype you tf up. ($)

The Institutionalized Review - for psych survivors. the editors concreteness of vision and dedication to their community know no bounds.

Just Femme + Dandy - queer and fashion-focused! led by the inimitable Addie Tsai. They pay *handsomely*. ($)

In addition, there are also some "big" mags I have had excellent experiences publishing with and wanted to shout out. These are harder for a beginner to break into, but worth keeping on your radar + have been fantastic to me as a writer.

Electric Lit

Split Lip Magazine

The Offing

Nat. Brut

Santa Fe Writers' Project

Bodega

New Orleans Review

Augur Magazine

I hope this is helpful to you + others! the literary world is ever-changing and this is just a snapshot. Hopefully you find some that you like!

[lives-in-midgard]

🎄Beautiful Miracle🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: When your car breaks down in a small village you luckily find a bakery to stay in.

Word Count: 1095

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic for my Christmas special hosted by the lovely @buckys-wintersoldier. I hope you like it! 💗

Dividers made by @saradika 💗

Prompt 1: Bakery AU

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It’s the first day of December and it has just started snowing. You were driving through a small village you had never been to before when suddenly your car broke down in the middle of the road. You were just able to pull over to park your car in an empty parking lot. You tried to start the car again, but it didn’t work.

“Noo, that can’t happen now. Not now when it’s so cold outside.” You said to yourself. After another try, you decided to call a car service station. They told you that it would take an hour or more for them to get here. So, you decided to take your bag, get out of your car, and look for somewhere to stay. You took a few steps and then saw that there was a small bakery.

Maximoff’s Sweets

You smiled and opened the door to the bakery. The air was filled with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything was decorated with Christmas decoration and a Christmas carol was playing. You walked around and noticed that this place looks really cozy and beautiful. You couldn’t see the owner of this shop, but you could hear someone singing.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly.” You heard the soft voice more clearly now and had to smile. Then a door opened and a beautiful young woman with red hair walked out of a room from the back. She had a plate with cookies in her hand and immediately smiled when she saw you.

“Hello and welcome to my bakery.��� The owner smiled at you and placed the cookies in an empty spot.

“Hi, this is a really wonderful place here.” You confessed and looked around and then back at her.

“Thank you. This really means a lot to me. Especially because it’s my first Christmas here.”

“Oh, congrats on that.” You said and the woman had to chuckle. She looked so beautiful and lovely.

“What can I offer you?” She asked and you looked at it all deliciously.

“Umm, I’m not sure. This looks all so delicious, what would you recommend?” You asked her nervously.

“How about these cinnamon rolls? They are really good and a new recipe I tried.” She pointed to the cinnamon rolls, and you nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll take this and a coffee please.” You answered and Ms. Maximoff turned around to make you a coffee. She put the dessert and coffee on a plate and then walked with you to a table. You sat down and she placed everything in front of you.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked shyly.

“Of course not.”

“Okay, great, because my new cookies just came out of the oven and need time to cool. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She went back, made herself a cup of coffee and then came back to you. She sat down across from you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I‘m Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hi Wanda, I‘m Y/N.“

“So, what brought you to my bakery?” Wanda asked and you told her the story of your car and how you luckily found her warm and cozy bakery. Wanda listened intently as the two of you drank your coffee and ate your dessert.

“Wow, that tasted so good.” You complimented her after eating the cinnamon roll.

“Thank you, love.” You blushed and looked out the window for a second and saw that it started to snow more.

“What do you like to do when you’re not at this wonderful bakery?” You asked Wanda as you looked back at her.

“Well, I love spending time with my brother and some friends, I love finding new recipes for all kind of stuff, and oh I really enjoy watching sitcoms.”

“Sounds really cool. What’s your favorite sitcom?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. I loved it when I was a kid and I still do.” Wanda told you.

“And what do you like to do when your car doesn’t break down in front of a bakery?” Wanda asked and you had to chuckle at her question. You told her about your hobbies and talked for a while until you got a message on your phone.

“Sorry.” You apologized and looked at your phone.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled when you saw the message from the car service station.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“It’s the car service station. It will take them a few hours to get here because of the snow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but hey, you’re lucky you ended up here.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You smiled at her. A few minutes passed before Wanda said something again.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“If you're interested, maybe you could help me with some cookies.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” You said and Wanda smiled happily. She showed you the kitchen where she makes all her desserts. Wanda then gave you an apron and you tied your hair into a ponytail. Then she showed you the recipe and started to put everything you needed on the table. You had fun helping Wanda bake the cookies and when you were done you put them in the oven and Wanda gave you a cup of hot chocolate. You stood next to her and talked for a few minutes until Wanda got the idea to decorate the cookies she had baked before you arrived. When you were almost finished, you received a message that the car service station will be here soon.

Wanda decided to give you some cookies and when you wanted to pay, she said that wasn’t necessary. You insisted that you wanted to pay, but Wanda was a little more stubborn than you, so she won. You put your jacket on and were a little sad to leave now, but you know where this bakery is so you could come back anytime.

“Goodbye, Wanda.” You said before opening the door.

“Wait.” Wanda shouted and ran towards you. You turned around and looked at her confused.

“I really enjoyed this afternoon with you and thought you might like to meet me again.” Wanda asked.

“I also really enjoyed it. I can give you my phone number, so you can text me.” Wanda nodded with a smile, and you gave her your phone number.

“See you soon, Wanda.” You said before walking out.

“See you soon. “You walked out with a smile, happy that your car broke down here and not somewhere else. Otherwise, you probably would never have met Wanda.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @yelenasdiary | @youralphawolf72 | @severelyuniquereview | @mrs-bucky-barnes-73

[multigenderswag]

Multigender Survey Results Dec 2023: Anything else relevant

Participants were asked "Share anything else about your multigender identity that you find relevant" and had the option to respond with long answer text. Some notable responses include:

As a m+f bigender person who uses he/she pronouns, I sometimes feel like the "he" refers to my female side, and the "she" refers to my male side

I am no longer religious/Christian, but the expression “God is Change” resonates deeply with me and my approach to gender as experience. I accept that my gender (holistically) is an amalgamation, something that breathes new life into itself repeatedly and often unexpectedly, sustained by its own willingness to grow past its bounds and taste richness anew. Teaching is part of my work, and as such I consider myself an eternal student: gender is just one avenue for discovery and learning for me.

I feel so boring but it is what it is, name wise I use one (completely feminine) with group A and one (completely masculine) with group B and hope and pray that they never interact

I identified as a 'tomboy' (gender wise) as a child and transmasc as a teenager. As an adult part of my being multigender is honouring these past versions of myself and acknowledging that who I was is an important part of who I am today.

