#produced and abandoned

[hedwig221b]

I've got the random sterek idea for a short fic that got me like this and I fear you WILL get a May fic after all...

[balkanradfem]

So, you might remember I started fixing my abandoned garden, and I said I was going to do it in small increments, and then I never said anything about it again. This is because, after I started doing it, suddenly the temperatures dropped below zero, and we had frost! This is appropriate in November, but it was so sudden I didn't expect it. I hadn't even planted garlic yet! And now it was too cold to work the soil. Oopsie.

However this morning I woke up, opened the window, and realized the southern wind was blowing, which means it got super warm! I immediately dressed up, grabbed my garlic, and went to the garden. I couldn't plant my garlic in the area I had already cleaned, because it's the outer area of the garden, and garlic is the #1 crop that gets stolen, so I have to plant it sneakily behind other things, invisible to prying eyes. That means I'd have to clear off another area. Here's what I'm dealing with today!

I know this looks like such a flop but honestly, this is so good for nature. All of the plants have lived their life cycle, housed little bugs and insects, produced flowers for the bees, and then got obliterated by the frost, as it should be. If I just left them be, they would slowly decompose into the soil and make it more fertile. It looks chaotic but nothing bad is going on here! I am going to make space now because there are some regulations for how community gardens should look like, and if one looks abandoned for too long, it gets taken away. I'm off to work :)

I've been working on this for 20 minutes and I found some produce in here!

I'm shocked there's a whole zucchini in there, even after the frost, I've never seen that. She's a bit of a weird texture, because she's gotten frozen, but otherwise looks good! Certainly the slugs love it. I also found a little potato plant, there could be potatoes underneath her. And in the third picture, I'm holding young garlic! I usually find this in the spring, it's interesting it's already so big, I love that.

Another little task I had planned was to find basil seeds; basil will usually grow flowers when it's allowed to grow naturally, and then the flowers create little seed packets inside of them, and after those get nice and dried up, they're ready to harvest. Here's how it looks like:

If I rubbed all those little pods together, I would be able to find tiny black-brown seeds in there! I used to do that before, extract all of the tiny seeds and store them, but later I got lazy and figured I can just save this entire mess and plant it and basil still germinates just the same.

An hour of work later, I have dug out a giant lemon balm plant out of the soil, because it was taking up too much space (no worries about her, she'll grow back in no time, they're immortal), and took out most of the grass, dead plants, and weeds. Here is the cleared garden!

I've freed two small kale plants that could still thrive during the winter, and there's a few brassicas that look willing to go to seed, which would be great for me to have more seeds from them. Now I can finally focus on the task I've come here for; to plant my garlic.

I made little holes with my spoon, and grabbed two biggest heads of garlic to plant the cloves. I'm not too fussed about it, as long as the bulbs are underground, you can't stop them from growing. If they're not in too deep, then it's easier to pull them out later! And my soil is more fertile on the surface as well. Usually during the winter, little rodends will dig a few of these out, to see if they're delicious, but when they realize it's not yummy, they just leave the bulbs on the top of soil. So I have to check on them a few times to make sure I plant them back! And they're so forgiving and strong, they just go right back to growing, bulbs are incredible.

I counted the garlic here, and there's 22 cloves, which should give me 22 heads of garlic in the late spring/early summer. I couldn't take any more pictures, because my hands were too muddy, but I planted additional two rows in a different location (in case thiefs find one location), and then I also had some of the 'spring garlic', which is a late variety, meaning it grows later, but lasts longer. Usually normal garlic will start sprouting in december, after which point it starts getting inedible, but late-variety garlic will stay fresh until spring. Planting garlic is so easy! The entire venture took me 15 minutes, and you could do this anywhere, and would be guaranteed some heads of garlic.

