October 20, 2014


(Source: eros-turannos)

October 19, 2014

"You didn't even change your clothes.Then it's time to add a splash of colour."

"You didn't even change your clothes.
Then it's time to add a splash of colour."

(Source: hobbitbilbo, via johnfuckingwatson)

October 17, 2014
Remembering and Forgetting


Abbie felt stupid kneeling beside his grave. Felt even stupider for bringing flowers, mums in fall-bright colors, yellow and orange and red so dark it started to slide into burgundy. But the flowers weren’t for him. Not really. They were for everyone who walked by the unassuming headstone, so each and every one of them knew that August Corbin was remembered.

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October 17, 2014
"Fan fiction, fan art, the way female fans celebrate what they love: this stuff isn’t a secret anymore – and it shouldn’t be a punch line anymore, either. It’s a big messy world full of amateur writing and unedited work, but it’s also got of some of the best fiction I’ve ever read, published or otherwise. You don’t have to participate in it to afford it even a modicum of respect. I’ll be the first to volunteer if you ever want to learn. But if you’re not interested in that, politely decline to answer. It’s easy to blame the celebrity, dragged into answering these questions. But really, the fault lies with the media. Please, please, please journalists: stop asking celebrities about fan fiction. Unless you’re having an in-depth conversation about fictional constructions of the actors’ personae (like the very one you’ll be presenting in your piece?), it serves no purpose. Non-fans likely don’t get it; fans think you look like a bully – because you are."

elizabethminkel on why it doesn’t matter what Benedict Cumberbatch thinks of Sherlock fanfiction. (via newstatesman)

I, like many of us, had some feelings about a certain interview this week…

(via elizabethminkel)

elizabethminkel you are a treasure…

(via annejamison)

(via pennypaperbrain)

9:49pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zpw3Fv1TPSvge
Filed under: fan fiction 
October 17, 2014

In which I continue to corrupt my friends, with the help of creepingmuse :D


In which I continue to corrupt my friends, with the help of creepingmuse :D

October 17, 2014


For honor, then.

October 16, 2014
Sexy, Part 2


I’ve been avoiding writing lately, partly because of my schedule, but also because I know I’m afraid of writing about Sexy Ray. He’s been in my dreams lately, and we exchanged a couple Facebook messages after I couldn’t get him out of my thoughts.

I feel nostalgic when I think about Sexy Ray, but I don’t have any lasting desire for this dreamy guitar player I fell head over heels in love with at my cousin’s wedding, who inspired me to write poetry and long, philosophical essays, who made love to me with a sweet tenderness I’d never before experienced, who gave my spirit the freedom to welcome an entirely new understanding of God and the Universe, who opened my ears to the rich, unspoken qualities of music that had before swept by without my notice.

He is quite possibly the first man I loved unconditionally. He did not love me back in equal measure.

I met Sexy Ray about six months after a brief rebound relationship following my divorce. I was ripe for love. I was also ripe for sex, to be completely honest.

My rebound relationship had given me the opportunity to explore sex for the first time since leaving my husband, and when that little affair ended, I was not willing to give up the bounty I’d found after a decade of famine.

I started doing some “research” online. “What research?” you might ask. Um, oh nothing, just watching some videos of women masturbating. {awkard pause} OK, watching LOTS of videos…

I wanted to know how they did it, ‘cause I’d never done it, and I was going to have to figure it out soon before I invited the scrumptious checkout boy from Trader Joe’s home for sex.

During one particularly frustrating night of “research,” I drank a little too much gin, shaved my yoni, ordered my first vibrator, and really did solicit someone for sex. Luckily, probably for both of us, I was also going through a bit of spiritual turmoil at the time, and I posted a long “come to Jesus” essay on Facebook.

A little advice: Don’t use social media to manage your spiritual and sexual affairs. The overlap could be awkward for some of your followers. 

Case in point: my hopes of having sex with one of my FB friends was dashed when I aired my own spiritual angst. 

Left to my own devices again—this time, one with a power cord and very effective motor—I finally learned how to masturbate. {GASP} I know, right? Actually, I didn’t know, which is why I practiced. A lot. 

And then I met Sexy Ray.

He was playing in the wedding band. He kept smiling at me when I was dancing. My family even noticed. So, I went with one of my cousins to talk to him when the band took a break.

And that begins a whole new story of sexy.

When I look back on that story now, I realize that maybe I wasn’t so much in love with Sexy Ray as I was with myself—weird as that sounds. It’s very possible that the amazing awakening I experienced during that time, emotionally, spiritually, creatively, and sexually, happened because I had finally broken down some of the boundaries that had previously held my life and my joy in check. 

Ironic that a little porn and a vibrator could do all that.

October 15, 2014



Oh my lord




Oh my lord

(via donnaimmaculata)

October 15, 2014


‘Tiny groups of young artists or writers, with their extravagant manifestoes and ridiculous hullabaloo – which impress nobody but themselves – are probably the best, if not the only, way of setting out in new directions. In a world always hostile to fresh voices, one needs the encouragement of a friendly eye or ear, good-humoured banter, and lively debate. To see a far-off speck of light and walk towards it alone is far harder without companions and friends. The existence of a thousand minute groups is amply justified if in only one of them somebody finds himself and the words he needs. As for the hostility of the world at large, it can only be of benefit to an artist – this is how he learns to overcome resistance. Things are much worse if everybody loves you; it is far harder to withstand the allurements of general acclaim than it is to swim against the tide. I am of course speaking of a normal “hostile world” which only berates the artist, or ignores him, not of one which uses its punitive apparatus to “reeducate” him.’

Nadezhda Mandelstam, Hope Abandoned (that’s the unduly lurid English title; the text is titled Вторая Книга, or Second Book, in Russian)

Penny adds: I love everyone in this bar writing fics about weird stuff and believing in themselves. Hic.

(via pennypaperbrain)

October 15, 2014
cargo of joy


read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1p9ibxA


Facing Aramis, Porthos is standing with his hands fisted in his pockets and rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. “This was really nice, I’m glad you could come.”

“It was very nice, thanks for inviting me.”

“If I invited you again, would you come back?”

“That depends. If I kissed you right now, would you kiss me back?”


Aramis hooks his fingers into Porthos’ belt loops and tugs him closer.

Words: 19427, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1p9ibxA

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