I like to describe my gender like this: imagine there’s a house on a street. the house represents being a boy/male, and being *in* the house means you’re binary male. The road represents a neutral, non-male/female gender. My gender is like the driveway — both part of the road *and* the house

i think this is relevant-ish, but the way i experience gender kind of feels like. there's a man and a woman in my head at all times, not in a system way so much as a (this is very obviously stupid but i can't find another comparison to articulate it) inside out way. they're both always there, and they're both separate, but at the same time, they come together to make the same person, me! nonbinary is a label i understand and identify with, mostly to simplify the matter for others, but in reality, it kind of feels like a... superbinary of sorts. i'm 100% a man, and 100% a woman, but because the binary only "allows" you to choose one, nonbinary is technically correct, isn't it?

I'm multigender in the "one gender that fits into several categories" way than being multigender in a "has multiple genders" way

My gender is the intersection of butch dyke and trans man. I'm questioning things right now, but I'm somewhere in that region, with a foot in both at once. I've always been drawn to butchness and sapphicism as well as transmasculinity. I think most of my journey to understand my gender has been a balancing act between identifying as enough of a guy to feel comfortable in my skin but non-binary enough to not have to abandon my identity with butchness. Recently I've adopted the label multigender, and it's helped a lot. I'm only even a little bit a girl if I can be a boy first and foremost, and I could be just a boy or just a dyke but I would have to kill part of myself to do so. I'm trying to find a way to exist in my gender without blood on my hands. I think I'm getting there. It's hard but I'm getting there.

It is complicated but I love it

Yay I love multi gender people we are so cool. <3

A number of participants also referenced being autistic and how that has influenced their multigender identity, so it is possible that autism may be included as a question on the next survey.

[mattnben-bennmatt]

Ben Affleck's interview w/ Premiere (2000)

Adventures in the Celebrity Trade

In which the author faces a dread beast of epic proportions (his own alter ego), perils that would destroy a lesser man (e.g., worldwide fame), and uncouth fans, all whilst shamelessly promoting his new movie

By Ben Affleck | Photography by Sam Jones

Oscar Winner Affleck talks to himself about the hazards of fame, the art of publicity, and why you should see his new movie.

-

I'm promoting my movie. in doing so, it is incumbent on me to do an interview for a movie magazine. I've asked the good people at PREMIERE to let me contribute an article rather than be interviewed, in an effort at a little break from the norm. I've run the first draft past the studio whose movie I'm hawking, and they were kind enough to give me some feedback. In general, I believe they found my pithy little attempt at a first-person description of what it's like to actually do publicity and my own idiosyncratic deconstruction of said process mildly amusing. But they had some notes. With those in mind, let me say this: Every man, woman, and child on this earth must drop everything and run to their local multiplex to see Reindeer Games. Well, there might be a title change in the works, so maybe it won't be called Reindeer Games, but pay that no heed! Whatever the marketing folks decide to call the movie, it is absolutely imperative that you see it immediately, two or three times if need be. Watching this movie will make you smarter, more successful, and a (much) better lover. I implore you, for your own sake, pay to see this movie. It is, quite simply, the single greatest dramatic narrative of the modern era.

Now, on to the irrelevant part.

I. A DRIVE-BY

"Affleck, you suck!" was all I made out as a full can of beer sailed by, inches from my head. I believe that was the precise moment I knew things had changed.

It was a drive-by beer-canning—a little-publicized-but-all-too-real hazard for the working actor in L.A. It was June of 1997, somewhere around midnight. I was coming out of a record store on Sunset Strip, and in retrospect, I guess I should have seen it coming.

I hadn't been subject to public stoning by Budweiser since my high school days, in Boston. I remember thinking that in this new context, it was a fairly artless, albeit effective, form of what in acting class we used to call "a critique of the work." That was the first day it occurred to me that there is a side of fame that might be unpleasant. It was a peculiar induction—one Jason Patric has aptly characterized as "baptism by flashbulb"—to a strange club whose membership requirements are simple: People you've never met, seen, or spoken to develop opinions (occasionally quite negative and almost always judgmental) about you, your work, and whether or not you "suck." Though my holy water was alcoholic and carbonated and gunned at me by strangers, I suddenly had an affinity for how Mr. Patric must have felt.

Before Good Will Hunting and Armageddon, I did quite a few movies, but nobody saw them. In fact, the entertainment press corps in general seemed aggressively disinterested. When I went to Atlanta to promote Chasing Amy, I clearly remember that the few journalists who showed up to interview me seemed bored (with me), dejected (at having such a low-rent assignment), and desperate (during the actual interview) for a reason—any reason—to write anything. Later, the movie became a minor cult hit, and occasionally I would be confronted by a stranger or two (oddly, these interactions also tended to happen in record stores). But instead of berating me, these guys usually wanted to know, "Did you really nail that girl?" "Was she really a dyke?" and "Do you have her number?" While deeply flattering, these rare interactions didn't prepare me in the least for what I was to face down the road.

That night, I wondered if perhaps this was something that even the great ones have had to endure, but I could never quite convince myself that there was some rangy teenager standing outside Brando's house, hectoring the deaf masonry with the likes of "Why'd you pimp Kabuki-style gear in Moreau?!" Surely there is a point at which one is accorded some space, respect, and privacy. I just wasn't there yet.

The gangly kid's harangue at a thespian about his play is a fair confusion of character and actor. But the words and pictures that provoked the beer-flinger were not of a character in a film; they were representations of me in the press-specifically the tabloid press, coverage in which I had taken no part. So I decided to become the captain of my own destiny, or at least of my own image. I decided to stop avoiding or passively enduring press coverage; instead, I would start a conversation with the public by engaging the press, thus having control over the words and images representing me.

This was, to put it mildly, a blunder. I had underrated the forces at play in the creation of celebrity media and overrated my own ability to withstand and control them. As if that weren't bad enough, I also discovered that I was my own worst enemy.

It wasn't until my third or fourth interview was published that I began to suspect something. I would run into people who know me fairly well (like my mom) and they'd fix me with an uncertain and dubious stare. I began to anticipate the inevitable: "I read your thing in [insert name of rag here] . . ." Then their voices would trail off. I knew the sentiment. I'd experienced it before. Earlier in my career I'd get that. People would say, "Hey, I saw Phantoms. . . ." Though I understood the comment in the context of a movie where I played a sheriff in Colorado battling an ill-defined but vaguely menacing sewer monster, I didn't see the connection with the interviews. But when I asked my girlfriend what she thought about the mixed reviews I seemed to be getting, she let me have it. "I don't even recognize that person." "Who?" I lamely asked. "The guy in that interview, in any of your interviews . . . Interview Guy."