So watching these pictures you might think 'there's still so much weeds in here, you did not clear this off' and you're correct, I don't clear everything off! This is because I employ a different tactics in stopping weeds from growing; usually during the winter, I will cover the ground in a thick layer of dry leaves, so that light won't reach any of those weeds, and they stop growing just due to lack of sunlight. I'm not doing it this year because of one particular reason, and this reason is slugs. If I cover the ground in leaves now, they won't only protect it from the light, but also protect it from the cold. They'll prevent the ground from freezing as badly as it would usually freeze. And usually I love doing that, but this time, there are so many slugs in the ground that I want cold to eliminate. I'm going to leave my garden like this, and hope that we have an exceptionally cold winter and that slugs get deleted.

I planned to make a lentil soup today for lunch, so I'm grabbing some chives, and some kale to add to it! Kale is still thriving, and I'll be able to harvest it all winter. At this point I've been working for two hours and my pain started acting up, so I figured it was enough for today, and headed home. Here's all the stuff I brought home for lunch!

Zucchini, kale, potatoes, chives, young garlic. All great additions for my lentil soup! I love being able to get fresh food in November. The soup turned out amazing, I love lentils with potatoes and kale and garlic.

[williammarksommer]

Fresh Produce

Lost Highway series

Hasselblad 500c/m

Kodak Ektar 100iso

[powdertz]

for all my emh fans i’m dropping my habit keychains tomorrow FINALLY!!

[bitesonmyneck]

i ♡ playing in construction zones

[lazarus-harp]

an old ‘ the record producer ’ moodboard

[maxybabyy]

I watched two episodes of the newest too hot to handle season and couldn’t stop thinking about a maxiel au. I imagine max stumbles through the casting for ‘love overboard’ and somehow ends up on the boat with no real interest in anyone on it. he tells the producer as much when they ask him which of the girls he would like to smash. Max: “I would of course not smash any of them” quickly followed by one of the british girls, Emily adding, “Max is hot, yeah? But the doesn’t have the bants to keep up with me.”

Daniel is the last person introduced before the boat shoves off, looking hot in his pastel shorts and a wide, fucking smile. Daniel is born for reality television too, jokes falling from his lips as he charms the rests of the cast. by the time they’re pulling into shore, he’s had three offers to share a cabin and helped Bennie, the law student from Bristol, put sunscreen on her bum. his tongue is halfway down Blaire the New Yorker’s throat, when someone from production has to come drag them back for the announcement that hey are in fact on too hot to handle.

cut to the next day: Daniel is getting a bit in his head about the entire. like, he has three weeks before he has to be back in LA, back to grinding for Instagram followers and shitty sponsorship deals, he’s not going to spend it fucking celibate. hes been floating the idea making a pact with one of the guys to make sure no one is really the first one to break the rules, but no one has taken the bait. Max though, Max keeps following him around. but it makes sense, yeah? they’re, like, the two best looking guys, so of course they should agree so they can divide and conquer without butting heads.

Max full of life as he laughs at all of his jokes, cracks his own dumb quips and watches him with this look – so open and exposed and more raw than anything else Daniel has seen on this fucking show – when Daniel laughs back at him. it’s such a stark contrast to how Max acts in around the girls, but Max is here for reason, Daniel reckons. maybe the silent type really works for him.

he isn’t – he doesn’t even think twice as he asks, “Are you trying to be good, Maxy? like, would you pick the sex over the money?” and Max. Max has been a little bit in love since Daniel stepped onto the boat, sun slick skin that Max feels sick with the need to taste. to lick, to bite into soft flesh and feel the muscle underneath his skin. always max would choose sex, any moment with Daniel is of course good. “I need a rule breaker, maxy. I need a partner in crime for this.”

