#and i have two letters left to finish before i can work on [redacted]'s and my roommates' for christmas...

[theholmwoodfoundation]

RECORDING Madeline Townsend - Job Interview for the position of Junior Archivist at The Holmwood Foundation- Westenra Building- Whitby. Overseen by Jeremy Larkin, Branch Director.

[A video-meeting app on a computer screen. Madeline Townsend is displayed on the right hand side, smiling nervously in a blouse and pale yellow cardigan, behind a backdrop of a small, well-stocked bookcase. Jeremy Larkin is displayed on the left side, unsmiling in an expensive grey suit, his windowless office behind him. He reads from a printed sheet.] J: …Mr Jones’ letter of recommendation is certainly glowing. We are, of course, aware of your relationship— M: I’m grateful for his support. But, please, I just want to do a good job. If you need to disregard his letter for any reason— J: Hm. [He makes a note offscreen. Maddie’s smile wilts slightly, but brightens again as he looks back up] J: And has Mr Jones explained the full roster of duties to you? M: Well, not all of them, of course! I know there are… one or two NDAs involved… J: [He sighs] Frankly, Ms Townsend, one or two is on the lighter end. And this doesn’t concern you? M: I’m aware that what goes on here is under the tightest security, but if Arthur thinks I can handle it, then I’m willing to try. [A pause, she laughs] Can’t be much worse than Year 9’s on a Wednesday Afternoon! [Another pause. Jeremy glances at another sheet of notes.] J: Yes, you were a history teacher before this, correct? M: Yes. Uh, correct. For about ten years. J: And this has given you the skills necessary for archival work? M: Well, I have a postgraduate degree in archival conservation, and experience in records management at [REDACTED] University, where I finished my Masters in Medieval history, with a secondary interest in late Victorian literature— [she pauses, blushing slightly] I suppose what I’m trying to say is…I’d quite like a break from the teaching side of things. At least for a term of two. I’ve always enjoyed archival work… [Jeremy sits back, his expression both mildly impressed and somewhat bewildered.] J: …And with all that, you want to work here? M: Well…yes. Is there something wrong with that? J: No. no. Nothing wrong at all. [he sighs] I suppose we all have the luxury of choice.

-Extract from Video Recording, Late April 2024

[frenchiefitzhere]

💕💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕💕

This has been sitting in my ask box for a week now and I was having a hard time deciding between all my individual works, so today I'm going to talk about... ✨a collection✨ In terms of songs, I was pretty happy with this, making 7 songs (plus a few bonuses, with one still to be released...oop) for Winter Solstice Week based on a prompt list from a friend. Meeting deadlines is very satisfying. (Don't tell that to my unfinished virtual choir project that I meant to have done before the channelversary 😅) There was a prompt for each day of the week, but you could choose which Redacted characters went with each day. So I did... 1) "Avior's Winter Dreamscape" (Prompt: Wonderland). I think this one turned out sooooo pretty. 2) "Hearth Song" for Damien and Huxley (Prompt: Hearth) **P.S. I would LOVE for someone(s) to cover this so it doesn't just sound like me pretending to be two dudes. Like, I can kinda do voices but it's harder when you're singing lol. Seriously, though, if you want the backing track, I'll send it.**

3) "This Winter's Gonna Bite" for Vega (Prompt: Snow). This might be one of my favorite songs I've ever done. The instrumentation tickles me. Big ol' Christmas bells while Vega sings about what a dick he is and how happy that makes him. 4) "Cookies for My Empathy Daemon" (Prompt: Holiday). In the style of 'I want a hippopotamus for Christmas' and 'Dominic the Donkey', this was a silly song and one of the first I finished. The idea is that Santa doesn't actually eat the cookies left out for him; somebody else does. 5) "As Long As I Share It With You" (Prompt: Dinner). Something soft and romantic for the vampire cowboy and his culinarily-inept werewolf lover.