Sonofabitch. Interview Guy.

What I found when I read back over my own inanities was as phony a frat-boy-chucklehead as you're ever likely to encounter—and someone who, I hope, bears little resemblance to the guy typing out these words. Somehow I'd inadvertently given birth to a monster. Interview Guy liked to come off as a cross between a pseudo-intellectual college sophomore who'd just read his first chapter of Proust, a drunken motorcycle fanatic, and an all-around, aw-shucks-can-you-believe-I'm-just-a-regular-Joe ham bone.

The idea here is to set this gruesome record straight. I'll bring Interview Guy face-to-face with myself. The transparent difference will dissolve Interview Guy; the remaining image will be me. Either that or it'll be another in a long series of publicity disasters. At this point, I don't have much to lose.

II. INTERVIEW GUY

INT. MY HOUSE-DAY: INTERVIEW GUY, 27, bearing a striking resemblance to Ben Affleck, but wearing Prada stretch plastic trousers, comes running into the room with a beer. He does a handstand, slams his beer, and slouches into the sofa. Ben Affleck, a.k.a. ACTUAL BEN, sits across from him. Actual Ben is not nearly as good-looking as Interview Guy and seems a little taken aback.

INTERVIEW GUY: I take Viagra and I think the kids should try it at home, the little ones! [Interview Guy runs around the room twice, then heads outside. After a beat, he comes crashing back through the door on a motorcycle. He wipes out.]

INTERVIEW GUY: (Cont'd) [Re: motorcycle] I'll get another one. [Re: nothing in particular] Acting is a journey, right bro?

ACTUAL BEN: Not really. Most of the time it seems like a gigantic press junket, where I talk about my "arc" and decry the invasive nature of the press in my life—then go and have my woes translated into Korean and beamed via satellite to Asia. [A beat]

[There is another awkward beat.]

ACTUAL BEN: (Cont'd) Are you unable to smile or behave normally when having your picture taken? I mean, do you have a particular aversion to looking normal, or are you satisfying some innate urge to look like an idiot?

INTERVIEW GUY: Hey, man, I'm just a regl'r guy who likes to have fun-

ACTUAL BEN: Also, in your photographs you seem to clench your jaw, squint your eyes, and suck in your cheeks. Is something wrong with you physically? Do you have TMJ?

INTERVIEW GUY: [Flushing red] I . . . That's my strong, leading-man jawline and laser intensity coming through. . . . I can't help that! That's not on purpose. . . .

ACTUAL BEN: This isn't going anywhere; let's go to the questions. . . .

[Ed Note: During this segment of the interview, both Interview Guy and Actual Ben have agreed to answer a list of prepared questions. A tape recorder was placed in the room, and the following is a verbatim transcript of their answers.]

QUESTION: What is your favorite magazine?

INTERVIEW GUY: Maxim . . . no PREMIERE! This is for PREMIERE, right?

ACTUAL BEN: I don't have a favorite.

QUESTION: Who is your favorite actor?

INTERVIEW GUY: Arnold, Sly, your mom . . . just playin', guy. . . .

ACTUAL BEN: Morgan Freeman, Denzel Washington, Benicio Del Toro, Sean Penn, Meryl Streep, Cole Hauser, Casey Affleck, Jay Lacopo, Vince Vaughn, Joaquin Phoenix, Don Cheadle, the brothers Wilson, Ed Norton, Nicolas Cage, Robert De Niro, Marlon Brando, Zeljko Ivanek, Dennis Franz, Julianne Moore, Steve Buscemi, Frances McDormand—there are really a ton of actors I think are great and whom I admire. And I honestly believe after seeing The Talented Mr. Ripley and All the Pretty Horses that Matt Damon is one of, if not the, finest young actor around.

INTERVIEW GUY: That Ripley thing, that's a gay picture, right?

ACTUAL BEN: Well, no, it's not. . . .

QUESTION: In the wake of the massacre at Columbine High School, there has been greater scrutiny on the level of senseless and gratuitous violence in movies. What role do you think movie violence plays in influencing real people, and what is the responsibility of filmmakers and actors?

INTERVIEW GUY: I'm so sick of that question. Some idiot kid who played too much Mortal Kombat and can't get a girlfriend decides to shoot up his school . . . that's not Sylvester Stallone's fault for making Cobra. The guy was trying to make a kickass Marion Cobretti biker picture. Forget about teaching masturbation in schools; they ought to hand out twenty bucks and a map to Korea town. You get yourself a little massage-parloring down there, you feel a lot less inclined to blow up your lunchroom!

ACTUAL BEN: I disagree.

INTERVIEW GUY: 'Course you disagree; you smoke cock.

ACTUAL BEN: No, I don't "smoke cock," I just think there is some responsibility to be had by those of us who have some impact over the content of movies and how violence is presented. Doubtless, there is blame aplenty to go around. But the exploitation of mindless violence for the sake of titillation, without any attention paid to the genuine trauma that real violence does cause, is irresponsible.

QUESTION: What qualities and/or attributes do you find attractive in a woman? What would your "ideal woman" be like?

ACTUAL BEN: I can't say I have any one "type." I have dated and been attracted to all kinds of women. I tend to be able to look past first impressions and am usually attracted to a woman whom I like and want to be around. No matter how "hot" some woman is, I'd find her very unattractive if I couldn't stand to have a conversation with her.

INTERVIEW GUY: You done, Jake-O? Okay. That's bullshit. Everybody goes by appearances. I got nothing against the homely broad, I just don't care to give her a jump, you follow me? As far as what type of chick I most like, I'd say I'm your basic, red-blooded, Claudia Schiffer-Pam Anderson type of guy. And, you know, her beaver doesn't have to be shaved but . . . I don't mind it!

[Ed. Note: There is a five-minute segment of the tape where Interview Guy runs around the room, high-fiving no one in particular and repeating porn dialogue to the tune of the theme song from Martin. Finally, he cracks open a beer and sits back down.]

QUESTION: Are movies important?

INTERVIEW GUY: I think they can be. You go see Anaconda and you know you can't take a river trip with Owen Wilson, a rapper, and the guy from Deliverance, 'cause it's gonna end badly. So that's a public-health message, in a way. Fuck, come to think of it, that was the second bad rafting experience for Jon Voight. There's a fucker you really don't want on your Outward Bound crew. . . .

ACTUAL BEN: No.