Max just looks at him for a moment and then before Daniel has time to react, he leans in to kiss him. it's a good kiss, a great fucking kiss. one of the best Daniel has had sober and not fucked out of his mind when every touch feels good. Max clearly knows what he’s does, like – the hand on Daniel’s cheek holding him in place as he licks deep into his mouth. Daniel’s brain is barely catching up when Max pulls back. “There, now of course the girls will not the first to break the rules.”

and Dan’s like, “Yeah, for sure,” walking out in a daze to the pool where Geroge intercepts him and agrees to the pact as well. George who has seen all the previous seasons and knows you have to break the rules first before you can have a redemption story. so he makes out with Bennie by the pool while George and Emily kiss a few feet away. But somehow the kiss is kinda shitty? her lips are too small, and, like, the entire kiss is just a bit too dry? Bennie’s obviously having a good time, but Daniel just cannot get into it.

Daniel goes to sleep in Bennie’s bed, and they kiss – a shitty attempt to evoke some sort of spark inside him – and it’s still kinda ‘meh’. It’s definitely not worth the 3000$ it costs them the morning after. they’re charged 9000$, and that seems fair. Daniel had two kisses, and George kissed – until another couple confesses that they kissed on the beach. And Daniel’s not, he doesn’t really know how all of this works, but this means he gets one for free, right?

he kisses Blaire against the wall next to the fire pit because at least this has to be good, but that turns out shitty too. he doesn’t want to share a bed with Bennie, but he doesn’t want to get in with Blaire either, is just about to abandon ship and sleep on the couch for the night, when Max pulls back the duvet, “You can of course stay with me, Daniel.” so Daniel does.

the price for a kiss has been raised to 6000$ for disrespecting Lana, and Daniel has now cost the group 9000$ – should be 12000$ with all three kisses included – when his kiss with Blaire is revealed. Bennie angry as she taps her foot from where she’s perched next to him, obviously waiting for some kind of explanation that Daniel cannot give, too perplexed by the fact hat it should be hell a lot more than that actually.

cut to the tapes from the night before that some poor production assistant had to go through. Daniel waking up in the middle of the night to Max staring back at him. they don’t kiss, breathing the same air for another moment before Max turns around and presses his back against Daniel’s chest. Max’s ass against his dick until Daniel has no choice but to fuck into the hot, tight space between Max’s thighs, strong and warm and just a little bit sweaty from the hot summer heat. Max doesn’t touch him, squeezes his thighs around him until it’s almost as good as the real thing, until right at the end where he cups a hand around the head of his dick so the come doesn’t spill. Licks it off so there is of course no evidence.

(somewhere in the backroom the Netflix producers are having a meltdown. Daniel was supposed to be their golden goose with the funny accent and good looks, a charming lad who couldn’t stop himself from flirting with all the girls but ultimately settled down when faced with love)

to right the wrongs, Lana invites Daniel to go out on a date with Bennie so he can make up his mind. and it’s fine. Daniel’s a good date, and Bennie seems to make the most of life in Bristol, but he’s just not feeling it anymore, hasn’t been feeling much of it since Max kissed him. so Lana offers to switch her out for Blaire, and Daniel’s like, “sure, whatever.”, his mood only salvaged when Max turns up instead of Blaire (much to the surprise of the producers).

Max steals a kiss at the end of the date, and this time Daniel feels it. the curling of his toes, the lick of Max’s tongue into his mouth, the solid weight of Max’s hard dick as they’re pressed against each other. It makes him feel insane, hungry for anything Max will give him. and like, Max is all for blowing it all up, having sex in the showers, on the beach, in the middle of the night like they did before: wherever of course Daniel will have him.

but 200,000$ is a lot of money, and the distance between LA and London isn’t a joke. Flights are expensive, but Daniel already doesn’t know how he would go on without seeing Max after these three weeks? So he convinces to convince Max to be good, to win them the money so they can keep seeing each other, and it works. mostly.

now with a sequel.