6) "A Healer's New Year" (Prompt: Family). Okay, so I had to do one song as Marie. And 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' is one of my favorites (I love a little bitter with my sweet, what can I say?) 7) "Frenchie's Christmas Wish" (Free space on the prompt list!). This is a meta-song about my little journey through making creative content and sharing it online. And it's a love letter to the fandom. 😘 BONUS TRACKS: "Baby, Mind If I Move in Closer?" inspired by the surprise return of Ivan. This is more a vignette than a full song. A little moment. All the lyrics, except for one, I either ripped (with credit) from 'Baby It's Cold Outside' or the actual script for the audio. It's meant to be a bit dark. Like Ivan. "There's Snow Way I'm Gonna Let You Go" for Regulus. Around the same time of the WSW prompt list, I signed up for a fic/gift exchange, and a jazzy little yandere number is what I came up with for that. STILL TO COME: I have a 'Blake and Bestie snuggling with hot cocoa' song finished, but I'm very blocked in terms of production. It'll happen.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

i might make tater tots... but i need to work on [redacted] and [redacted]’s letters... but i want to write joe with depression angst... but i want to curl up in my bed and hibernate...

[too-attached-to-fiction]

Letters | s.b.

Masterlist here

Request: Can you write a Sirius Black x reader where he always sees her reading letters and is confused on why she has so many letters, thinking it’s a lover or something but it’s just really from kids from the daycare she works at. i worked in a summer camp and always got cute letters and gifts from the kids and 🥺🥺.