QUESTION: Can you define your relationship with Gwyneth Paltrow?

INTERVIEW GUY: Well, she's my friend. She's very smart, very sweet, really just a good, decent person, and someone I both respect and admire. She's also a dynamite actress. As it happens, we just did a movie together called Bounce, which will be out in summer 2000 at a theater near you.

[Ed. Note: At this point there is a second lengthy pause on the tape and sounds of a struggle. Then nothing. It's the Blair Witch of Books on Tape. . . .]

III. BEING SEAN PENN

There's a reason that the National Enquirer has the highest circulation of any paper in the country. People like it. And people like it because, despite what most actors tend to imagine the general public is fascinated by (i.e., every subtlety and nuance of their latest performance), it concerns that very thing that drives most people to the movies in the first place: sex. And not just sex but gossip-who is having it with whom, who's been jilted, who gets the kids, who's getting above their station, who threw a fit on their show and fired a bunch of people. All of it. The movie business has become a kind of ongoing soap opera. The same characters move from one story to another, augmented by bits of background titillation from newspapers and magazines, and people go to see how the latest installment in the Schwarzenegger serial will turn out. Therefore, it should be no surprise to actors that their private lives seem inexorably entwined with whatever perception people have of their performances, and vice versa. In fact, that gossip, that tabloid fodder, is an organic part of the perceptions people have when they go to the movies.

The majority of famous actors are not famous because of roles they've played. The random passerby, when asked, will tell you they've heard of a particular actor but will have difficulty naming more than one or two movies he's been in. What people do see, far more than the movies, are the television shows and magazines in which actors promote their films. This creates a strange dynamic, where celebrity becomes the goal, publicity the means, and the actual work takes a distant backseat.

If one takes for granted that the goal of an actor is to assume the identity of another person, then doing publicity as oneself seems absolutely the wrong thing to do. The less people know about you, the less apt they are to project some preconception onto your performance. There are actors who seem to understand this conundrum and have managed to deal with it in a sensible way.

There are powerful forces at work that compel an actor, after appearing in a movie or two, to whore out every last detail of their gonorrhea treatments, incestuous experiments with grandma, shock therapy, and the time they had one too many and got a five-dollar hand job in T.J. And later the same bunch that threw you to the press will tell you not to give so much away. You can't win.

So what, then, is the lesson? I really don't know. You can lie to the press (my brother, Casey, once told Interview magazine that he had a Ph.D. in eugenics from Columbia), you can bullshit a little (whereupon your friends from home tell you you've changed and you're full of shit, and you're mom is ashamed of you), you can go ahead and talk about the "touching game" you played with Uncle Ted (and then your mom really is ashamed of you). Or you can go the route of the dignified and be Sean Penn. Just watch out for the backlash—it gets ugly.

Whenever I've run this theory past the cocktail-party crowd, the response is always a Pollyannaish "What's wrong with the truth?" Or "Just be yourself!" Now, while that may be sound and novel advice, in this case it misses the mark, for two reasons. First, after you've had to distort and misrepresent yourself for every producer in town (e.g., like the time you had to pluck every emotional chord you've got to muster up some semblance of passion for your Beverly Hills 90210 crying-scene audition), you hardly know who or what the real you is anymore. Second, no one really wants to "be themselves" in public. We are reluctant to expose ourselves even to friends, much less to a jaded public with an eye for scandal and an unquenchable thirst for hubris and its attendant fall. So I, like every other sensible person thrust into (or thrusting themselves toward) the glare of the public eye, tried to project an improved version of myself. Big mistake.

Before anyone imagines that this is some kind of lamentation of a great evil in the world, let me say this: Any actor who has had any success whatsoever ought to count his lucky stars that he turns over enough bread for the Enquirer to even consider including him on the "worst dressed" list. Clearly, successful actors (and particularly those who, even for a fleeting moment, are anointed "movie stars") enjoy wealth, power, and privilege wildly beyond their station. We should take what we get and like it—I don't contest that. I do, however, find the situation of "promoting" myself and my movies curious and contradictory.

But in the end, it is probably not worth deconstructing. It's a pretty straightforward thing: Talk to somebody, brag on your movie some, and hope that a few more people go to see it because they're intrigued with what they've read. And, hey, maybe they've gotten to know the actor a little better. In that spirit, let me end where I began: Who I am, and why you should see my movie.

I'm somebody who probably has too many mirrors in his house, but doesn't much like what he sees when he looks into them. I try to be generous, try to be kind, and try to remember how lucky I've been, but I've been known to fall short in all three regards. As far as fame and fortune go, I generally believe one should understand that none of it is deserved, but try to take as much advantage of it as one can in good conscience. I like quiet and the idea of rest, but can't seem to stop moving. I like people (as someone once said), but I hate gatherings. I try to expose myself to diversity, change, and new experiences, but when alone in my car, I end up listening to the same song over and over on the CD player. I know that fame and fortune are fleeting (as Matt recently said in GQ, "the phone stopped ringing for better actors than me"), but I can't help hoping that I can do this forever. I believe in the friends and family I've known since childhood, but I've already lost touch with too many. I love company and the security of love, but most days I feel alone. If I had to choose between being held in high regard by those in the movie business or esteemed by those around me whom I admire, respect, and have known through thick and thin, I'll opt for the latter: a life where people still talk to you even if the phone rings only occasionally, and where your friends don't mind if you haven't made it onto the cover of a flashy movie magazine in quite some time. Oh: And go see the movie I made with John Frankenheimer. It's pretty good.

Ben Affleck, actor and Oscar-winning writer (Good Will Hunting), blew his deadline but only misspelled two words in this piece.

[scotianostra]

On 4th June 1694 the Merchant Maiden Hospital was established in the Cowgate, Edinburgh.

Mary Erskine and the Company of Merchants Edinburgh co-found the Merchant Maiden Hospital to house and educate the destitute daughters of Edinburgh's merchants. 'Hospital' was a term given to an endowed charitable foundation at this time.

The Hospital (school) was initially housed in the Company of Merchants' own halls in the Cowgate. In 1696 the first girls took up residence in the Merchant Company's Cowgate building, lodging in the gallery above the Great Hall.

The Hospital moved to Bristo Street in about 1706, to a site purchased by Mary Erskine. However, by the start of the 19th Century the governers were resolved on the contruction of a new hospital. Robert Reid, Richard Crichton and a Mr Harvey supplied plans for a hospital in Lothian Street, This was never built; instead, in 1816, the new building in Lauriston was commissioned. The Merchant Maidens resided here from 1818 until 1870, when they removed (as the 'Edinburgh Educational Institution for Young Ladies') to Queen Street.