[7fff00]

(god my brain is just like. yowling sad! sad!! sad!!! at me incessantly today and i gotta say: it's really unhelpful???

i'm trying to do things thru it but. oof lol)

[newvegascowboy]

Aus that are so divorced from the source material as to be entirely unrecognizable if the names were changed. Fic of Theseus

[beeapocalypse]

cerebros i have known u for only two days but i love u dearly

[cyberstabbing]

she is like a silent era film star to me

i mean duh the eyebrows and the hair and the lipstick -- but also the cherub face and her energy! and a lot of actors today wouldn't have the same gravitas without sound, be drew would KILL IT during the silent era..i think she'd stand out, the audience would definitely notice her in a scene. plus, with her comedic skills she'd be a real threat. omg and this would mean she'd be the drew of today during the early-mid 1950s? so she'd be on early talkshows, or maybe a documentary tell-all. my headcanon is that she'd be friends with clara bow, gloria swanson would be her courtney love, and finally, (drew is bi, right?) greta garbo would be a good fling

[eleftherian]

ok but what if i dont want a world without sharona? what if i dont want her to leave huh? did you ever think about that??

[coochiequeens]

Personally, I don't want to live in a world where little boys playing with dolls and little girls who don't like wearing pink are subjected to lifelong medical intervention because lunatics think these kids are in the wrong body. If that's the right side of history, then history can go f**k itself." - Graham Linehan

Stretched out on a hospital trolley after a surgeon had removed my cancer-riddled testicle, waiting for a doctor to give me the all-clear to go home, I lazily opened Twitter.

This was five years ago and, at this point, I had not quite nailed my colours to the gender-critical mast. I had defended women being smeared with the slur 'Terf' (for 'trans-exclusionary radical feminist') and was being monitored by trans activists as a result. This made me nervous, though I wasn't quite sure why.

I'd had an inkling of what I was up against when my wife Helen and I played a small part in repealing Ireland's draconian abortion laws. Working with Amnesty International, we appeared in a video in which Helen spoke of terminating a pregnancy because the foetus she was carrying had an abnormality which would have resulted in death moments after birth.

We tried to attend every protest and, at one event, I remember some strange person with a bullhorn bellowing out this nonsense: 'We want the state to pay for abortions!' [general cheering] '...and surgeries for trans people' [puzzled mumbling].

I felt uneasy. Sure, let's talk about trans rights, but first things first. We hadn't yet won the fight on abortion.

In retrospect, this was the first sign I had of the sleight of hand that would allow a sinister movement to attach itself to progressive causes and wrap itself in their stolen banners.

Then, when Ireland voted to overturn the abortion ban, Amnesty Ireland tweeted that this was a victory for 'pregnant people'. I was enraged.

My wife wasn't a 'pregnant person'. She was a woman, and a mother.

But these were only the first ripples of a gathering tsunami of madness. Online, people had started to go dangerously insane. It was such a slow process that I didn't notice it at first, but now, as I lay in hospital, I was collecting my thoughts on the subject.

I knew my positions were thought-through and sound, and I was sure that once people saw I was arguing in good faith, they'd see the problems with gender ideology and we could have a sensible, grown-up conversation about it.

I also told myself that, as co-writer of well-loved television sitcoms Father Ted and The IT Crowd, I had an audience out there who would listen to me. So I sent a few tweets carefully outlining my argument.

Meanwhile, I was in intense pain from the wound under my bandage and, when I was finally told I could go home, I couldn't stand up. A bed was found for me and I lay there, enjoying a bit of peace until the morphine wore off.

The visitors had gone and all was quiet. I decided to have a look at Twitter (now X).

My careful explanation of my position had certainly had an impact.

A trans activist and journalist called Parker Molloy, who identifies as a woman and is enraged if anyone disagrees, had sent me a number of increasingly frenzied direct messages.

After the third or fourth time telling Molloy I was in hospital, I ended the conversation. Meanwhile, another tweeter hopped into my replies to say, 'I wish the cancer had won'.

My ordeal had begun. Cast adrift, I was about to lose everything — my career, my marriage, my reputation.