Word count: 1025

A/N: aww i love this! I actually just finished working as a babysitter for these three kids and their parents always referred to it as “[name redacted] summer camp” and they all gave me cards on the last day.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

~~~

Your owl, Artemis, swooped down during the breakfast drop off. In her talons, she held a small parcel tied with string. She gracefully landed, waiting for you to untie the string and give her a piece of toast. 

“Thank you, Art.” You said, giving her a gentle pat on the head after taking the parcel away from her. She hooted happily, taking the piece of toast from your hands and flying off to join the other owls, soaring up to the owlery.

“Blimey, (Y/N). What are your parents sending you these days?” James said next to you. You shrugged, opening the parcel to find a stack of letters, neatly tied up with the same string that had held the parcel together. 

“I’ll have to take these to my room before class.” You sighed, knowing the stack of letters was too thick to shove into your book bag. You pushed the rest of your breakfast away before leaving the Great Hall, hoping to make it to the common room and still be in class on time. 

“That’s the third time this week!” Sirius exclaimed after you had left. “Who’s parents write them multiple times a day? They have another child at home!” 

“Could be a lover.” Peter wiggled his eyebrows. “You know (Y/N)’s always secretive about her love life.” 

“But she’s a half-blood. Wouldn’t she be breaking the statute of secrecy if she was sending letters by owl to a muggle?” James asked, talking as he chewed, showing the contents of his mouth. Lily smacked him. 

“Close your mouth.” She scolded. “She could have her boyfriend write letters to her house, and then her parents would send it by owl.” The redhead suggested. “She hasn’t mentioned anything to us, has she, Marlene?” 

The other girl shook her head. “She didn’t even tell us what she did over the summer, she’s been awfully secretive.” Marlene sighed. “But she’s always been that way. The mystery girl, and all that.” She waved her hand. 

Sirius groaned. “I just want to know if she has a boyfriend.” He put his face down on the table, shaking it slightly.

The girls looked at Sirius sympathetically. It was common knowledge that Sirius had hopelessly fallen for (Y/N) ever since they’d sat side by side during Astronomy in their third year, but (Y/N) remained oblivious for the most part. He had yet to ask her out once, instead hoping that if he talked to other girls the crush would go away. 

This had the opposite effect; He only wanted her more. 

“You know you could just ask her-” Remus started, rolling his eyes as James slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Moony, how could you say that?” James asked dramatically. “You don’t just tell a girl you love her, it makes you look like an idiot!” Lily rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s antics. Even with a girlfriend, he was still unchanged. 

Lily checked her watch. “It’s time to go to class. Sirius, just ask her. It’s not like you’re confessing or anything.” She and Marlene got up, walking away. 

Sirius spent the rest of the day distracted, wondering what the letters could be about. He could care less that his potion exploded in it’s cauldron, or that his spells weren’t working well in class. He just needed to know who was writing you those letters. 

When he went to the Gryffindor common room that evening, he found you perched on a window seat, sifting through the letters with a smile on your face. Your lips moved silently, reading each letter before moving onto the next one. 

As he approached, you looked up and waved at him. “Hello, Sirius.” You gave him a bright smile that nearly made him melt into a puddle. 

“You’ve got a lot of letters to read, don’t you?” He sat next to her on the seat, and gestured to the pile of folded paper. 

“That’s alright, they’re rather short.” You said, smiling down at the letter that was currently in your hands before placing it gently on the ever growing pile of crumpled and folded paper. 

“Who are they from? Your family?” 

You laughed, your shoulders shaking. “Not exactly.” 

“Who, then?” 

“Well, you know how Muggles go on summer holiday, just like us?” 

“Of course, I see them all the time when we’re not at Hogwarts.” 

“Sometimes the parents have to work during the summer holidays, so they send their kids to summer camp, so they can do work peacefully.” You explained. “My town is rather small, but it’s full of Muggle families. So when I come home for summer, I run a little summer camp for them. And then when we go back to school, they write me letters and give them to my parents.”

“Oh.” Sirius said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do they write?” 

“They tell me what they did at school, or how they’re doing. Sometimes they send drawings they’ve made. I try to respond to all of them, but they’re learning how to write and rather eager to show me their progress. It’s sweet.” You leaned over, holding up one of the letters. Two stick figures with basic shapes for clothes were drawn, and there were labels of who was who. Whoever had made the drawing had spelled your name wrong, which made him laugh. 

“So, you’re not dating anyone? That’s what we all thought the letters were from, your boyfriend or something.” 

You laughed. “Well, some of the kids have little crushes on me, but no, I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

Sirius sighed in relief. “Good.” 

“Good?” You asked with a giggle. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Sirius?” You teased, watching heat rise to his face. 

“Well, I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go out with me. Some time.” 

“Some time? Is this some time during our next trip to Hogsmeade, or during a midnight stargaze in the astronomy tower?” You joked, smiling.

“Any time, really. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.” Your eyes widened as he said that, blushing and ducking your head. 

“I’d love to, Padfoot.” 

[metoocaa-blog]

#MeTooCAA (Chicago 2010)

TW: sexual assault

98th CAA Conference – Chicago 2010. Written on 9 June 2011, in a letter to my rapist (never sent). The night from my point of view:

I had finished interviewing and a bunch of [university redacted] folks met in the lobby to go out for the evening to celebrate the close of the conference and the successful interviews for many of us. We ended up going to the place where I met * and his wife, a few nights prior. A good time at the bar. Drinks flowing freely. Felt good about the evening’s social dynamics. Even you made me feel comfortable because you weren’t up to your normal, controlling antics. ** and I were not ready to go home, and you decided to join us for a nightcap at the Hard Rock Hotel. Afterwards (it was quite late, and I was drunk), I accepted your invitation to walk me home – your hotel was just a few blocks past mine. I felt safe. Outside my hotel you grabbed me and kissed me. I didn’t expect it. want it. or respond. I WAS DRUNK.  Everything happened so fast. We were in my room. Removing my clothes. I thought it would just be easier, professionally, if I let it happen. I didn’t want you. My heart was with ***. I tried to just let my mind go blank. Could you not tell that I wasn’t my normal, active self? Did you just chalk it up to alcohol? When the blood came [a perineal tear], I was terrified. Horrified. Remember that this happened before, long ago with **** (my first sex partner). I told you to go shower while I assessed the situation. I felt immediately sober. Blood everywhere. A pint? You surely didn’t cause this with the (insignificant) size of your cock. It was that I was bone dry, and clearly not even my body was consenting. You showered. I realized the blood had stopped. I sat, crumpled on the floor, against the window. No longer able to bear your presence, I finally got the guts to tell you to leave. You told me to get dressed and walk you downstairs, because “if I bled out in the night,” you didn’t want the last person the hotel staff saw me with, and then asked me if I was clean, since you didn’t bother to use a condom. Had me promise to double-check. Never offering me the same. As if I wouldn’t after this. I didn’t bleed out in the night. Instead, I woke, showered, went to the [university redacted] breakfast. Told *****. Smiled and put up with the bullshit for ‘[university redacted] propaganda photos’ at the AIC. (Which I still occasionally see on the website [even on social media in 2018]). Freaked out to ****** on the phone outside of the MCA. Ate a cheeseburger at the Billy Goat Tavern (I did lose a lot of iron.)

Asshole. Self-absorbed asshole. Rapist (I said it, even if most of the time I cannot even think the word).

It [the blood] happened again. A few months later. I don’t think I was fully healed. It happened with ***. And it was one of his kindest moments. Used humor to pull me back out of the hole I was slipping into.

Every time I have sex (or any permutation thereof), it’s always at the back of my head that it [the blood] will happen again. Only when I know that it won’t horrify the other person if it does, can I relax. Only when they know what happened can I relax.

Asshole.

I went to CAA in NYC [in 2011] and was on the edge of a panic attack the whole time that I would have to see you. Interact with you as if you were not the worthless human being that I know you are.

I am getting help now. To get past this. You may have damaged me severely. But not permanently. You will NOT continue to fuck with my relationships. Or my professional life. You are not that important. You are just a rapist.

PS: Stop trying to communicate with me, as if all is fine. Pretend that we don’t know each other. I wish that were true, anyways.

 99th CAA Conference – New York City 2011 (written January 2019)

I couldn’t even call it what it was: rape. I spent the conference on the verge of a panic attack, worried that I would run into you again. I had drinks with ********, she named it (rape), and encouraged me to go and get professional help. I was so thankful for her kindness and friendship.

 100th CAA Conference – Los Angeles 2012 (written January 2019)

[university redacted] (forgoing the breakfast at the crack of dawn for the first and perhaps only time) held an evening reception. I was hanging out with my former professor and now friend, *********, and another friend of hers. We first went to another mixer (her alma mater), before wandering over to [university redacted]’s. I was making small talk with folks when I saw you wander in. It was at that point that I decided to take my leave. I said goodnight to *********, and made it out into the hallway when ********** (the director of the school) followed me out and asked me to come back in because he wanted to introduce me to some older alumni. Because I respect him, I reluctantly came back into the room. He made the introductions and moved on, leaving me to make small talk (which I can do, and do well). Suddenly you made yourself part of the conversation, and I could feel my blood pressure rising. I tried to politely excuse myself, and you followed me, shifting the conversation to how you knew that I had blocked you on social media. My body language gave everything away to *********. She knew that I had survived a sexual assault, knew it was with someone from [university redacted], but didn’t know any of the other details. I am not sure how much time passed with me again mentally shutting down as you interrogated me, and I don’t remember the details of your monologue, but I do remember ********* and her friend suddenly appearing on either side of me, informing you that we were leaving. They flanked me as we left the room, and you followed us out, continuing your monologue. I remember bits and pieces of it – something about you claiming that you did care about me (bullshit), and other such nonsense. ********* and her friend just made sure I had my eyes and my focus on them (instead of you) as we walked out in to the hotel lobby, and finally away from you.

We spent the rest of the night out at a restaurant, talking about the rape and them supporting me. I was so thankful for those two amazing women.

The next day you were at it again, this time staring me down from across the entry expanse into the convention center. I was sitting on a bench outside, and you made sure I saw you, and stared at me, keeping your head turned my way until you entered the building.

 104th CAA Conference – Washington DC 2016 (written January 2019)