From 1870 to 1933, the premises were occupied by George Watson's Boys College.

However, the site was purchased by the Royal Infirmary for its expansion plans, and the College moved to Colinton Road. Burn's building was demolished, and the Simpson Memorial Maternity Pavilion and Florence Nightingale Nurses' Home built in its place.

Since 1944, on the 250th anniversary of Mary Erskine’s original foundation, the school has been known as The Mary Erskine School and currently caters for some 750 pupils. It is one of the oldest all girls’ schools in the world. It’s sister school of the all-boys Stewart Melvilles share a co-ed nursery and junior school up to and including 11 year olds.

The school has had several premises through the centuries and is now based at Ravelston Dykes..

[amoxicillin-tangent]

"her · it · age"

property that is or may be inherited; an inheritance.

i visit my hometown for the first time in a decade. i have never felt more or less like me. before today, i was no one because i had nowhere to remember and nothing that was truly mine. and now i feel like someone again. someone with roots.

my roots are filthy, nasty, rotten. set in a town with more bayous than banks, backwater, backwoods. my roots are set in trailer parks with moon crater puddles of stagnant water. my roots are set in putrid places where flowers refuse to bloom.

but at the corner right past the railroad that goes on forever, there is a trailer home without air conditioning where the hummingbirds fly. that is where my murky, trashy, broken roots begin and they are mine.

i buy a french vanilla cappuccino from a corner store that's open all night. the cashier takes one look at me and say "that'll be a dollar forty-nine. yer one-a dem Gauthier girls, aintcha?" and I nod politely, say yes ma'am i am, though i'm a Gauthier in face and not name. i pay a dollar bill and 2 quarters for my drink. she gives me a dime in change. by the time i realize she got it wrong, it's too late for me to turn back. i pocket the 10-cent piece. maybe I'll frame it.

there's a man selling peaches by the basket on the roadside. i buy a single one. it drips down my chin and tastes like heaven like home, and the scent won't leave my breath. i turn the car around and go back, understanding now why he sells them in batches of 20.

the clouds are fallen angels turning their backs on the world. everything prays for the south-- the grass, the grain, the dirt. eventually the angel clouds turn back around, casting their shadows at the rusted crucifix on Margie's purple wall. 

there are no towers on the horizon, no mechanical sepulchers sinking their teeth into the ground to drink the oil like parched soil drinks the year's first rainfall. there are no towers here, just trees for miles and angel clouds and rickety train-cars fallen on their sides.

the roads are almost empty, where they exist at all. there is more traffic at night. some of it is ghosts. no one questions this.

the neighbor ladies sip sweet tea and their gossip sounds like ice cubes clinking against smudged glasses, "didja hear Jessica's baby ain't right in the head?" "sure ain't. and who would be, under the circumstances? can't believe she married Chantelle." "funny, i never reckoned she'd be a dyke." there is an edge of disdain in their tea-glass voices, overshadowed by boredom.

strange things happen in the church on 1st street. the trains rush through the town. before anyone hears or sees them, they make their presence known by shaking the ground. everything is dilapidated now. the buildings are broken like a child's lincoln log castles. the families are shattered like mother's good vases.

the morning light comes and dew glistens over everything, spiderwebs stretch out bigger than my face, clover fields and dove feathers and honeysuckles litter the ground. 

everything has changed but its all the same, there are still pieces of me scattered through the world. at least i have this one back.

it's time for me to leave.

[ebp-brain]

ficlet: Dean Winchester is a butch lesbian and has way more game that way

[I told myself: it's been ages since you've written fic. just write a ficlet to get back into it. it can be about literally any character. just pick one. this is what my brain did.]

Dee takes the waitress out to the back on her break, around the alley by the dumpster. It smells like old oil and trash, but hey, there’s a breeze. The waitress is looking at Dee in a way that makes Dee suspect she’s never been kissed by a girl before, at least not a dyke with a buzzcut—maybe some “experimenting” at slumber parties, maybe that much. She’s blonde and cute and skinner than Dee usually likes ‘em, but beggars can’t be choosers and hunters can’t either. Usually Dee’s more likely to be run out of a small-town diner for flirting with the waitress, Sam shaking his head in exasperation as he leaves a ten on the table and follows, but she got lucky today. Or she’s about to.

“So you’re, uh. On a road trip? With your…?”

“Brother,” Dee says. The girl looks nervous. She looks more nervous when Dee steps close to her. “Just passing through.”

“Right.”

“Right. You got real pretty hair, you know that?”

The waitress—Alison—flushes. “Thanks.”

“What’s that lip gloss?” Dee asks, getting in close and smelling something fruity. “Cherry?”

“Cherry Coke.” Alison licks her lips, little pink tongue darting out, then says, a hint of bravado in her voice: “Want some?”

Dee grins, and kisses her. She tenses and then melts, back up against the brick wall of the diner, letting Dee crowd her. Good kisser. Might be her first time with a lesbian, but Dee’s willing to be it’s not her first time with a customer who’s just passing through. She makes a little noise in her throat—Dee is certain it’s calculated but couldn’t give a shit—and Dee grabs her hips and hoists her legs up around Dee’s waist. Alison gasps.

They make out, breathless and already sweating from the heat. Dee has to set her down after a bit but she takes the opportunity to grab Dee’s wrists and puts them up under her shirt. Dee feels a warm stomach, then a lacy bra.

“I only got a ten minute break,” Alison whispers.

That’s about how long till Sammy starts getting restless anyway and wants to get back to the hunt. “Better make it count,” says Dee.

“Only five minutes left now, probably.”

Dee presses her hard against the wall, their bodies flush, Dee’s knee between Alison’s legs. “I work fast,” Dee says, and feels Alison’s grin against her lips.

[quadalupita]

Today, my wife and I begin our exit from our shitty, wannabe fascist state to a hopefully better one. Feeling pushed out of the place where we first made a home for ourselves, our home state where we have both lived for over 25 years, is generating a lot of complicated emotions that I’m too spaced out to sort through at the moment. So I’m focusing on excitement instead.

Besides, now I get to see @dyke-pollinator’s garden. I know she takes such good care of it!!

The road trip to greener pastures starts today baby!!!

[youhideastar]

first and last lines

Rules: go through your last 5 fics and share the first and last line. No context.

I was tagged by @sunshine304, thank you! 😄

Fit for Purpose

First: Wei Wuxian knows he can’t stay forever. No more than Lan Zhan could have tossed aside all his responsibilities, on that road away from Guanyin Temple, and come roaming with him.