A little bit after my brush with cancer, I brushed with something almost worse. A biological male, now going by the name Stephanie Hayden, was determined to wreck the life of anyone who flouted trans dogma.

A woman was arrested at home in front of her two young children and put in a prison cell for seven hours after she referred to Hayden on Twitter as a man.

When I made a public accusation about Hayden on X, Hayden didn't challenge it.

Instead, I was accused of breaking confidentiality by publicising Hayden's former male identities.

Hayden reported me to the police. The Guardian, whose editors seemed to have given up any pretence of being even-handed on this issue, published an article headlined 'Graham Linehan given police warning after complaint by transgender activist'.

It claimed I had been given a 'verbal harassment warning' by police acting on Hayden's complaint. This was untrue. I'd been phoned by a policeman who seemed confused when I told him that I'd blocked Hayden on Twitter months ago, so could hardly be accused of harassment.

The policeman then said something like 'stay away from her, awright?' and rang off.

For a national newspaper to headline this as a 'harassment warning' — a formal document that needs to be delivered in writing — was disgraceful, but typical of how many journalists liked to frame things that involved feminists and their allies.

After seven months of wrangling, the paper eventually removed the word 'harassment', which was too little, too late.

By then, the 'police warning' had morphed on social media into 'police caution' — which is issued where a crime has been committed and requires an admission of guilt, neither of which had happened. The false claim that I received a police caution for transphobia is constantly repeated to friends and colleagues to justify my cancellation. It was even presented to my publisher as a reason not to publish this book from which you are reading an extract. I found it grimly funny that the police and media were acting as reputation managers for a character like Hayden, but my wife Helen was terrified at being targeted in this way.

Hayden and Adrian Harrop, a Liverpool-based GP who was temporarily suspended from practising medicine as punishment for his aggression towards women on Twitter, trolled a Catholic journalist called Caroline Farrow, live-tweeting a visit to her home in a way that seemed designed to frighten and intimidate her.

She was about to travel to the U.S., but her visa was withdrawn. Harrop tweeted that he'd just visited the U.S. embassy in London: 'Consular staff very efficient at dealing with my important diplomatic business,' he wrote, with a wink emoji.

In a tweet, I called Harrop 'Doctor Do-Much-Harm'. The next morning, the police turned up at my door. I told them I wouldn't be changing my online behaviour one iota, and that Harrop bullied women online.

The policeman nodded, said something about free speech, and left. However, that visit wore heavily on my wife.

But the likes of Hayden and Harrop could not have had such success without accomplices in the police and the Press. It was surreal how swiftly they gained such power over society.

As for my career as a successful television scriptwriter, that proved to be over before the stitches from my cancer operation had healed.

Around this time, I received a letter from Sonia Friedman, one of the biggest theatre producers in London's West End, about me writing a new companion piece for the late Peter Shaffer's classic one-act farce Black Comedy.

I was apparently 'top of our dream list' to pen it.

Black Comedy is possibly the most ingenious farce ever written. I'd seen it years before with David Tennant in the lead and it left me giddy and envious. Now, going from lowly sitcom writer to being considered worthy of pairing with Shaffer had me floating.

Not for long, though. Only a few days later, Shaffer's estate decided on the late playwright's behalf that they 'didn't want to get involved' by 'taking one side or the other'.

More jobs began to fall away. A tour to Australia to teach comedy was cancelled because the company claimed it 'wouldn't be able to afford the security'. I discovered later this was a standard excuse given to those of us declared unclean by the new sacred class.

I'm also the person who worked with comedians Steve Martin and Martin Short for the shortest period of time. Five minutes, I think it was. A producer invited me to develop a comedy-drama TV series in which both would star. I had a flat-out offer and then, within minutes, an email from the same producer rescinding it, I suspect after a Twitter user in his office told him I was a bigot.

Even what I thought would be my pension was taken away from me. There were plans to make a musical of Father Ted, written and directed by me, which I was certain would be a huge hit, perhaps even make my fortune if I could get it right.