Thankfully there were fewer interactions this time, but I am always on my guard. You found me while I was waiting at a bus stop, headed across town to see a friend from undergrad. You made sure to tell me that you knew where I was working now. I still refrain from staying at the conference hotel, while that was also true the night of the rape, I do it now to make sure I have someplace away from the conference for retreat, this time though, you walked towards what was also my hotel. I was on even higher alert as I went into and out of the hotel.

At the [university redacted] breakfast (the evening reception was a short-lived experiment), you made sure to pass directly behind me each time you made your way to the breakfast buffet spread. There were other paths you could take. While we were not at the same table, don’t think I didn’t notice. I only half paid attention to the conversations at hand.

  Mercat a la Planxa, restaurant in The Blackstone Hotel, written July 2018:

It’s still light outside, and there are people settled at tables around me, seemingly happily conversing with each other over drinks, steaks (and grilled green onions – which look quite good). I’ve ordered a 9 oz pour of their driest Spanish white, some croquetas de jamon, and the ‘pa amb tomaquet’ al estilo Catalan. It’s intentional that I’m seated here, at the end of a conference (this time the Midwest Museums Conference), writing this reflection. I stayed at The Blackstone for the 98th College Art Association Conference. I can’t quite remember when I checked in – either the 9th or 10th of February – and checked out late on the 13th. This AMM conference has me thinking quite a bit about that span of days – in many ways there are some resonances that I hadn’t quite realized would exist when I signed up for a room (this time) at the conference hotel – the Chicago Marriot. As I drove up, I realized that the hotel was just across the street from The Blackstone. Again, I was splitting a room with one of my closest friends from my master’s program, whom I hadn’t shared a room with since the 98th College Art Association Conference. She, again, was leaving a day before me. A few nights prior, at the after-conference drinks at the hotel bar, I recognized the all-too-familiar expression of a young colleague who was squirming under the unwanted attentions of a senior conference attendee. I had made the young colleague’s acquaintance earlier in the evening and knew that this was their first conference; that they were trying to find their sea legs as a salesperson, and the older colleague had (and I will be generous here) misread the younger colleague’s attempts at networking for interest. I decided to excuse myself from my conversation, insert myself in their conversation and see if the younger colleague wanted to join me at the bar to refill our drinks. They thanked me for helping them out. It happened again the next evening, with the same older colleague pursuing the younger colleague, and I again stepped in to put myself between the more senior colleague’s unwanted advances and their intended target. It was then that I realized that there was more operating here than basic human kindness: I was responding as a result of my sexual assault that happened just across the street, as I too tried to traverse the professional landmines of being a conference attendee, navigating the complex power networks of a professional conference.  

 (written January 2019)

I had been thinking for some time on how to turn the events of that night in February 2010 into some additional good. I say ‘additional’ because I already mark that night as the moment from which I would take no more shit. That I would do my best to always be assertive and speak truth to power. I’ve also trained and worked as a rape crisis counselor in Erie County, New York, hoping that I could provide a tether to resources for others that eluded me that night and the morning after. In this moment of presidential pussy grabbers and Supreme Court predators, #NotSurprised, #TimesUp, and #MeToo, it was time to take this conversation back to CAA and think about systemic change. I tell my story not because I think it is unique, in fact, I tell it because there are many others who have been the unwilling targets of predatory behavior by academics who “use informality, alcohol, power hierarchies and enforced proximity to exploit and harass their victims.”[1] It happens across academic conferences – a quick look at this year’s twitter threads from AHA and ASA (especially #MeTooPhD), and the beginnings of systemic change such as the 2017 American Political Science Association survey on harassment at annual meetings[2], the Women’s Classical Caucus’ statement on harassment at the Society for Classical Studies[3] (2017), the report “Open Secrets and Missing Stairs: Sexual and Gender-Based Harassment at Scientific Meetings” [4] (2017), and the American Library Association ‘statement of appropriate conduct’ for conferences[5] (2014).

CAA’s “Restatement of Values”[6] (2016) and “Guidelines for CAA Interviews”[7] (2015) start the conversation but leave open the question of onus and power in the situation.

#MeTooCAA, an Idea Exchange roundtable taking place at 10:30 am on Friday (2/15) begins a conversation on structural changes to power dynamics at CAA, providing space for and centering the marginalized and less powerful. In the meantime, feel free to share your own stories here or use the #MeTooCAA hashtag to converse across social media.

[1] Tweet by Dr. Charlotte Lydia Riley (@Lottelydia) 1/2/19

[2] http://www.apsanet.org/portals/54/files/apsa%20ethicscommitteesexual%20harassment%20report%20final.pdf?ver%3D2018-02-01-133219-887

[3] https://classicalstudies.org/scs-news/scs-statement-harassment-annual-meeting

[4] https://static1.squarespace.com/static/51a662bde4b06440a1627b96/t/58b067e846c3c4cf659bd4e3/1487955946386/Open+Secrets+and+Missing+Stairs.pdf

[5] http://www.ala.org/conferencesevents/statement_appropriate_conduct

[6] “We defend academic freedom as forcefully as we reject discrimination, bigotry, sexual assault, and violence against the vulnerable.” See http://www.collegeart.org/news/2016/11/22/caa-restatement-of-values-november-2016/

[7] “Conduct meetings in neutral spaces such as the interviewing tables and booths provided at the conference by CAA or in hotel suites which offer neutral spaces outside of bedrooms. CAA does not condone interviewing candidates in hotel bedrooms.” See http://www.collegeart.org/standards-and-guidelines/guidelines/etiquette

Written by Claire K.