Last: He's so good, Wei Wuxian thinks, and he smiles as he slips out of the waking world.

End Racism in the OTW

First: When Wei Ying had started teasing Lan Zhan (approximately 30 seconds after meeting Lan Zhan for the first time in their music therapy seminar) it was totally costless, because it wasn’t like she was fucking up her chances at dating this beautiful, expressionless, chic alpha dyke – obviously someone like that wouldn’t be caught dead on a date with a dorky goth disaster like Wei Ying to begin with.

Last: From the smile on Lan Zhan’s face as she rises to join Wei Ying, Wei Ying thinks she knows that. And somehow, that’s not embarrassing at all.

Tender

First: Lan Wangji arrives in Yiling as the sun is setting. He had hoped to arrive at midday, but the delay makes little difference. He will seek out Wei Ying tomorrow, instead.

Last: Lan Wangji, in the midst of his sorrow, smiles—then he turns away and walks down the narrow road into the dark.

Concord

First: Lan Wangji is not consulted as to whether he wishes to marry.

Last: “Come to bed with me, husband,” says Wei Ying, with a sketch of a sweet and secretive smile. “If you would please me. Lan Zhan. Come to bed.” Lan Wangji does.

Untitled Current WIP

First: Wei Ying walks into the strategy meeting late, unapologetic, head high, wearing a faint smirk and surrounded—as he always is, now—by a choking cloud of alpha pheromones, heavy as a gathering storm. The betas around the table—Jiang Wanyin and Jin Zixun—hunch their shoulders and dip their heads. It is likely, Lan Wangji thinks, that they do not even themselves understand why.

Last (for now): “Wei Ying will no longer go into battle without me at his side.”

Postscript: I was really expecting all the last lines to be someone falling asleep--I am so prone to that! And yes, there was one of those. 😂 But apparently my new default ending is... smiling?? The more you know. The beginnings are also interesting - both of the WWX POV fics begin with WWX stating that he/she can't have the thing that, by the end of the fic, WWX is totally going to have. The LWJ POV fic beginnings, by contrast, emphasize exposition rather than emotion, and have a pretty matter-of-fact tone. So yeah - a fun and interesting exercise all around!

If you'd like to play, I'm tagging @queenofattolia, @travelingneuritis, @chrononautintraining and @stultiloquentia!

[baasthasthezoomies]

So, I am maybe going through the Dark Night of the Soul here. Had a series of difficult things happen back-to-back-to-back starting in 2021.

First my mom died—long story… I partly blame Alex Jones for how she died

My father then had a full psychological collapse, stopped making ANY decisions (including whether to eat), lost 100lbs, and nearly died himself before I could get him in inpatient care

Kate, my love and partner in crime, was run off the road by a guy on meth and she was hospitalized. Thankfully she’s fine but it was scary and my car was totaled

My dad had 3 months of little improvement then finally underwent ECT (PSA: modern ECT is not the same as 1950s electro-shock therapy), which was MIRACULOUS and finally got him well enough to go home when nothing else worked

Street cat Van had a flareup of a spinal injury we didn’t know she had. She was in horrible pain and we thought she was dying

It took a year to be named executor for what little “estate” my mom had (which is a heavy burden in a normal circumstance), but the covid-related delay made handling her bank accounts A NIGHTMARE

During all this I was on a temporary work assignment embedded inside another company and forced to endure that organization’s fully abusive environment. I was berated daily and made to witness THE MOST EGREGIOUS racism, sexism, and transphobia I could imagine in a workplace (nothing anti-gay specifically but I’m an obvious dyke so I figure they just kept it behind my back). The HR manager was THE WORST ONE OF THEM ALL. I didn’t have it in me to fight an entire organization, despite witnessing blatantly illegal shit. My company ultimately had to just get me out

I got covid from one of the horrible work people who refused to wear a mask, came to work sick, tested positive for covid AND KEPT COMING TO WORK

A couple weeks back baby cat Beeps (who has never been outdoors) bolted and was lost for 3 days in rainy, 30°F weather before we got her back

The next weekend I had to take my younger sister to the hospital for rectal bleeding. Yikes. I was in the hospital with her for 3 days and they discharged her without a diagnosis. Kate & I brought her back to our place for the next week so we could take care of her

Basically it has been rough.

All this to explain, while we were in the ER waiting for my sister to be admitted I rewrote the lyrics to part of Personal Jesus to be about her situation; trying to distract her from the horrible pain she was in. Now I can’t get it out of my head as being sung this way:

🎵Your own🎵

🎵Personal🎵

🎵Toilet🎵

🎵Place where you say your prayers🎵

🎵Hope there’s no stairs🎵

🎵Feeling real sad🎵

🎵Cause your colon’s bad🎵

🎵Blood in the scat🎵

🎵There’s a problem with that🎵

🎵Frequent diarrhea🎵

🎵Let’s take you to the ER🎵

So this latest insult, to both me and Depeche Mode, is really uncalled for.

[shaunsummers]

Reunited, and It's in the Woods!

"Fleetwood Mac alright?" One hand on the wheel, another on her battered leather CD case, Shaun rifles through her collection as they made their way down the road. Of course, still surfacing often to keep her eyes on the road. Meeting the look on Lilith's face, she can only laugh.

"What? You should expect this by now, being friends with a dyed-in-the-wool dyke. Plus, it's a road trip. Can't go wrong with a little Americana." Before Lilith can protest, she wiggles the 'Rumors' album from its case, sliding it into the console. "Blame Casey for lending me the vinyl."

Glancing across the aisle, though, she can only crick a slight smile; the further they got from Williamsburg, the more Lilith seemed to uncoil and relax. Shaun had only gotten to see her once—she'd made good on that 'make-up' night, and cuddling was an understatement, not that she'd minded—so it was nice to see her again, knowing the stress of everything could be put on pause for a weekend. "Lucky you, I got the window fixed. So you've got an out if Stevie Nicks isn't worth living for."

Shaun just amplifies the pain by cranking up the volume, pausing to rifle for a cigarette. "Really, though...I'm glad we could do this." Though, surely to Lilith's chagrin, it only gets worse as 'Second Hand News' fades into 'Dreams'. Usually Shaun wasn't too forward in bursting into song, but she'd be remiss to not give into the good vibes that were already circulating. A pleasant weekend away in the woods, a full cooler of booze and steaks, and the company of wayward friends. She couldn't help to take a bit of joy in it.

"Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom Well, who am I to keep you down? It's only right that you should play the way you feel it But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness

Like a heartbeat, drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost And what you had And what you lost

Oh, thunder only happens when it's raining Players only love you when they're playing Say, women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know"

While at first the sameness of Williamsburg transitioned to that of the city outskirts, it too eventually faded into smaller and smaller towns and taller and taller trees. As the towering of distant mountains moved closer, Shaun knew their drive was nearing its end. And thank god for the truck, for the dirt road curling around the sierra's base wasn't as closely maintained as she'd figure. She couldn't help but wish Tek the best of luck in her little beater. But as shit as the way up had been, she couldn't help but to find the quaint, old log cabin quite charming. Among a smattering of maples and oaks, the climb straightened out into a small jut of straight land before spilling downhill towards the lake. With its green tin roof and layer of red paint plastered over the door, and the distant shed with a weathered canoe tipped against its wall, she couldn't help but to think "L.L. Bean cover".

"Shit. Good job, Lilith." Shaun chuckles, pulling past the overhanging porch to leave room for the others. "I didn't know you were into Deliverance chic. It's even got one of those fancy fire pits." In the back, a swing, some wooden lawn chairs, and an overturned log circled the metal grate in its center, leaving plenty of room between it and a charcoal grill. "Want to christen the place? Check for badgers? I can start unloading." She cuts the engine, sitting contentedly in the cooler air gifted by the elevation for a moment.

[tenobelisk]

Tired Old Dyke Describes Harrowing Ordeal With Appointments Roads and Departments #141

Today I rather fittingly began my journey toward a diagnosis of ME/CFS with a black cloud over my head, feeling like a walking bruise after three appointments in a week, each involving long walks down london streets before Talking To People whose job it is to help me.

Despite being able to easily afford public transport worry-free for the first time in my adult life (i am in my forties), the time pressure involved with lining up for the scanner, getting off at the right stop, navigating crowds, Unskippable Ads (leaflet person, noisy strangers or shop audio) and taking a Route I Have Not Taken Before results in a walk being preferable and most likely healthier.

So there's me sitting down with the GP and going through the symptoms of the condition to see where i diverged. When she asks me how my symptoms compare to "pre-illness" I inform her that I do not recall a time when I did not have these symptoms upon exertion and/or exhaustion. This is then met with measurable silence.

My entire life i have put 100% effort into keeping up with others who seem to do the same tasks with maybe 60% and have room left for.. talking? eating? laughing? afterwards. I have always worn out quicker, been weaker and had less motivation to do anything physically effortful. Perhaps with the exception of bedroom shenanigans.

I think of the scene in the movie Gattaca when the brothers have a swimming race at a beach with a point way out in the depths as the finish line. The "normal" brother beats the genetically modified one. When asked how it was possible, the unmodified brother confesses he did not save any energy for the swim back. That is how I have attempted to keep up with the expectations and standards of those around me. I have changed diets, changed lifestyles, changed countries, changed partners and changed nothing.

I have had to smile and shrug my shoulders at suggestions that it will get easier or I just need to stick it out or oh it must be your (insert diagnosis) and so on. Nope. I have been waiting for the thing people told me would happen when I went back in for another try. Again and again.

As it turns out, my brain fog and post-exertional malaise have been so constant and consistent with any effortful activity that I genuinely believed it to be something everyone goes through but just Puts Up With Better. So now let's see what an actual label for a lifelong short fuse means for me. Maybe i will feel justified in having a lie down the next time I am drunk and slurring words with no alcohol in sight.

[fuckterfs-deactivated20221212]

I can't add much except some anecdotal material about archives. I worked at a public city archive in germany for a year, and saw some of the documents stored there. I saw serious uses of the written nazi salute, diary entries by nazis wishing things upon jews I don't want to repeat, personnel files where people got fired for having a jewish grandparent. Stuff that sucks, that I wouldn't seek out to look at in my free time. But I am glad we kept it.

It's not just bad stuff, of course. Thanks to that same archive I know of a former olympic strongman who hid an elderly half-jew in his apartment until almost the end of the second world war, when 72 year old Moritz Sommer got hanged in public on a market square. There were good people, people whose diaries told not of their hate for people not very different from them, but instead hope for a better time, love, empathy.

I have seen documents about the first gay clubs being founded in that city. I have seen photos of dykes and fags that would now be as old as my grandparents. I have seen a letter of complaint from the 1870s because a road in front of a school building got very dusty in the summer and said dust would get carried onto the school yard by the wind, making it impossible for the kids to be outside during recess. I have seen a marriage certificate halfway filled out and then crossed out, leaving only speculation about what may have happened.

I have seen people living lives just as complicated as ours, with hopes and dreams and political and social issues similar and different from ours. As soon as we decide we can throw out part of this picture of what life used to be like, we begin lying to ourselves and those who come next. If we decided to throw out the letters starting with "Heil Hitler" who says the next generation doesn't throw out the photos of gay men in leather straps? Deciding that there's parts of society not worth archiving is deciding that maybe in the future our part of society may be seen as undesirable.

The nazis burned research about gay and trans people and we're still catching up to that loss, fighting to firmly establish a part of society that previously was deemed not worthy of preservation. Let's not cause that for future generations.

I don’t like wading into Ao3 debates, but I want to give my professional opinion on Ao3 with regard to archives vs. libraries.

I am a professional librarian (MSLS) and I have worked in both archives and public libraries and a lot of the confusion and concern I see surrounding Ao3 is a fundamental misunderstanding of How Archives Work.

An archive is a collection related to a subject. That subject often a person but sometimes a field or concept or project. And the purpose of an archive is to keep everything. And I mean everything. I was going to say “short of biohazards” but since I know there’s a sealed R. Crumb Devil Gal chocolate bar in the UNC Chapel Hill archives, we really do mean everything.

When a collection of materials–which are usually unique and original and can be photos, manuscripts, letters, recordings (audio and/or visual), notes and notebooks, objects, published books, whatever–on and/or from the subject arrive at the archive, they are examined, preserved for longevity, accessioned and cataloged (added to the archive’s records), and added to the archive. You measure collections in linear feet. As in, once it’s all preserved and boxed and secure, you note how many feet of shelf space it takes up. And some of y'all on Ao3 have a lot of linear feet to your name (and I’m proud of you).

This is an archive: it is designed to preserve the original materials related to a subject. That is its purpose. Archives are how we have the original scroll manuscript of On the Road, for example, or the Lomax recordings of American folksongs, or Tijuana Bibles, or James Joyce’s loveletters to Nora.

Now you, a member of the public, can access some archives. Some are easier to access than others. The one I worked in was open to the public; good luck getting into the British Archives without a good reason.