I hadn't reckoned how resolute the forces against me actually were, and how quiet my colleagues would be in the face of their onslaught. Sonia Friedman, the producer, told me I was 'on the wrong side of history' and advised me to 'stop talking'.

I suddenly found myself in a raging argument with this powerful woman who held my musical in her hands. But hearing one of these copy-and-pasted, thought-terminating clichés from the mouth of a colleague was more than I could bear.

Personally, I don't want to live in a world where little boys playing with dolls and little girls who don't like wearing pink are subjected to lifelong medical intervention because lunatics think these kids are in the wrong body. If that's the right side of history, then history can go f**k itself.

The meeting ended with each of us trying not to catch the other's eye in case it kicked off again.

I thought at least that Jimmy Mulville, the head of Hat Trick Productions, was on my side.

As the original producer of Father Ted, the company had a big stake in this new venture. But now the Hat Trick people began to go the other way.

I had another meeting around the supposed problem of my defending women and girls, in which, as always, no one could locate the flaw in my analysis as I explained over and over again: 'Children are being hurt. Women are losing their sports, their language, their privacy.'

Finally, I referred to the violent, terroristic nature of trans rights activism. Casually, off-handedly, Jimmy said: 'Well, there's bad behaviour on both sides.'

'Both sides' is a poisonous smear. No one on my side of the argument insists that people should be shunned by polite society. No one on our side wears T-shirts with slogans such as 'Kill all Terfs' and 'Die Terf Scum'.

I was told by one acquaintance: 'Some of the things you've done have been questionable.' 'Give me an example,' I replied. Long pause. 'All right, well maybe not.'

The final act was a meeting in the Hat Trick offices in which Jimmy told me I was to remove my name from Father Ted The Musical or he would not make the show — my show, which I had been tending, rewriting and refining for the best part of half a decade.

Once again, I asked what I was being accused of.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, as if it was self- evident. Desperately, I tried to explain what was happening to women's rights, and to the young girls mutilating themselves because of — 'I DON'T CARE!' Jimmy shouted. I left.

Later, I heard from my agent that in return for declaring me an unperson, Hat Trick was suggesting an up-front payment of £200,000 as an advance on my royalties. Initially, I agreed to go along with it, because I needed the money. But then I changed my mind.

I saw an interview with the mother of one of the women competitors who found themselves up against the trans swimmer Lia Thomas.

Lia was still physically intact and all the girls worked out how many towels to take into the locker room to cover themselves up completely as they changed.

'I asked my daughter what she would do if Lia was changing in there,' said the mother. 'And she said resignedly, 'I'm not sure I'd have a choice.' I still can't believe I had to tell my adult-age daughter that you always have a choice about whether you undress in front of a man.'

What messages have these girls been receiving?

My heart was ripped apart. I closed the door for ever on making any kind of deal with Hat Trick. I was prepared to betray myself for £200,000, but I couldn't abandon my daughter.

BEFORE the gender hoopla, I only knew people in the media. Now I had been so effectively cancelled that virtually no one in the media would return my calls. But I began to count as friends social workers, police officers, solicitors, barristers, doctors, nurses and academics who sided with me or shared my experience.

One of the few people I still know in the creative arts is the choreographer Rosie Kay.

At a party at her home in Birmingham for her company of young dancers — some of whom went by 'preferred' pronouns — the conversation turned to her plan for an adaptation of Virginia Woolf's gender-bending Orlando.

The discussion turned heated as she explained that she strongly believed in the reality of sex because she and her son had both almost died while she was in labour.

During that ordeal, her womanhood was literally a matter of life and death for her.

Her husband would never know that experience, and that difference between them meant something.

To the little sparrows of the Church of Gender, this was all high heresy, and could not be tolerated. The dancers harangued Rosie to such an extent that she hid in her own bathroom, then they formally complained about her to the company chiefs.

'They cancelled Orlando and then were making efforts to re-educate me, to stop me from centring women's rights in my future work,' Rosie told me. 'I had to resign from the company I founded.'

Then there's the children's author Rachel Rooney, who wrote a picture book called My Body Is Me. Its message was that children should be happy with their body.

But trans rights activists dislike any mention of being happy with your body as it undermines their message that being trans is a thrilling and transformative lifestyle choice.

Tweets called the book terrorist propaganda and likened Rachel to a white supremacist.

The author's 'trade union', the Society of Authors, declined to offer support. So devastating was the experience that Rachel stopped writing books for children and has now taken on a part-time care job.

But what did Rachel do to deserve cancellation? She wrote a beautiful, kind, responsible book for children, and she got the same treatment I received: they tried to destroy her life. Trans activists mostly target women for disagreeing with them, but I'm not the only man to have suffered. Some 30 years after we'd first worked together, I crossed paths once more with the comic actor James Dreyfus (Constable Kevin in The Thin Blue Line).

I persuaded him to sign a letter asking Stonewall, the former lesbian and gay rights charity which has altered its remit and done more than any other institution in the UK to promote extreme gender ideology, to reconsider its stance.

James agreed without hesitation. The letter argued that Stonewall was 'seeking to prevent public debate of these issues by branding as transphobic anyone who questions [its] current trans policies'. It asked the charity to 'commit to fostering an atmosphere of respectful debate'.

Stonewall refused. Even asking the question was painted as a moral failing. Five years later, James is still being hounded by trans rights activists and he has had difficulty finding work.

In 2021, the company Big Finish released Masterful, a celebration of 50 years of Doctor Who's arch-enemy, The Master, who James had played on its audio productions.

The credits featured every living actor who had taken the iconic role… except James. When the history of these years is written, it's not only the extremist activists who will be recalled with revulsion, but also the spineless corporate figures who never made an attempt to resist them. Their inaction contributed to the ruin of James's livelihood.

A brilliant comic actor, a gay man, was abandoned by the very people who should have had his back, because the celebrity class is more interested in looking like they're doing the right thing than actually doing it.

Meanwhile, a chasm was opening up between me and my wife as she watched me lose jobs and opportunities.

Helen was looking for normality, and I was perpetually dismayed and angry. She asked me to cease operations, which she was perfectly within her rights to do to protect our family.

But I couldn't do it. I knew what everyone who's in this fight knows — the Gender Stasi never forgive.

I could never be confident of a having a job again until the entire gender ideology movement, which has caused so much misery, was burnt to ashes.

Even if I had been prepared to recant or keep my mouth shut, it wouldn't do any good because my heresy was out there and would never be forgiven.

I could never be confident of a having a job again until the entire gender ideology movement, which has caused so much misery, was burnt to ashes.

Even if I had been prepared to recant or keep my mouth shut, it wouldn't do any good because my heresy was out there and would never be forgiven.

I was fighting for women and children, sure, but also for my reputation and my ability to make a living.

With my marriage now over, I left the family home and moved into a modest flat. It had a nursing home for old people to one side and an overgrown, neglected graveyard behind it — which is a little too symbolic of my situation for comfort.

Adapted from Tough Crowd by Graham Linehan (Eye Books, £19.99) to be published October 12. © Graham Linehan 2023. To order a copy for £17.99 (offer valid to 15/10/2023; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.

[heepthecheep]

The Guardians of Ga'Hoole's various plots are already wild, but The Wolves of the Beyond is just... bizarre

[lliquidllyrium]

Trying to decide how the dynamic would be after they return to the Crows after killing the gods. Relationships between Talons aren’t forbidden or even really frowned upon. It has happened and will continue to happen. Naturally houses would probably be considered allies. A First Talon and a regular crow, though... I’m trying to decide if there’s any drama to be had there.

[mo-ondial]

hm. this may be too many windows