So now apply this to Ao3–which is an archive both in name and in purpose. It is intended to preserve fan-created content long term. And this means everything, whether you personally like the materials or not. It is a repository for as much as possible.

And the “whether you personally like the materials or not” is important, hence why I mentioned Jim’s loveletters and Tijuana Bibles in particular. (RIP Jim, you would have loved pegging.)

If it’s made by fans and it exists, we should keep it to document the history and progression of fandom. That is the point. We have lost enough materials related to the subject of fans of media and we don’t need to lose any more.

The fact of the matter is that Ao3 is only one facet of the OTW, which preserves other fan-related materials (convention booklets and zines, for example). Somehow Ao3, an archive on the subject of fanfiction, has been divorced from the rest of the project, mostly by way of “purity culture” and panic over “dangerous” fiction.

The fact that you can go through an archive and find interesting information is the other side of archives. No, they shouldn’t be like the banker’s box of old letters stuffed in my closet. Yes, they should be organized and as accessible as is appropriate for the state of the materials.

It’s really, really cool to find stuff in an archive, I’m not even going to lie. I have done it before and I will do it again. And yet there are other items in an archive that I might not want or need or be interested in at all–but they’re still there. That’s the cataloging and accessioning: to keep up with what’s there, to stay “on topic” with collecting, and to be able to find things in that archive. Bless the tag wranglers who are doing the cataloging at Ao3.

The pearl clutching seems to come from 1. the creation of “dangerous” fanworks and 2. public access to those “dangerous” fanworks. These are issues of “purity culture” and opinions on censorship and should not involve Ao3.

Ao3, under the umbrella of the OTW, is a documentation and preservation project first and foremost.

[riverdamien]

"Trust No Man!"

Sloughing Towards Galilee!

"Trust No Man!"

"But Jesus on his part would not entrust himself to them. "Trust No Man, "for he knew what is in everyone." John 2:24.

These are harsh words spoken by Jesus and the message of the gospel his care will be: "Love is the heart's immortal thirst to completely be known and all before given (Henry Van Dyke).

The only person who has ever been there in such a manner for me is Jesus, even though I have tried to find that amid humanity.

My first denomination loved me and trained me, and when I came out as gay, turned their backs on me and shamed me publicly, using lies, so it has been my experience of institutions through the years and so I have gone through a deconstruction of my relationship with institutions--you can "Trust No Institution.

Over ten years ago, a new addition to our ministry was that of working with inmates on death row, children, young men primarily being human trafficked, and several "friends" of mind walked away, my shoulder was busted, and for months was in much pain, during a period of absolute aloneness.

I went through several months of drinking, and pot smoking; I have always hated alcohol, and can not stand its taste, but I drank it. Until one day  I rereading John, I was reminded of the words of Jesus to "trust no human being!" Jesus touched my heart, reminding me: "I called you in your mother's womb," I became a "straight edge", by choice, got off my ass, and started working.

In the last six months or so as we have begun planning for our 30th anniversary, messages of telling me, "It is time for you to retire," You have had a good run," There has been no one I can turn to anymore, money is not coming in as it was, and Temenos depends on what I can raise, and so I pay high taxes, I have been feeling very much alone, very much so, and again, the smiling face of Jesus comes "Trust no human being! Follow Me! All will be well!" Jesus was reminding me of the words of Henry Van Dyke,"Love is the heart's immortal thirst to completely be known and all before given!" I find that love in him and so as I turn my total focus back to ministry as  I receive a phone call, reminding me of a young man, for whom I have much sadness.

Jacob was fifteen, fighting with his parents, and ran away. On a dark rainy night, he called me, wanting to come over, and never made it. He never lied to me and I felt his desperation when he called. I became worried and called his parents so did they, but as usual, the police said, "Oh he will be home." Later rumors on the streets came to me he had met a nicely dressed gentleman for whom he provided services, and was promised a lot of money to join him and his other young guys on a "road trip", and Jacob was sent to your Europe, trafficked. His parents several years later sent me an email, they had received a set of his clothes and told me he had died, and they were moving away. They could not stay in their old house or the area with so many negative memories.

Human trafficking is real, it is heavy in San Francisco, Chicago, and Los Angeles, never talked about except about girls, for you know boys can choose what they want to do for they have erections, such bull shit!

Today sextortion is real, minors are being extorted over the internet, and some lead into human trafficking.

Below I am attaching a memo sent out on the subject this morning, listen, and let the reality that evil sink into your heart, no one chooses to be trafficked, young men and women are trafficked on the streets and residences of San Francisco, so listen or read and meditate:

Dear faith community partners in the fight against human trafficking and child exploitation,

On December 19th, 2022, the FBI issued a Safety Warning regarding the Sextortion of young boys playing video games.   With the advent of 5G, criminal organizations in 3rd world countries now have access to our children.  As a result, the FBI is now raising the alarm regarding their aggressive blackmail tactics which is causing an alarming rise in teen suicides, especially among boys.

We know that over the summer the rate of both human trafficking and sextortion go up dramatically. For that reason, I created a 5.5-minute video entitled “How We Protect Children From the Fastest Growing Form of Cyber Exploitation” that can be shown to parents and anyone who has contact with youth.  The video illustrates exactly how both young children and teens are being approached.   It also includes how to report and where one can get free downloadable resources that churches and schools can use to raise awareness. 

Please do share and like the video below so that we can protect young children from losing their innocence and prevent more teen suicides.  For those churches that are looking for more on what they can do to fight human trafficking and child exploitation, do get our book at Amazon entitled “The Role of the Church in Ending Human Trafficking, A Step-by-Step Guide on How to Take Effective Action.”

My God continue to bless your efforts to bring Jesus to our lost world.

Susan Patterson

Director, Through Gods Grace Ministry

www.throughGodsgrace.com

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

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Dr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

Post Office Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

paypal.com

415-305-2124

Dr. River Sims, D.Min., D.S.T.

Director

Certificate in Drug and Alcohol Addiction

Certificate in Spiritual Direction

Certificate In Religious Trauma

(30th Anniversary Celebration!)

October 5, 2024

5:00 p.m.

Victor's Pizza

(Where Bought Youth First Pizza!)

Prayer of St. Brendan!

"Help me to journey beyond the familiar

and into the unknown.

Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You. Christ of the mysteries I trust in You to be stronger than each storm within me.

I will trust in the darkness and know that my times, even now, are in Your hands.

Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,

and somehow, make my obedience count for You"

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(Temenos and Dr. River seek to remain accessible to everyone. We do not endorse particular causes, political parties, or candidates, or take part in public controversies, whether religious, political or social--Our pastoral ministry is to everyone!

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